A Brooklyn Love Tale

Page 2

                           Jamaica, Queens

The streets were floated with different motherfuckas trying to sell whatever they had tucked off in the inside of their coats. Dope feins scratched up every piece of change they could in order to get high and take their mind off things. Others tried to rush to work to avoid being asked for a dollar. Most gave in. Sitting in the passenger seat of his blacked-out 1967 Chevrolet Impala, Wiz watched his workers as they stood on every corner of his block making transactions. Analyzing the environment, Wiz watched as a pregnant lady with no shoes and messy hair walked over to his dealers. Seems to Wiz, she wanted to purchase some rocks. She fidgeted and scratched at herself viciously. That baby didn't stand a chance. "Growing up, I would've told you I wanted to be a firefighter...I wanted to help people" Wiz calmly spoke causing Playboy to look over at him. He continued on by saying "Looking at what I do now...It's really fucked up...But I came to the realization that...I'm still helping people...Just killing them in the process" Sitting beside Wiz was his right-hand man but more of his runner. The streets called him Playboy. His name sounded exactly how he was.

Caramel-toned skin, a short afro with a clean fade, thick brows that had a slight slit on the right side due to him getting cut as a child, and beautiful thick lips. Most women liked him because he was classified as a pretty boy. Which was why it was easy for him to use his looks and dominance to get them to do things. He and Wiz had a similar choice of style due to them syncing in as brothers. Streetwear was their choice of style. Timberland boots, baggy jeans, oversized custom jackets, and heavy Cuban chains. This what made them stand out the most. Playboy made sure everything was in order and made sure niggas didn't come in short. He took over when Wiz wasn't around. Most would say that they were brothers but Wiz didn't quite look at Playboy like that. He looked at him as someone who worked closely with him and knew a little bit of his business. Playboy would tell you a different story.

Sitting with his seat slightly leaned back, Wiz continued watching the workers on the street with a wooden toothpick slightly handing out his mouth. The base from the music caused to car to shake and the 12-inch rims continued to spin while the car was placed in park. Most knew when they saw the blacked-out Chevrolet Impala with 12-inch spinning rims it was Wiz. He was the only person out there driving in something so clean and old school like that. A straight classic. Taking the wooden toothpick out his mouth, revealing his gold caps in his mouth, Wiz's attention turned towards Playboy, "How much these fools bringing in, man?" the smooth deepness of his voice made you feel as if you were floating on clouds. It was hard to not listen to him. Watching one of these dealers, swipe drugs for cash with a female junky, Playboy replied, "Enough for everyone to eat" Taking Playboy's word for it, Wiz relaxed back in his seat, placing his toothpick back in his mouth. That's all he liked to hear. Nothing more, nothing less.

The spot was where the drugs were made, packaged, and moved from. Limited people could come inside, due to the amount of cash and drugs that were stored in it. The spot, otherwise known as a large warehouse that was ducked off, had surveillance cameras and security all over it. Escape routes and holes under the building were made just in case the Feds came trying to duck in. No one, I mean no one could come in or out without being searched. Workers had to come in and remove every pair of clothing they had on in exchange for bras, boxers, or panties that they had there. Most didn't mind it because they were paid really well. Better than an average working job actually. Wiz thought it was a great idea to create the first level of the warehouse into a shipping system. To the Feds and the government, he owned a hygiene company. Selling good quality razors, shaving cream, and exfoliating cream. Yeah, he was selling alright...just not what they had hoped. Above the shipping system was where the real work was being done. The real business.

Walking inside the cold warehouse, workers dressed in blue collared shirts and khaki pants moved around the warehouse with boxes in their hands. Others stood at the moving machine labeling the bottles and placing them in custom blue and yellow boxes that said RazorWiz. Wiz didn't think much of the name. It didn't quite matter to him. Whatever kept the Feds off his back was going to work. Making their way up the dark stairs, Wiz and Playboy were met by the buff security guard who held a heavy machine gun in his hands. Noticing bossman, without delay, he quickly opened the door to the room causing them to smoothly push passed him and make their way in.