2

Crown was still at the bar with Cherish and Midnight by his side. He sipped a Kamikaze and waited for Chaos to finish with Bobby. He was left alone by the other patrons as he schooled his hoes by the bar about gettin’ that money and eyed potential tricks from a short distance.

“All I know, is that bitch better hurry the fuck up wit’ makin’ that money. I ain’t running a 7-Eleven out this bitch,” he complained to no one in particular.

After getting screamed on, Midnight knew to speak only when spoken to, and Cherish didn’t give a fuck about the situation. She had her eyes on a potential trick and knew that with Crown’s permission, she could come up with some cash for the night for him.

Crown downed his drink and then said to his hoes, “Yo, y’all bitches go do what y’all do and don’t fuckin’ come back here empty handed. Go make me that muthafuckin’ money.”

“You know it, Daddy,” Cherish said and walked toward the nigga that had been eyeing her for a minute.

Crown turned his attention away from his hoes and said to the bartender, “Yo, let me get another one.”

His long white mink was sparkling clean and his jewelry gleamed like the sun itself. His long permed hair rested against his shoulders like he was royalty. He was like a fashionable monument placed in the middle of the bar—an icon for what a pimp should be.

“Yo, Crown, I don’t know how you have your chicks in control the way that you do,” Angel, the bartender, said with a hint of admiration in his voice. He was always amazed by Crown’s way with the ladies and how he controlled them like puppets on a long string.

“Angel, them bitches is like my dogs. Once you train them right, you ain’t never gotta worry about them biting the hand that feeds them,” Crown boasted.

Angel laughed as he poured Crown’s drink. He shook his head and said, “Man, if I could be you for one day.”

“Ain’t no college degree in pimping, Angel. Trying to be like me would take a lifetime to learn. When God made me, He knew I was only born to be a pimp,” Crown said.

“I hear that.”

Crown downed his second drink. He noticed YB come into the bar, flanked by his cousin, Rufus.

“Muthafucka,” Crown mouthed.

He and YB had an ongoing beef for months because YB was one of the few who didn’t fear Crown. YB thought Crown was a weak loudmouth. He hated niggas from New York coming into his hometown and acting like they were running shit.

YB eyed Crown from a short distance and a smirk appeared across his face. He nudged his cousin Rufus and said, “Look at this clown-ass nigga here.”

Rufus chuckled and knew it was about to be on. He and his cousin were straight hoods from the west side of Philly. They were into everything from drugs to murder and were two of the most feared men in the city.

YB was a tall figurehead, 6’2” with long braids that reached down his back and striking, smooth dark skin like the night itself. Ladies considered him easy on the eyes, but you could see that he lived a hard life. He hardly smiled and the scar that lined his right cheekbone was an illustration of the harsh life he’d lived since he was five years old.

The only things YB knew were drugs and violence. He earned his respect by hurting and sometimes killing others to survive.

Rufus was the opposite when it came to his looks; he was shorter and stockier than YB. His stomach was big, matching his arms and chest. He sported close-cropped hair and was dark like his cousin, but not as attractive. His lips were black from the weed he smoked constantly, and his eyes were dark and beady as if he were always squinting into the sun.

Both men were clad in Eagles football jerseys, Timberlands, and baggy jeans, but Rufus was the one concealing the .357 tucked in his waistband, snug under his gut. He was the one ready for anything, and seeing Crown in his presence made him more eager to use the gun.

“Crown, I don’t need to trouble in here tonight, please,” Angel pleaded.

“Nigga, you better check them niggas if you don’t want no trouble. Fuck I look like to you?” Crown angrily replied.

Angel shook his head and went about his business. Crown glanced over at YB and shot him a resentful look.

YB paid the nigga no mind and moved through the seedy and dimly lit joint like he owned the place. Rufus was right behind him, being his number two and watching his cousin’s back.

YB looked around for Chaos; she was the only bitch he had an eye for, and Crown knew it. YB felt something for her that was unexplainable. He loved Chaos’s demeanor—the way she moved, hustled, and talked.

Even though YB hated niggas from New York, Chaos was something different. He knew she came from the Bronx, but that didn’t stop him from having a thing for her. In his mind, Chaos was a down-ass bitch, and he could never figure how Crown got her to do what she did for him.

YB and Chaos met a few months ago, which was around the same time the beef between YB and Crown started. Crown was jealous. He noticed the way Chaos would look at YB, and he felt his bitches should have eyes like that only for him. Crown was furious with Chaos and would beat her just for laying eyes on the nigga.

YB hated a man who beat on women. He was a thug, but he lived by a code that you don’t harm women or children. Crown lived by no code, treated his women like products, and made money off their blood, sweat, and tears. YB never respected that type of behavior. He always felt that a true hustler earned his own way through his own sweat and pain. To him, a pimp was a pussy nigga who was scared to get his own hands dirty in the game of life.

YB spotted Sweet, giving a nigga a lap dance in the corner. Crown turned and noticed YB approaching Sweet. His face stiffened and he felt anger and rage growing in his heart.

Sweet had a young nigga in a darkened corner, with her tits pressed against his young face. She grinded on the nigga with fervor and moved her body in tune with a Chris Brown song. She felt his dick hardening through his jeans and wrapped her arms around him, then whispered in his ear, “I can take care of that for you for the right price.”

The young nigga smiled. He was tempted by her offer and had had pussy on his mind since he walked into the club. Sweet felt his hands grabbing her ass sternly and knew it was only a matter of time before she enticed him for a private party in the VIP room.

“Sweet, what’s good wit’ you?” YB asked as he approached from behind.

Sweet turned and a warm smiled curved from her lips. It was always a pleasure to see YB around.

“Hey YB,” she greeted with a joyous tune.

“You seen Chaos?” he then asked.

“Yeah, she went to do a VIP in the room,” Sweet said.

“Oh word?” YB replied, not really thrilled about it.

“Yeah, she should be back out soon. It’s been a while already.”

“A’ight.”

Sweet’s eyes rested on YB longer than they should have, and then she focused her attention back on having the young man fondle her and feeling his hard-on growing bigger.

“You gonna wait around for that bitch, YB?” Rufus asked.

Rufus wasn’t too thrilled about his cousin having feelings for one of Crown’s hoes. To Rufus, they were all bitches and hoes. They were only good for one thing—being down on their knees or lying on their backs and giving him some pussy.

“Rufus, chill. I’m gonna see what’s up,” YB said.

“Nigga, fuck that bitch, yo! You got me in here waitin’ around for that ho, when we need to be out there gettin’ that fuckin’ money. And I’m waiting for that bitch-ass nigga Crown to step to me. I’m gonna show that nigga what time it is, fo’ real; early, my nigga,” Rufus exclaimed.

He tapped the firearm that was tucked snuggly against his gut and continued. “That bitch in the next room, fuckin’ a nigga for some bread for that sorry-ass nigga, and you got feelings.”

“Chill, Rufus. It’s my business, a’ight, nigga?” YB snapped. “You need some pussy or sumthin,’ nigga?”

Rufus sucked his teeth. “Nigga, I don’t fuckin’ pay for pussy. I’ll take that shit from these bitches if I want it. Fuckin’ bitches don’t get none of my fuckin’ bread, you hear me, nigga?”

YB knew it was useless to argue with his cousin. Rufus was a thug 24/7, ride-or-die type of nigga and always into some shit. YB, however, knew how to tone it down and not show that thuggish side of him all the time. Unfortunately, he couldn’t instill that type of thinking into his cousin.

“Yo, let me buy you a drink, nigga, and calm your attitude,” YB said.

“Yeah, spend your money on family, not these chicks, my nigga.”

YB shook his head and walked toward the bar. While YB and Rufus approached the bar, Crown left it and went over to Sweet. He was upset with Sweet for the smiles she showed YB. He’d warned his chicks that he didn’t want anyone talking to that nigga, and if they were caught doing so, harsh repercussions would follow.

Sweet stood from the man’s lap, fixed her G-string, and got ready to take the young man to the VIP room. Crown appeared behind her and grabbed her strongly by her forearm.

“Daddy, what I do?” Sweet asked, panicked.

“Nigga, bounce for a minute. She’ll get up wit’ you soon,” Crown told the young man.

Knowing about Crown’s reputation and his violent ways, the young man walked off without hesitation.

Crown yoked Sweet by her throat and pushed her against the wall, knocking over chairs in the procedure. “Bitch, what I told you about that fuckin’ nigga, huh? I don’t want you fuckin’, lookin’, or talkin’ to him, you fuckin’ hear me? Don’t get outta pocket again, bitch.”

“Daddy, I’m sorry, baby, it won’t happen again,” Sweet choked out. Tears formed in her frightened eyes.

Crown wanted to hit her, but he knew now was not the time. She still had to go make his money, and her bruised and bloody body would have been bad for business.

He let her go and backed away from her, his eyes shooting daggers of disappointment and rage.

“Go make me my fuckin’ money, bitch!” he shouted.

Everyone in the place stared, but it was nothing new to them. Crown was known for attacking and yelling at his hoes in public—it was his way of showing that he was still in control and not to be fucked with.

He already proved his point, and Cherish and Midnight simply observed from a distance. They both were very familiar with Crown’s wrath and didn’t want that kind of attention on themselves.

Sweet dried her tears and tried to hide her embarrassment by looking for the young man that she was about to fuck in the VIP room. She just wanted to disappear for a moment. Many eyes were still on her, but no one said a word and most just felt sorry for her.

Crown returned to the bar and signaled Angel.

“What you need, boss?” Angel asked.

“Just get me a shot of Hennessy.”

“I got you.” Angel removed the bottle from a shelf at the back of the bar.

YB eyed Crown with irritation from three barstools down. Pussy nigga, he mouthed.

Crown noticed the nasty look aimed his way and turned to face YB. He didn’t fear YB, nor did YB fear Crown. They were like two lions in the joint—kings of their own jungles and feeding off their fierce reputations. There could be only one king of the jungle, though, so it was inevitable that the two would rumble soon.

“Fuck you lookin’ at, nigga!” Crown shouted.

“You like hittin’ on women, try hitting on me, you bitch-ass nigga,” YB retorted.

“Crown, please . . . not here,” Angel pleaded. He had worry in his eyes.

“Angel, shut the fuck up!” Crown growled. If looks could kill, YB would be in trouble.

Rufus sneered at Crown, moving his hand near his concealed gun. All YB had to say was jump, and Rufus would have asked, “How high?”

“Fuck y’all West Philly niggas! You think you can come up in here and disrespect my bitches and me?” Crown hissed.

“You ain’t shit, nigga! I’ll come over there and slap the shit outta you, like you my bitch!” YB yelled.

YB knew he already said too much. He was a man about action, and with Rufus right behind him everyone knew that shots could ring out at any given moment.

It was the calm before the storm. Cherish stood by her man’s side and stared at YB and Rufus with the same bitterness as Crown. The quarrel between the two thugs was disrupting business, and wanting to avoid getting shot in the crossfire, a few customers began leaving.

“Yo, what the fuck y’all niggas doin’, disrupting my place of business!” Magic shouted.

The owner of the club came from the basement with an irritated scowl across his hard-looking face. Angel had called down to the basement and warned his boss that a situation was brewing between Crown and YB. Magic knew he had to head upstairs promptly and calm them down before they made his seedy underground club hot with gunfire.

“Yo, it ain’t nuthin’, Magic. Just a li’l dispute,” YB said.

“Fuck that, YB. Y’all niggas know better than to come up in here and actin’ out in my business. Take that shit to the Westside, nigga,” Magic barked.

Magic was an O.G from the days of the Black Mafia. He was in his early fifties, but still portrayed the image of a street thug. He was a young, unbreakable soul trapped in an aging man’s body. His presence alone was intimidating, but his reputation was carried through the streets like a cold winter wind.

Magic stared at YB and Crown with dark, menacing eyes. He was tall, still well built, and his aging brown skin was lined with a few wrinkles. His full head of hair was salt and pepper, harmonizing with his thick goatee. He was clad in a black, tight-fitting T-shirt and blue jeans stretched down over a pair of polished, black wingtip shoes. Magic looked good for his age, but his eyes had seen enough bloodshed, prisons, and drugs. When he stared at you for a long time, you almost turned cold from his gaze.

Magic came from an era where heroin was king of the streets. Back in his day, true gangsters sported tailored suits and didn’t run their mouths off like a bunch of bitches. His philosophy on the young generation today was that niggas were too soft and weren’t about shit except showing off and shooting each other over petty crimes.

“Yo, Magic, no disrespect to your place, but tell that bitch nigga over there to stay the fuck out my business,” Crown hissed.

“Fuck you, nigga!” YB retorted.

“Both y’all niggas chill,” Magic said with authority in his voice. “Y’all niggas either get your act right or get the fuck out my place.”

His statement was short, but well understood. Magic was one of the few men that both thugs respected and knew not to piss off.

Crown looked for his chicks and said, “Y’all bitches get your shit together. We out.”

Three of Crown’s hoes stopped their action and retreated to the dressing room.

“Chaos still fuckin’ that nigga?!” he shouted.

“You know that bitch don’t keep time wit’ them tricks,” Cherish said as she passed Crown and headed for the dressing room.

Crown angrily walked toward the VIP section.

YB wanted to do something, but he suddenly heard Magic calling him over. “YB, let me talk to you for a moment.”

YB gave Crown a hard glance and went over to Magic.

“Walk with me downstairs.”

YB knew that he would have to see Chaos another time. Magic demanded his time and he knew not to keep Magic waiting.