I decided to let Tyler get down. The rich white money looked good to me. Plus he was smart, a quick learner, and I could just tax him enough so I could make the same amount of money while lightening my workload.
I had been away from Madeira Street for like two months and I didn’t really miss it. Not even a little. Soni and I were joined at the hip now. If you saw her, then you saw me. I even talked her into moving into the Green House with me by basically promising her that I wouldn’t be in the streets anymore and I wasn’t—because I hustled weight out of my car now.
Soni and I were creating an amazing life—like made-for-TV. She decorated the hell out of our apartment with white couches, futuristic glass tables, and African artwork. We went to the farmers market and bought fresh vegetables that tasted delicious. She introduced me to organic markets where everything cost a hundred dollars, even the 99-cent bottled waters, but most important, I started reading some of her African American history books.
I already knew about our history as revolutionaries from the stuff my brother taught me, but her books opened me up to all types of black history on a level deeper than my original understanding. The stuff my grade school teachers left out. I never knew that African Americans accomplished so many amazing things in science, art, and literature. I began to develop a greater understanding that stretched far beyond drugs, junkies, and the bubble I was in.
Part of me knew that Soni knew I was hustling because only drug dealers and the top 1 percent of Americans can afford to push a cart through Whole Foods like we did—we filled it up with organic everything from our eggs to our trash bags made out of environmentally friendly plastic. Drugs paid our expensive bills, and my taste for luxury was starting to rub off on her a little. She also got used to the idea of what I was doing. It didn’t bother her because I didn’t talk about it, plus I was so smooth, seamless even, it was almost like I didn’t hustle.
Most of my days were free. I’d see Old Head like twice for simple conversations that mainly consisted of him giving me game on life and my health. He loved that I lived downtown, stayed away from the block and what I told him about Soni and me. “Have kids! Life is about having kids!” he’d tell me every time, right before I left. Troy and I picked up drugs from his workers biweekly and from there we’d bust the bricks down into ounces and grams and then distribute.
I had clients all over the city who were always ready. Great clients who I’d front if their money was funny or if they had faced some sort of loss. There was never any hassle or beef because there was no block for me to fight over. My dope was great. I was always on time and I stayed under the radar. Soni and I talked about me going back to college every day and I started looking at schools and some different programs. I knew I didn’t want to go back to Loyola, but I did want to stay in Baltimore. I also wanted to start a business like Old Head said.
Troy and I had previously been talking about buying a liquor store but now he just sold dope and fucked—all day every day. I couldn’t even get him on the phone anymore unless it was business related—but the game does that.