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As soon as Te’Qui pulled into the AM/PM gas station, he noticed Poochie posted up. He was standing beside a purple ’95 Honda Civic smoking a withering Newport. The nigga looked fucked up. He had a big ass knot on his forehead, bluish black rings on his eyes, a swollen nose and busted lips. There was also a cast on his right arm. The nigga was dressed down too. He didn’t look nearly as fly as he did that night he ran into him at CVS. That day he was wearing a dingy black tanktop with the Toxic Crusader on it, light blue jeans with tears in their knees and some mothafucking sandals. It was from his appearance that Te’Qui knew that the nigga was broke than a mothafucka, because any time he had money, he made it his business to broadcast it through his jewelery, clothing and cars.
Poochie’s habit had gotten the best of him. He’d lost all of his money and assets thanks to his addiction to coke. When he found himself struggling to support his habit, he started stealing product from Quervo’s spots. Once he was caught, Quervo and his goons’ pistol whipped him and stomped him out. The only reason why the niggaz didn’t kill him was because he begged and pleaded with Quervo to spare his life. Feeling sorry for his ass, Quervo granted him clemency, provided he left the city and never returned. Poochie agreed. He then packed his belongings into his car and drove away. As soon as he left the house, Poochie pulled out his cell phone and hit Te’Qui up with a plan to rob Quervo.
This wasn’t the story he’d told Te’Qui though. Nah, he told him that someone had lied and told Quervo that he was stealing and that’s why he’d gotten his ass beat. You see, he led the young gangsta to believe that his wrongfully getting punished was his reasoning behind wanting to set his ass up.
Poochie dropped the Newport at his feet and mashed it out underneath his sandal. He then snatched open the back door and sat down, pulling the door shut behind him. His forehead creased when he noticed T.J. sitting in the front passenger seat. He didn’t have any idea that Te’Qui was bringing someone along with him. As far as he knew, it was only him and Te’Qui that were going to be in on the lick. Having someone else there in on the caper meant that his slice of the pie was going to get considerable smaller. He wasn’t tripping off of it though. The dough they were going to get for the hit would still be more than enough to keep him happy.
“Who’s this?” Poochie inquired.
“Oh, pardon my mannas. Poochie, this my man T.J. T.J. this my homeboy Poochie.”
“’Sup witchu, Blood?” T.J. asked as he sucked on a cherry Tootsie Roll pop, looking over his shoulder at him and holding out his fist.
Poochie touched fists with T.J. and said, “Ain’t shit, tryna see about securin’ this bag.”
“I can feel that. I’m all about my money.”
“Sho’ you right.” Poochie nodded.
“Gimme the skinny on this fool Quervo. Where this nigga stash at?”
“Well, my girl says he keeps his shit inside the wall in his crib. What wall? That I don’t fuckin’ know, but that’s where y’all come in. When y’all run up in his shit y’all gon’ have whip off in his ass to get ‘em to come off the location of where them bands at. Now, if you know Quervo like I know Quervo, he’s a stubborn, prideful bastard, so that’s gonna prove to be tough.”
“Oh, he’ll talk, best believe that. I done went at some of the hardest mothafuckaz in these streets and they all buckled under my gun. Once I lay my G down on his ol’ wannabe gangsta-ass, he’ll tell me exactly where that paypa is.” Te’Qui assured him.
“Now, when y’all go in there, he gon’ try to throw y’all off with that safe inside of his closet. It has money in it, but all that shit is fake. That’s a dummy grab. He got that shit there in case mothafuckaz are lookin’ to get at ‘em. That way they think they leavin’ with somethin’, but they really got some ol’ bullshit.”
“I’ll give it to homeboy, he is a clever mothafucka,” T.J. said as he massaged his chin and surveyed his surroundings.
“That he is.” Te’Qui nodded and continued to indulge in his Tootsie Roll sucker.
“Here, limme give you this nigga info,” Poochie fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Te’Qui. He continued to talk to him as he looked over the piece of paper. “Homeboy’s birthday is tomorrow night. They goin’ out to celebrate. My lil’ white bitch said she gon’ make sure they’re home and in bed ‘round eleven o’clock. She gon’ leave the back door open for y’all niggaz to creep in. Now, I don’t give a fuck what y’all do to Quervo, fuck him! Just don’t kill my bitch. Rough her up if you have to, but don’t kill her ass. I love that bitch! I ain’t goin’ to be able to hack it out here if somethin’ happens to her.”
“Alright. We ain’t gon’ splash her, but we gon’ have to rough her up to make it look good though. I’m sho’ you don’t want this nigga on yo’ ass if he gets the feelin’ she was in on the shit, right?”
“Yeah. Like I said ‘if you gotta rough her up then handle yo’ business’. Just don’t kill her, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
“Don’t worry about nothin’, bro, I got chu faded.” Te’Qui assured him.
“Cool.” Poochie responded. “Yo’, Qui, you think you can bless me with a lil’ somethin’ ‘til we secure this bag, man?”
Te’Qui was silent for a minute as he thought about what Poochie had just asked him. He knew that if he gave him some money that he was going to snort it right up his fucking nose. He didn’t like the idea of giving a nigga some money to support his habit, but then again, homie was a grown-ass man. If the nigga wanted to play with his nose then let him play with his nose.