While Kareem handled McKenzey, Dre was in the Bad Lands to set the wheel on motion to avenge Chino’s death. The cops hadn’t progressed in handling that job the legal way and the Colombian community was outraged. Local papers accused the police of abandoning the Hispanic Community. The police had a few dots; none of them connected. Without someone pointing the finger at the shooters, their investigation was as moot as the 9/11 Commissions—no one claimed responsibility for that attack.
Pretty Tony introduced Dre and Benjamin, and then he ran down the math to get back at the clowns that killed Chino, hood style. Ten minutes later, Dre was in Benjamin’s living room.
“I’m going to need you butter ball naked.” Ben told his guest, exhibiting why he was called Ben Laden. His circle was tight and anyone attempting to get in for whatever reason had to play by his rules.
Dre snapped out of his mystified state. Back to reality, he looked bemused. Rather than question, though, he complied, down to his boxers. Ben kicked his clothes toward the kitchen and used his gun to point at Dre’s boxers, then towards the floor. Refusal to recognize the authority figure in this case would be disastrous. Dre did not want to bear all. It appeared his hands were tied and he would have to submit.
With his penis out the bag, Dre watched in dismay as his clothing was picked up, taken to the kitchen sink and dumped inside. Ben removed the currency and a brown wallet from Dre’s jean pocket. He then reached for the spigot and drowned Dre’s clothes. Ben returned to the kitchen and sent Dre upstairs to get a change of clothing. Anger was on Dre’s mind, but he regarded the thugs of the Bad Lands as good and conscientious men, who were notorious for getting away with crimes.
Dre returned downstairs and got straight to the point. “How much to do an Italian?”
“Depends? How you want him done?”