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It didn’t take long for Terry and his crew to learn the ways of South Philly. Reek had become his liaison to the streets. He introduced Terry to some thorough hustlers. Because of his new cartel connection, he was able to supply them with the best coke at unbeatable prices.
Jihad, Twan and Boogs also began networking in the streets. They weren’t flamboyant with their hustle, nor were they aggressive towards others. This method made other hustlers more willing to gravitate towards them. They also began setting up drug distribution houses.
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Sunlight reflected off the chrome twenty-two inch Giovanni rims as the ice blue Mercedes CL63 eased to a halt against the curb on Capital Street. Mack slid his brawny, agile frame out of his coupe. He shook off a slight chill from the fall wind and adjusted the navy-blue Retroactive velour track suit. The white on white Buscemi sneakers were as exclusive as his outfit.
Approaching the sidewalk, he was immediately greeted by the crew of the young men hanging out in front of a row home.
“I smell it, so let me inhale it,” Mack said, referring to the blunts being smoked by his SP comrades.
Without hesitation one of the men passed a blunt to him. After taking two pulls, he blew the smoke out and looked at the blunt in disgust. “What the fuck is this? Ya’ll know I’m allergic to regular weed.” He pulled out a sandwich bag containing light green, fluffy buds. “Roll up some of this Lemon Skunk.” Mack handed the dude a nice sized bud and replaced the bag into his pocket. “Shawn, let me holla at you, cannon.” The two stepped off to the side.
“What’s up, Mack?”
“Are you finished with that work, yet?”
“Man, it’s been slow as hell. I only moved about four ounces in the last couple of days. Niggas ain’t been coppin’ no weight,” Shawn explained.
“What the fuck is goin’ on? It’s Saturday afternoon. None of the sack spots sold out, and you hardly moved anything. Either the fiends stopped smoking or somebody else is getting the money.”
“The bawh, Fruit, came up to me this morning telling me about some niggas from out of town who sold him an eighth of powder for thirty five hundred.”
“That nigga is lyin’. As dry as it is out here, can’t nobody afford to sell coke that cheap.” Mack shook his head at the news.
“Not only that, he said it was the best coke he had in years. I don’t think the bawh is lying. Think about it. Within the last couple of weeks money has been coming in slower and slower.”
“Find out who these mutha fuckas is,” Mack demanded.
“I already asked Fruit. He said the bawh’s name is T-Lova.”
“I want to know everything about him. What he’s sellin’, who he’s running with, and where he stay. We’re going to have to show him how SP gets down.”
“Get down or lay down.” Shawn said with a sinister grin.
“Nah. He’s doing too much. This might be a special case of lay down and stay down...”