Nasty and Soulja were up at five in the morning, every day. But today, it was almost six, and they still hadn’t started their workout. Nasty walked down to Soulja’s cell, and Soulja looked at his watch. “You’re late,” he said.
“Man, come on so we can get this good workout in. I had to go handle a few things first. It’s still early.” Every morning, the two of them dressed in track Nikes, torn T-shirts, and mesh shorts, and they worked out for 2 hours. They did 1,000 push-ups, 500 burpies, and 2,000 sit-ups. Twenty minutes of shadow boxing, and then, finally, the torturous 5-mile run. At least, that’s how Nasty felt. He hated running, but he knew he would never hear the end of it from Soulja if he bailed on it. So he made the agonizing run with the man he called his brother. This was their routine. By the time they came back inside, they were both sweating profusely.
“Damn, y’all are like robots,” a voice said standing over them. It was an older cat, Mo Garrett. He had become a prison father to them.
“We gotta keep our shit solid. Never know when it’s time for war,” Nasty replied, still winded coming in from the run.
“A faithful man to his body is a man half-prepared for war,” Mo Garrett said. He was always schooling them to something.
“What the hell does that mean?” Nasty asked.
“Simple. A lion is strong and heartless, but those same gifts could lead him into a trap. If you can’t outthink your enemy, or at least be able to think on his level, you will always make an easy target.”
“You always got some jewels to drop, Islamic Moor.”
“And you should listen to the brother,” Soulja added, now standing up, wiping his forehead with a rag. Both Soulja and Nasty were rock solid. Their bodies were so tight that a few female COs had to be disciplined for making inappropriate comments about them. Of course, the two men didn’t mind, but the hating-ass men around them dropped a few dimes, saying that their exchanges were inappropriate.
The three men separated and showered, then they came back to eat in Nasty’s cell. Mo Garrett was a professional microwave chef. He made them all a large pizza which they devoured like hungry beasts.
“What’s wrong with you?” Soulja asked Nasty as they ate.
“Nothing. Why you ask?”
“Nicca, I know you better than you know yourself. You kept up with me the entire run, meaning you had extra energy to expel. Whattup?” Nasty sat back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest.
“It’s Von. This is the second visit she’s missed. That shit ain’t like her.” Before Soulja could respond, Mo Garrett did. He stroked the hair on his long beard and looked up at the young man he considered to be like a son.
“She is a young woman. This is what they do. She’ll be back around eventually. I’ve seen it thousands of times over these past 22 years. Don’t make more of it than what it is.” Then he bit into his pizza.
“I can’t catch her at home when I call. She’s not answering my letters. It’s just not like her. Something isn’t right.”
“You’re acting paranoid. She’s all right,” Mo Garrett said calmly.
“Yeah, Mo is probably right. You know sis. She’s probably got her head in them books.”
“I hope y’all right.”
“Hope? When have I ever told you a lie?” Mo asked.
“Never!”
“Glad you know it.”
“And you know I love Von just as much. Plus, if something was wrong, Rodney would have got at you.”
“Yeah, I guess. It’s just that Von is all I got left. I just pray that nicca Rodney ain’t putting her through no bullshit. You know how I feel about that relationship anyway. Nigga is too old for her.”
“Yeah, I agree. But she grown now, so we gotta deal with it,” Soulja reminded.
“That’s true, but she wasn’t grown when they started fucking around. She’s my baby. Would you be okay with a nigga like Rodney fucking with I’sa?”
“Please don’t talk about li’l I’sa and men. She’s only 5. So it ain’t something I’ve had to take the time to even think about.”
“Listen, I’m sure that dude Rod is not stupid. Only a fool would stick his hand in a pot of boiling water. I wouldn’t bet a wooden nickel on him doing her wrong. He’d be committing suicide. But then again, these cats out there today really believe they’ve got nine lives,” Mo Garrett added.
“That’s a good point, but I’ma just think positive about the situation because if I think otherwise too much, I’ll end up doing something real crazy.”
“We can’t afford that. Now, fellas, it’s lesson time. How are you two coming along with the business plans we’ve been working on?”
“So far so good. I got a list of the abandoned houses. And I’ve got somebody on top of getting the official taxes owed so we can buy them,” Soulja said.
“Very good, son. And what about you, Nasty? How is your part coming?”
“I got a couple of dudes ready to do the construction work. I just haven’t really been focused since I haven’t seen my sister. But I am going to have it together.”
Mo Garrett had explained to them the importance of true wealth. Baltimore had hundreds of abandoned row houses. With the money they were getting in prison, they planned to buy up a bunch of them, fix them up, and rent them at decent prices. They would be drug-free zones that come with their own hood security. They were also building a boxing gym for young boys and an etiquette school for young girls. They had big plans.
“Don’t lose focus, Nasty. The one who has plans to go out and continue in the drug game has plans to return to prison—or make a permanent home in the ground. Any ideas for a name?”
“Yeah, I thought about it,” Nasty said. “CHOICES. And it stands for Changing the Hearts of Innocent Children Enduring Strife.”
Soulja dapped him. “That’s dope right there, bruh!”
“Excellent,” is all Mo Garrett said. “I’m going to temple . I’ll see y’all later.” He got up to leave. Just as Mo left, one of Nasty and Soulja’s workers, Rocky, walked into the cell. He passed Soulja a half ounce of raw dope. Soulja examined it.
“This good work,” Soulja said back.
“Yeah, the visit went good. Your girl said you need to call her. And she said to tell you I’sa beat up a li’l boy at school.”
Soulja smiled, and then nodded. His daughter was just like him, and he loved her more than he loved himself. To keep the police confused, Soulja’s girl didn’t visit with him and bring work. She came to see Rocky and passed the shit to him. Sometimes Von would bring work too, but she had been missing in action lately. So Keva would make up the difference and come on visits to see Rocky. Then Rocky came back to the unit and brought the dope to Soulja and Nasty. They were running a small empire inside the penitentiary walls. On average, they were bringing in $5,000 to $7,000 a week selling dope. They had all kinds of customers. At first, they were just chilling, but when there was a drought a few months ago, it was their turn to take over. And they’d done an excellent job of running things.
But not everybody was feeling the two new CEOs on the block. There were a couple of cats that had been getting money in the prison before Nasty and Soulja started going hard. But they fell off. Nasty and Soulja could have got things popping a long time ago, but they were respectful to the older cats that had been down longer trying to eat. But there was a need that had to be filled, and when the opportunity presented itself, they opened up shop. And they did it with such precision, nobody else could set up shop. But that wasn’t their fault. They let as many people eat as possible and ran a smooth operation.
It was important for Nasty to stay focused. He was the one with the least amount of time, unlike Soulja, who had a life sentence. So everything was riding on Nasty with CHOICES so that he could get out and make a difference. The drug game would end for them once Nasty got out. And Soulja could do his time in peace, knowing that his brother was living comfortably.
Nasty took it hard, knowing that his brother Soulja might not ever come home. He filed a few appeals, and they had all been denied so far. But Soulja wasn’t called Soulja for no reason; he was just that—a soldier—and he would fight to the bitter end.
Nasty split up the work and put his workers on it. Today was collection day and also delivery day. The fiends who owed money would pay right away because they couldn’t bear the idea of there being fresh dope within arm’s reach and not being able to get high. They would call home and tell their mothers, brothers, daughters, cousins, wives, whomever they could get, to drop money to the spot so they could get their issue. It was an ugly yet beautiful reality. Survival of the fittest.
Nasty focused on his work to keep his mind off of his sister. They were so close that he could feel when something was wrong. He just knew it, even though he didn’t have any facts. His intuition had never failed him. He loved his sister with all his heart. His arms were covered in tattoos. So was his chest and back. But the tattoo he loved the most was the tatt of Von and his mother Kay.
He wanted to come home one day and live in peace. He didn’t want to have to go back to his old ways. After seeing his parents’ dead bodies, death had become easy to hand out. Anybody got in his way, they would find themselves decaying not long after. Nasty was a very dangerous man. Almost all of his heart had hardened, minus the part that Von managed to keep soft. He just hoped that nothing was happening that would bring out the murderous side of him. He tried to shut down that part of himself, because once activated, there was no off button!