Chapter 1

I drove my car into D.C. with one thing on my mind:  killing. I pulled up around Montana Avenue to locate the snitch who had been faking all these years like he was a stand-up man, but the whole time he was a rat wrapped in official man’s clothing.

I spotted him chilling in front of the Montana Recreation center with Champ, N’s partner. For the life of me I didn’t understand why Champ was hanging around this joker if he knew about his unforgiveable sin and betrayal to the game we grew up in. After pulling up to the curb, I jumped out and passed out Big Nate’s book, No Turning Back, to a few guys loitering out on the strip.

“Hey, Carmelo…Anthony!” Cornell Best greeted me with a smile, shooting an imaginary jumper, which caused a few guys to laugh. Cornell Best still looked the same with his beady small afro, and he had on a multicolored We R One sweat suit with the new Jordans to match.

I chuckled, gave Champ a nod, and pulled Cornell Best to the side. Once I got him alone from the crowd, I pulled out some cash and gave it to him. “Ay, Slim, I need you to go with me real quick on this move.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, giving me a funny look.

“Listen, it ain’t nothing serious. All I need is you to drive and I’ma handle the rest. And I’ma break down with you fitty-fitty.”

“How long it’s gon’ take? ‘Cause I jive got some shit lined up ‘round here.”

“Like what? You ain’t doing shit but hanging out and bullshittin’. You might as well come drive out there, and you just pay attention so you know how to get back, cool?”

“Fitty-fitty?” he asked, and I figured his greed had him ready to go with me.

“Yeah, nigga, what you gon’ do?” I said, sounding impatient.

“Let me holler at Champ real quick.”

“Whatever, I’ll be in the car,” I said and stepped off.

Once I got in the car, I eased my gun out, putting it on my lap while I kept my eye on Cornell Best’s body language and the way he interacted with Champ. I felt a little bad about what I was about to do to him because this nigga was loved by so many stand-up men in the city. But I wondered how many would love him if they found out he snitched on N back in the day?

Yeah, his fate was sealed and I had to carry it out, I thought as he returned to my car and got inside.

“Let’s do this, man,” he grinned, sounding just like Chris Tucker off the movie Friday.

I laughed, but the laugh wasn’t sincere. It was just a reaction to keep him comfortable. We talked for a while about what was happening in each other’s lives, which repulsed me because I was interacting with this rat and answering his questions like we were cool. Once, when he asked me if I still messed with N, he indirectly told on himself that he was still snitching.

I kept my cool and said, “Naw, Moe, I just be doing me, Slim. I got a few things going on and I don’t have time to be going backwards, you dig?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was tryna tell Champ, but Slim don’t want to hear that shit when it comes to his man N. I mean, you know how that shit goes,” he said, making me mad as hell.

I hooked a right on New York Avenue and drove towards the Florida Avenue intersection near the Wendy’s fast food restaurant. As I drove Cornell Best to the point of no return, I glanced at him a few times, letting my anger boil over.

“Ay, Moe, get some of that sour diesel out the glove compartment and twist up.”

“Nigga, I fuck with joint. I don’t do that lil boy shit,” he cracked, rubbing his nose.

“Oh, I forgot about that,” I said, pulling up to a red light at the bottom of New York Avenue.      I looked around to make sure the coast was clear. I spotted a Muslim brother pushing Final Calls and bean pies and used that as my opportunity.

“Ay, Moe, look at that geekin’-ass nigga out there hustling hard for Farrakhan who ain’t gon’ give him shit but a bunch of speeches and dreams,” I cracked, causing Moe to look in that direction.

Soon as he turned to look, I raised my gun quickly and shot him three times in the head. Blood and brain fragments flew everywhere as his head banged hard against the passenger side window. I made a quick right turn and then drove up inside the FedEx mailing depot. I sat there in the car with the dead rat for a minute, feeling nothing - no emotion, nothing. I got out of the car, got a towel from the trunk, and cleaned the blood off the window so I wouldn’t get pulled over by the feds while I took the rat to his final resting place.

After handling that, I got back in the car and pulled off. Every time I got the urge, I shot Cornell Best’s corpse at close range while I was driving just for the fuck of it. By the time I dropped his body off on the ground in front of the emergency room doors at Washington Hospital Center in Northwest, I had put over thirty bullets holes in the rat, leaving him DOA, which I believe he truly deserved.