After copping some boxers, t-shirts, wife beaters and socks, we bounced out and headed to North Durham. Shell wanted to check on his trap spot on Canal Street. The heroin central of North Durham. Since the sixties, billions of dollars have probably been made on this one street alone. Yeah, I said “BILLIONS,” because millions get made every year! I wasn’t trying to get my car hot on credit fucking wit this nigga, so I parked around the corner in the parking lot of Juniper Square apartments and we walked the couple blocks over to Canal. As we walked he told me about his connect that kept him flooded.
“Yeah bru like I was saying, I met my connect Azar while I was locked up at Whiteville. The nigga loves to gamble, but can’t gamble worth shit. He was always bragging about all this money and shit he had, and about his Mexican baby mama whose brother in Texas had more coke and dope than the government. Check it though, one Friday night the nigga ran up a card table bill to about three hundred dollars and didn’t have but a hundred of it. He kept saying that as soon as he got through to his wifey he was gonna have her bring him some big faces to visit on Sunday and he’d straighten it then with interest. It was some Blood niggas who ran the game and they won’t trying to hear it! They gave the nigga till dinner time to get the bread or he was gonna get stabbed the fuck up! Won’t nobody believing that shit about he was rich and all that, but for some reason I felt it was some truth to the nigga. The nigga kept it gangsta and didn’t go to the police or nothing. I talked to him, and he said that when they came, he’d just have to fight until he couldn’t fight no more. He didn’t want it to go like that though because he knew the shit would get ugly and he had two little daughters out there. I said fuck it and took a chance and went to the Blood niggas and put the shit on my face that he’d have the money by visitation time in two days. With interest. They agreed because my face was good. We all knew that if the nigga didn’t get the money, we both was gonna get cut the fuck up! So yeah, I took a big chance. I went and told him what I did and he was grateful. He asked me to walk with him to his locker, he needed to get something. When we got there, the nigga pulled out his money receipt and showed it to me. He said,
“You know I really don’t be letting cats up in my business like that, but that was some real shit you did so I wanna show you I’m real too.” I looked down at the receipt and this dude had over 40 stacks in his motherfuckin account! “I aint got but three more weeks and I’m through with this shit.” He told me. “I’m gonna leave you my number and I want you to get at me when you touch. I got whatever you need my nigga.”
“The rest is history. I hit the nigga when I touched, and he hit me with six ounces of boy out the gate! Bru, the nigga came to McDougald in a motherfuckin brand new Grancabrio Maserati, wit a bad ass Spanish bitch ridin shotgun! His man was behind him in a raggedy ass Nissan Sentra with the work. I’m telling you the nigga a gold mine! I get my coke from him too. Fucking wit him, I can’t lose. The numbers too sweet. I aint got to do shit but hit niggas, sit back and wait on my bread.” Suddenly Shell stopped walking and faced me. “Bru, I know a lot of shit I do you aint down with. I know that. But bru I aint you. Yeah, I got a few kinks I need to iron out, but don’t look down on me aight. You my brother and you probably the only motherfucker that I give a fuck about what you think. Just be proud of me dog. I’m finally seeing some real paper, and if you want it, you know you in there like swim wear. Aight bru?”
What could I say? The nigga came real wit it. “Aight nigga.”
“That’s what’s up.”
“I’m proud of ya.”
“Thank you bru.” We dapped each other up and kept stepping.