Streets of New York. Mark AnthonyЧитать онлайн книгу.
I was there I continued to fill him in on all of the details and criminal dealings that I had been involved in. I told him about my daughter and about Audrey, Pooh, Squeeze, and Show. Grams couldn’t believe that Squeeze wouldn’t have welcomed me back with open arms considering that we had a real history together. But at the same time he knew exactly how sheisty some dudes are.
“See, one thing I learned about the street is that you learn real fast how to separate the real from the fake. On the street, it’s like the majority of niggas ain’t really real,” Grams said.
“I know.”
Grams added, “So yo, this is what I’m sayin’. If you telling me that they own this Brooklyn Café spot then them niggas gotta be holding some paper and they got some other hustles going on? Yo, them niggas don’t know me so I ain’t got no problem running up on them niggas and making them come up off they shit.”
I smiled as I listened to Grams talk. Although he wasn’t from New York, he had the spirit of real street dude and I liked and respected that. Listening to him talk reminded me of a whole lot of the days I’d spent in the basement in Brooklyn when we used to sit around to plot and scheme on how we were gonna get money.
I had really no choice but to trust Grams. But I knew that even trusting him was risky because of the fact that he could talk a good game and then turn around and rat me out to collect the hundred grand reward the police were offering for someone to turn my criminal-black-ass in.
If it turned out that Grams could be trusted then I would respect him for as long as I lived because he didn’t even know me that well and yet he was willing to take me in, give me some of his gear to rock, feed me, plus he was willing to risk robbing Squeeze and Show rather than going after the easy reward money that the police were offering.
As Grams and I talked, he could sense and tell how badly I wanted to get back at that nigga Squeeze for ratting me out to the police. But he had some real good advice that I heeded to.
“Promise, listen to me. You and I both know that Squeeze and Show are holding some real long money right now... You definitely need some dough, and hell, I need some money, who da’ fuck doesn’t need money! But you gotta be smart and move real slow.”
“Fuck dat! I’m ready to move on them niggas right now! They had me under a car laying in my own crap like a fucking animal!”
“Promise, I know that. But trust me. I know how the streets work and how to operate in the game... And what you gotta do is just chill here at my crib, lay low for a about three weeks and let some of the heat die down. Don’t even come outside or nothing. And then what you do is you call Show just before you’re ready to come out of hiding. But you don’t get at him or Squeeze for dissin’ you and rattin’ on you. You don’t even bring it up. You just play things cool, like everything is ahight wit’ you. You gotta do that just to feel them out and not let them suspect that you’re about to hit they asses!”
“Grams, I feel you and I know where you coming from, but dog I can’t just sit here on this anger for three weeks!”
“Promise, trust me. You see how them terrorist cats did the United States on 9/11? Bin Laden and ‘em was patient for years! But when they hit us, everyone felt it! And that’s how you gotta hit Squeeze and Show! Hit them niggas when they least expect it and make them muthafuckas respect yo ass!”
Grams was right. There was no sense in me striking too soon or reacting too emotional cuz all that would do is got my ass locked up. I knew that Grams was hot on this scheme for me to get back at Squeeze and Show simply because he was seeing a whole lot of dollar signs. But whatever his motivation was, I was just glad that I had him in my corner.
The three weeks in Grams crib felt more like three years. I couldn’t remember the last time that I had been in one spot for so long. For the most part I was alone in Grams’ crib by myself. He would be out on the street hustlin’ for most of the day and only came back to his crib late to crash. Staying at his crib confirmed that I definitely didn’t want any parts of the prison system. Not that his crib felt locked up.
It was just the isolation that I couldn’t take. I knew I would go absolutely crazy if my ass was caged up in some goddamn cell. I was tired of eating chicken wings and French fries from the Chinese restaurant. I was tired of all of the trash television shows and tired of the news reports that focused on the nationwide manhunt for me. And I was tired of wearing Grams gear.
On the twenty-first day of hiding out, I decided to call Show and feel the nigga out. I called from Grams’ phone and I made sure to block the number before I dialed but each time I called Show’s numbers, both his cell and his home number would ring out to voicemail. I decided to take a chance and unblock Grams’ number before dialing Show. The same thing happened each time, goddamn voicemail!
This went on for literally two days. For two straight days, I got nothing but the nigga’s voicemail. I decided to try something else to see if it would work. I called this chick that lived in a section of Queens called Rochdale Village. Her name was Candy and she had been on my dick since high school.
Candy was the type of chick that if she was feeling you, she would let you have uncommitted sex and wouldn’t trip about a nigga having a girl or not spending enough time with her. She even spent money on a nigga and didn’t expect nothing in return. Candy wasn’t exactly a jump-off or anything like that. She was mad cool. She looked ahight and her body was tight. She had it going on! She had a good job with the Transit Authority, and she had her own apartment. But the bottom line was that she was feeling a nigga.
I didn’t have Candy’s cellphone number but I had her home number memorized so I immediately dialed her to see what was up. The phone rang like six times and then her answering machine came on.
“Damn!” I said to myself. I knew that I had to leave a message but I just didn’t feel too comfortable leaving her Grams’ number as a call back.
I began speaking to the answering machine, “Yo Candy! What’s up, mama? This is Promise. I know that...”
“Hello?” a voice on the other end said, while stopping the old school answering machine.
“Candy?”
“Promise, hey, what’s up, boo?” Candy asked. She was obviously glad to be speaking to me.
“Candy, I know that I ain’t speak to you in a minute. I ain’t gonna even sit on this phone and front but I’m calling you because I need a favor from you.”
“Okay, what’s up?”
“I know you probably saw all of the shit on the news about how the cops is looking for me, right?”
“Yeah, I know...”
“Well, I’ve been laying low and I can’t really tell you what’s up just yet but I promise I’ll let you know...”
“Promise, listen, you ain’t got to explain nothing. How long have we known each other? Come on now,” Candy replied.
I laughed a little bit into the phone’s receiver.
“So, what’s up? You need some place to stay for a few days?”
I hadn’t actually considered staying with Candy but since she’d brought it up, I decided to capitalize on her offer.
“Well, actually, if I could stay wit’ you for a few days, I’d be grateful.”
Candy cut me off as she said, “Promise, you know I got your back. You remember where I live, right?”
“Yeah, I do but I might not come through right this minute. I’m not sure when.”
“Well, I gotta work the next few days but I’ll be home every night this week. If you come through just make sure that it’s after 8 at night.”
“That’s what’s up!” I replied then added, “Candy, you remember