Being black and growing up in Brooklyn NY, was no joke. You live and die by whom you knew. I was lucky, my father and my uncle were hustlers from the old school. In other words they where drug dealers. It was only natural that I followed their footsteps. Flatbush belonged to my father and my uncle. If a nickel bag of weed was sold in that part of Brooklyn I guarantee you that my family was getting a cut. That's just the way shit was. My father wasn't the flashy type of dealer. He always kept a low profile. He was more of the management type. My uncle Rayquon on the other had was a stone cold ruthless killer. He didn't give a fuck about anyone. Cross him and you paid a price. The family business, at least that's what we called it was very profitable.
The older I got the more I learned from them. My father taught me how to handle the financial aspects of the game and uncle Ray taught me how to manage employees. Yes I said employees. The drug game is no different then any other business. You have low-level workers and you have managers. The only difference was that there were no benefits, no human resource department, no complaining, and if you got fired, that meant you lost your life.
With my father and my uncle running Flatbush, that meant I was un-fucking touchable, and everybody knew it. Even the fucking cops new it. We even had cops on the payroll. And those white devils didn't come cheap. The cock suckers always wanted more fucking money. But like all business we had expenses. My father told me that the most important thing was respect, but my uncle told me the most important thing was fear. Respect and fear and are a good combination in the drug game, one compliments the other beautifully.
After I graduated high school I thought about going to college. My father wanted me to go to school cause he didn't want me to get to involved in the family business. After two years of college I had had enough fucking school. My father was a little pissed but he understood where I was coming from. My uncle was glad to have me back in the hood. He was so excited he offered me a (FLAT99)... Which was a code word for how we broke down the neighborhoods. FLAT99 was one of our most profitable blocks. You see in order to keep things cool with the police all of our drug activities went down inside apartments and not on the streets. The cops can't fuck with you if they don't see. If we kept the drama off the streets the cops looked like they were doing their jobs. Neighbors were happy, cops were happy, and we were very happy. Like I said this was a business. My uncle was hiring me. He told me I would get $4000 a week to start. I did the math quickly in my head, it came out to a little over 200,000 a year. My uncle told me that I was already set up in the system. Let me explain the system to you folks out there. You see, a smart dealer just can't make that kind of money with out attracting attention. My father was smart. He had white friends all over the city. And they all owned their own business or worked at a large corporation. For a small fee, a favor and some drugs, I was given job in their company or corporation. Its funny how some companies manage them selves in this world? They have so many employees to deal with that many times they don't know who is working for them.
My uncle told me that I worked for a company called World Tech Systems. He said I was there new North Eastern Communications Consultant. I laughed my ass off. This is how it works. My father gives his connection $50,000 and in return the put me on there payroll as an employee earning $40,000 a year. I was mailed a check every week with taxes and benefits taken out. Basically I was paying my self. The 10 grand was just small fee for their services. Shit, I even had a 401k plan... not bad for a job that I never went to.
I asked him what happened to Terrence? He ran that section for the last four years. My uncle just smiled and said,
"We had to let Terrence go, his services were no longer needed in the community."
I knew exactly what he meant. Terrence was fucking dead. He must have fucked something up. O'well that's life and shit happens.
My uncle told me that Blake was going to help me out. Blake was like a younger version of my uncle. He was a smooth talking, quick thinking thug. Blake dealt mostly with the staff. If you came up short the person that came to visit you was Blake. He was respected and feared. If an employee fucked up again my uncle ray was the next person they saw and most likely the last.
People think that only the Italians can manage and operate in the underworld. There are a lot of Black- Gotti's in Brooklyn and I was on my way to making a name for myself. There are a lot of well organized black drug crews in New York, that run their operations like fortune 500 corporations. And not all drug dealers drive Mercedes, Lexus's and BMW's. My father always liked to keep a low profile. He drove an old Chevy that looked like shit. But that ugly old Chevy had a brand new motor in it and was totally bullet proof.
The first week went smooth. I knew most of the regular crew, but there were a few new cats around that I didn't know. Blake told me who to keep an eye on and who was always on point. Everything was going good until one morning Freddy came by my crib. Freddy worked for me but he was new and I didn't know him that well. There was something about Freddy that I didn't like. I guess cause I didn't know him like I knew the rest of the crew. Freddy told me that he was out of product. I asked him how much did he need. He told me he needed a dime. A dime in our bussines is 10 grand worth of product. The thing is all of our guys have limits that they are not allowed to go over. Some guy's limits were up to $50,000. I wasn't sure what Freddie's limit was. The rule was 50% up front then they had 1 week to deliver the other half. It was only 10 grand so I gave it to him.
A few days later my uncle came over to my place and he was fuming. He looked like he was about to blow a gasket.
"Yo... have you seen that mother-fuckin Freddy around."
"Naaaw... I haven't seen him... why what's up?"
Right away I knew something was up. My uncle told me that he had just left Freddie's spot and the place was shut down. Then he said,
"Did you front him any product recently?"
"Oh shit Ray, that mother fucker came over here the other day... early in the morning... he told me he was out... I fronted that mother fuck'a... a Dime."
Uncle Ray was fuming. He told me that I should have never fronted Freddy a dime. I apologized to my uncle for making such a mistake. After he calmed down he told me that it wasn't my fault, he told me that Freddy was basically still on probation and his limit was only 2,500. He told me that Blake should have schooled me on Freddy. I was really fucking pissed off now. I wanted to kill Freddy. I knew my uncle did. My uncle loved punishing people who stole from us. When I was younger I heard a story about the time this guy owed my uncle $60.000. Instead of killing the guy my uncle drove up to Westchester where the guys parent lived and burned their house down to the ground. He got his money 3 days later.
Uncle Ray calmed down but he had that look in his eye.
"So what should we do about this uncle Ray."
"What she we do about... the question is... what should you do about it," he said sternly to me.
I was confused but I knew what he meant.
"Freddy is part of your crew and he is your responsibility."
I knew that before he even said it. That motherfucker played me and it was my call how to handle the situation. I told my uncle, " We have to fire Freddy." My uncle smiled cause he knew what that meant. It was time to cancel Freddie's subscription to life. My uncle started making calls on his cell phone. He was all excited. I knew he love knocking people off, but damn... sometimes I think he liked it too much. After about 20 minutes and 15 phone calls, Freddie was the most wanted man in all of Flatbush. He even called up some of the cops we had on the payroll to be on look out for Freddy.
After he got off the phone he sat me down and gave me big lecture on the rules of the game. He told me that I trust to easy and how I should never trust anyone in our game. The more he spoke the angrier I got. Freddy was a dead man. I called Blake and told him what went down. Blake was mad at himself, cause he knew Freddie, and signed off on him when he gave him a spot. Blake told me not to worry about it. He told me that he would find that motherfucker and send him a lullaby.
You see in Brooklyn everybody knows everybody and know body knows anything, if you know what's good for you. I felt good that things were in motion. Soon Freddy was going to be hanging with Elvis.
Business was pretty much the same for the next couple of days. Running a spot and keeping track the people and the product wasn't that easy. My father and uncle ray could keep track of every penny and every pound of product in their head.
I was chill'in at the crib late Friday night. When the doorbell rang. I never walked to the door with out my piece. My uncle gave me a 9mm semi automatic as a gift for my birthday. When I look through the peep hole I saw this girl standing there looking angry.
"What the fuck do you want," I said through the closed door way.
"Hi... my name is Angel... can I talk to you for a minute." She said in a soft voice.
.... There is more of this story ...