Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 1

Mateo sat down at the kitchen table and opened his laptop. First, he went into his portfolio to look at a few of his investments and saw that Bitcoin was up 5.2%, and things were moving well. He smiled.

After going through several of his portfolios, he started to write in his small journal that he started a few months ago. Mateo was a meticulous individual. He was organized, smart, and believed that the pieces will always fall into the puzzle if you visualize the entire design.

After his early morning routine, he exited his

apartment and took the stairs down to the lower level. He carried a .380, for that just in case, and he carried a few thousand dollars on him.

The first stop on Mateo’s list was to Washington Heights to meet with his weed connect, a cool player named Marty. Marty was a white man small in stature, but very business savvy and influential around town. He wore thick bifocals, always dressed in bohemian clothing, and was a down-to-earth guy.

Mateo parked in front of the brick building near Amsterdam Avenue and entered the five-story structure. He walked up three flights and knocked on apartment door 3F. Marty answered the door with a smile on his face, happy to see a friend and lucrative client at his door.

“Mateo, my friend, c’mon inside,” said Marty with a hug and dap.

Mateo took a seat on the sofa. The décor of the place was neat and comfortable. Marty had a bit of OCD, and he liked things in place and rarely touched. Mateo knew how to move and where to sit.

“What you need from me, my friend?” asked Marty.

Marty considered everyone a friend, but he hardly trusted anyone. Mateo was one of a few allowed at his location in Washington Heights. Seated in the kitchen was Marty’s goon, Large D, who stood six-four with muscles and who was very protective of Marty. It was even rumored that they were lovers. But it wasn’t Mateo’s business. Gay or not, Marty was his connect and they’d been working together for nearly two years.

Mateo reached into his pockets and pulled out a wad of cash and dropped it onto the glass coffee table in front of him.

“I need a ki.”

“Big baller, you are, Mateo. This is your second ki in two weeks,” said Marty gleefully.

“I’m a busy man, Marty.”

“I see, I see.”

Marty picked up the wad of cash and Large D came into the living room to collect and count it. But they both knew Mateo was always correct with the cash. While Mateo waited for his product, Marty happily lit up a joint and asked him, “So, have you looked into those business investments I told you about?”

Mateo nodded. “Yeah. You always on point, Marty, I gotta hand it to you. I put down a few thousand dollars on some cryptocurrencies, and the returns are looking nice.”

“What did I tell you? Digital currency is the wave of the future, and right now I’m sitting on a few hundred grand—money, money, money. I came out the pussy with a dollar bill in my hand,” he joked.

Mateo laughed.

Large D came back into the living room with Mateo’s ki of marijuana. It was potent shit—Kosher Kush. Mateo’s clientele couldn’t get enough of it. Mateo grinned and placed the shrink-wrapped and vacuumed sealed ki in his bag and stood up. Their transaction was complete. What he paid $4,500 for could net him ten grand or more in profit with his customers—supply and demand, it was great business. Mateo and Pyro were moving one to five kilos a month. But it wasn’t much compared to the heavyweights in the game that were moving triple that.

Mateo left the apartment and went back down the stairs and out the lobby doors with his high quality purchase concealed in his bag. He got back into his Range Rover and drove off.

It was back to the Bronx, where he made most of his money. He loved living in the Bronx. Mateo loved the culture, the food, and the music. When he would bring Chanel to the Bronx, it was a different world for her with all the Puerto Ricans around and the numerous Spanish restaurants in the neighborhoods.

At times Chanel felt like she wasn’t in America anymore. Mateo loved bringing her around and introducing her to his peoples, and everyone fell in love with the dark skinned beauty. There were the female haters, though, the ones who wanted Mateo for themselves and felt that he needed to stick with his own kind and not some young black bitch from Brooklyn.

Mateo parked in front of the barbershop on the Grand Concourse. He could see that the inside was already busy with customers and it wasn’t even noon yet. But Spanish Fly Barbershop was a popular place in the neighborhood.

Inside the shop, there were three barbers—two Hispanics and one black male. Each of them had a client in the chair, and seated on the opposite side of the barbers were a half-dozen men waiting to get a haircut. There was a decent sized flat screen mounted nearby to entertain waiting customers, and it played everything from the latest music videos to movies and sports.

The chitchat inside was vibrant and sociable, with laughter and shit talking. The moment Mateo entered the shop, all eyes were on him and he was greeted with love and respect. Mateo gave a few guys dap and said hello to them, and then he went toward the owner of the barbershop. Bolo was a hefty man with some pretty features, including diamond earrings in both ears and dark waves on top of his head that stayed spinning. He had swag and was about his business and his customers.

“What’s good, Mateo?” Bolo greeted with dap and a brotherly embrace. “We good?”

Mateo smiled and nodded. “Yeah. We good.”

“Fellows, excuse us for a minute,” Bolo said to his peoples in the shop.

Bolo and Mateo disappeared into the back of the barbershop, a medium sized break room that could also be transformed into another business for a beautician. It was windowless room and cluttered with a few crates and boxes and black garbage bags.