Dirty Little Angel

YB and Rufus controlled the corners on Brown Street from 38th to 39th Streets. Their operation was a problem for some of the local hustlers around the way. The cousins had a strong connect and a fierce reputation of protecting what was theirs. The wolves came at them plenty of times, but failed to do any damage to their rising drug domain.

YB and Rufus sat in a gleaming Escalade parked across the street from their drug spot, chatting it up. YB took a long pull from a burning spliff and passed it to Rufus. As he exhaled the excess smoke, he looked over at his place of business and watched a few young’uns loitering outside the house.

YB’s eyes lingered on one particular dude, Toy-T. He was known to be associated with Crown and his chicks. YB knew Toy-T wasn’t a threat to him and his business, but it bothered him to see Toy-T around his soldiers.

“What’s on ya mind, YB?” Rufus asked. He took three puffs of the spliff and passed it back to YB.

YB took another drag before saying, “Yo, that’s Toy-T over there, right?”

Rufus looked. “Hell yeah, that’s that faggot nigga! What the fuck he doin’ over here?”

“He ain’t nuthin’, Rufus, probably just stupid,” YB said.

“Man, I should go step to that nigga. That’s Crown’s fuckin’ cousin, and anything that’s associated with Crown needs to get put down,” Rufus said with irritation.

“The nigga only seventeen, Rufus. Let the young’un be,” YB said.

“Let him be? Fuck that shit, YB! You gonna let that nigga step foot on our soil and let the nigga continue to keep breathin’?” Rufus lifted his shirt and pulled the concealed .380 from his waistband.

“Rufus, chill the fuck out! You too hype, nigga. Think for a fuckin’ minute. You ready to go and shoot the nigga in front of the spot where we get money and make it hot on the block and bring police. What da fuck you thinking?”

YB stuffed the gun back into his waistband. “Yeah, you right, my nigga. I’m gonna chill.”

“Toy-T ain’t shit to us. He ain’t never cause me any problems. Let the nigga be, a’ight? He probably tryin’ to cop.”

Rufus nodded. “It’s your world, YB.”

YB looked at his cousin for a moment and then said, “I don’t need to hold your fuckin’ hand in this game, right?”

“Nigga, stop tryin’ to clown me. We family, but don’t clown me, YB,” Rufus snapped.

“Nigga, I’m just sayin’, think before you react sometimes ’cause your actions could cost a nigga money,” YB advised.

“So you the Bill Gates of the game, huh?” Rufus joked.

“I just know how to be subtle sometimes.”

“Subtle? What the fuck that mean?”

YB just shook his head in shame for his cousin. “Nigga, pick up a dictionary once in a while. You might learn a thing or two.”

“Yeah, whatever, nigga. I learn how to make this fuckin’ money and hold down the fuckin’ block, ya heard, early, my nigga. A nigga ain’t got time to read no mutha-fuckin’ dictionary when there is money to be made.”

YB sighed, knowing that there was no putting any sense into his cousin’s head. He was family, but the nigga could get ignorant and his temper could cost them business.

“Anyway, I gotta make this run to my mom’s crib and check and see how she’s doin’,” YB informed Rufus.

“Yo, tell Aunt Monica I said hi.”

“Will do.”

“What you doin’ tonight, anyway?”

“I might go check Magic down at the club,” YB said.

“Again? For what, nigga? You on Magic’s dick like that?”

“Yo, why you so fuckin’ ignorant, Rufus? The nigga is ol’ school; you could learn somethin’ from the nigga, if you just knew how to shut up and listen for once.”