Wifey: Part 2

Black Jus smiled. He loved to hear about the failings of his enemies.

“Muthafuckas don’t know what they doin’. See, a nigga like me, I gets that fish scale straight off the boat! You feel me now?” He reached behind a picture frame on the mantle of his granite-finished fireplace and held up a brick of cocaine.

Jasmine smiled.

“Ain’t nobody in New York fuckin’ with the quality of this shit.”

“Jus, you are crazy! You keep them bricks in your crib like that?”

Black Jus nodded once as he put the kilo back behind the picture frame. “It’s different up here. You want anything to drink?” He walked into his kitchen and handed her a Corona before she could even respond and took out a Heineken for himself.

Black Jus opened both bottles, and he then got a lime and cut a piece of it and handed it to Jasmine for her Corona.

“What you mean, it’s different up here?”

“New York City, you got the biggest gang in the world that you going up against, the NYPD. Them NYPD cats is forty thousand cops strong. That shit is like a small muthafuckin’ army. But out here, New Rochelle, they got their own little police department. And that shit is like fuckin’ with Boss Hog and that Dukes of Hazzard shit. You understand what I’m saying?” He laughed.

“Nah, you lost me.”

Black Jus took a swig of his Heineken and then explained to Jasmine that, with a smaller police force like New Rochelle’s, it was real easy to get to the top people in the department and have them on the take.

“Ohhh, okay, I gotchu. So they on the payroll?”

“Exactly.” Black Jus smiled before he guzzled down the rest of the Heineken and cracked open another one.

“I got a two-year-old daughter and a four-year-old son, but word is bond, I done already put about five kids through college already. And all they daddies are cops.”

Jasmine smiled and sipped on her Corona. Having that admission on tape alone was enough to start an investigation into a corrupt police force.

“You heard of diplomatic immunity? What I got up here in Westchester County, I call that shit ‘thugmatic’ immunity. You feel me?” Black Jus laughed.

He walked back into the living room and examined his hair in the mirror. “Yo, I hate the way this muthafucka lined my shit up. Every time my barber ain’t around and I fuck with one of them young barbers, they fuck my shit up!”

Jasmine had no idea why he was complaining because his hair looked perfect, like he could immediately go do a photo shoot for a Sean John ad campaign or something.

“Aight, so let’s talk business. Your man is really moving weight down there in North Carolina or what? What would he need? He ain’t just sticking his toe in the water on some bullshit, is he?”

“I mean, I don’t want to talk for him, but I would say definitely like nine ki’s or better.”

“Nine ki’s?”

Jasmine figured that using some random uneven number like nine was the best way to avoid suspicion. Nico had once told her that undercover cops and feds always made the mistake of trying to buy shit in perfectly even numbers, and to him that was a red flag that would make him proceed with caution.

“Yeah, but if you don’t got nine, then I’m sure he would—”

“Nah, nah, nah, I got it. That ain’t no problem.”

“What part of North Carolina you said he was from again?”

Jasmine began to panic because she couldn’t remember if she had said a particular area, and she didn’t want to make a mistake and get caught in a lie. She blew out air from her lungs.

“Okay, look. Please, whatever you do, when you meet the nigga, don’t relay none of this shit, because he would kick my muthafuckin’ ass.”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t run my mouth like that. What’s up?”

“See, you know them colleges like Duke and the University of North Carolina?”

“Yeah.”