Streets of New York. Mark Anthony

this shit without you, my nigga.”

      “I still say you should leave his punk ass out and bring me in wit’ y’all. I need to get dis money too, nigga,” Uncle Junior chimed in, swaggering into the room behind Promise. His breath was reeking of alcohol.

      “Uncle Junior, look at you. It ain’t even noon yet and you’re halfway drunk, man. Nigga, you stay your ass home. Niggas can’t be having you fuck our shit up.”

      Uncle Junior plopped down on the couch next to Show. Show never liking the nigga, glared at him. Uncle Junior was not a well-liked guy in da hood. He was considered a fuck up to most and a drunk to many. It was a wonder how his woman put up with him. He wasn’t about shit and never would be.

      It was even a shock that the nigga got a bitch to have under his arms at all. Carina, they say she was too nice of a girl to be with a man like Uncle Junior. She was a pretty bitch too. The nigga must’ve got that magic-stick to keep a woman like her around.

      “Uncle Junior, your breath stinks!” Show insulted rising out of his seat and sitting down next to Pooh.

      “Fuck y’all niggas. Y’all mutha-fuckas gonna give me respect in my own damn house,” Junior demanded.

      “Fuck you, drunk,” Show replied. “I wanna see you throw me out.”

      “Youngblood, don’t fuckin’ test me. I don’t give a fuck how drunk you may think I am or how big your fat ass is. I’ll still…”

      “Y’all two just shut da fuck up for now. Dammit! Y’all niggas acting like bitches,” Squeeze shouted.

      “Call your fuckin’ uncle off then, Squeeze,” Show said.

      “Show, chill out. We got business to take care of today. You wanna get this money today? Huh, nigga?”

      “Ahigit, Uncle Junior take your ass in the back room so me and my niggas can talk some business.”

      “Why, it’s my place, nigga! I don’t see you paying rent here,” Junior exclaimed.

      “Nigga, I said take your fuckin’ ass into the back room before I come over there and get real on you,” Squeeze shouted.

      Uncle Junior appeared punk’d, getting screamed on by his own flesh and blood, slowly stood up. He peered around and slowly walked off to the bedroom in the back. Everyone waited and watched, making sure he was gone before getting back to the business at hand.

      “I got word on them niggas that be over on Tompkins and Myrtle. They holding serious weight up in them buildings,” Squeeze informed his niggas. “I’ve been staking the place out regularly.”

      “So what you saying, Squeeze? You ready to hit ‘em up?” Pooh asked.

      “Yeah.”

      “When?”

      “Today.”

      “Nigga is you crazy!” Promise interjected, “We ain’t plan for dis shit. We don’t know what those niggas are holding up in there and how many niggas be up in there. It’s too risky, Squeeze.”

      “Fuck dat! They ain’t packin’ heat like that. Niggas up in them buildings are too laidback. They be thinking niggas can’t get at them. They thinking they can’t get got, Promise. We gotta let ‘em know.”

      “Fuck it, nigga. I’m down for it,” Show said.

      “What about you, Pooh? The money’s there, no question to it. If we don’t get at these niggas today, no telling when might be our next chance.”

      “Fuck it! I’m in too,” Pooh agreed.

      Squeeze looked over at Promise who was still standing, “Promise, we need you, baby. You know we can’t do dis shit without you, nigga. We a team. We get dat money together or we don’t get dat money at all.”

      Promise sighed. “Ahight, yo, I’m in.”

      “My nigga.”

      “You got a plan for dis shit, Squeeze cause I ain’t trying to fuck up getting this money,” Show said putting the cigarette to his lips and taking a quick drag.

      “Of course, nigga. I wouldn’t have brought the shit up if I didn’t.”

      “How we gonna do this?” Pooh questioned.

      “Like I said, them niggas up in the Tompkins housing are too laid-back wit’ their shit. They slipping, baby. Majority of them niggas that be up in there running business in them apartments are young niggas and they pussy. So we ain’t got nuthin’ to worry about.”

      “But who backing them?” Promise asked.

      “Some new nigga from Jersey. He go by the name Nine. And he workin’ wit’ his cousin from Flatbush. He got shit stashed in his cousin’s crib. I say about three or four keys of weed and about half a key of dat powder. They moving shit in and out of the apartment like crazy. Money’s coming in, and lots of it. We ain’t gotta worry about Nine. It’s his cousin we gotta worry about. He got clout but da nigga’s outta town ‘til Thursday so we gotta move early. I got this girl that be up in the buildings. She be giving me the rundown when they be moving and where they be moving they shit. If we hit ‘em up today, we hittin’ the jackpot.”

      “But why hit ‘em in daylight?” Promise asked.

      “It’s too risky during the night. Niggas be runnin’ around at that time. Plus, dats when they expect jackas to come. They more alert during the night. We gotta hit ‘em early today. They ain’t gonna be expecting niggas like us to be comin’ through durin’ broad daylight. I’ve passed there a few times durin’ the day and it be off da hook up in dat bitch. Them young niggas be sitting around playing Game Boy, chattin’ on their cellie, serving customers, and pullin’ bread. They don’t be on point like that. We do it right and we got this money in da bag.”

      “I feel you, Squeeze,” Pooh replied taking a pull from the weed.

      Promise glanced at the time and it was 10:00. He had to pick his daughter up from daycare around five. He prayed that this job would go right. His daughter needed him after school and he couldn’t afford to lose his baby girl over some bullshit.

      “This shit better work, Squeeze. I got my little girl to go home to.”

      “Trust a nigga, Promise. Damn, how many years have we been out here doing this shit, catching niggas slipping and we didn’t fuck up yet? I know what da fuck I’m doing. I ain’t no rookie nigga out here trying to get my dick wet in the game. My shit always comes through,” Squeeze said oozing with confidence.

      Around noon, all four hopped into Squeeze’s truck, a burgundy GMC, and headed down Bedford Ave toward the Tompkins Houses to pull off their heist. Squeeze drove, Show rode shotgun, and Promise and Pooh occupied the backseat. They all were heavily armed. Promise had a .380 and Pooh was always armed with a silver 9mm. Squeeze and Show both had .45s and were ready to use deadly force if it became necessary.

      They reached Tompkins in a short time. Everyone knew their job and was savvy on how to put it in effect. Squeeze stepped outta the truck first. He was parked three blocks away and walked down Tompkins with Show by his side.

      The target was on the 8^th floor, a two-bedroom apartment. Squeeze knew how these young niggas operated their business. It was definitely sloppy and he wondered why these niggas ain’t get got for their shit yet.

      Squeeze approached one of the young hustler’s on the street while he was sitting on a milk crate, talking to some bitch on his phone. He didn’t even notice Squeeze coming until he was up on him.

      “Yo, son, you got dat trees?” Squeeze asked.

      The young hustler looked up and Squeeze didn’t look like a threat, just looked like some average nigga wanting to get high. Of course the young nigga didn’t know his rep.

      “What you want? Choc lit’ or haze?” the young