In The Streets I Thrive

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Chapter 6

Business was good for Cece, the money was starting to flow like water ever since Shawn had broken him off with those Bricks. Cece had called up, Saint Johnson, but better known in the streets as, Saint John the Gangsta of Death. Saint John is an old school cat that lives by a different code than what these young wolves live by these days. Saint was loyal to a fault, a trait that Cece respect in a nigga he calls a friend. Saint John was a chocolate-brown, wore his head shaved bald, a full beard trimmed neatly, and always had a toothpick hanging from his lips.

"Why in the hell are you just now reaching out to me, boy?" Scolded the man that taught me everything that I knew about the streets.

Saint, the Gangsta of Death also taught me how to kill a man and exactly how to get away with it.

"I gotta hear that you were out from some little nigga that doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground."

"That's my bad, Saint." I said, "When I first got out all I wanted to do was turned over a new leaf... take my life in a different direction." I said, "I just needed my old life to evaporate, you feel me."

"Including me, huh?" Quizzed Saint. "Yo oldest and most likely the only friend you got."

Saint John shook his head, I did too.

I said, "Yeah, you may be right. But I told you, my bad... Hey, look at this way, you're here now."

"So, what does this mean for that leaf you're trying to turn over?"

Cece laughed a little and replied,

"That shit blew away with the wind."

Saint John smiled and shook his head again.

I told him, "No matter how hard you try to do the right thing, Phylicia has a way of bringing out the worst in people."

"And a city so beautiful gives birth to the worst of us." Retorted Saint.

Cece placed a Key of uncut Coke on the table between them and pushed it across the table towards Saint John. He glared at it for a second, grimaced, and picked it up.

"When you called." Began Saint. "I thought you might need help with a Hit, but I know different."

Saint's truth derailed me for a minute.

I asked, "Are you still in that life?"

"Until I take my last breath." He asked, "Where did you get this dope from?"

"From this Lil-nigga I looked out for way-back-when, he threw me this one, well twelve, but this is the last one."

Saint John brow deepened and he snapped, "Do you know who shit this is?"

"Mine, nigga... Shit- this was bought and paid for."

Saint shook his head.

I uttered, "But I do remember seeing this Logo on some Keys we took off this nigga we Hit back in the day, for fucking this Scarface wannabe old lady." He said, "If I'm correct... she ended up dead too."

"Yeah, that's because I killed her." Allowed Saint. He said, "The Cat that you're referring to name is, Christian French and this dope that you've been peddling is his shit, I got it on good intel that this young cat named Shawn and this Lil-bitch he runs with, stole that shit."

I blinked three times from shock. Now it was starting to make sense as to why Layla was with the nigga at Twilight and why he was practically given this shit away.

"Yeah, boy I know exactly where this dope came from, that's why I should've been the first one you called after he gave you this shit." Saint John added, "And the only reason that Lil-nigga still breathing is because French don't know who stole his shit."

"I stood up from the table and walked over to the mini-bar, fixed two drinks, one for me, and the other for Saint.

"My guess is that the Lil-nigga is trying to shoot you in some type of cross with French, making you out to be his crash-dummy, Kid."

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