Chapter One

“Aaaahhh... somebody help me... oooohhh, I’m sorry... I won’t do it no mo’.... please stop!” The dingy-looking, frail crackhead yelled loudly, pleading for mercy as he lay on the ground balled up tight with his arms covering his face and head. He was taking a serious beat down for trying to be slick and pass off some fake money for drugs.

Violently, EP, Hops, Freaky Rel, and Big Gee continued stomping, kicking, and punching the crackhead without conscience.

“Don’t you ever try to play this slick shit again!” EP yelled aggressively as he swung viciously, blow after blow to any part of the crackhead’s body he thought would inflict severe pain.

“I won’t do it again... I swear!” the crackhead cried out desperately. “Aaah!” Another swift kick to the ribs caused him to scream in pain.

“I know goddamn well you won’t!” EP stomped him again to remind him.

After ten agonizing minutes of putting in work, the Bottom Boyz left the crackhead laid out on the ground, viciously beaten down, and moaning in extreme pain. His eyes were swollen and blood trickled from his nose and mouth. Feeling severely woozy, he managed to get up with the help of other crackheads who stood around watching him get his ass beaten.

This was a typical day in the Liberty Arms projects. Like many projects around the world, in every city or town, the picture was painted the same: Section 8 housing, poor living conditions, neglected landscaping, faulty maintenance and negative surroundings. Most commonly, drugs infested the environment. A few families were able to escape the belly of the beast. While others played the hand they were dealt with and did the unimaginable trying to survive.

The Liberty Arms projects; known as “LA”, was common ground to those less fortunate. Practically every day, each complex was filled with groups of men and women, both young and old, and children doing what they do to pass the day. Drama came with the territory. As a result, everybody minded their own business. In the projects, nothing went on that was out of the ordinary.

For the Bottom Boyz, every day of the week was literally the same ̶ straight thuggin’ and hustlin’. Unfortunately, they were small fish in a big pond. None of them bothered to grasp what it took to soar to the top in the drug game. Although they all had dreams of making it big one day, they only hustled within their means; just enough for a fresh pair of sneakers, designer gear, or strictly splurging and blowing money on unnecessary bullshit. Then they were back on the grind for the same exact thing the next day.

EP, Freaky Rel, Hops, and Big Gee never looked beyond week to week. The kibble-n-bits they were used to didn’t add up for the risk they were taking. The sad thing about the whole situation was they had every opportunity to “put their pockets on swole” but lacked the know-how to make the best of a sweet situation.

The name Bottom Boyz originated from the lower section of the projects where the crew operated.

The group of young hustlers stood around, shirtless or in wife beaters, hanging out at their usual spot getting their grind on.

“KJ shoulda been here a long time ago,” Hops said. He was growing impatient because of the wait. “How much dope you got left?” He asked EP.

“I ain’t got shit. I just sold out a few minutes ago,” EP answered, “But that still put me a lil short.”

What else is new? Hops thought.

“What about y’all?” Hops directed the question to Big Gee and Freaky Rel.

“I’m down to my last two twenties,” Big Gee said keeping a watchful eye for any dope fiends coming to make a buy.

“Me too!” Freaky Rel shouted. “Wuz up on that nigga KJ? When he gon’ get here?” He was becoming impatient as well.

“Shit, I don’t know what the holdup is on that nigga. He hit me back ‘bout thirty minutes ago sayin he was on his way,” Hops said, wondering what was taking KJ so long.

“That nigga need to hurry up. Fuck around and I’ll go re-up somewhere else,” EP was extremely frustrated. “He always pressin’ a nigga ‘bout havin’ his paper right, but he can’t get the work here when a nigga need it. Here it is, rollin’ like a bitch out here and this nigga wanna play games.”

In all honesty, EP should have been the last motherfucker complaining. He was usually the main one to fuck up or come short, making it hard for the rest of the crew to get some extra work. Actually, each member of the Bottom Boyz clique had a tendency to fuck up, but EP, at times, seemed as if he didn’t give a damn.

“I’m tryna get to the mall befo’ it’s too late so I can cop them new J’s I seen the other day,” EP added.

“Straight up!” Hops agreed. “This nigga bullshittin’! I might need to call his ass back and see wuz up.”

Out of his peripheral, EP saw a smoker pull up.

“Shit!” EP cursed to himself for not having any dope.

The smoker walked up.

“Y’all got somethin’?”

“Whatchu need?” Big Gee asked while digging in his pockets, pulling out a small plastic baggy.

“Gimme somethin’ for thirty.”

“Here you go.” Big Gee dropped the last of his rocks in the smoker’s hand.

The smoker’s eyes widened at the sight of the two huge rocks. Just like any fiend deliberately trying to beat the next, he popped one of the rocks in half with the edge of his fingernail and threw the smaller piece in his mouth, then handed Big Gee some wadded up money, quickly turned, and practically ran away.

“Hold up lil’ daddy, let me count this.” Big Gee hollered before the smoker got too far.

He wanted to make sure the money was right. Not even thirty minutes ago, EP damn near got beat by the same exact exchange. Being smart, Big Gee wasn’t trying to fall for the same trick. Otherwise the smoker would end up like the last one, all behind playing games.

“A’ight you can roll,” he said after seeing the money was all there.

Immediately, the smoker left in a dope fiend’s stride.

In minutes, everyone had completely sold out.

“This some ho’ ass shit, my nigga!” Hops shouted angrily after taking a look at his watch and noticing thirty more minutes had passed.

“Whats takin’ this nigga so goddamn long?” Hops continued. “I can’t stand to be out here seein’ all this money roll through and can’t make none, ‘cause another nigga wanna take his sweet ass time to come serve a nigga. I swear...” His voice trailed off as he got lost in thought which wasn’t good.

“Now you see the shit I be stressin’. I told y’all fools a long time ago we shoulda been done peeled,” he began counting the names on his fingers, “KJ, Pee Wee, his crew and that ho’ ass Colombian Paco. All of ’em do too much cappin’ for me!” EP vented his frustration.

Don’t get it twisted, the young nigga was ’bout it. He was down to get his issue the ski mask way if it came down to it.

Everyone was silent for a moment as each one of the Bottom Boyz contemplated his own theory. Shit was starting to make sense.

“Call that nigga back and see how much longer he gon’ take,” EP told Hops.

The Bottom Boyz were tighter than frog pussy. They had each other’s back under any circumstance ̶ big or little, right or wrong. They were all that was left of the childhood friends that grew up in the struggle of the projects. Some were fortunate enough to move on to a better life. The ones who weren’t so lucky were bred to adapt to their surroundings and cope.

EP considered himself to be the player. He was dark-skinned with dimples and always smiling, showing off a mouth full of platinum and diamonds. Despite his average good looks and pleasant smile, EP loved drama. His motto was “Don’t talk about it, be about it!” Next, it was getting dead on a nigga’s ass.

Hops was the athlete. He had mad game on the basketball court. Because of his leaping abilities, Hops became the nickname that replaced his government name, Braylon. Standing at 6 ׳ 6 ״ , he was destined to follow the footsteps of Kobe, Lebron, KG, and others. It’s funny how dreams fade away. A poverty-stricken upbringing quickly made Hops lose focus on his natural talents and allow the negativity of the hood detour his dreams of becoming a NBA star. Hops was trigger happy. He wouldn’t think twice about busting a cap in a nigga ass. With him, it was shoot first and ask questions later.

Big Gee was the muscle of the bunch. He was a massive 6 ׳ 2 ״ , bald-headed, red nigga with gold grills on the top and bottom. Several niggas around the hood referred to him as a smaller version of Suge Knight.

Freaky Rel stood at 5 ׳ 11 ״ with a brown complexion. He wore a small, neatly tapered afro. Trickin’ was in his nature. Pussy continuously stayed on his mind. He often bragged of the lengths he was willing to go to please a woman. His overzealous sexual nature soon earned him the nickname Freaky Rel.

Shay sat on the couch in her apartment peering mindlessly at the small TV screen. Her four-year-old daughter, Paris, sat on the floor playing mommy to her assortment of dolls.

Though it appeared she was totally content, Shay’s mind was somewhere else. She was nurturing a surefire plan of what it was going to take to get back to her way of life.

Since moving in three weeks ago, she had high hopes that each day would be better. Unfortunately, her brighter tomorrows haven’t been able to find her.

Having survived the worst of Hurricane Katrina, Shay was very appreciative of the small town of Tyler, located in East Texas approximately 85 miles from the Louisiana state line. The local churches assisted her with temporary living space and clothing until FEMA was able to provide her a fully furnished apartment.

Like Shay, many evacuees sought refuge in any city or town that was willing to help out. As the growing number increased, FEMA assisted with adequate housing and temporary funding to those in desperate need. New Orleans residents were in search of a new start.

Being stuck in a new town was a daily adjustment for Shay and being the new chick on the block made making moves far more difficult. First, she had to peep who was who. She wasn’t too quick to make friends, only acquaintances. Regardless of how careful she was not to step on anyone’s toes, she was getting no love from the hood-rats in the projects. They were hatin’ on her big time because so many niggas were sweating her for some play.

Others’ dislike was the least bit of her worries. Now, there were higher obstacles to climb. She was determined to stop at nothing until she got to the top. Shay was thankful that she and her daughter were alive, had a roof over their heads and for the few dollars FEMA provided; however that wasn’t enough for her. Shay was looking for the kind of financial support that a regular job wouldn’t be able to provide.

Shay was use to top notch shit ̶ Gucci, Prada, DKNY, Dolce and Gabanna, Chanel and Luis Vuitton ̶ just to name a few. Hustlers went out of their way to accommodate her every need. If not, she was down for whatever it took to abandon the struggle. Since Hurricane Katrina, she had been forced back into the same slump she fought so hard many years ago to break away from.

“Damn, I need to come up!” she said to herself after having a flashback of all that was left behind.

Though the pathway appeared dim, there was still hope. Shay was counting on her brother to arrive in a matter of days; then, all her worries would be over. He was bound to pop shit off. For years, her older brother, Monk, was the one person she could always count on. He made sure she was never without. Together, they formed the perfect team. He gave her the game and taught her how to hustle niggas. Soon it became her only way of survival. She was determined to get back to the only thing she knew. Right now, the only thing holding her back was finding the nigga with the biggest pockets. In the meantime, Shay had to keep her eyes and ears open to the projects, for that right lick that would guarantee shed bounced back.

Completely overloaded with thought, Shay felt a need to get out the house. Briefly, she thought about testing the waters with some of the nickel-and-dimers in the projects that tried to talk to her, but she kept giving them the cold shoulder, because they were rookies in her game. Looking at the picture clearer, she figured enough small fish will keep her fed until a big catch comes along.

After locking the door behind her, Shay and Paris walked hand-in-hand down the sidewalk looking around at the everyday occurrences in the projects. At a distance, a stray cat piqued her interest. Shay watched the feline wander aimlessly as if taking the days as they come. In a sense, she could relate. Though they were different breeds they were in the same situation. They were both scratching to survive.

Soon her attention was captured by loud music. As she turned her head she noticed a fairly late model Chevy pulling into the entrance of the projects.

Chapter Two

The bass from KJ’s ’81 Box Chevy had everyone’s attention when he pulled into the Bottom. He parked and then hopped out. He was rolling incognito to keep the heat off him from the police. His arrival was an hour and a half late after promising he was on his way the last time he talked with Hops.

He, too, was a product of Liberty Arms. Fortunately for him and his younger brother, Pee Wee, they managed to slip through the cracks. Thanks to the dope game KJ’s new found wealth opened up many avenues for him and his family. Ever since KJ entered the dope game three years ago, he’d had visions of living a lavish lifestyle. Soon after he worked his first kilo of cocaine, he began living the ballers dream ̶ big money, fancy cars, nice houses, fine women, ̶ the best of everything. Being the go getter that he was, he made sure he didn’t want for anything.

“What up!” KJ said, dapping Hops, Big Gee, Freaky Rel, and lastly EP.

“Waitin’ on you nigga!” Hops said with a bit of sarcasm. Passing the blunt to KJ he asked, “You wanna hit this?”

KJ grabbed the blunt and took a hit.

Totally not in the mood for friendly formalities, EP said in angry tone, “Yo’ homeboy, you bring what a nigga ask fa’?” He was already upset about having to wait so long. Therefore, he was in no mood to further delay his hustle.

“Yeah, I got y’all.” KJ was trying to feel out EP’s mood.

He took a final but strong drag on the blunt then handed it to the next person in rotation. Slightly coughing he said, “Where y’all wanna do this?”

“Shit, right here!” EP said aloud seeming to be in some kind of hurry.

Reacting from reflex, KJ looked around the projects nervously. “Man, is you crazy? Hot as it is ‘round here, you think I’m fix’n ta pull out some work right here in the open. You got life and bullshit fucked up!”

“Well fuck it then, scary ass nigga!” EP grinned. “Let’s go to my crib.”

Cautiously, KJ went to his car, opened the passenger door, reached inside, and pulled out a large plastic bag filled with crack cocaine from the stash spot beneath the driver’s seat. He quickly stuffed the bag in his pants. “Let’s do this.”

At EP’s mother’s apartment, one by one, KJ served the crew individual packs and retrieved the money that was owed.

Counting EP’s money, KJ said, “This shit short.” He frowned, disapprovingly. “Goddamn E, wuz up?” He looked up at EP from where he sat on the couch.

“Man, don’t start that shit!” EP wasn’t in the mood to hear it. “It ain’t nothin’ but one hunn’ed dollars. That oughta be small to a giant.”

“Nigga small shit adds up, too!” KJ raised his voice, letting EP know his statement was beside the point.

Big Gee, Freaky Rel, and Hops agreed it was time to leave.

Butting in, Big Gee said, “Say y’all, we out.” The three of them hit the door in a hurry to grind. Time was money.

Disregarding KJ’s anger, EP peep the few slabs of leftover ‘yay’ that were lying on the table.

“Check this out...I know I’m short. Why don’t you front a nigga the rest of that?” EP pointed to the table.

KJ looked at the remaining dope. You must be outta yo’ goddamn mind! KJ thought.

So many times in the past he tried to help his child hood homies get some real money but, time and time again, they shitted on him. The way he looked at it, he was just about out of giving chances.

“C’mon dawg... you can’t be serious,” KJ couldn’t believe the nerve of EP to even ask for anything extra.

“You can’t come right with what I’m already givin’ you and now you want me to give you somethin’ extra... Shiiiit...“KJ had to force a laugh to keep from cussing him out.

Oh bitch ass nigga, keep bullshittin’. You gon’ make me take that shit! EP thought knowing KJ didn’t have the fight in him to go toe to toe with him.

“Gone with that bullshit, dawg. You know I be lookin’ out for my mama and shit. She gotta nigga payin’ bills and all kind of other bullshit! That’s why I be short all the time.” He was using his mother as leverage.

EP’s ploy worked. Putting his mother in the equation helped soften KJ’s stance.

“A’ight nigga,” KJ said, finally giving in. “I’mma give yo’ ass one mo’ shot,” He reached in the bag and tossed a half ounce at EP.

EP caught the slab out the air and eyed it in the palm of his hand as if it was some foreign object. Is this it? All the mothafuckin’ dope this nigga got and he wanna gimme this lil’ ass shit. I’m sick of this mark ass dude chumpin’ me like I’mma sucka, EP thought. He was disappointed.

He figured their long-time friendship was worth more than the half ounce he held in his hand.

The more money KJ got, the more EP despised his wealth. Some would call it hate but EP blamed it on KJ forgetting where he came from. He felt KJ needed a serious wake-up call to get his mind right. And he knew just the way to knock him off his high horse and bring him back to reality. EP remained cool, bottling his anger.

“How much?” EP asked, cutting his eyes at KJ.

“Since it’s you, gimme three hunn’ed.” KJ looked at EP as if saying take it or leave it.

EP hesitated to answer. You act like you doin’ a nigga a big favor! EP thought looking at the half ounce while fumbling it around in his hand. His very intention was flipping the money he made off the dope, simply because he felt like he was getting crumbed. In all honesty, KJ would be lucky if he got any money back at all.

“Bet!” EP lied. “Just gimme ‘bout a week on everythang.” They dapped.

“I’m lettin’ you know, if you fuck up this time you gon’ have to start buying yo’ own shit. ‘Cause I ain’t gon’ keep frontin’ you and keep losin’.”

“Didn’t I say I gotcha?” EP was becoming mad at KJ for rambling on about the same thing.

“I’m just sayin’!”

“Nigga, I’m just sayin’!” EP barked to let KJ know he was through with the discussion.

KJ let it go when he noticed EP’s expression. He knew the nigga was a damn fool at times. He sure as hell didn’t won’t to give EP any motive to fuck over his money.

EP went to the back and stashed the dope in his bedroom. Afterwards, he walked KJ out to his car. Quickly, KJ stashed the remainder of the dope back in the stash spot underneath the seat. To kill time, they stood next to KJ’s car, chatting about the talk of the hood or any events coming up in the week.

After fifteen minutes had passed, KJ was ready to bounce. That’s when he noticed an unfamiliar female crossing the parking lot. She was walking with a small child. “Damn nigga, who is that?” KJ asked. He watched her in amazement.

EP looked in Shay’s direction. She was definitely eye candy. Nothing about her could go unnoticed. Her looks alone intimidated many. Some niggas thought they didn’t stand a chance with a bitch like her. If you weren’t in her class, she didn’t hesitate to let you know. Money was the only way to her heart. Shay was what the hood called a “yella hamma.” She had gray eyes and a shapely body. She possessed a unique beauty most hood niggas only saw on TV.

“That’s Shay bitch ass! She one of them New Orleans evacuees,” EP said dryly. He disliked her because she shot him down when he first tried to talk to her. Little did he know, she wasn’t your average ‘just-wanna-be-down’ type of broad.

“How long she been livin’ over here?” KJ wanted to know more about her. “Hell, I might can be of some help if you say she one of them New Orleans evacuees.” He knew for sure a lot of evacuees were down on their luck. He saw Shay as easy prey.

“’Bout three weeks now.” EP smirked. “Man, she ain’t shit. I done already tried to hit that. She ain’t comin’ off a damn thang!”

“Oh yeah,” KJ disregarded EP’s discouraging words. He continued to eye Shay from a distance. “Maybe yo’ game ain’t as tight as mine.” He pulled out a fat bank roll from his pocket. “Nine times out of ten this will make the bitch bite.” He fanned-out a slew of hundreds.

EP frowned sinisterly, again having those same thoughts of jacking KJ. Yeah nigga, yo’ day comin’! He couldn’t take his eyes off the money.

KJ stuffed the money back in his pocket and headed towards Shay.

“Yo’... Shay!“ he hollered, causing her to turn around abruptly. Briskly, he ran to catch up to her.

Slightly disinterested, Shay slowed her steps as she watched him coming her way. Out of all the dudes who tried to talk to her, KJ’s was a new face. As he got closer, something about him caught her attention. Compared to the other hustlers she came into contact with, she could tell he was different. Just when circumstances were looking grim, along came a life line to pull her back up.

In Shay’s eyes, KJ wasn’t that attractive. But what she was interested in was far more than appearance. KJ was extremely dark in complexion with sunken, dismal eyes. His enlarged head turned some women away at first sight. Despite his slight ugliness, his pockets were deep. And these days, money tends to make ugly niggas look good. Look at Flava Flav!

“How you know my name?” she asked in her heavy New Orleans accent while standing holding her daughter’s hand and resting her other hand at her hip.

“Damn, is it a crime to know yo’ name?” he said, jokingly.

“I didn’t say all that. But you don’t know me.”

“I understand all that. That’s the whole purpose of me stoppin’ you ̶ to see if we can change all that.”

Instantly, Shay was drawn in by his approach.

“So wuz on yo’ mind?“ she asked, playing the game purposely trying to feel him out.

“Shit... you!” He proclaimed.

“Mmmmgghh, I guess.” She scrunched her lips on one side. Posing really sexily she said, “Lemme give it to you real...you seem to be cool and all and I dig yo’ style and everythang and from the looks of you, you look to have it goin’ on. But understand this, a bitch like me done seen and heard it all. Right now I’m on hard times and as you can see...” She nodded down at her daughter. “I have a child to take care of. Just like all the rest of these niggas around here,” She waved her hand in the air for emphasis, “you just like the rest of ’em; you just wanna fuck! If that’s the case, I’m cool with it, but so you’ll know, money moves me if you thinkin’ ‘bout makin’ any progress here.” She was very outspoken. To get her point across , she finished by saying, “So if you feel I’m still worth all the time you just put into me, then make sho’ yo’ pockets is right. Ya heard me!”

KJ was left speechless as he searched his mental notebook for a reply. Over the years, he had run into a lot of women, but none of them were this frank. He was a bit intimidated by her straightforwardness.

“Already... I can respect that,” KJ knew it was going to take a little more effort than he thought. As fine as she was, he wasn’t about to let her gold digger’s anthem stand in the way of being the first one to tap that out of town ass.

“But peep this... for now, I’m just wanna get to know ya’. Maybe get together on a day when you ain’t doin’ nothin’; hang out or grab a bite to eat. It’s on you,” he added, coming off as if the pussy was the least thing from his mind.

Shay was silent, taking in his aura. Playing as many niggas as she has, she could see the anticipation in his eyes. Just those few minutes she stood talking to KJ, she could tell there he was willing to do anything to win. Basically, Shay knew she was the ‘dime’ all niggas fantasized about. Her brother taught her a long time ago all niggas fall weak over a bad bitch. Granted, every player had to come with their “A” game if they were expecting to win. Usually, she didn’t give in too easily until her selection was confirmed but something about KJ told her he was the big catch she had been waiting for. Just by his persona, she could tell he was a sucker for pussy and overly generous when it came to dropping cash.

Stuck in a new town and not knowing what the next day might bring, reeling in KJ was the ideal ticket to better days. Until her brother came up with a lick to make living a whole lot better, Shay had to stick with the script she knew best.

Making a decision, she answered, “I ain’t got a problem with that. Just gimme a number where I can reach you.”

KJ recited his cell phone number, hoping like hell she saved it in her phone. Shay was a catch he didn’t won’t to let get away. He wanted to be the first to brag to the fellas, he got the “drawers.” To add insurance on a for sure hook up, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a knot.

“Since you bouncin’ back from rough times, here, treat yo’self on me.”

He gave her five one hundred dollar bills. Surprised, she lit up like a Christmas tree. The quickest way to a woman’s heart, he thought smiling.

Seeing her shocked reaction, he added, “And its mo’ where that came from. It’s all on you to keep in touch.”

“Oh, I won’t forget. Trust and believe that!” she said, assuringly. Got me one, she thought as she visualized the big payoff.

Before parting ways, KJ spent a few minutes getting acquainted with Shay’s daughter. Like all the rest of the men she encountered, Paris took to him with all smiles, as if following her mother’s lead. Sad to say, watching Shay in the act so many times, her conniving theatrics were rubbing off on Paris.

“Well I hope this ain’t the last of us,” KJ said.

Walking off, she said over her shoulder, “Like I said, I’ll call you.”

KJ admired her ass for a minute then turned around and went to his car. The Bottom Boys were back on the scene, posted, and serving fiends. They were all laughing and cracking on KJ.

“You think you doin’ some helluva mackin. How much you give the bitch? And don’t lie, ‘cause we seen you break the bitch off somethin’.” Freaky Rel joked.

The rest of the fellas all laughed. It was no secret that KJ had a big reputation for paying a female.

“Conversation rules the nation,” KJ was confident he had the gift of gab.

Freaky Rel twisted his mouth up on one side amused at KJ’s playalistic gibberish.

“Nigga please, if anythang, yo’ pockets was the one doin’ all the talkin’.” Freaky Rel steady teased.

“You niggas just hatin’, because I won the bitch and y’all ain’t even come close,” KJ stated, smiling as he drowned himself in the moment. Then he walked to his car and got in. Cranking his beats, he let the windows down and yelled out singing along with the rap song, “Get on my level....get on my level.”

EP looked at the rest of the Bottom Boys feeling as if KJ was using his status as a form of disrespect. They watched as he drove off.

“Say dawg, bullshit ain’t nothin’, we need to look at that nigga. Straight up!” EP was serious as ever, speaking more out of envy than anything.

Hops shook his head thinking the same thing as he pounded fists with EP.

“What you think we oughta do?” Hop asked.

EP let the question linger in his head for now.

Chapter Three

It didn’t take long for Shay to call KJ. His extreme generosity proved to be the turning point. For weeks, they spent some part of each day together.

Unbeknownst to Shay, KJ was very cautious. He picked and chose the times to kick it with her to avoid being caught in the act by one of his other women who supposedly wore the title of “wifey.”

The way KJ was kicking out cash, Shay didn’t give a damn if he was fuckin’ a hundred more bitches as long as she got hers. In her game, hustling a nigga for loot came with no emotional attachment whatsoever.

The cold thing about it was, KJ barely knew her and already put her up in a car to drive, helped out with daycare for her daughter, and quickly became a vital role in her life financially. Based on this alone, some would think he was trying to wife the triflin’ whore.

To any other nigga viewing things from the sidelines, especially a broke mothafucker, it would seem as if he was giving all players a bad name. For those who didn’t know, capping with a broad is what he do. Most call it tricking but KJ called it charming a chick.

Any chance he could get, he flaunted her around the fellas affiliated with his crew just to hi-side, or better yet, stroke his male ego. Keeping a bad chick by his side was just another reason to keep his name in a nigga mouth. For some bullshit reason, KJ loved the spotlight.

In short time, Shay was proven to be a keeper. She saw big things happening. Locking KJ in helped put her doing bad days behind her. Still, there was more work to be done. Everyday, she raised the bar a notch higher. Being a connoisseur of hustling niggas, she played the “ridin’ his dick” role like a pro. Gradually, she was pushing her way from the bottom to the top of the list. And KJ was too green to peep game.

Since Shay was living in a new town with no family around and limited financial support, KJ thought he had enough leverage to play on her vulnerabilities. Her acceptance took her way over the edge. He assumed she was sprung. For Shay the charade went with the plan to capitalize on what he figured was “macking her off her feet.”

KJ pulled his Acura into the driveway at one of his houses located on Tournament Street that he, Pee Wee, and the crew named the Spot. Mainly, this particular house was used to kick it, discuss business, and enjoy female entertainment or sexual companionship. Here, many women have shared the same in common: sex!

As KJ and Shay walked through the front door, they saw Botley, an old school partner and right-hand man to KJ, seated in the living room with a table full of money he was counting.

Botley glanced up at them quickly. Seeing who it was, he immediately picked up where he left off.

“What up playboy?” KJ said walking up to the table. Never looking up, he gave KJ a head nod and kept on counting.

“Hey, Botley,” Shay spoke in a sweet, sexy voice as she took a seat in the chair adjacent from where Botley was sitting.

“Wuz up girl?” Botley couldn’t resist speaking back to her as he glanced over at her, admiring her beauty. He definitely wouldn’t mind tappin’ that ass.

The majority of the women KJ was involved with took a liking to Botley because of his humorous antics and hip demeanor. For a man in his early fifties, he could relate to everything that came with the younger generation.

Let him tell it, Botley was a player by all means. He stood at 5 ׳ 7 ״ with a medium, stocky build, and a touch of gray throughout his hair, beard, and mustache. Always a step ahead of the game, he was no slouch when it came to making major moves. All through his adult life, he was exposed to every kind of hustle there is. And even dibble and dabble with numerous drugs on several occasions. Still those choices didn’t affect his multifaceted understanding on the basics of life. Constantly, he stayed in KJ’s ear, grooming him to all the unknowns. So many times, he would quote, “The only way life can be hard is ‘cause you let it be. As long as you keep these necessary things in the right perspective; will or won’t, do or don’t, stop or go, yes or no! Once you understand that part of life it will always stay the same, I guarantee all decisions will remain simple.”

Every so often, Botley used various quotes of his own to blossom KJ’s progression throughout the game. If not, KJ was bound to slip. There might come a time were Botley won’t be there to catch him. So he entrusted in himself to keep KJ laced up in order to keep him on point.

Some credit should go to Botley for KJ’s success. Though he was behind the scenes to a certain extent, as he would call it, he was the brains of the operation. Without his guidance, at times, KJ would do things without thinking clearly.

After Botley finished counting a stack, he neatly placed it on the table next to the other stacks, then reached down in the duffle bag on the floor to grab a smaller bag filled with more money and emptied the contents on the table.

“How much is this so far?” KJ asked, looking down at the money on the table, silently counting the stacks in his head. He knew each one was ten grand.

“So far, I got $120,000,” Botley answered, steadily counting the money in his hand. Never missing a beat, he added, “I don’t know why y’all standin’ ‘round lookin’ at me. Y’all need to grab a pile of this shit and get to countin’.”

He didn’t have to tell Shay twice. She was on it. She dug in the bag, clutching mounds of money and dumping it on the floor in front of her. KJ eyed her suspiciously as he shook his head slightly with a half smile.

KJ had a few women he flat out ‘cut’ for. Those were the ones he made sure had a fully furnished apartment or house, car, and pretty much catered to their every need. However, although his selection was plentiful, there’s always that one that seems to stand out above the rest. It seems as if Shay was in the running to carry the title in a short amount of time.

In the next thirty minutes, the money was all counted and stacked, totaling out to $225,775.

“What you wanna do?” Botley asked KJ, wanting to get the exact number on the amount of birds KJ wanted to buy.

“Wuz left?” KJ wanted to make sure what he had in mind was going to be enough.

“You know I dropped another ‘thang’ off to Skip. So it’s like one and a half left.” He was referring to a kilo and eighteen ounces. “But the way Skip rollin’ shit, he might be callin’ for that by tonight.”

For a few seconds, KJ summarized all the work he fronted out and what was being sold. He wanted to always stay ahead of the game just in case a drought hits.

“Holla at Paco and tell’im you need twelve,” KJ instructed. Botley nodded in agreement. He separated the money he was going to score the kilos with from the rest and placed it to the side.

“What about them boys in LA? You want me to set aside somethin’ for them befo’ I get rid of everythang?” Botley asked.

KJ scrunched his lips up on one side.

“Man please!” KJ had to laugh. He couldn’t seem to find the right words to describe the Bottom Boys’ ill-advised way of hustling. “I don’t know what to say ‘bout them boys. They gon’ forever be broke. On the cool, I’m tired of wastin’ my time runnin’ over there just to get fucked. If I’m lucky, I might leave there with about two-thousand. Sometimes I barely get that, ‘cause they always comin’ short. Since we all grew up together, they keep expectin’ me to give’im somethin’, especially that nigga EP. Them niggas done burned me so many fuckin’ times, its unreal, then have the nerve to talk shit and think that shit cool. I’m this close to cuttin’ them niggas off.” He held his hand up showing the small gap between his thumb and index finger indicating his patience.

All the while, Shay was listening, thinking of the perfect idea to fit her brother into the mix. In no time, Monk will have Liberty Arms sewed up, she thought. She could see Monk sliding right up under the Bottom Boys and taking over the projects.

“You shoulda been done stop fuckin’ wit them niggas!” Botley yelled out gesticulating wildly. “I was wonderin’ when yo’ ass was gon’ wise up. Them niggaz ain’t out to get no real money. They just chasin’ the block. Look how long they been hustlin’ and still scrapin, then look at you. Y’all start doin’ shit all at the same time. They ain’t showed no improvement. If you ask me, runnin’ over there is a waste of time. I can understand if they was movin’ some major work, but hell them niggas so shiesty, you’ll be a fool to even trust’em wit anything bigger that what you already givin’em.” Botley was leaving no stone unturned. Truthfully, he was talking some real shit.

Remaining quiet for a few seconds, KJ thought about what Botley was saying. A whole lot of it made sense. There’ve been many times he wanted to cut his childhood homies off and let them become the next hustler’s headache. But his conscience exceeded his will to be so cold.

“I feel what you sayin.” KJ sighed deeply.

Placing his arm around KJ’s shoulder, Botley said, “Since you been fuckin’ wit’ me, I ain’t never told you nothin’ wrong. Just think...” He looked at KJ eye to eye. “You know for yo’self, Liberty Arms is a money makin’ mothafucka. How you think you come up?” KJ nodded agreeing that Botley was right. “If them niggas was ‘bout they bread, you suppose to be flooding them projects wit’ dope and sit back and make a killin’. I know them yo’ homeboys, but I got a gut feelin’ they got some shit wit’em.”

KJ jerked back, looking at Botley with a blank expression.

“What you mean by that? Them niggas ain’t no threat to me!”

“A’ight, be hardheaded if you wanna be. Everythang ‘bout the game is a threat ̶ yo’ girl, yo’ family, yo’ homeboys, the nigga sittin’ right next to ya’ or even the nigga you trust the most. Let a mothafucka get hungry enough or have they back against a wall then you’ll see quick who becomes a threat. What I’m tellin’ you comes from years and years of life. Listen to what I’m tellin’ ya’... you still a kid to this thang called life. Cause you doin’ grown up shit don’tthink you the man. ‘Cause that’s when you lose focus and begin lettin’ yo’ guards down and befo’ long you’ll start lettin’ any and everybody inside yo’ circle. In this game, slippers count!”

At times, Botley could sound like he was talking just to be talking but, when it came to justifying reason, he was far from being a damn fool. Usually his premonition was something that was worth paying attention to. Let’s hope KJ took heed to his warnings before it’s to late.

On his way to take Shay home, KJ was beating his brain up on how he should handle the Bottom Boys. He couldn’t deny it, they were becoming a headache. Furthermore, everything Botley told him was beginning to bring all the what ifs into a better perspective.

Zoned out, he thought back to what Botley told him earlier. They got some shit wit’em! Sure, he and the Bottom Boys had their fair share of differences, but never in his wildest imagination would he ever see them as a threat. In all actuality, despite moving on to bigger and better things, the way he looked at it, he considered himself to still be a Bottom Boy too.

“KJ!” Shay shouted. “KJ!” she repeated again this time a little louder as she reached over to turn the music down.

“Huh?” he murmured, turning his attention to her. He was so lost in thought that he was unable to hear her calling his name.

“Wuz got you so dazed?” she asked.

“I wuz just thinkin’ bout somethin’ I need to do,” he responded with a lot of skepticism in his voice.

Shay tried to read his expression.

“I don’t wanna sound like I’m in yo’ business but I couldn’t help but overhear you and Botley talkin’ about yo’ boys over at ‘LA’.”

“Yeah, it’s a trip, ain’t it?” KJ grinned just keep the negative thoughts to a minimum.

“Well, what I was thinkin’,” She shifted in the passenger seat to face him, “you know I told you my brother is comin’ down this way pretty soon and...uh... I... maybe y’all can get together and talk.” She stammered her words around what she actually wanted to say.

“You sayin’ yo’ brother hustle?” he asked knowing where she was trying to go with the conversation.

“Like a mothafucka!” she blurted out. “Since you been havin’ all them problems wit yo’ boys, I was just suggesting givin’ my brother a shot at handlin’ up in ‘LA.’ I swear he’ll have that bitch like ‘New Jack City.’” They both laughed. KJ gave everything some thought.

Liberty Arms is a money makin’ mothafucka. How you think you come up? KJ thought back to what Botley told him. If a hustler was down to get his paper, there was no doubt Liberty Arms projects was a gold mine. Unfortunately, EP, Freaky Rel, Hops, and Big Gee were too dumb to see it.

KJ contemplated that if he had the right team set up in the projects handling business like it suppose to be he could make a killing. But at the same time, if he replaced the Bottom Boys with someone else, it would be like taking food off their plates. And he knew hustling was the only thing that kept them fed. Considering his long time friendship with the niggas he grew up with, on KJ’s part, pulling a move to limit their means of hustling would look really shiesty. On the other hand, the game is just like Corporate America, it’s dog-eat-dog. The name of the game is getting money. Anything deemed profitable replaces itself with a blindfold and doesn’t care whose toes get stepped on. That loyalty shit went out the window a long time ago when niggas start giving the game a black eye.

“When yo’ brother s’ppose to hit town?” he asked, wanting to meet and get a feel of him.

“Real soon, hopefully!” She was unsure.

“When he do come, we’ll see wuz up.”

Shay was cool with that. Everything appeared to be falling into place.

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DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three