you?” Alonzo called after him.
“For these niggaz?” Ashanti laughed. “I doubt it. Niggaz know how I give it up; give me mine or pose for that white line,” he patted his waist where his gun was tucked. “I’m out,” he saluted Alonzo and disappeared down the train station stairs.
SEVEN
B EFORE TAKING CARE OF HIS BUSINESS A SHANTI stopped by his small apartment to change his clothes. His chest swelled with pride when he put the key into his front door. It was a small kitchenette furnished with only a futon, writing desk, and television, but it was more than he’d ever had in the past. Every place he ever laid his head was always someone else’s place and he was at their mercy, but this apartment was his. It was the first time he had ever owned anything, and he had King James to thank for it.
After seeing him in action, King James took Ashanti under his wing and made him a part of the organization. There was too much traffic going in and out of the apartment where Ashanti was renting a room, so King hooked him up with an apartment of his own to hold down. The gesture meant the world to Ashanti, but to King, it was just his way of looking out for his family. He knew Ashanti’s twisted story, a story not too unlike his own, so he understood his pain. In addition, Ashanti was a loyal soldier and would bust his gun without having to be told to, which was something King both loved and hatedabout Ashanti. He was a child of the streets and wore it on his arm like a badge of honor. Sometimes King and Lakim would get frustrated with Ashanti, but never Alonzo. He was patient with him, teaching Ashanti the tricks of the trade as he knew it.
Alonzo was one of the coolest dudes Ashanti had ever met, but there was also a dark side to him that Ashanti had seen firsthand. Ashanti silently watched the battle between Alonzo and Zo-Pound, and it had saddened him because he knew the eventual outcome. He watched the same internal struggle tear his best friend Animal to pieces before eventually becoming his undoing. Though Ashanti never fully bought into the rumors of Animal’s demise, a part of him was eased to hear it. The demons that rode Animal’s soul could no longer haunt him.
After taking a quick shower to wash off any leftover gunpowder residue, Ashanti dressed in blue jeans, a white thermal, and Yankee fitted, which he wore pulled low. After checking himself in the mirror he headed for the door. As an afterthought, he grabbed his gun and tucked it into the front of his pants. He doubted he would need it where he was going, but it was better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it, so he wasn’t taking any chances. On the way out, he stopped and looked at the picture of him, Animal, Brasco, and Nef, sitting on a project bench. Animal was holding up the magazine cover with him on it. It had been one of the last times they’d all been together before all the bullshit that had torn them apart.
“Protect me from my enemies, seen and unseen,” Ashanti placed his hand over the picture and left the apartment.
The train ride to Brooklyn was relatively quick. Ashanti came out of the train station and got his bearings before starting outin search of the address scribbled on the back of the business card he was holding.
The building wasn’t too hard to find because you could smell the weed smoke as soon as you turned into the block. Ashanti let himself in the gate and rang the doorbell. For as loud as the music was playing on the other side of the door he wasn’t sure if they could hear him so he banged on the door with his fist. A few seconds later the door was snatched open and Ashanti found himself confronted by a dangerous-looking cat whose face appeared to be locked into a permanent scowl.
“What it do, Blood?” the man scowled down at the shorter Ashanti.
“All is well. What’s popping, Devil?” Ashanti extended his hand.
The man called Devil stared down at Ashanti’s outstretched hand
“For these niggaz?” Ashanti laughed. “I doubt it. Niggaz know how I give it up; give me mine or pose for that white line,” he patted his waist where his gun was tucked. “I’m out,” he saluted Alonzo and disappeared down the train station stairs.
SEVEN
B EFORE TAKING CARE OF HIS BUSINESS A SHANTI stopped by his small apartment to change his clothes. His chest swelled with pride when he put the key into his front door. It was a small kitchenette furnished with only a futon, writing desk, and television, but it was more than he’d ever had in the past. Every place he ever laid his head was always someone else’s place and he was at their mercy, but this apartment was his. It was the first time he had ever owned anything, and he had King James to thank for it.
After seeing him in action, King James took Ashanti under his wing and made him a part of the organization. There was too much traffic going in and out of the apartment where Ashanti was renting a room, so King hooked him up with an apartment of his own to hold down. The gesture meant the world to Ashanti, but to King, it was just his way of looking out for his family. He knew Ashanti’s twisted story, a story not too unlike his own, so he understood his pain. In addition, Ashanti was a loyal soldier and would bust his gun without having to be told to, which was something King both loved and hatedabout Ashanti. He was a child of the streets and wore it on his arm like a badge of honor. Sometimes King and Lakim would get frustrated with Ashanti, but never Alonzo. He was patient with him, teaching Ashanti the tricks of the trade as he knew it.
Alonzo was one of the coolest dudes Ashanti had ever met, but there was also a dark side to him that Ashanti had seen firsthand. Ashanti silently watched the battle between Alonzo and Zo-Pound, and it had saddened him because he knew the eventual outcome. He watched the same internal struggle tear his best friend Animal to pieces before eventually becoming his undoing. Though Ashanti never fully bought into the rumors of Animal’s demise, a part of him was eased to hear it. The demons that rode Animal’s soul could no longer haunt him.
After taking a quick shower to wash off any leftover gunpowder residue, Ashanti dressed in blue jeans, a white thermal, and Yankee fitted, which he wore pulled low. After checking himself in the mirror he headed for the door. As an afterthought, he grabbed his gun and tucked it into the front of his pants. He doubted he would need it where he was going, but it was better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it, so he wasn’t taking any chances. On the way out, he stopped and looked at the picture of him, Animal, Brasco, and Nef, sitting on a project bench. Animal was holding up the magazine cover with him on it. It had been one of the last times they’d all been together before all the bullshit that had torn them apart.
“Protect me from my enemies, seen and unseen,” Ashanti placed his hand over the picture and left the apartment.
The train ride to Brooklyn was relatively quick. Ashanti came out of the train station and got his bearings before starting outin search of the address scribbled on the back of the business card he was holding.
The building wasn’t too hard to find because you could smell the weed smoke as soon as you turned into the block. Ashanti let himself in the gate and rang the doorbell. For as loud as the music was playing on the other side of the door he wasn’t sure if they could hear him so he banged on the door with his fist. A few seconds later the door was snatched open and Ashanti found himself confronted by a dangerous-looking cat whose face appeared to be locked into a permanent scowl.
“What it do, Blood?” the man scowled down at the shorter Ashanti.
“All is well. What’s popping, Devil?” Ashanti extended his hand.
The man called Devil stared down at Ashanti’s outstretched hand
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