Gangsta Bitch Read Free Page B

lucky stars that he didn’t have children. There was no way he would’ve wanted his child to see him in prison. The moment his charges were rattled off and the iron door to his cell slammed shut he’d decided that any and all things associated with the outside world were as dead to him as he was to them. He even refused visits from those dearest to him. It was a hard pill to swallow, but it would’ve been even harder to do his bid with them on his mind. No, to suffer alone was better than to drag others into misery.
    It would be a few minutes before the next bus to the Staten Island ferry came chugging along to pick up the passengers at the end of the line so the freed prisoner decided to do something constructive with his time. Pulling a piece of paper from the pocket of his faded jeans he dropped a quarter in the phone and punched in the number scribbled on it. By the fourth ring he was beginning to get discouraged, but on the fifth someone answered the phone.
    “Yeah,” the voice said, as if the caller was disturbing him.
    “Inmate Brown, what it be like?”
    “Young blood, is that you?” Brown’s voice had lost its edge and was now pleasant.
    “Yeah, man. I’m on the streets.”
    “Damn, they really overturned your shit?” Brown asked jovially.
    “I got the paperwork to prove it, baby boy. Besides, you know the word of a snitch can’t keep a stand up nigga down,” the young man boasted.
    “At least in your case, Duce,” Brown joked. “How long you been on the streets?”
    “About five minutes, but I’m ready to rock and roll.” Duce assured him.
    “You don’t waste any time do you?”
    “Dawg, they just stole five years of my life. I can’t afford to waste time when I’m still playing catch up.”
    “I hear you, soldier. Tell you what, get yourself settled and give me a call. I got something lined up that you might be interested in, that’s if you’re ready to stomp with the big dawgz?”
    “Nigga, you know my heart don’t pump nothing but ice water. Once I get in the town I’ll hit you back so we can set something up.”
    “Say no more,” Brown said and hung up.
    “One down,” Duce said to no one in particular as he fished around in his pocket for another quarter. He dropped the coin into the slot and punched in another number on the payphone. This time the phone had barely rung twice before someone picked up.
    “Yeah?” a voice answered.
    “Cousin Reggie, what’s good?” Duce said jovially.
    “Who the fuck is this?” Reggie shot back.
    “It’s me, Duce.”
    “Oh, shit the notorious D-Murder,” Reggie said.
    “Come on cuzo that D-Murder shit is for niggaz that ain’t fam, and that cat is laying in the cut until I call him out. You know I’ve always been Duce to you and auntie.”
    “Duce, I ain’t heard from you in ages. How’s life on the inside?”
    “Shit, I wouldn’t know. I’m on the streets.”
    “The streets? I thought they gave you like a hundred years?” Reggie asked suspiciously. Duce was his family, but he’d been there when they handed him the
long walk
at the sentencing.
    “It’s a long story, my nigga, but before you even run the risk of offending me with the question, let me give you the answer. I ain’t snitched on nobody,” Duce told him.
    “Cousin, I didn’t mean it like…”
    “It’s all good, Reg, but check it out, I need a favor from you, son.”
    Reggie sucked his teeth. “Duce, I ain’t spoke to you in five years and the first thing you crack on me for is a favor? Damn, just like a nigga fresh out the pen. Look, I ain’t got no bread so…”
    “Reggie, you should know better than anybody else that I ain’t ever been strapped for no cash. I had more than enough bread tucked away before I got knocked and my paper game is still up. I need you to get me a pair of them knockoff Timbs in a size nine, can you do that for me?”
    By ‘Timbs’, Duce meant
guns
.
    “I don’t know, D. You fresh out the joint so I know you’re hot