Niko
2/7/2013
Man it feels good to be home. Everything looks so different. Seems like I've been gone for more than four years. At the same time, I'm glad it's only been four years. I don't know how much longer I would have lasted in Missouri State Penitentiary. I just knew that when I got popped in that raid back in 1992 that I was going to be looking at no less than 15 years. After all, they did find 100 pounds of weed, 35 pounds of cocaine and almost 30 pounds of heroin at the main stash spot. Just so happens no one was inside the building when the raid jumped off. Everybody was outside barbecuing, dancing, and playing games. During the summer holidays my family does what most call a community give back by giving food away in the hood. I had just hollered at a junkie and was walking off when I saw dozens of cars coming from every direction with flashing lights and men jumping out with DEA vests all yelling "Get down on the ground, NOW!!". I didn't know what the fuck was going on. I seems like they sent the feds, the highway patrol, the state, city, and county pd, and muthafucka's that was in training for titles as small as traffic cops to bust the block. I was scared as hell too. I mean, I always knew getting busted was a possibility but so far I had been able to stay under the radar. Shit, I've been slanging since I was 12. You could say it is hereditary because my entire family is involved one way or another. I started off running numbers and dime bags of weed for my grandparents. That only lasted a few months though. Once they knew I was able to move around without bringing attention to myself I was able to get my own work to move. In the beginning, I only got a cut off the profit because I was just a runner. Usually it was $5 for every delivery. Hell, $5 was a lot at 12 years old. Especially if you are making 20 runs a day. Who wouldn't be excited about making $100 a day just for riding their bike around the neighborhood. On the weekends I made as much as $250 since there was no school. My mama wasn't too excited about it at first but she was struggling trying to raise me and my little sister on government assistance. She never had extra money to buy things we wanted and everything she did buy was generic. At 12 years old, it wasn't cool going to school with Wal-Mart or Dollar Store clothes on. And I was one of the popular kids so I had an image to keep. According to state and county records, I was suppose to be part of the schools program that assisted needy children. Once a year, they would take a select bunch of low income kids on a bus trip to PayLess and buy us the grey tennis shoes with the two velcro straps on them and the little mouse on the side called Pac Rats. Nigga's got jumped at recess for shit like that and they couldn't hang with the cool nigga's at school. And I'm a cool nigga. Most of my homies didn't know I was suppose to be on that bus because I never ever got on it. My pops made sure I kept at least two pair of fresh kicks and the latest gear throughout the school year. He just wasn't too big on making sure my mama had money to handle the other shit. She called him a sorry bastard for not helping her out more with me and my sister but to me he was a smooth ass pimp. The females stayed fighting over him. All of them thought they were his main broad but he told me he was just really good at making them all feel special. Turns out he just needed them all to hold his product at their crib. In return, he fucked them real good once or twice a week and gave them a little change here and there to keep them satisfied. That was all he had to do to have them hypnotized under his spell. Seeing how he kept the ladies drooling, phat pockets with knots of money, and stayed fresh with cars and minks and the latest fashion made me want to be just like him. And he was glad to have me as his protege. He was the one who convinced my G'Pop to let me run numbers. I remember my G'Pop's words like it was yesterday… "I'mma try you out boy. See how ya do. You can't be running ya mouth to ya friends or ya mama about what ya doing. You get in, count ya money, do ya drop, you get out, and you bring the money back to me. You have any problems you come get Bull and he'll handle it. If you do good I'll let ya move some big boy shit. But before I give ya tha first job ya gotta swear to the family pact. No matter what happens… even if you get popped… you don't tell NOBODY where ya got ya work from. Ya dig? Us Lawson's ain't no fucking snitches. The police get paid to figure shit out so let them do their fucking job. Ya hear me boy?". I was in a trance and I don't know if it was because I was finally about to get into the family business, the instructions I just got from my own G'Pop to not turn him in if I got caught, or the plaid pants with the silk shirt and gold chains trapped in his nappy chest hair and the matching afro that had me gone. Either way, I took my first package and I hadn't looked back to life before that moment until I had my face in the dirt with the cops knee in my back as he secured those silver bracelets around my wrist. I immediately turned back to that 12 year old innocent little boy and wanted my mama to come and save me. I was 18 and fresh out of high school headed to the state pen. I probably should count myself lucky because before I detoured to serve that junkie I was headed to one of my stash spots to re-up. Had I re-upped, I would have had damn there 100 grams of crack on me. It was the Fourth of July and the streets was booming with junkies wanting to get high for Independence Day. I wanted to make sure I was ready. Since I made the detour they could only charge me with the 10 grams in my pocket. And because I was only 18 and it was my first offense the prosecutor cut me a deal for five years with a requirement to serve four and probation for one if I had good behavior. They released me four months earlier than scheduled due to overcrowding since instead of coming home in June as planned I was released February 1st, the day before my mama's birthday. If I didn't take the plea I was looking at 15 years of my life behind bars.
I've been home for a week now and I've already had more than a few reality checks but the worst of them all was seeing my baby mama. Before I went in, I had this bad red bone chick named Tomicka. She was 5'4 with thick legs, a tight stomach, beautiful thick long black hair, round dark brown eyes and lips that made any man dream of having them wrapped around his dick even if only for one minute. We had been fucking since I was 16 and she was 15. She had just had my daughter, Kaniya two weeks after we graduated. I had just gave her the money to get us an apartment two weeks before the raid. After I got popped, she promised to hold me down with letters and visits and pictures until I finished my bid. We agreed that she would still get the apartment since she had the baby and her mama was an unstable junkie that I didn't want my baby around. I told her I'd have my mama make sure she had what she needed to pay her rent and utilities and take care of the baby until I made it back home. I was one of the smart hustler's. I flossed a little bit but I always put half of my profit away for a rainy day. I knew shit wouldn't be good forever and I didn't want to leave my mama or my girl hanging if I was no longer around. At first the letters came twice a week and I had visits from Tomicka, the baby, and my mama every Saturday morning as promised. After about a year and six months, it was just my daughter and my mama. When I asked where Tomicka was my mama would say, "she claims she had to work" but I could tell by her expression that she didn't believe that shit. Honestly, once the letters went from twice a week to once a month and only discussed how much money she needed I didn't believe it either. Eventually they stopped coming all together. My mama would tell me that Micka started asking for money on a consistent basis to buy Niya things but after about a year it started to become excessive. She went from $50 up to $200- $300 every other day. When my mama told her she would pay the bills directly to the billers and buy all of Niya's necessities herself Micka flipped out and disappeared for a few weeks. One Friday night she showed up with my baby and some bags and told my mama she could raise Niya because she couldn't afford it. Apparently, after a year of cold sheets Tomicka decided she needed somebody new so she started fucking with this up and coming baller named Fred. She had the nigga in my bed, around my daughter, and riding in the whips that I bought with my money. I guess she thought the nigga could hold her down until I got home but she was mistaken. Turns out, ole boy liked to use his product more than he liked to sell it. After about three months of fucking with Micka he had her smoking weed laced with cocaine. Within six months she was smoking the pipe. After a year she graduated to heroine and started shooting the shit in her arms. My mama didn't want to tell me she Micka was turned out but after so long of reading between the lines and getting letters from other females in the hood that wanted me to know how fucked up my baby mama was I had no choice but to accept the fact that the girl I thought I was coming home to was now a junkie just like her own mama. Instinct is a muthafucka because I almost gave her access to my stash spots and something told me not to. Still, I didn't think she would get fucked up in the game like that. That shit hurts me so bad. The first day I came home she came running to me offering to suck my dick for a rock. I wanted to throw up. I knew this girl since she was in grade school, was the first to pop her cherry, had a beautiful daughter buy her, and now she's a crack head. You could tell she was beautiful at one point but now she looks like the walking dead. I couldn't even respond to her request. I just walked away. At this point my only focus is to raise my daughter and stack this paper. I have to get me a spot, buy another car, and get my wardrobe together. My mama copped this Camry with my stash money before I came home so I could move around but I need a bucket to move my work in. I've been kicking' it with my cousins that are just jumping into the game. They've been schooling me on the latest females to breach puberty and the undercover crackheads that are new to the scene. We've been bussin' blocks all day and I keep seeing the same tired ass chicks trying to holla. Most of them are either too young, too old, or too ran through. Don't no nigga want pussy with high mileage. Just like a car, it's only good for so long. As soon as we turn the corner onto Murray Lane I see this nice thick red bone with a stroller and a little boy struggling to keep up with her fast paced strut. You can tell she has major attitude by the way her pony tail is dancing back and forth with each step she takes and how she has her face screwed up. She was pissed about something but I didn't care. That shit was a turn on. She looked a little young but baby girl was fine as hell. My cousin Rico gave me the scoop on her real quick before I stopped the car. He told me their birthday is 6 days after his so that means she turns 18 in three months which, in my mind, means she is legal. And if she's not married yet then she is free game. I roll down my window, flash my smile with my two gold fangs sparkling and ask her for her number. She was a little hesitant but she gave it to me anyway with a little pressure and told me she didn't like to be kept waiting before she walked off. I got the hint and went straight to the hood to drop my cousins off. They called me all kinds of punk muthafucka's but I didn't get care. I was headed to the crib for a quick shower and change of clothes so that I could scoop Ms. Lark up for the evening. I needed a new wifey and today was her lucky day!
Write Out Loud ~ Scroll Diaries
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