strongest possible impression.
“Tell me something, Tyrone. Should I have spoken Swahili or some such shit when I said ‘meet me alone’? Did my instructions somehow confuse the simple mind of a stupid-ass dope slinger like you?”
McKenzie wheeled around, putting Tyrone against the hood of the car. He loosened his grip, balled his fist, and delivered a quick punch to the same vicinity. The dealer dropped to his knees, breathing hard.
“Next time you’re confused, you be sure to let me know. We can avoid all these unpleasantries. Now get up, boy, and listen to how it’s gonna be.”
Tyrone rose to his feet and McKenzie immediately got down to business.
“I’ve got half a kilo in the trunk,” he said. “It’s rocked up real nice and packaged to go out as eight balls. If you want, break it down to something a little more affordable for your broke-dick homies. If you go quarter grams you can stomp the hell out of it and turn it to powder. Step on it with talc, lace it with Comet, or get all generous and fire it up with a little H for all I give a shit. You sling it how you see fit, you being an independent businessman and all.”
McKenzie went on in a more threatening tone. “But hear me on this, boy. You do all your dealin’ with those cracked-out bros and hos one on one. Don’t be tryin’ to build some damn entourage. And this park is the closest you ever come to me. Don’t even think about bringing any of your lowlife ghetto bullshit inside my city limits. You don’t be dealing with any of the yuppies or kids in Newberg. They’re taken care of, you hear me?”
Tyrone, still rubbing his crotch, took the insult in stride. “Yeah, all right.”
“You got my ten grand?”
“It’s in the trunk,” Tyrone answered, nodding toward his car.
“Get it.”
Tyrone turned and signaled to his still-unnamed partner. McKenzie shook his head in disbelief and delivered a solid kick with his booted foot. Tyrone came back around and his face flashed the anger any grown man would show over a public kick in the ass.
“Are you just ignorant, Tyrone?” McKenzie almost shouted in disbelief. “I said I don’t work with third parties. Get it your damn self.”
McKenzie watched the man limp to the car and pull a brown grocery sack from the trunk. Tyrone walked back, his face set to a slow burn. McKenzie drew on his cigarette, and let his hand drift back inside his coat. Tyrone was young, fit, and hard as nails. McKenzie knew if the boy put his mind to it, he could put up a hell of a fight. But there he stood with aching balls and a sore ass and no intentions of doing a damn thing about it. McKenzie understood the boy’s fear of the law and all that came with it. He found it a common trait among the Tyrones of the world. Exploiting that fear was McKenzie’s greatest pleasure.
“I thought we had come to an understanding, Tyrone, that if I let you stay out here on the street, you’d be ready to play ball. You’d step up and start earning. I’m beginning to think I was wrong. Seems like you’re all bound and determined to reestablish yourself as some kinda shot caller. Maybe I oughta see about canceling our arrangement. Ship your ass off to the penitentiary.”
Tyrone couldn’t let it go. “Motherfucker, before you came along, I dropped four or five keys of this shit every week all over Milwaukee, Racine, Mad-City; my name rang out all over the damn state. I had two dozen homeboys workin’ for me, doin’ whatever I say. Pretty white college girls standin’ in line to get with me. And I never needed no cracker cop kickin’ me in my ass tellin’ me how to do a damn thing. And I sure as hell wasn’t layin’ out no ten grand for half a key. How am I gonna make any scratch if I gotta be puttin’ up with that kind of inflated bullshit?”
McKenzie nodded his head, approving of the frank discussion.
“No shit? Five keys a week? Better price than mine, huh? How about that last five-key deal? How’d that
“Tell me something, Tyrone. Should I have spoken Swahili or some such shit when I said ‘meet me alone’? Did my instructions somehow confuse the simple mind of a stupid-ass dope slinger like you?”
McKenzie wheeled around, putting Tyrone against the hood of the car. He loosened his grip, balled his fist, and delivered a quick punch to the same vicinity. The dealer dropped to his knees, breathing hard.
“Next time you’re confused, you be sure to let me know. We can avoid all these unpleasantries. Now get up, boy, and listen to how it’s gonna be.”
Tyrone rose to his feet and McKenzie immediately got down to business.
“I’ve got half a kilo in the trunk,” he said. “It’s rocked up real nice and packaged to go out as eight balls. If you want, break it down to something a little more affordable for your broke-dick homies. If you go quarter grams you can stomp the hell out of it and turn it to powder. Step on it with talc, lace it with Comet, or get all generous and fire it up with a little H for all I give a shit. You sling it how you see fit, you being an independent businessman and all.”
McKenzie went on in a more threatening tone. “But hear me on this, boy. You do all your dealin’ with those cracked-out bros and hos one on one. Don’t be tryin’ to build some damn entourage. And this park is the closest you ever come to me. Don’t even think about bringing any of your lowlife ghetto bullshit inside my city limits. You don’t be dealing with any of the yuppies or kids in Newberg. They’re taken care of, you hear me?”
Tyrone, still rubbing his crotch, took the insult in stride. “Yeah, all right.”
“You got my ten grand?”
“It’s in the trunk,” Tyrone answered, nodding toward his car.
“Get it.”
Tyrone turned and signaled to his still-unnamed partner. McKenzie shook his head in disbelief and delivered a solid kick with his booted foot. Tyrone came back around and his face flashed the anger any grown man would show over a public kick in the ass.
“Are you just ignorant, Tyrone?” McKenzie almost shouted in disbelief. “I said I don’t work with third parties. Get it your damn self.”
McKenzie watched the man limp to the car and pull a brown grocery sack from the trunk. Tyrone walked back, his face set to a slow burn. McKenzie drew on his cigarette, and let his hand drift back inside his coat. Tyrone was young, fit, and hard as nails. McKenzie knew if the boy put his mind to it, he could put up a hell of a fight. But there he stood with aching balls and a sore ass and no intentions of doing a damn thing about it. McKenzie understood the boy’s fear of the law and all that came with it. He found it a common trait among the Tyrones of the world. Exploiting that fear was McKenzie’s greatest pleasure.
“I thought we had come to an understanding, Tyrone, that if I let you stay out here on the street, you’d be ready to play ball. You’d step up and start earning. I’m beginning to think I was wrong. Seems like you’re all bound and determined to reestablish yourself as some kinda shot caller. Maybe I oughta see about canceling our arrangement. Ship your ass off to the penitentiary.”
Tyrone couldn’t let it go. “Motherfucker, before you came along, I dropped four or five keys of this shit every week all over Milwaukee, Racine, Mad-City; my name rang out all over the damn state. I had two dozen homeboys workin’ for me, doin’ whatever I say. Pretty white college girls standin’ in line to get with me. And I never needed no cracker cop kickin’ me in my ass tellin’ me how to do a damn thing. And I sure as hell wasn’t layin’ out no ten grand for half a key. How am I gonna make any scratch if I gotta be puttin’ up with that kind of inflated bullshit?”
McKenzie nodded his head, approving of the frank discussion.
“No shit? Five keys a week? Better price than mine, huh? How about that last five-key deal? How’d that
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