taking his eyes off the front of the bodega. He thumbed the handle of his gat and found it came away moist with sweat. He was nervous, but wouldn’t allow Rico to see it.
“For real, yo, you’ve been like my idol since back in the days. Yo, you like the black Jesse James, B. Word to my dead moms I cant wait to go up in there and take these Spanish niggas’ shit!” he continued to babble.
The more Rico talked the more annoyed Cowboy seemed to become. Frankie backing out at the last minute had almost led to Cowboy aborting the mission, but once he had his mind set to do something, nothing short of death or paralysis could deter him. He could’ve called on Cos or Thor, but they would’ve more than likely tried to talk him out of the foolish caper. El Pogo was a beast and was known throughout the underworld for his connections and brutality. To rob him was just as good as slitting your own throat, unless you were lucky enough to get away with it, which Cowboy felt he was. For as cunning and ruthless as Cowboy was, he knew he couldn’t pull the caper off alone. He needed someone to watch his back while he cleaned the place out; this is where Rico came in.
Rico was a young knucklehead from the neighborhood who was determined to make a name for himself in the game. Though Rico wasn’t the most seasoned criminal, he would follow directions and kill on command. He had been hounding Cowboy to put him in position for the longest, but Cowboy kept a close circle and was hesitant to let outsiders in, especially those who weren’t proven or didn’t come with a damn good reference. Frankie’s bullshit move had backed him into a corner and forced his hand, which was the only reason Rico was sitting in the passenger seat of the mini van.
Finally, having enough of the young man’s constant chatter, Cowboy addressed him. “Rico shut up and listen. These ain’t no fucking chumps we about to ride on, so calm the tough talk. You fuck up and El Pogo will make a necklace outta your balls, make no mistake about that. All you gotta do is follow my lead and let’s get this money.” Without waiting for a response Cowboy got out of the van and headed towards the bodega.
The little bell over the front door of the bodega was drowned out by the sounds of Latin music coming from the wall mounted speakers. Cowboy headed towards the counter while Rico went behind the shelf towards the beers. “Hurry up, my dude, them hos ain’t gonna wait forever,” Cowboy shouted to Rico.
A Hispanic woman who looked to be about in her forties manned the register while a slightly younger man made sandwiches. The woman gave Cowboy the once over as he approached.
“Mommy,” he addressed the woman behind the register, “let me get a pack of Newports and two Dutch Masters,” Cowboy said, digging in his coat pocket like he was looking for his money.
“Regular or one hundreds?” she asked, reaching above the counter to the cigarette rack.
“Both bitch!” Cowboy said, pulling a nine out of his coat pocket and shoving it in her face.
“Take it easy, Poppy, I give you the money,” the woman said nervously.
“Fuck what you got in the drawer, I want the
real
money. And while you’re at it, set out that yay.” Cowboy said. When the woman didn’t move, Cowboy did. Using his free hand, he grabbed her by the front of her floral blouse and pulled her roughly over to his side of the counter. “Don’t make me push your shit back, ma. Just set the coke and the dough out and I’m on my way.”
“Get the yay, ho, you know what it is!” Rico screamed at the woman, but kept his gun trained on the young man behind the deli counter.
“You mutha fuckas know who you’re robbing?” the delicatessen worker seethed.
“Don’t I look like I know who I’m robbing?” Cowboy directed his gun in his direction.
“Fuck you and El Pogo!” Rico said excitedly. From the way he was bouncing in place, Cowboy hoped he didn’t shoot anyone by
“For real, yo, you’ve been like my idol since back in the days. Yo, you like the black Jesse James, B. Word to my dead moms I cant wait to go up in there and take these Spanish niggas’ shit!” he continued to babble.
The more Rico talked the more annoyed Cowboy seemed to become. Frankie backing out at the last minute had almost led to Cowboy aborting the mission, but once he had his mind set to do something, nothing short of death or paralysis could deter him. He could’ve called on Cos or Thor, but they would’ve more than likely tried to talk him out of the foolish caper. El Pogo was a beast and was known throughout the underworld for his connections and brutality. To rob him was just as good as slitting your own throat, unless you were lucky enough to get away with it, which Cowboy felt he was. For as cunning and ruthless as Cowboy was, he knew he couldn’t pull the caper off alone. He needed someone to watch his back while he cleaned the place out; this is where Rico came in.
Rico was a young knucklehead from the neighborhood who was determined to make a name for himself in the game. Though Rico wasn’t the most seasoned criminal, he would follow directions and kill on command. He had been hounding Cowboy to put him in position for the longest, but Cowboy kept a close circle and was hesitant to let outsiders in, especially those who weren’t proven or didn’t come with a damn good reference. Frankie’s bullshit move had backed him into a corner and forced his hand, which was the only reason Rico was sitting in the passenger seat of the mini van.
Finally, having enough of the young man’s constant chatter, Cowboy addressed him. “Rico shut up and listen. These ain’t no fucking chumps we about to ride on, so calm the tough talk. You fuck up and El Pogo will make a necklace outta your balls, make no mistake about that. All you gotta do is follow my lead and let’s get this money.” Without waiting for a response Cowboy got out of the van and headed towards the bodega.
The little bell over the front door of the bodega was drowned out by the sounds of Latin music coming from the wall mounted speakers. Cowboy headed towards the counter while Rico went behind the shelf towards the beers. “Hurry up, my dude, them hos ain’t gonna wait forever,” Cowboy shouted to Rico.
A Hispanic woman who looked to be about in her forties manned the register while a slightly younger man made sandwiches. The woman gave Cowboy the once over as he approached.
“Mommy,” he addressed the woman behind the register, “let me get a pack of Newports and two Dutch Masters,” Cowboy said, digging in his coat pocket like he was looking for his money.
“Regular or one hundreds?” she asked, reaching above the counter to the cigarette rack.
“Both bitch!” Cowboy said, pulling a nine out of his coat pocket and shoving it in her face.
“Take it easy, Poppy, I give you the money,” the woman said nervously.
“Fuck what you got in the drawer, I want the
real
money. And while you’re at it, set out that yay.” Cowboy said. When the woman didn’t move, Cowboy did. Using his free hand, he grabbed her by the front of her floral blouse and pulled her roughly over to his side of the counter. “Don’t make me push your shit back, ma. Just set the coke and the dough out and I’m on my way.”
“Get the yay, ho, you know what it is!” Rico screamed at the woman, but kept his gun trained on the young man behind the deli counter.
“You mutha fuckas know who you’re robbing?” the delicatessen worker seethed.
“Don’t I look like I know who I’m robbing?” Cowboy directed his gun in his direction.
“Fuck you and El Pogo!” Rico said excitedly. From the way he was bouncing in place, Cowboy hoped he didn’t shoot anyone by
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