Knee Deep in the Game by Boston George Page A

now getting back from shorty crib,” Pooh said, fishing for some gossip.
    â€œYeah, I had a long night if you know what I mean,” Pop replied as he playfully mushed Pooh.
    â€œSo what happened?” Pooh asked nosily.
    â€œI shagged,” Pop said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. “You know, regular shit,” he bragged as he saw Rusty coming down the path.
    â€œWhat’ s good, my niggas?” Rusty asked, giving both men dap.
    â€œI’m going to need you two to go to the Bronx and go see Pete for me, he owe Fresh some money. I don’t care what y’all have to do just come back with that money,” Rusty stated as he walked off.
    Pooh and Pop knew Rusty didn’t give a fuck about nothing—his nappy Afro and unshaved face told you to stay the fuck out of his way.
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    I wonder what he does with all his money, Pop wondered before Pooh interrupted his train of thought.
    â€œYo, I heard Tito is supposed to be coming home soon,” Pooh stated as the two men hopped in the car to go handle Fresh’s business.
    â€œWho the fuck is Tito?” Pop asked, not really caring, but just being nosy.
    â€œHe was Fresh’s second best soldier until he got locked up. That nigga is a straight-up fool, he’s loud, rowdy, rude, and dangerous,” Pooh said, trying to keep his eyes on the road and talk at the same time. “This Spanish cat is a straight-up loose cannon.”
    â€œSounds like fun,” Pop joked.
    â€œIt won’t be no joking when that nigga touch down,” Pooh claimed seriously.
    â€œSo who is this Pete guy?” Pop asked, changing the subject.
    â€œSome clown that’s always trying to be slick, always paying late, always got an excuse for why he ain’t got the money,” Pooh said pulling up on Pete’s block.
    Both men cocked back their pistols before they hopped out the car.
    â€œI think this the apartment right here,” Pooh said as he knocked on the door.
    â€œHey, what’s up Pooh?” Pete said, extending his hand to give Pooh a pound.
    â€œIt’s payday, my nigga,” Pooh said, brushing past Pete, leaving him hanging.
    â€œGive me a few days and I’ll have it. This stupid-ass bitch fucked up a package but she working it off now,” he told the two gunmen who stood in his living room.
    â€œMu’fucka, you already a week late,” Pooh reminded him.
    â€œI know, shit been mad slow around here lately,” Pete said nervously as he lit a cigarette. “Give me two days tops and I’ll have everything that’s my—”
    â€œFuck all that, you got the money or not?” Pop growled, revealing his 9 mm.
    â€œChill, I told you I’m going to get it,” Pete said, raising his brow. “Yo, Pooh, who is this new nigga?”
    â€œThis my man right here, that’s all you need to know, Pooh told him. “You need to be worrying about getting that money.”
    â€œTell this young wet-behind-the-ear mu’fucka that I’m good until next week,” Pete boasted.
    â€œWet behind the ears?” Pop said, aiming his 9 mm at Pete’s kneecap.
    Pow!
    The bullet ripped through Pete’s knee.
    â€œAw, shit!” Pete screamed out in pain as he clutched his kneecap, watching the blood gush out.
    â€œLast time I’m going to ask you,” Pop said, placing the hot barrel to Pete’s temple.
    â€œOkay, okay, it’s under the sink in the bathroom,” Pete screamed out, still in pain, clutching his knee.
    When Pop checked under the sink he found twenty stacks in a grocery bag.
    â€œGrimy-ass nigga,” Pop growled, kicking Pete on the side of his head.
    â€œAll we wanted was $15,000 stupid, now we taking all of it,” Pop said, tossing Pooh the garbage bag full of money.
    â€œMu’fucka had twenty stacks back there,” Pop said as he and Pooh made their exit, leaving Pete laid out on his living room floor