Illusion

By BOSS 6IXX

True, One of the best Hustlers to ever grace the West Side of Wilmington takes a ghetto fall after becoming victim to the product he once served in his community.

His young boys Visa and Slam, find a new connect an excel to greater heights than ever imagined. But everything comes with a price when living a lifestyle with more risk than a compulsive gambler at a Vegas poker table.

In these streets, you never know who's who. Only time will tell if the game is an Illusion or a reality with a sad ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9780999726310

Book preview

Author

CHAPTER 1

True and Stacy in his Blue "92 Honda Accord travels down West 6 Street and parks at the corner of Franklin Street. This area of Wilmington, Delaware is known as 6 and Bloody Money where the legendary dust bowl basketball court was once located before being replaced by townhomes. True and Stacy departs from the vehicle and walks to a three-story house in the middle of the block. A dirty brown-skin young boy is sitting on the steps who looks about the age of 14. They by-pass him and knocks on the door of the boarded-up residence. The door is answered by a tall, slim light-skin young boy about the age of 16. He lets True and Stacy enter, nothing is decorated in the front room, but a wooden chair, a small portable lamp which illuminates the dirty hardwood floors, a police scanner, a walkie-talkie on the windowsill, and an all-black menacing pit bull who stands alert chained to the radiator.

Stacy informs the young boy she wants 2-20’s (Rock). The young boy grabs the walkie-talkie and says, 2 wheeler.

A few seconds later a short Hispanic boy appears coming down the steps, he grabs the $40 from Stacy in exchange for two clear bags with a white chunky substance. The young boy who answered the door still can’t believe True who was once that dude and underground King of his block is now a true fiend.

True and Stacey emerges from the Trap House heading back to the Honda Accord. He starts the car and they travel to her spot on 3rd and Broom Street in the Hill Top section. Her apartment on the 2nd floor is a small efficiency inside a filthy building run by a slumlord. Stacy opens the door and rushes to the tiny wooden tables with two plastic milk crates, she begins pulling out her glass stem and lighter. True closes the door behind him and heads towards the dirty bathroom with no shower curtain, nor toilet seat. He pulls his stem and 20 out and shuts the door to leave Stacy alone to do her while he does him in private. Stacy doesn’t understand why he does that, locks himself in the bathroom to get high. She knows it’s a pride thing, he recently began smoking six months ago when he lost both parents in a car accident, but everyone in the world knows he’s a fiend now. No use of hiding or being ashamed. At that moment, she sits on the crate, breaks a piece of the crack, and drops it in the stem. She takes her lighter, puts the flame to the crack while the glass dick is in her mouth and sucks the life out it and forgets all about True, her mind is on Stone Mountain.

An hour later, True exits the bathroom. Stacy sits butt ass naked, eyes roaming, popping out of her head, sweating, balled up, rocking back and forth on the raw mattress which is the only other piece of furniture she owns. He stands at the window peeking out of the blinds like Malcolm X. This is a common sight between the couple. He turns back and takes a glimpse of Stacy, who is still rocking back and forth. Stacy is 5’4 and 110 lbs., very dark skinned with a short haircut; with her naked, she can pass for Flavor Flav sister.

True finally decides to head outside to get his hustle on which consists of walking around the West Side and scouting for new customers to bring to the Trap House. For every $80 he brings, he earns a 20-piece. The Trap House has the biggest 20’s and the best coke in the city besides the East Side Compton Towers, which resembles high rise projects in New York City. The Towers is where he migrates to from the time when the Yacker Bizzle (Police) presence on the block is overwhelming.

A group of young boys on the corner of 3rd and Franklin Street spotted True across the street and began singing a verse by 50 Cent.

Damn Homie, in High School you were the Man Homie, what the fuck happen to you! Everyone on the block begins laughing.

True who stands 5’10 and 165 lbs., brown skin with uncombed hair; he used to be 205 lbs., cut up, a true hustler, and eye candy for the ladies. Now presently, he has a strong resemblance to Ezel in the movie Friday.

On Conrad and Harrison Street, True spots a White man driving a gray 240 Volvo who looks very familiar to him and he flags him down.

Yo!

The man pulls over and True walks up to the vehicle.

Oh, Shit! Harry, what’s good with you! True shouts.

Harry was one of his first customers back in the day when he started hustling as a youngin. Harry stares at the strange scruffy looking Black man, thinking where I know him from.

True sees Harry trying to register who he is.

It’s me Lil True from back in the day.

Harry smiles, Yeah True from 6, man, what happen to you? You were always a clean, smooth guy, this is not the True I remember, Harry said sadly.

Man Harry, I got caught slippin, you know the saying; NEVER GET HIGH OFF YOUR OWN SUPPLY. Life has its ups and downs, but I’ll be back up, True replies with confidence.

Who am I to judge you? That’s not my position, shit! Look at me? It’s just saddening to see this happen to you. But it is what it is, you know where I can get right with this Big Face ($100)? If it’s right, I’ll look out for you, Harry said.

No doubt, go up 6 Street and Franklin, they shit always proper, True responded while entering Harry’s vehicle after scoring from the booming Trap House.

Yo Harry, drop me off on 3rd and Broom, True required Harry.

True good looking for turning me onto that spot, here go a 20 for the lookout, Harry said satisfied while driving True to his destination.

I’m good, True responds.

I know True, but these mutha fuckas are boulders for your shoulders, they look like 40 pieces, here take one, Harry said anticipating the crack smoke in his lungs.

Good looking, it’s another spot over the Towers that be rocking. When shit be hot over here, just slide to the East Side, True said before exiting the vehicle at Stacy spot.

True pass by the nosy Puerto Rican neighbors on the porch, he enters the building, walked up the wooden steps and opens the door as it squeeks which is always unlocked. Stacy remains in the same position he left her 45 minutes ago.

Stacy take this 20, I’m about to be out, I’ll be back later, True said as he handed her the crack.

Stacy can’t answer her jaws are twisted and locked. She just nods her head and pulls her stem back out, urgently began packing it with tiny broken pieces of crack.

Meanwhile, at Joe’s Crab Shack down the Riverfront standing 6ft and 170 lbs. toned, caramel skin, hazel eyes, some people know him as Rackz is holding a meeting with his two lieutenants. Visa who favor Lil Bootsie and Slam who favors a possum. They’re both 18 but they’re on point and about their paper. Visa runs a spot on the East Side for Rackz and Slam hold a spot down on the West Side.

What’s good with the spread? Rackz asked the duo.

I’m 100, Visa said while he discreetly passes the bag under the table.

That’s for the both of us, Slam said to the Big Homie.

How’s everything else? Rackz asked as he grabs the Gucci duffel bag.

Between both spots were doing a little over 20 stacks a day, everything Gucci Big Homie, Slam replies with a mouth full of crabs.

Everybody gettin paid, and it hasn’t been no heat, Visa adds.

Right, right, Rackz replies, nodding his head.

Y’all like the GSXR’S I copped for y’all, that’s for y’all to move out? Rackz asked the youngins.

As the three of them continues to politic. Rackz was having three birds (kilos) concealed inside the stash box of their black SRT8 Cherokee in the restaurant parking area.

Rackz, has a nice team put together where everyone is on a weekly salary, but only two knows of Rackz involvement; that Visa and Slam. The young duo has three shifts which consist of 2 pm to 8 pm, 8 pm to 2 am, and 2 am to 8 am. Two people working security, each shift which gets paid $10 cash an hour. Also, they each have one Security Chief apiece. Their job function is to make sure security is on time and on point which they earn a stack a week. One Captain a piece who runs a Trap House and earn $2,500 a week. Their job function is to drop off the product and pick up money from workers for all three shifts, two workers manning each shift, they earn a stack a week. They also have four young girls from the hood who bag the work up at different hotels, earning them a stack a week.

Visa and Slam personally does the security for the women baggers and they make five stacks a week and move three birds a week between the both of them. When they cook up the three birds Rackz give them, they only add an extra 200 grams, so they can keep it to the oils and pass out to their touters, everything is broken down, no wholesale.

The Trap Houses does a little over 150 stacks a week. Deduct 30,520 for the workers, plus Rackz makes 20 stacks a week, also 54 stacks put back towards the three birds which cost 18 stacks a piece totals about 104,520, leaves a profit of $45,480 a week, that’s rounded to about 2.3 million a year.

Six months ago, when Rackz migrated from Atlanta, Georgia and arrived in Wilmington, Delaware. He took notice there was no organized structure. Everything was an open-air market. Hustlers on the block making hand to hand transactions, no lookout and cats constantly getting busted. His folks set him down and gave him a blueprint of a team, two thorough young boys, and 12 birds a month to move out.

Rackz pulls up in his black on black Pontiac G8 GT in front of Alfred I. DuPont Hospital for Children waiting for his girlfriend Veronica, who is employed as a registered nurse.

Damn! She gorgeous, Rackz states out aloud to himself feeling horny when Veronica exits the building. Who could resist an outburst when you’re staring at the perfection of 5’5, 140 lbs., 36C, 26, 38, skin the color of honey, slanted green eyes with a Halle Berry cut.

Soon as Veronica spots Rackz waiting she smiles, showing all her pearly whites. He departs the vehicle and gives her a hug and kiss before she gets in.

Babe, I know you getting off work and want to go home take a shower and relax, but we have to shoot to King of Prussia Mall. Kanye and Jay-Z is throwing an album release party at the 40/40 Club in Atlantic City.

I’m cool, as long you’re driving and spending, Veronica replies and smiles.

Anything for you my Love, now let’s go and tear Neiman Marcus up all exclusively on Big Rackz, he boasted.

Later that evening, Rackz and Veronica, pulled up in front of the 40/40 in a black on black Karma Fisker with black and chrome Giovanna 22 rims, with a black tint. There were all kinds of automobiles in the valet section a few exotic Dropheads, Ghost, Murcielagos, Gallardo, Maybach, SLS, and two Bugatti. But the onlookers were in awe when Re’Al pulled up in his olive-green Aston Martin Rapide, gold trimmed, gold Lexani 22 no tint so you can see the peanut butter leather interior. It was a few other Ferraris and DB9 in the lot, but he knew his shit was killing them softly. Rackz and Veronica exited their luxury vehicle first, styled in Giorgio Armani from head to toe. Rackz sports some black shirt and slacks with a stingray belt and Mauri stingray shoes to match his attire. His accessories consist of a black diamond bracelet, earrings and pinky ring set in platinum. Veronica rocks a long black strapless evening dress with a slit running along her left thigh and Jimmy Choo stilettos. She sports a black diamond choker, 2 CT earrings, and 10 CT bracelet.

A group of men among the long line.

One of them spoke, Yo ain’t that the cat from down the way that be pushing the black G8?

Another companion responded, Yeah, that’s ole boy, he’s playing huh, he must be getting a dollar on the low.

That nigga gotta bad bitch, she badder than the model Jessica White, third member of the group stated.

Re’Al exits the automobile draped in an olive green, cream, gold and black silk printed Versace shirt, freshly pressed cream Versace slacks, with a pair of $700 olive Mauri Gators that match the belt, with matching band on his Ulysses Nardin watch, gold Versace shades with clear lens cover his eyes. You can’t tell him he ain’t the boss of bosses. The women in line are feeling the 5’8, stocky build, bald head, full beard man. Re’Al sees a group of five women staring, he invites them at the front entrance with him, Rackz and Veronica. He hands the bouncer the keys to his car and two-thousand-dollar bills. The bouncer looks at the two bills like what the fuck? Once he realizes what they are and sees President Grover Cleveland, he star struck like a groupie who just met their favorite rapper.

Once inside, Re’Al tells the waitress two for the V.I.P. Section, one for the ladies with 5 bottles of Ace of Spades and put whatever alcohol purchase on his tab, and hands the gorgeous waitress 12 Grover Cleveland and three more bottles of the same thing he ordered for his section, and for her to keep the change. The waitress departs thinking who the fuck is this nigga, let me see if these bills real. She never witnessed a G-Note before (1000 bill).

The waitress returns smiling with the bottles, she learned the bills are genuine and got a two-thousand-dollar tip, something she never earned in one night. She openly flirts and hands Re’Al her number and let him know verbally, I’m single tonight.

Baby girl, can you please bring me a bottle of Louie XIII and some shot glasses, Re’Al requested while acknowledging her open invitation.

The group began popping bottles, nodding to Jay-Z lyrics Ball so hard a mutha fucka can’t find me, first a nigga gotta find me. What’s 50 grand to a mutha fucka like me, can you please remind me. Re’Al nodding, feeling Jay has personally wrote the song for him. Veronica gets up to hit the dance floor while the men talk.

What’s good Lil Big Man a.k.a. Napoleon? Rackz said to Re’Al.

The green money and nothing could be better, believe me fake Snoop, Re’Al responded.

I see you have bought some gorgeous sand to the beach, Re’Al said, referring to Veronica and the many women who pack the club.

You know me, always been the one women type, not a playa. How’s the trucking business? Rackz asked.

I got 12 trucks now and major contracts from Maine to Florida, life is good. How’s everything on your end? Re’Al asked while popping bottles.

I can’t complain, been buying a lot of acers of land trying to get some Home Communities built, that’s where the real paper at homie. The young boys been holding it down, them lil niggaz even buying property, they just copped 2 houses. We doing good, what’s up with True and this getting high shit? I mean damn cuzzin what about his wife and kids? Rackz asked concerned.

While the two are conversating, the three men who were outside in line, spots Rackz again in the V.I.P. Section.

That’s ole’ boy up there with the short kid with the green Aston, yeah, that nigga doing something, one of the men spoke.

Another man speaks up, Yeah boy with the Aston probably supplying him, he looks real familiar.

The third man spoke, I told y’all it was going to be some real paper up in here, let’s do our homework on them cats.

The 5 ladies at