Nobody Knows Nobody

By Manny Yunk

WHAT WILL IT TAKE TO SILENCE YOU?

It's war on "The Dubb" in North Philadelphia. Lil' Money and his crew are winning. They were underdogs, but now there is no limit to what they will do to get money and respect in their territory. Robbery, torture, and murder help smart people comply with their demands. Undoubtedly, they eventually meet their match.

The posse decides to rob and kill Jose, who appears to be an easy target for them to cheat. Jose's wife Marita is the niece of Roberto, a powerful drug lord. Roberto despises Jose, but he loves his niece enough to kill everyone involved in the death of his niece's husband.

Lil' Money and his crew cannot match Roberto's power when he comes after them. But after a twist of events, Roberto partners with Lil' Money, elevating him and his crew in the drug game. Taking on this roll is no easy feat, and there are opposing forces that keep guns blazing and the death toll rising because the elevation doesn't eliminate the crew's unsettled beef that resurfaces continuously. They've harmed so many people who are gunning for them endlessly.

Will, the crew, stay strong, loyal, and survive the harsh reality that their actions have earned?

Trust is a significant issue in a game where NOBODY KNOWS NOBODY!

Swift, unpredictable, and thrilling, Nobody Knows Nobody shows that Manny Yunk "is a new street lit author to watch." (Midwest Book Reviews).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Prodigy Gold Books
• Release date: Oct 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781939665843

Book preview

1

Curran Fromhold Correctional Facility

Courts! Courts! Send your courts!

It was 4:55 a.m.

The correction officer at center control yelled the announcement over the intercom, prompting the unit CO’s to send the inmates to the receiving room (intake) that had court. The daily announcement irritated and disturbed the inmates that didn’t have court. Fortunately for Tyris Lil Money Bonds, he had a court appearance, so he was up, showered, and dressed at 4 a.m.

He looked in his hand-held, plastic mirror he had bought from commissary and brushed his hair for the hundredth time that morning. He stopped brushing to admire his 360° wave flow. He had waves out in the world on the top and in the back on the streets, but never all the way around his head like now. He didn’t have the time to brush his hair all day. He was too busy making moves, but due to idle time and a ripped shirt for doo-rag, his hair was spinning. He threw his brush on his bed, grabbed his comb off his desk, and started to comb his beard. He had also grown the beard while incarcerated.

The eighteen months he’d been down changed his appearance drastically, including nineteen pounds. But if there was one thing that never changed on men, it was the eyes, and his eyes hadn’t changed. They still had that piercing, menacing, cruel, cold look that left many aghast. They were dark-dark brown. The type of brown that looked black at times. They were surrounded by long eyelashes that made him attractive to women.

Lil Money placed his comb on his desk and glanced at a picture he had stuck on his cell wall using toothpaste as glue. It was a picture of him, Hick, Pebbles, Nose, Asa and Diddy. The picture was taken two years ago at a fight in Las Vegas. They all had that shit on—custom-made linen suits, Louis Vuitton loafers, and Breitling watches. Everyone held up knots of money. They believed: If you had money don’t throw it. You paid a price for it. You risked your life for it. Show it. And that was exactly what they did. They flashed it in everyone’s face in and out of town. They wore smiles. They had money, respect, fear, love, and loyalty. Or at least they thought. How could they lose?

Lil Money was snapped out of memory lane by the CO snatching his cell door open. He said, Bonds, hurry up. We are waiting to escort you to the receiving room. You know you had court. I woke you up at 4:00 a.m.

Lil Money looked at the CO with disdain in his eyes. I know nigga. I’m fucking coming.

Come on then.

Lil Money looked in the mirror one last time and mouthed to his reflection, Today’s the day. Win, lose or draw. The strong walk alone. He threw his mirror onto his desk and walked by the CO who was standing by the door mumbling some tough shit.

Lil Money shook his head, and thought, bitch ass CO wouldn’t even glance a nigga way if he caught him up at Lou & Chou’s—a popular bar where correctional officers and cops hung out because it was conveniently located a block away from a police station.

4 years prior Spring 2006

Lil Money sat on his man Tom Cat mom’s steps on Susquehanna Avenue in between 20thand Uber streets in North Philadelphia. He sat alone mainly because Tom Cat’s mom would get off of the 39 bus on 20th and Susquehanna after work and tell people to get off of her steps. They would leave a ton of sunflower seed shells, dutch tobacco, and whatever else they ate or drank while sitting there. So she put a stop to people sitting on her steps by cursing out whoever she caught on them. She never messed with Hick because he was best friends with her son L who was serving juvenile life after being considered a radical delinquent by family court. She also never fooled on Lil Money because he was a new face who was respectful and helpful. He always spoke to her and her husband and asked if they needed any help when they returned from grocery shopping. The real reason she didn’t say anything to him was because he was referred to as Pork n’ Beans’ little brother, and the two favored each other even though there was no blood connection. Pork was that nigga.

Pork n’ Beans was a name Pork got from his grandmother (may God rest her soul). She always called him Pork n’ Bean head as a child, but over the years the Beans dropped, but Pork stuck. Pork ran 20th Street and was respected and loved by people all over, even though he retired from the game after beating an indictment a few years back. He was the man to go to. If there was beef, he squashed it. If the young niggas disrespected the older cats, he acted as a mediator. If mothafuckas couldn’t pay their rent, they’d go to Pork and he paid it. If their son’s got arrested, they went to Pork, and he bailed them out—even if niggas was going against the grain by going hand to hand for niggas out the hood. Pork was just like that. He always told Lil Money, A real nigga never jeopardizes respect for money, because respect will always give him an opportunity to make money.

Tom Cat’s mother’s steps were two houses down from a Talohoon’s, a Dominican mini market. Everyone stood in front of the store some days or hid inside from the cops or cold weather while trappin’.

Lil Money just sent his young bull, Southside, in the store to order him a honey turkey sandwich and a bottle of sweetened iced tea. A dutch filled with Sour-D to the face had him hungry, and he was wondering what the fuck was taking Southside so long.

It was nice out and the sun shined on The Ave. It was the middle of April and women were everywhere. The block was crowded. The young ones trying to get fucked and chosen; and, the older ones trying to get fucked and chosen. They had one other thing in common: they were trying to draw as much attention as possible. There was a dice game on the corner in front of the 20/20, Porks after hour that was shut down after L & I raids. Niggas played poker across the street on a table in front of Wong’s Deli. A group of hustlers crowded Ms. Ann’s steps a house down from Tom Cat’s mom house.

Cars drove up to The Ave all day. Cars with male occupants would either beep their horns at the people they knew or ice grilled niggas as they drove by. Cars with female occupants would smile at niggas they thought were cute, pull over and exchange numbers or they would drive by and ignore the obscenities being yelled at them. Out of everybody talking, laughing, bullshitting, and arguing over bets, Prince’s voice could be heard. Every car that drove by he had something to yell. If it were a car full of chicks he would try to holla.

Ay yo. Ay yo. Ay yo, bald head. What’s up wit you? What’s up wit you? Oh you frontin’? Get ya nut ass outta here.

If it was a car with a nigga in it, Ay yo. Ay yo. I ain’t see you in a while. What’s up bull? Aha Aha ha ha.

As soon as the car drove by he would start talking shit Yeah, that’s Brian from Blumberg. I was ready to go to war with him back in the day. Niggas be on hatin’ and shit. He on some hiding shit now though, niggas on his head and all dat.

If someone drove by in a wheel that was hot, Ay yo. Ah yo. Daaamn. I see you bull. I see you. Watch what I break out with this summer. As soon as the car drove away, Yo, I think that’s his man jawn. He nutty driving that bull shit like it’s his. Naw, matter fact, matter fact, I think he leasing that jawn. Yeah, that’s what he’s doing. Niggas still leasing though? Where they do that at?

Then he would go right back to whatever story he was telling without missing a beat. He always had a story to tell, lies most of the time. Niggas knew, but nobody called him on it. They would smirk on the calm and glance at each other. Prince was Pork’s older brother, but the two were opposites. Prince was 6’2’’, dark-skinned and chubby. He had good hair and straight teeth, the top row was white like he brushed them after every meal, but his bottom row was packed with plaque like he didn’t even bother to brush them. Prince was thirty-five and the only person left on the block out of everybody he stepped on the block with. Everybody else had properties and small businesses. He just didn’t have the smarts, and instead of him being happy for them or asking them to help him get what they had, he secretly envied and despised them.

Southside finally came out of Talohoon’s and brought Lil Money his sandwich and drink. He snatched the sandwich from him, unwrapping it eagerly.

Damn, lil nigga, you took long and shit. Fuck you do made it yourself? Lil Money asked, scolding him.

Naw, Pop, was rappin’ my head off. He been made the sandwich. He in there talkin’ bout racing cars and shit, Southside explained nervously, hoping Lil Money wouldn’t ask for his change from the dub he gave him.

Lil Money smirked before telling him to watch his mouth. Southside was a ten-years-old likable youngin’. His mom was a crack head who ran customers in for a lookout.

Hick walked up and sat on the steps next to Lil Money. He grabbed the iced tea, opened it, and took a sip after blowing out a lung full of smoke from the dutch in his hand. Hick was Lil Money’s right-hand man—the most thorough nigga from The Dubb in Money’s eyes. The two got along surprisingly well considering their differences in character.

Lil Money was arrogant, cocky, outspoken, shrewd, and a critical thinker. Hick was humble, observant, layback, quiet, and rarely said more than he had to, but he was cold and smart. Hick was 6’1’’ one-hundred-ninety pounds, dark-skinned with a head full of waves, and a light beard. His skin was flawless, and he had a flock of bitches that proved how the opposite sex saw him.

What’s poppin? Hick asked, watching cars drive by.

Shit, on ice, what’s up with you? You got some good news I can use? Lil Money responded.

Yeah, I hollered at my man about that move up Erie.

Ay yo, Southside, take a walk. Go do you and stay out of Wong’s deli fuckin’ with the chinks. Lil Money dismissed Southside, knowing where the conversation was headed. Oh yeah, you got with him? What was is it hitting for?

Butter, Hick replied.

Oh, yeah? How many times y'all circled the block?

Twice with Monster in the car. I dropped him off on Germantown Ave. Then I drove back around there, pulled over and went in the corner store across the street from the block the bull crib on.

Lil Money narrowed his eyes the way he always did when he was in deep thought and plotted. So you think you thoroughly accessed the situation?

Yeah, I say I did.

Alright. Alright. Good. So what were his strengths?

Hick tilted his face toward the sky. He reflected and thought before, he said, He got metal bars around his porch and a metal screen door you gotta open just to get to his porch steps. Bars on all the windows even the ones on the second floor. And the block be crowded. Niggas were like ten deep in front of the corner store. From what Monster tells me, them niggas be dick eating the Rican bull. He frontin’ a few of them. Nothing big, though. A couple pounds, no more.

Typical, so they’re not gon’ watch him get robbed. What else Monster say about this nigga? Do he have any kids in the house? Who all stay there?

Yeah, he said he got two little boys like six or seven. He has a wife who doesn’t speak English, and she don’t never come outside.

Bingo. He got a weakness. His kids, they’re like six or seven, so they gotta go to school. That’s when we gon’ have to hit this nigga. In the morning when he’s coming out with his youngins. Da nigga not gon’ play crazy while his kids with him even if he is strapped when we run down. Did Monster say the nigga ever got robbed?

Naw, he said he never been robbed.

Good, then he got two weaknesses. Niggas ain’t prepared for what never happened. Me and you gon’ drive over there tonight so you can show me his crib. Then, I’ll drive down there tomorrow by myself and park down the street from his crib like 7:30 a.m and sit and see what time he come out and how the neighborhood looks so I can know what we up against that time of day. And determine how many niggas we need to make this happen.

Hick started to say something but stopped when he saw Prince approaching.

Ay yo, Hick. What’s up, man. What’s up with Gun?

I don’t know. What’s up with him? he replied, answering his question with a question.

I don’t know what’s up with that bull man. I gave him some work last night. He was supposed to pull graveyard. I come out this morning, he ain’t even out here. Since he ain’t been out here all day, he better have my money, man.

He probably got booked. Did you go by his people’s crib?

Man, dat bull ain’t get booked. He out here somewhere. He better not had got booked, man. I can’t take no loss right now. I’m like five hundred short of grabbing a half a key, Prince stated, looking in Hick’s and Money’s face. He hoped to get a reaction off the amount of weight he was grabbing, even though, he lied. Once he peeped that they didn’t bite, he figured he would throw some thorough shit in there. Ay yo, man, I hope that bull ain’t booked. That’s more money coming out of my pockets. You know I’m gon’ have to pay that bull bail. You seen him out here at all today, Lil Money?

Naw, I ain’t see him. Lil Money said. He was uninterested and reading a text message. He knew damn well Prince not paying anyone’s bail.

Before Prince could say anything else, Gun came walking up The Ave with Footlocker and Dr. Denim bags in his hand. What’s up Money. What’s up Hick. What’s up Prince.

Lil Money and Hick nodded.

Prince went right into his bag. What’s up? What you mean what’s up? All this money been coming out here, and you ain’t even out here. I sat and watched Lil Money and Hick make like damn near three thousand a piece. Puzzle and Free’s workers make like five grand on Twentieth the long way. That’s like eleven grand you missed.

Gun cut Prince off. Yo, Prince, you lying. Ain’t no eleven grand come that quick. I only been gone for four hours. Fuck is this? The eighties?

Money and Hick smiled because Gun was right. Prince was lying his ass off. He knew it, and they knew it. However, that didn’t stop him from going right back in his bag. Man, don’t tell me what the fuck I seen. I been out here, and you been gone for four hours, coming back with Gap bags and shit. I see you been shopping. I know you got that money for me.

What? What money? I thought that was my money, you were paying me in work. It only was a deuce bundle. You still owe me six. I been hustlin’ day and night for two weeks straight, Gun stated. He was not feeling how Prince was trying to play him again.

What? I don’t owe you no six. And fuck you mean you thought that was ya pay. I ain’t say that when I gave it to you,  dawg. Prince was loud, and mad Gun had put him on the spot in front of Lil Money and Hick about not paying him. Hick already knew as much because he had the same problem with Prince when he was trappin’ for him. He doesn’t like to pay his workers, and that’s why Hick started doing his own thing and started grabbing off Pork. Money didn’t know, but he wasn’t surprised because Prince was a greedy nigga and the worst kind of greedy nigga. The kind that would rob, steal, not pay his workers, and even kill if it was convenient to make or save money. In the end, he still wouldn’t have shit.

Prince and Gun started arguing back and forth. Lil Money rose from the steps, told Hick he had to take care of something, and he’ll touch his line later to tie up those loose ends as he walked to his wheel.

2

Lil Money sat in the passenger seat of Diddy’s burgundy 2003 Ford Windstar SE. Diddy was in the driver seat with Hick and Nose in the back. Two weeks had passed since Hick showed Lil Money the Puerto Rican cat’s house. Lil Money watched him bring his wife and kids out of the house to the car between 8:15 and 8:25 a.m every weekday morning, but it was always a few cats chilling around the corner store. Today was the perfect day for a robbery, though. It was a Friday and had rained through the night. It was raining as they sat in the van at 8:10 with Diddy parked around the corner from the location.

Lil Money turned to face Nose and Hick. Nose, when we get out there, you’re gonna bend down between the cars parked in the middle of the block. I’m going to be on the phone with you. When I say come on, come from between the cars and walk up the block, but don’t be on the sidewalk, be in the street and move fast. He looked to Hick, and said, Hick, you stand on the corner, but on the same side of the street that the crib is on. I’m going to sit on the steps two houses down from his crib. Then, I’m going to approach the nigga. Back up my play. Lil Money put on a pair of reading glasses that made him look like a college kid instead of a guy orchestrating a robbery.

Diddy keep the car running, Money said, tucking his snub nose .38 in his hoodie pocket before exiting the van.

__________

Jose Rivera was a 5’11, strong built man who prided himself on his physical strength as well as his mental strength. He was a chess player, and to him everybody was pawns, especially Black people. They didn’t have any strength or discipline, and they didn’t want to control their situation. They were content with a handout. So he capitalized off of that and used them to monopolize. He dealt with Puerto Ricans, but Blacks were more beneficial to deal with. At first, he had suspicions about dealing with them, but after seeing the gratitude and loyalty he received in return for deals he couldn’t lose on, he fell in love with their ignorance. Getting over on black folks made Jose feel superior to them.

He fronted most of the blacks in the neighborhood pounds of regular marijuana and had them bring back $1400. Majority of the times, they brought the money back straight—give or take fifty or a hundred dollars. Either way, he was coming up. He paid $750 per pound to his cousin, Roberto, who was fronting him. He was getting fifty pounds a drop—once a month. Jose never brought money to grab. He brought Roberto what he owed him. He was doing the same thing he criticized the Blacks for.

He sold weight to blacks, through blacks, if they had a friend who wanted weight. He would deal with them and have them deal with their friend. He was contemplating opening up a nickel bag spot on Delhi Street around the corner from his house on Percy Street. He planned on stuffing the smaller bags full of weed. He figured a few people would hate, but he fed the majority, so harming him would be cutting