757: Virginia Is for Hustlers

By David Bashara Wyche

Dialo and Pancho Mercias are brothers from Portsmouth, Virginia. Their father taught them the family businessdrug-dealingbut theyve taken it further than he ever imagined. The operation started small, just in their hometown, but soon it grew to include all the seven cities of the Tidewater area of Virginia. It became almost too much for them to handle.

The boys do things they dont always like. For instance, they kill people in cold blood, all in the name of money. Dialo starts getting involved with some legit businesses in the hopes of someday leaving the drug trade behind. Meanwhile, his little brother looks forward to getting Dialo out of the way and maybe one day becoming a kingpin.

Just as Dialo is ready to step aside, Pancho gets in big trouble with a rival drug-dealer, and things turn nasty. Blood covers the streets, and a full-blown war is underway. Dialo may have to give up on his dreams of being an honest businessman to save his brother. Old habits die hard as they enter the brawl, and someone may end up dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475955897

David Bashara Wyche

David Bashara Wyche is an urban author from Portsmouth, Virginia. He studied business at Norfolk State University but found his passion in writing. He and his wife, Toya, have three children and live in Chesapeake.

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Copyright © 2012 by David Bashara Wyche

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-5572-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-5573-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-5589-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012919105

iUniverse rev. date: 11/14/2012

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Keepin’ It Real

Prelude

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

FIRST, I WANT TO thank God because there were times in my life when I didn’t think I’d make it out of my twenties and it’s only by His grace that I am here and alive today (Romans 8:31). To my beautiful wife, Toya Wyche, thank you for all of your support, for standing by me and for just being you. Thank you for seeing more in me than I saw in myself and then helping me see it too. I love you for that, Baby. To my kids, Chyna, Ty & Alexis, this is proof that if you put your mind to it, anything is possible. I want to thank my parents, Leonard & Patricia Wyche for all of your support and love. I want to thank my sister, Dr. Latonya Ricks and my brother, Dominic Wyche. I appreciate y’all for having my back. Also, my nieces and nephews: Micah, Ezra & Jada Ricks, DJ & Kamille Wyche, I can’t wait to see you again.

Thanks to my family & friends: Bobby, Toni, Tracy, Phyllis, Shaky, Uncle Winky & Aunt Sam, Kalita, Terri, Briceson, Alex, Nia & Nicole, Sharon & Karen, Leslie, Marcus Fatboy Adams, Carlton C-Note Harris, Eugene Geno Hawkins, Shaun Sha-Boogie Jeffries, Ivan Harrell, Shawn Pitchford, Kevin Big Kev Brown, Shaun Big Shaun James, Wayne Mann, Dr. Deon, Rodney P-Nut Langston, James Pin-Pin Smith, Johnathan John-John Branch, Curtis CJ Edmonds, Lil George & B. Hill.

To my homies on lock-down: Jeff Box Courtney, L. Jay Norman, R. Dink Bennett, Kelly Perkins, Jimmy Boola Still, Nut from DC, D-Dot, Boo-Lou, Lil Tee, Dirty Red, Greg Ship Shipman, Slugger, D. Gray, Troy, Pep, Chris Slaprock Patterson, Carolina, Naquan, Ace, Happy-Face O, Bless, Sonny, Bone, Skully, D. Jedi, Stacy Briggs, Stan Hoolie Tyson, Black, Horse, Gee, Big Cee, New York, Marquis, BX, Donte Weezy Suggs, Michael Dini Scott, Manzy Connors, Steve Jy Brown, Johntae Tae Dancy, Charles Big Cee Moore, Glen Lil Glen Brown, Sherman Lee, Ronald Ra-Ra Riddick, Mel Lee, J.T., Baldy, D. Horse Parker, and to all the people who laughed when I told them I was writing a book.

KEEPIN’ IT REAL

People talk ‘bout keepin’ it real

But I seriously doubt they know the deal.

Niggas quick to do a crime

But ain’t man enough to do the time.

It used to be honor amongst thieves

Now cats snitchin’ like you won’t believe.

Talking ‘bout keeping it real

I wish these dudes knew how I feel.

You see crack heads who cop dubs

They come to jail, now they buyin’ up the bar at the clubs.

You got dudes so broke, on the street they couldn’t pay attention.

In here, their money so long, they got everything you mention.

Niggas sell weight, but don’t know ‘bout a skate or a cookie.

Those terms you should know, even if you’re a rookie.

Don’t come to jail, then be all you can be.

You should’ve signed up and joined the army.

Lex’s and Benz’s sittin’ on 24 inch rims.

Cesar and Stash House with those butta ass Timbs.

Planes to Vegas and cruises to Cancun

Let these cats tell it, they done been to the moon.

This dude once told me he was sittin’ on 70 stacks

When I learned the truth, he never came back

Come to find out, he was known to lie, cheat and steal

And this muthafucka talkin’ bout let’s keep it real.

PRELUDE

RIDING DOWN INTERSTATE 264 was an old Volkswagen Beetle. The car was at least 15 years old, but the fresh tangerine orange paint job and black BBS rims made it look brand new. An F-15 fighter Jet roared through the cloudless sky. Taking the Des Moines Avenue Exit and rolling down to Elm Avenue, the small car entered the urban jungle of Downtown Portsmouth, Virginia, better known as P-Town or Pistol City.

Inside the car, Mobb Deep was blasting from the speakers. The driver was concentrating too much on his surroundings to fully concentrate on the lyrics. He was looking around and taking in everything. The young teenage mother pushing a baby stroller, the old man sitting on the front steps of his porch, sipping wine, another man wearing a beat-up baseball hat and tattered clothes leaning against a tree with his head down, most likely in a heroin induced nod.

He wasn’t cruising in his own neighborhood, but was attempting to sell drugs in another. To do something like that wasn’t cool, not to the local hustlers anyway. This situation, according to his passenger, would be different. Never mind that Downtown hoods didn’t like guys from Cavalier Manor, which was where both of them were from. This case wasn’t the same. It was kosher for them to be out there because the passenger was friends with some dude who lived out there.

Dialo Mercias turned right on Elm Avenue and cruised down the road at 25 MPH. He was on a mission to expand in the crack game. There was more money to be made in the Downtown ghettos than where he was from. It was evident in how the inner city hustlers always had more money than them. All that started to change for the 16-year-old when he was introduced to a new drug that turned people into addicts and put a squeeze on them like a vice.

Make this left, said Pretty Pete. As soon as Dialo made the turn, he pointed towards the right and said, Pull over behind that van.

Dialo eased over behind a dented up Chevy Econoline van. You want me to park on Duke Street? He asked not understanding the logic.

Yeah Man, we gon’ leave your car over here because we’re gonna be just around the corner on Prentise Avenue and you don’t want your car on the same block that we’ll be sellin’ on. He opened the door without looking back. Let’s go.

Dialo put the car in park and turned it off. He stepped out and looked at the corner store. The place was white clapboard with dark green trim around the windows. His eyes followed the wooden stairs up to the second floor apartment trying to imagine all of the big money dice games he’d heard rumors about from his father growing up.

The jingling of bells made him turn. It was the door to the store opening up. A lady in a tight, green dress showing cleavage for days and black heels began walking in their direction. The lady was tapping a Newport box against the palm of her hand. She walked briskly past them without as much as a glance.

Pretty Pete shut the door and walked around the front end of the car. C’mon, he said, crossing the street behind the lady in green.

Dialo locked his door and shut it, falling in step with his friend. He looked up at all the pigeons sitting on the telephone lines and thought about the recent wax job on his car, hoping it would still be unblemished when he returned.

They were apparently heading in the same direction as her because they just turned left on Prentise Avenue, only a few paces behind her.

He was uncomfortable about being out there but didn’t want to appear scared, not if he wanted to make it in the drug business. He knew that much from selling weed. However, selling crack was a different game altogether and the lesson would be learned very soon.

Midway down the block, a teenager, around the same age as them, stood on the sidewalk wearing a navy blue, velour Fila track suit, red Fila sneakers, and a red Kangol cap.

Gimme a light, Drew! shouted the woman. I forgot to get some matches!

Pretty Pete and Dialo walked up to the same dude a few steps behind her. Once the guy named Drew handed Ms. Green Dress and Black Heels the Bic lighter, he gave Pretty Pete five. What’s up, Homeboy? asked Drew.

Drew, I need sumthin’ for nine dollars. You got a dime? she asked, interrupting before Pretty Pete could respond.

Drew made the sale and the lady quickly reversed direction and strode down the street. With her out of the way, introductions were made. It was never established how the two knew each other, but Dialo didn’t care. As long as he could sell his crack on this street, it didn’t matter.

Dialo could see why the Downtown dudes had the nice cars, clothes and pretty women. Only 20 minutes went by and he’s already sold eight of the ten dimes from his 50-block. At this rate, he could sell 20 dimes, the equivalent of two $50 blocks of crack cocaine, in roughly two hours.

It only took an hour and a half.

When those were finished, Drew took them to a tan two-story house to buy more blocks of the off-white substance.

When they came out, Pretty Pete said, I’ma walk to the payphone by the corner store…I’ll be right back.

Dialo and Drew went back across the street to the spot where they plied their trade all evening in front of a white two story house trimmed in red. Even the roof and the wide concrete slab porch was the same fire engine red. The place was abandoned so there was no one to tell them they couldn’t sit on the porch, under its roofs and serve the fiends to their heart’s desire.

Pretty Pete came back five minutes later and gave Drew a slight nod. Dialo didn’t see Drew smile out the corner of his mouth and nod back with a knowing look.

Sitting on the porch, Dialo didn’t make much of the low conversation between Pretty Pete and Drew standing on the sidewalk. He was busy making another ten dollar sale.

Dialo also didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary when ten minutes later, a white Buick Ninety-Eight with a tan cloth rag-top pulled up and Pretty Pete said, "Look, I gotta roll, Dialo, but you’ll be alright out here with Drew.

Dialo didn’t particularly like it but the fast money made him say, Aight, that’s cool, I’ma leave as soon as I finish making sales. I’m almost done wit’ this block anyway.

Pretty Pete and Dialo smacked palms and closed each other’s hands into fists before pulling apart. I’ll catch y’all later. He hopped into the car and disappeared around the corner.

Dialo didn’t know Drew that well so he didn’t try to make small-talk. All he wanted to do was sell his last few stones and roll out. He planned on taking his girlfriend to the movies and needed to go home to get ready.

The next customer pulled up in a raggedy Chevy Malibu. Y’all doin’ sumthin’ over here? asked the white drive wearing trailer park couture complete with a red bandana tied around his forehead, pony-tail, shaggy beard and blue flannel shirt.

Yeah, we doin’ sumthin’, replied Drew.

Dialo didn’t move because he served the last customer so that meant the white man’s money was for Drew. They rotated all day to be fair. No matter if the sale was for $10 or $50, if it was your turn, then it was your turn.

So Dialo was surprised when Drew said, Yo take care of Homeboy.

Dialo looked at him skeptically, It’s your turn, man.

It’s cool. You serve ’em.

Dialo didn’t argue, but it was strange because Drew hadn’t passed off a sale since he’d been out there all day.

He walked up to the car, Whatchu need?

I got 50 bucks, Buddy. What can you do for me?

Bingo! Dialo thought to himself as he leaned towards the window. I’ll give you six dimes for that 50.

Buddy, the driver said, extending his hand out with a crisp $50 bill. You got yourself a deal.

Dialo reached for the money with his left hand. At the same time, he opened his right containing the remainder of his crack.

With the transaction complete, Dialo walked back up to the porch. Yo man, I think I’ma roll on out. I ain’t got no mo’ shit.

Drew stood up. Damn, you done sold out?

Yeah. Dialo kept it short. He didn’t want to spark up a conversation now that he was ready to go.

Mmph, grunted Drew. You sold three 50-blocks too, didn’t you?

Damn right. Dialo was turning to leave so he didn’t notice Drew reach under his shirt, And I made $280 too.

Well, Drew brought his hand out holding a small pistol, I need you to hand over that bread before you go.

Dialo, thinking he misunderstood, asked, Say what? turning to see the business end of a .22 semi-automatic pointed at his chest.

You heard me. Gimme your money.

You mean to tell me you’re robbin’ me? Dialo was a mixture of confused, shocked and angry. Maybe it was a joke.

Yep, that about sums it up so empty yo pockets.

You mean to tell me you let me stand out hear all day selling this shit and now you wanna rob me after I done all the work?

I figured that would be the best time to do it and I ain’t gon’ ask you again.

Man, this is some bullshit, Dialo said, shaking his head. However, there was nothing he could do about it. Drew had a gun; Dialo didn’t so he went in his pocket and pulled out his money.

Just drop it on the ground and then get da fuck outta here.

Man, this is some foul shit…I’ma remember dis. Frowning, Dialo dropped his money and walked off.

Good. I want you to remember! Drew shouted at Dialo’s back.

Dialo walked back to his car in a blind rage. He sat behind the wheel, nodding his head with his lips curled into a sneer. Okay, he said to himself, So that’s how niggas wanna play? Niggas wanna treat me like I’ma punk? Aight…I got sumthin’ for that shit!

Dialo started the car and made a quick u-turn, retracing his way back to the interstate. Driving down I-264, Dialo couldn’t wait to tell Pretty Pete what happened to him after he left. He knew his neighborhood friend would help him retaliate.

Today was Dialo’s introduction to the crack game and he was quick to learn that the money came much faster than selling dollar jays of weed. If what just happened to him was any indication, the players in this game were cut-throat and if he wanted to be a part of it, then he’d have to learn from this mistake. Dialo also knew if he didn’t strike back, he would always get robbed because everyone in the city would try him once the word got out.

Dialo went home to take a shower and a change of clothes. Fortunately, he still had more money at home to keep his date with his girlfriend. He wasn’t really in the mood to sit through a movie or spend any money, but a promise was a promise and he kept his word.

He pulled into the Tower Mall parking lot still thinking about being robbed by Drew. He cruised slowly across the asphalt looking for a space to pull into. He was trying to decide whether to drop his girl off up front so she could buy their tickets or just go park the car.

As he approached the front of the mall, Dialo noticed the white ninety-eight with the tan top. His foot was about to apply more pressure to the gas pedal when both mall doors opened. What he saw next caused his nose to flare in anger. Dialo pressed the brakes coming to a slow stop.

It was too dark for Pretty Pete and Drew to recognize the orange Beetle, most likely because they were focused on their brown paper bags containing liquor. He knew it was liquor by the way the paper was twisted around the neck. He thought five would get you twenty that his stolen money paid for the booze.

That dirty muthafucka… hissed Dialo.

What’s wrong, Baby? his girlfriend asked.

"I got robbed today out Prentiss Park. He watched Pretty Pete fall into the front passenger seat and Drew in the back.

Say what?

Waving a car to drive around him, Yeah, just before I came home to get ready for you.

When was you gon’ tell me?

The white car began to pull off and Dialo took his foot off the brake. I wasn’t, but I just saw the guy who did it hop in that white Ninety-Eight.

When they arrived at the front of the mall, Dialo turned left and kept going. He stayed a safe distance behind the car and when they made a right, going around the side of the mall, Dialo followed.

Hey, she asked, a tad bit nervous, Where are you going?

I’m following that car.

I thought we were going to the movies?

Baby, I don’t mean no harm, but…fuck da movies. That dude robbed me and I think my homeboy, Pretty Pete set me up for it too.

How you know? she asked, noticing they were now exiting the back of the mall lot, entering Academy Park, better known as, K.P.

Because I went out there with him today and we were on Prentise Avenue all day wit’ dat dude and Petey left to go somewhere in that white Ninety-Eight wit’ some nigga. Ten minutes later, Homeboy robbed me. Dialo slowed down to allow the car to get through an intersection, Now I pull up at Tower Mall and all three of them are together.

You don’t need to get in no trouble. She was worried now.

Dialo ignored her, I mean damn, dem niggas even still got on the same clothes."

Let’s just go back to the movies and forget about it. He didn’t respond. Dialo… Dialo, I know you hear me! Don’t worry…

Don’t worry? he snapped. Forget about it? Are you crazy? I can’t let nobody get away wit’ dat. He made a left keeping the car in sight. I’ma follow this car to see where they stop, then I’ma drop you off back out Charlestown, then I’ma go fix dem dudes that took $280 from me today!

She didn’t say anything further. Dialo was determined and dead set on what he was going to do. She knew there was no turning him around once his mind was made up.

He followed them, watching as they stopped at a weed house. He stayed two cars behind them rolling down Greenwood Drive and crossing Victory Boulevard straight into Cavalier Manor. He stayed on their tail, smiling when the car turned into Bonneville Apartments. Dialo pulled over and watched all three men get out of the car. By the looks of things, they planned on being here for a while. He pulled off to quickly take his girlfriend home. She lived next door in Charlestown Apartments. He just hoped he could return before they left the neighborhood.

Dialo couldn’t believe his luck when he saw his older cousin Bobby standing in front of the Charlestown Rent Office, talking to a group of dudes.

He came to a stop and rolled down his window, Yo, wassup, Cuz. I was just about to look for you. You goin’ anywhere? Bobby shook his head, Well, lemme drop Talesha off and I’ll be right back to holla at you.

OK Lil Cuz, I’ll be right here. He tipped a can of Bull Malt Liquor beer to his face.

Dialo dropped Talesha off at home and turned his car around. Bobby will show me what I need to do, he surmised. His older cousin was a veteran street hustler known around town to handle disputes with violence. Dialo looked up to him like an older brother and never wanted to look soft in the eyes of his idol.

Bobby sat in the car when Dialo pulled up. What’s so important? he asked as soon as he shut the door.

Dialo replayed everything to his cousin, from the moment Pretty Pete suggested riding out to Prentise Park to turning in to Charlestown.

Man, why you ain’t tell me you was goin’ do that? You ain’t’ know Petey fucked up on that dope?

Naw man, I ain’t know. Dialo was slowly shaking his head, staring in the distance watching the cars zip back and forth on Greenwood Drive.

Man, Homeboy been robbin’ dudes lately to feed his habit. I’m tellin’ you, Petey set yo ass up. The questions is, whatchu wanna do about it?

I want my money back! snarled Dialo.

That’s it? Bobby snapped back snidely. You need to fuck him and homeboy ass up! Pretty Pete sold you out and not only that, he did it wit’ a Downtown cat!

Yeah, I do wanna beat his ass, but he wit’ two other niggas and Drew had a gun.

Man, fuck dat gun, Bobby spit out with venom. He nodded his head toward the passenger widow where beyond the tinted glass stood six of Bobby’s friends. We got guns too!

Dialo raised an eyebrow, Well, let’s get ‘em then, not quite sure of what he just committed to.

Put the car in park and get out. I want to run all this down wit’ da fellas. It’ll only take a minute.

Bobby was already in the middle of telling them by the time he walked over to the group. After the swift recap of the recent events everyone agreed to ride for the young hustler-in-training.

Eight men rode off in three cars towards Bonneville Apartments with criminal intent. Bobby rode with Dialo and the rest followed in the other two vehicles.

The plan was for one car to find a parking spot somewhere behind the white Ninety-Eight. Another would park across the street from them. Dialo would park further down the street and walk back. There was a large oak tree for the two cousins to wait, concealed in a cloak of darkness under the branches.

Remember, me and my boys all got guns. We’ll use them if we need to, but all we need to do is beat their asses. We gon’ fuck ’em up so bad, they’ll wish we would’ve just shot ‘em. Bobby was looking at his cousin checking to see if he was ready to go to war.

Ok. Y’all just make sure y’all leave Pretty Pete to me, Dialo responded, tapping the Louisville Slugger against his leg as they walked to the tree.

People were still hanging out in the neighborhood. There was a group of young men standing on the side of one of the apartments drinking wine and selling drugs. Bobby told Dialo to stay under the tree while he went to talk to them to see who was over there and bleed them of some information.

Before Bobby returned, he made quick stops at the other two cars. He told Dialo that Pretty Pete, Drew and the drive were inside drinking. Knowing them, said Bobby, they’re in there snortin’ some D, referring to heroin.

We just gon’ have to wait ‘em out.

Damn right! Exclaimed Bobby. Knowin’ those greedy niggas, they won’t be in there for long."

How you know? Dialo asked, holding the bat across his waist by both ends.

Cuz, they ain’t gonna want to share all of their heron."

The three guys who were parked behind the white car got out and began talking amongst themselves. The three across the street remained inside their vehicle.

Don’t waste no time talkin’, Cuz. They’ll know what time it is when they feel that bat.

Dialo didn’t respond. There was no need. Besides him, the others had another bat and two crow bars to inflict pain. The rest of them would have their pistols in hand for back-up.

They only had to wait an hour for their targets to come out. Dialo didn’t step out from the shadows until they were directly across from him. They were close enough to smell the cheap liquor emanating from their pores.

Dialo tapped Drew on the back of his shoulder with the bat. He wanted to hit him first because he pulled that gun on him earlier and took his money.

The nudge of something hard caused Drew to turn his head. Yo…

Before Drew could see who was trying to get his attention, he felt immense pain behind his knee. Agh, shit! He screamed, dropping to the ground.

Pretty Pete saw a blur of movement and then Drew fell down screaming. He turned around to be rewarded with a crushing blow to the gut. When he bent over, another hit him on the back like a sledge hammer. By then, Bobby hit the driver with a crowbar and the rest of the crew joined in on the beating. They rained blows on the trio relentlessly and without remorse.

In the hood, this kind of activity was normal and no one tried to intervene. The people who were outside simply stood there and watched the beat down.

The crack of bones could be heard over the stomps, swings and screams. Pretty Pete was begging for Dialo to stop. Naw Nigga, grunted Dialo coming down with the bat again. This for settin’ me up to get robbed!

Dialo could see that Pretty Pete wasn’t in any shape to move without help so he turned back to Drew. Bobby and two others were stomping and kicking him as he lay in the grass in a fetal position. Bobby seemed to raise his knee all the way to his chest before dropping his Nike Air Max down viciously on Drew’s leg. Dialo moved between them to make them stop.

Dialo got down on one knee and rolled Drew over for him to see his face. I told yo ass I was gon’ remember that shit. He looked up when he heard a sound and saw Bobby kicking Pretty Pete.

Naw, Dialo continued, lemme empty your pockets. He went in Drew’s pants pulling out money and a small plastic bag of heroin. Don’t feel so good when it’s your pockets, huh?

Drew could only moan. It wasn’t easy to talk with a broken jaw.

They left the three guys broken and beaten on the ground under the glare of the street light. A police siren could be heard in the distance so it was time to leave. However, not before they relieved the other two of their money. They also took guns from Drew and the driver.

For most people, being robbed at gunpoint would’ve made them find another lifestyle and profession. Not Dialo, he was cool as a winter breeze. From start to finish, he was never afraid. If asked how he felt, he thought, as he and Bobby jogged back to his car to make a hasty exit before the police arrived, thinking to himself, the thrill of making fast money far exceeded any fears about the nature of the business. Dialo drove off into the night knowing he’d be a drug dealer. He made a vow, as he watched a police car zip past him with flashing lights and sirens blasting, that he would be honorable and fair. But he would not be forgiving or merciful if crossed.

CHAPTER ONE

ON THE ROAD AGAIN…. For some reason, Dialo always thought of that country western song when he went on his trips down south. He wasn’t into country music. In fact, he only knew two songs: You gotta know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em, know when to walk away, know when to run. Those were the only words he knew to both songs and they both held meaning to his life.

"Yo, Ni-Ni!