Greedy Thieves

By D. Broussard

Alert! To all readers this creation is brilliantly scripted and masterfully put together it’s fast pace plot, great car chase, police corruption what more could you ask for in a drama filled hood tale I give it an A+ D.Broussard is the new fresh voice to street commentary.
- uncaged minds

Tiffany is a small town stripper with wide eyes and big dreams to become the next boss bitch until she find out that her fairytale ending could turn out to be a nightmare that would cost her everything…..

Fendi is fresh out from doing a six year stretch and is now proud to put the words ex-affiliation to his once prominent membership of a notorious criminal enterprise soon realize that the past never will forget and some debts are paid in cold blood….

Sergeant Mike Nimlos is a highly decorated officer that had it all until the truth of his illegal off the clock activities came to light causing him to create a band of corrupt cops that called their crime unit. R.E.D.R.U.M…..

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jun 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781698702261

D. Broussard

Creating has always been one of D. Broussard's strong suits considering the hardened life he lived coming from a poverty-stricken neighborhood that was subjected to gang violence and drug dealing, ultimately landing him in Federal prison where he now resides, trying hard to change a negative into a positive...D. Broussard finds a refuge in writing, because it gives him a sense of escape from the mental battlefield of solitary confinement...Armed with a pen and pad, D. Broussard found his true calling while trying hard to turn his life around from gang-affiliations to novelist. D. Broussard is a new breed that has not only street credibility, but he's a visionary that brings readers on a non-stop roller-coaster ride through conflict, violence and hard-hitting entertainment that's one big page turning masterpiece. D. Broussard is currently in the kitchen whipping-up new dope: "Still Greedy"...

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© Copyright 2011 D. Broussard.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-6987-0225-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6987-0226-1 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Trafford rev. 06/13/2022

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CONTENTS

[Locked Down]

[The Go Down]

[The $Ituation]

[Home $Weet Home]

[Grind -’ Time]

[Fir$T Impfe$$Ion]

[Ca$Per]

[Paper Cha$E]

[$Eem Like Deja’ Vu]

[Hail Mary]

[Da’ Real Ke$Ha]

[Get’em, Mami]

[Game Over]

[A Long Goodbye]

[Block Party]

[Love $Hack]

[Federale$]

[The Fallout]

[Ghost Ridin’ Da’ Whip]

[Perfect Plan]

[$Extillion]

[A $Our Note]

[Incognito]

[Fly Trap]

[Pop Goe$ Da’ Wea$El]

[4-Corner Hu$Tler]

Epilogue

[LOCKED DOWN]

The juvenile center was located in the heart of downtown Minneapolis with no concrete wall, no guard towers, and absolutely no razor wire fence. Just a plain red brick building and a batch of retired teachers with chips on their shoulders from years of under pay and poor benefits taking pleasure in trying to rehabilitate a bunch of ingrates. It was during orientation when Fendi met four neighborhood thieves (Jamal, Scoe, Dilla, and P-Nut) that were serving time for stealing cars. The crew all became cool and started hanging out together, but on this particular afternoon they all decided to go to the gymnasium where a basketball tournament was being played. In jail, Fendi quickly learned that combat (fighting) comes with it’s own rituals, but the main one is not whether you win that has everyone respecting your G-code; it’s knowing that you will stand up for yours that gets you respect. After the crew got seated on the steel-bleachers, Fendi noticed this white kid named Mannie who was serving time for computer fraud standing by the restroom, sporting a brand new pair of Air Jordans. He was talking to a guy that goes by the name of Spyda and his sidekick little brother Skitzo. These two had a reputation for being ‘jack boys’ (robbers), so unfortunately for Mannie, he was caught up in a squeeze play. Fendi was curious to see how the white boy was going to respond to a conversation that usually starts off like: What’s hood? become, I see you living my nigga! which later ends with, Fill this bag up nigga before your ass come up missing! The entire time, Mannie was a little uneasy because he knew their reputation for being grimy. Yet and still, in his mind, he felt that he didn’t have any problems with the duo.

Damn! We on that type of time now? Spyda said, looking at Mannie with hawk like eyes beaming in on it’s prey.

What, you think you’re better than us? Spyda asked. Them Jordan’s don’t make you no gangsta! he ended, adding insult to injury. Mannie was genuinely lost and had no clue as to what was going on.

I ain’t thinking nothing! Mannie shouted, still having no idea where all of this was leading to.

You know the situation, one hand always washes the other; Especially in a place like this, Spyda said, now stepping into Mannie’s space, he continued: Fam you needs a crew to survive in here and lucky for you, we got your back. Spyda then winked his eye at Mannie.

So it wouldn’t hurt to throw something our way now that you are a part of our crew, Skitzo said, smiling maliciously. Mannie stared at the pair, trying to figure how he let this happen. Once he finally realized his predicament it was too late, because they were right about one thing he didn’t belong to a crew and he felt trapped. Mannie’s thoughts were broken by Spyda’s voice.

What the fuck you stalling for? Run them Jordans fool! Spyda shouted, while pointing at Mannie’s shoes. Just when Mannie started untying his laces, he noticed a group of guys walking in their direction.

Do we have a problem here fellas? Fendi asked, standing about 6’0", 198 pounds of muscle and a pair of light grey eyes that added a majestic look to his mercenary demeanor while looking at Mannie the whole time.

Mind yo’ business nigga! Spyda growled, stepping in front of Mannie.

Well! See that’s where you’re wrong, because this white boy is a part of our crew, so that ‘makes’ it our business, ‘partner’, Fendi continued, while grabbing Mannie’s arm and pulling him over towards him.

You better get the fuck back, blood! Spyda warned, with murder in his eyes as he stuck his arm out to prevent Mannie from moving.

Or what? Fendi challenged, adding: You ain’t gonna, but before he could finish, Spyda charged him and they both squared off (fought). The crew got the best of the duo, lumping them up something awful. Once the smoke cleared, both groups were seperated and put in the hole. While in the tank, Fendi took time to look around the room at the guys that stood by his side and that’s when he noticed the unusual personalities and appearances they all had which caused them to stand out among the masses. Jamal, standing approximately at 6’3", was one of the tallest guys he’d seen his age. He weighed almost 200 pounds and wore long dreads with blond tips that hung down his back, which complemented his light skinned features and green eyes. He looked like Ziggy Marley on steroids.

Dilla looked like a short version of Pharrell. Only he had a thugged out personality. He stood at 5’7" and 160 pounds soaking wet, but could fight like Gervonta Davis, while switching his style up, making you think that he was a N.E.R.D.

Scoe, the youngest of the crew, was Puerto Rican and black with long jet black hair he kept in two braided pony tails. Standing at 5’11" and 180 pounds he had a swagger that put you in the mindframe of Juelz Santana or Cam’ron. He just stayed so fly and some of the things he said further let you know that he was ahead of his time.

P-Nut was a whole different story altogether. This is mainly because he was originally from ‘The Windy City’ (Chicago), stood 6’0" and 193 pounds and wore deep ceasar waves in his hair that kept him super obssessed When it came to him brushing his head. One look at him would put you in the mindframe of Meek Mill or someone who just came home from prison, with all the tattoos. Not to mention the skills he had when he was on the basketball court, because hands down, no one in the midwest could see him. But, the passion for money and loyalty to his boys killed his high hopes of entering the N.B.A.

Last but not least, the odd ball of the bunch is Mannie. He was 100% Caucasian, 5’7." and 145 pounds, with blond hair and blue eyes. What truly seperated him from other White people was his ability to mingle with both black and White crowds. Although he was White, he had a style like Post Malone mixed with Kayne West. What they didn’t know was that Mannie wasn’t your ordinary criminal. He had an IQ of 150, equivalent to Einstein. With just one tap on the computer he slept with, he could transfer someone’s whole life savings in a bank account before they knew it. His only problem was that he wanted to be richer and bigger than Bill Gates and Donald Trump he wanted the world.

The crew noticed Fendi sizing them up and secretly, each one of them wondered what he was thinking. When Fendi smiled his signature smile, they all started laughing, because they knew that from this day forward they were destined to become the best crime syndicate family that ever graced the mid-west. They all took a blood oath to never reveal their most sacred weapon’s meaning:

Get rich or go to prison trying.

Once the crew all got out of juvenile hall, life was good for them even at a young age in a city that’s infested with poverty· violence, drug dealing, snitching, gangbanging and a long list of hood stars. The crew started doing small neighborhood capers to make a name for themselves. Then as time went on, the crew slowly graduated to bigger and better things. Before long, they had the block on smash. It was simple. Their motto was: Get down or Lay down

(Philly Style). The streets was their school and survival was their homework. That’s when they all decided to call themselves the Greedy Thieves. This helped them to define their state of mind at that time so they sealed the deal with platinum rings with the initials G.T. engraved in V.V.S. diamonds: with matching Gucci linx chains and an iced-out Audimar watch to sweeten the look of living life in the fast lane rent free. But every happy beginning always has a sour ending, because the crew became the focal point of every robbery division in the mid-west. Fendi couldn’t help but smile every time he recalled or talked about all the past experiences him and his guys had been through, but today was all about him as he sat in his cell putting baby-oil on his chiseled chest and washboard stomach compliments of the prison weight pile of course. This was no ordinary morning for him, because today was the day he had been waiting a long time for, but truth be told, he was a little nervous. Fendi finished getting dressed. He already had his clothes ready months before this special occasion, because it’s been six long ass years that he had to sit back and wait his turn. To him, it seemed more like two life sentences. Fendi was buck-da-fuck wild, with a him against the world attitude When he started his stretch in one of the most notorious state penitentiaries in the mid-west, Stillwater, A.K.A. The Gladiator School of Hard Knocks. The time didn’t faze him as much as the disappointment of not receiving a visit or getting one piece of mail from the clique that he took a blood oath with. But what really hurt him the most was that he knew it was a set-up that put him in here. Out of all the people caught-up in the raid on the chop shop by Redrum, he was the only crew member that got popped off, which raised a red flag. Not to mention, the cops knew about everything, even the jewelry store heist. Luckily he hid the stones somewhere safe. Now that today is the start of a new tomorrow, it’s time to reclaim what’s his and find the crew member that set him up, because every rat has it’s day. Fendi’s thoughts were immediately interrupted by someone screaming his name.

Last and final fuckin’ call for inmate Fendi Wright, number 164304! The fat C.O. (Correctional Officer) yelled.

Yeah! Fendi replied, a little frustrated that he didn’t get to finish reminising about the good times.

Wright! Get off your ass and report to R&D (Receiving and Discharging), the C.O. screamed, while looking around and seeing that he had a group of spectators nearby watching all of the commotion taking place before them. That’s when he added. Or you could stay here another six years crying like a bitch! He said, with a shitty-ass grin on his face.

Fuck you! Fendi yelled, then continued: Rick Ross looking homosexual trick! And walked out of the cell block. Fendi got halfway down the hall and could still hear inmates clapping and laughing at Officer Ricky. Pack out didn’t take long, because Fendi trained himself not to put a lot of value on shit that didn’t matter, nor did he stress the things that he couldn’t change (too many inmates fell victim to jail house politics). Once Fendi received his walking papers that’s when reality finally slapped him in the face. He knew that if he stayed in the game there’s only one road that awaits, so every move is a calculated step, but first he needed to find out which one of his crew members is working undercover for Redrum. Fendi took a step back while inhaling the fresh air, checking his appearance. He was surprised that even after all of these years, he still possessed a physical charm that heavenly attracts. Dressed in a Sean John T-shirt, black baggy jeans, Gucci high-top sneakers and a black belt with an iced-out G.T. engraved buckle that held up his pants. Fendi never really knew how much value freedom held until now, but that feeling was short lived when he noticed two white men in nice suits walking towards him. Fendi’s thoughts were running rampant; They had to be Federal Agents, he kept telling himself, because that’s one of the two major fears for anybody doing state time. Number one is hoping you live to see your SRD-date (release), and two is to pray that the Federales aren’t outside the gates waiting on your ass. Fendi’s first impulse was to run, but how many muthafuckers actually get away from the U.S. government?,’ Fendi thought as he stood there, pondering his next move. When the two men were within striking distance, Fendi’s mind was made up. He then turned around and assumed the position by putting his hands behind his back, but he was stopped by the taller one of the two.

No need for all of that! The guy said, smiling and clearly noticing that this dude thought they were cops. Fendi was desperately trying to calm his nerves, because he was relieved to know that they weren’t cops. But the question still remains, Who the fuck are they and what do they want with him? Fendi’s thoughts were interrupted by the mystery mens’ next question.

You must be Fendi? The tall guy asked, taking a step in Fendi’s direction.

I guess it truly all depends on who wants to know, Fendi said with one eyebrow raised, causing both men to start laughing knowing that his defense mechanism was in high gear.

We are not here to harm you sir! the guy said, with a stern look on his face. He then added, We work for a highly prestigious delivery company hired to drop off a car at this time to you. He then handed Fendi a set of car keys and a white