Page 42 of He Thugged Me First

KASAIR - ONE WEEK LATER

In my opinion, the worst pain in the world was being shot. I mean, this wasn’t the first time I’d taken a bullet or two, but it was definitely gonna be the last. Unlike most of these niggas I had a low ass pain tolerance, and I wasn’t scared to share that shit. I just knew all that I could take, and pain wasn’t one of those things. I got shot a week and a half ago, and I swear I still felt the burning pain sensation in my shoulder and on the side of my neck. The thing as well was that there was no way around this. When Mazz got shot, we assumed that it wasn’t meant for him and somebody just had some fucked-up aim. Now, I disagreed with that because a motherfucker had actually shot my car up with Mecca and me inside. Somebody wasdefinitely gunning for us, but who? The difference between the way Mazz ran shit and other niggas was the fact that he was very levelheaded. He actually treated the game like chess. Every move he ever made was heavily thought out, and he never set out to take a life unless it was absolutely necessary. Not only that, but he believed that a motherfucker didn’t have to spill blood and go to war to make money. He showed me that it was possible to coexist with other niggas in the streets because it was enough money out here for all of us. The night I got shot, they screamed this nigga Gotti’s name. He ran product on the north side and was from Indiana. As far as I knew, we didn’t have any beef, but that was only because we hadn’t crossed paths. One could never assume because niggas were weird these days.

I don’t know how long I’d taken refuge on Mecca’s sofa today, but I needed it. It seemed like her place had this peace about it that allowed me to think clearly. With Mazz moving down and me stepping up, I had to figure out how I’d deal with this. The part of me who had worked alongside Mazz for all these years wanted to schedule a sit down and get to the bottom of this, but the hot-headed street nigga in me wanted to go tit for tat. At twenty-five years old, I looked up to Mazz because he had taught me everything I knew about these streets, and I was still learning.

My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of my phone. When I looked down, it was Quari. “Yeah, bitch,” I answered.

“Open the fucking door.” He hung up right after he said that too.

Purposely, I took my time walking toward the door. This nigga Quari was the most impatient nigga I had ever met.

“Fuck you sitting here like a lil’ bitch for?” he asked as soon as I let him in.

I shook my head with a slight chuckle. “You must not be getting none. You a real disgruntled motherfucker.” I responded by resuming my seat on the sofa.

“What’s next, nigga, sweatpants and no pockets? Sports bras?” he asked, and he and Mazz took a seat on the opposite side of me.

Mazz laughed.

“What’s with that?” Quari asked. I knew for a fact he was referring to what I thought about doing when it came to being shot at.

I shook my head. My brain was overwhelmed.

“Look, lemme go pull up on that nigga Gotti, and I’ll know who shot you,” Quari suggested.

“C’mon, y’all. That ain’t even—” Mazz started. He knew when Quari said pull up he meantpullup, pull up.

“So wait. Y’all don’t wanna know who shot both of y’all?” Quari asked, glancing back and forth between me and Mazz.

“I wanna know who shot me too, Quar. We can’t just go busting people joints though. When niggas are beefing, it’s impossible to make money.”

“Then what do you wanna do? Wait around for a motherfucker to blast again? I get yeen tryna go start shit, but?—”

“You gotta go handle it. Mecca said somebody said Gotti’s name that night. So now y’all gotta go see Gotti.” Mazz shrugged. This nigga was dead ass serious about stepping out of the game, and after a few new wounds, I saw why.

I nodded my head. “You going with this trigger-happy ass nigga, right?”

“Just because I know my way around that heat doesn’t mean I’m?—”

“I beg to fucking differ. Quari, when ya hand is on the trigger you ’ont think. You act off pure instinct.” Mazz laughed becauseQuari had been that way for years. Shit, even before he became a contract.

Quari laughed. “I handle mine.”

With a laugh caught in my chest, I shook my head. He was right, he handled his and anyone else’s as long as the price was right.

“Finesse.” Mazzier glanced over at Quari.

“Nah. I ain’t got none of that. I’m with the blow a motherfucker down coalition,” Quari responded with a straight face.

Both of us started to laugh at him, but he was serious.

“Look, I know that shit very well. The thing is, the way you run a successful street business without the bullshit is negotiation and the right amount of force. If you blow every motherfucker down who poses a problem, then who are you gonna negotiate with at the end?” he asked.

“My motherfucking self,” Quari said.

Mazzier shook his head. “You sure you wanna sell dope? I mean?—”

“Fuck outta here. It can’t be that hard.” Quari shrugged.

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