Page 67 of Street Heiress
With the inconsistencies that Riot pointed out to me, I wanted to get to the bottom of it, so I had no choice but to put the cameras up. Shop was closed for MBM because most of us were here in Mexico, and we wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night.
I quickly went to the camera footage, and I saw that it was Mook walking around in the room. I followed this nigga intensely, watching him as he went over to a box, pulled out the contents that were inside, and he was able to get a baggie out. My heart was racing, hoping that this nigga wasn’t getting ready to do what I thought he was.
It took a few seconds, but I watched him as he dumped out some of the contents onto the table, pulled something out of his pocket, so that he could line it up, and when I saw him lean his head in, and sniff the product up his nose, my whole body froze up on me. I sat back, and I watched this nigga do that at least five times.
Me, and all my niggas smoked weed. We drank too. I didn’t know of any of my niggas doing coke, especially not Mook. I sold this shit for a living, but it was heartbreaking what coke could do to you. It could literally fuck you up as a whole. Fuck up your mind.
For weeks, I’ve been feeling like his ass was tripping. I wondered if this was some shit that he just started doing, or if he’s been getting high off the supply for a while and has just been able to cover it up really well.
This nigga went inside his pocket, pulled out a Ziploc bag, and with all the baggies that were in front of him, he went through each of them, dumping contents into the Ziploc bag that was in front of him.
Seeing that, I put my hands on top of my head, and all I could do was think about a conversation that I had with Riot a whileback. She didn’t flat out come out and say it, but she basically was telling me that somebody was either stealing from me or getting high off the supply. This nigga was doing both. A nigga that was supposed to be like my fuckin brother.
You can’t look at the shit that he’s doing and think that it isn’t a big deal. That shit adds up across multiple packages. I’m selling less product than what the fuck I paid for. In other words, he was stealing from me. Shortchanging me. I’m paying all this motha fuckin money for weight that I’m not even moving for real because he’s getting high off the shit.
If we out here pushing this shit on the streets, it was only a matter of time before customers started to notice. That’s bad business. That made me look bad. That made the business look bad.
Every fuck up that I have within my organization, somehow, Octavio always finds out about it. He knows about that shit with dem 9 boyz, and he was on me heavy last night about it. If I got a nigga in my camp stealing from me, then he could translate that to me not watching these niggas correctly. If product wasn’t consistent, then I lacked management skills. That shit makes me look sloppy. Octavio didn’t do business with sloppy motha fuckas. A sloppy nigga working for Octavio would get you, and your whole family’s head served to him on a fuckin platter.
I had to look at it like this… A nigga that’ll steal from me, they’ll kill me. I couldn’t keep that kind of person within arm’s reach of me. Mook was like my brother. I loved him deeply, but I couldn’t love somebody that was going to ultimately become a liability. I had to let him go. I had to get his ass from around me fast.
To Be Continued
