Free Love and a Gangsta by Erick Gray Page A

and drove to Fountain Ave, parked under the bridge. Donna stopped sucking my dick, looked around and asked, “Why did you stop here?”
    “I gotta meet up with some peoples… Just put your fuckin’ head back in my lap and don’t stop sucking ‘till I say you can, ya heard me?”
    I reclined and watched Donna’s head bobbing up and down.
    “I’m ah… Ugh ah…” I said grasping her hair tightly as my dick swelled in her mouth. A few more sucks and I exploded inside her mouth. She swallowed as semen still dripped from her lips. I firmly held her head positioned in my lap for a short moment. Soon after that, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a truck rolling up behind us.
    “You done?” she asked, looking unsatisfied.
    “Yeah, you did good,” I smiled.
    Monk and Tank got out the truck and were walking toward my ride. Donna uneasily, wiped her mouth and began straightening herself up. Tank quickly opened the passenger door and pulled Donna out the ride.
    “Omega, what did I do? Please, don’t do this to me, baby,” she pleaded, screaming as Monk and Tank yanked her out.
    She fell to the ground. Tank’s swift, hard kick landed against her side. As she screamed, Tank pointed the .9mm with the silencer down at her and fired two shots into her dome. By the time I got out the truck, the bitch was dead.
    “Yo wrap that up and put her in the back of your truck,” I ordered.
    “What the bitch did?” Monk asked.
    “She heard too much,” I said.
    Tank and Monk began dragging the body to their truck where the back was lined with plastic covering. It had to be done and I couldn’t risk it. Tank and Monk loaded the body in the back of the truck.
    “Dump that bitch in Jersey somewhere,” I said frustrated that the bitch with good head game had to go.
    “You sure? You don’t want me to make her disappear?”
    “Nah, she deserves to be found. It wasn’t her fault she heard what she heard.”

    Tank and Monk walked back to their truck, speedily backed up, and made a U-turn and drove off. I pulled out a cigarette and watched them leave. I sat in my truck for a moment, and then pulled off. I was on my way back on the Belt parkway when Greasy called me.
    “Speak,” I answered.
    “Yo, I talked to my boy, he’s down to link up Friday,” he informed.
    “Ahight, but you meet me tonight at the usual spot.” I hung up.
    I didn’t like discussing business on the phone. I made my way back to Queens and met up with Greasy at the Wine-up, a small hole-in-the-wall bar, on South Road and 150th street. I felt comfortable there.
    I pulled up to the place at midnight. It was a quiet night. A few locals were out lingering around on the corners, smoking, drinking, losing themselves in whatever drugs were available. I walked inside the joint and met Greasy in a backroom where we did business.
    “Greasy, what you got for me?” I greeted.
    “What’s poppin’, Mega?” he replied, giving me dap.
    He took a sip of his drink and then reached into his jacket and pulled out a cellophane packet.
    “What Greasy got for you—you gonna love. Check it out,” he said handing me a pack.
    “What the fuck is this?” I asked, taking it from him.
    “That right there, Mega, is gonna make us twice as rich, ten times over. It’s called ice.” He winked.
    “You mean crystal meth?”
    He nodded.
    “That shit right there, poppin’ off big in the mid-west and south. White folks out there are goin’ hard for that shit right there. We need to step up our game.”
    I continued to stare at the packet, clear crystal. Crack had made me rich. But meth was new to me, and I was skeptical about getting in bed with something new.
    “That shit is more potent than crack. It’s cheaper to produce. All we need’s a connect. I got one out in Long Island. We can be the first out here to be pushin’ this shit. Other niggas ain’t fuckin’ wit’ ice,” he continued.

    “I see you did your research, Greasy,” I said, tossing the packet back