Free Thirsty by Mike Sanders Page A

disappear around the corner.
Moments after Cross had left, the four Ducatis were pulling up next to me and D.C. Once they were all parked they killed the engines and removed their helmets. I looked over at D.C. and saw him looking the niggas up and down. The driver of the bike that had been leading the pack spoke first. He looked over at D.C.
“What it do Dark Cloud. Or is it Dick Cheney? I never know what D.C. stands for from day to day. Is it Don Cornelius today?” His partners laughed.
“Nah, it’s Dying to Creep, ’cause I’m waitin’ to catch a nigga slippin’ today,” D.C. replied with a serious expression glued to his face.
The nigga turned to me and said, “What up bruh-in-law?”
It was Carlos. He had an arrogant smirk on his face. I looked at him and responded non-chalantly.
“Fuck you think’s up? A nigga’s hot, frustrated, and here y’all come fuckin’ up a nigga’s aura.” I was waving my arms around as if they could really see some type of aura going on. I was also bobbing my head to the beat of someone’s stereo that was bumping loud as hell off in the distance.
Ali spoke to both me and D.C. while Supreme and Scarface played the back and sat there mean-mugging like Carlos’ little watchdogs.
“Aura? Nigga you can’t afford an aura!” Carlos stated as he pulled a knot of hundreds from his front pocket. “Want me to buy you one?” He was laughing.
He stuffed the money back inside his pocket and moved his wrist back and forth so I could see the diamonds sparkling in his platinum watch.
“Seriously though, you got my number. You and D.C. sniper get at me when y’all ready to stop playin’ Robbin’ in da Hood and ready to make some real guap.”
He reached over from where he was seated on his bike and held my ski mask charm in his palm for a second, then let it fall back to my chest.
With much sarcasm he laughed and told his boys, “Aw, that’s so cuuuute.”
He pulled his chain from inside the neck of his t-shirt and held up his platinum Versace charm, which was flooded with baguettes.
He pointed at mine once more and said, “Look, y’all, my chain had a baby.”
I laughed and told him, “Fuck you.” I knew he was only clowning as he always did with me and D.C., but it was entirely too hot for that comedic shit.
After another joke or two, Carlos and his crew pulled off burning tires, leaving thick clouds of white smoke in their wake. I fanned the smoke from my face and coughed up a few fumes while slowly shaking my head at their feeble attempt to show off. They rode over to where the girls in the BMW were parked and they all greeted one another like they all knew each other.
After they’d left I thought about that nigga Carlos and just how much street money he was out there getting. Carlos was known for holding more weight than the scales at a Jenny Craig convention! He was also rumored to be a millionaire, but I didn’t know if that rumor had any truth to it. He was an arrogant ass nigga but we had always gotten along, except for one time.
I thought back to the day he had put his hands on Justice. They had a little lovers’ spat and he ended up smacking Justice. Needless to say, I was beyond heated. Fucking with my fam’ is a definite no-no! True enough, I’d heard about Carlos’ reputation and the bodies he’d supposedly had under his belt but I wasn’t fazed. I’d stepped to that nigga with my “problem solver” and checked his ass. And low and behold, Ice was right back with him a week later. Since that little incident had occurred I made it my business to stay out of their domesticated rifts. A woman gets her ass beat, leaves the nigga, and then ends up going right back to him? I still couldn’t figure out the logic in that shit. Women can be simple-minded as hell!
Carlos knew I was a robber and he said he respected my hustle as long as I “Never try him .”
Never try him? This thought caused me to chuckle to myself because I wondered who had died and made his