Free Larceny by Jason Poole Page B

and jumped out.
    As he was walking into the hotel lobby, his pager was blowing up like shit. Everybody was trying to cop before the first of the month. Jovan was all smiles because this was going to be his big come-up. All he could think about was the money he was ’bout to get and how right his bank was gonna be when Bilal came home.
    When Jovan got off the elevator and knocked on his connect’s room, he heard two voices. Now, whenever Jovan used to cop from this dude, he was always alone. Although sometimes he would mention his partner, Shorty, he would still do business by himself.
    When Jovan heard the two voices, naturally he was on his guard. He put the two bags of money into his left hand and kept his right hand free, close to his side, as close to his Beretta 9 mm as possible. He prayed this nigga wouldn’t try to pull no move on him, because he already had a hate for cruddy niggas, and if they even thought about violating him, he guaranteed there would be two niggas in the hotel dead, and he wouldn’t be one of ’em. He’d killed before, and would kill again if necessary.
    When Jovan’s connect opened the door, he had a smile the size of Texas on his face.
    â€œYo, money, what’s up!”
    â€œAin’t shit, slim. Still doin’ my thang.”
    As Jovan entered the hotel, he got a glimpse of the other dude sitting on the bed counting money.
    â€œYo, Jovan, this is my partner, Shorty.”
    â€œWhat up, money? I heard a lot about you,” Shorty said.
    â€œYeah, and vice versa,” Jovan said.
    After the introductions, Jovan and his connect got right down to business.
    â€œYo, Jovan, what you trying to get? You know I ain’t gonna be in town that long.”
    â€œSlim, I’m working with one eighty.”
    Jovan connect’s eyes got as big as shit when he heard how much Jovan had. Usually Jovan copped only four or five bricks at a time. Jovan guessed the sound of extra money excited him.
    â€œYo, this is what I’ma do: I got ten bricks left. I’ma give you eight, and you can owe me the difference until the next time you cop.”
    Damn, that was a sweet deal. Jovan immediately handed over the money and placed four bricks in each bag. He stood there for a second so that his connect could count the money, but it looked to him as if he was getting ready to pack up.
    â€œYou gonna count that?” Jovan asked curiously.
    â€œNaw, money. I’ve been dealing with you for six months now. You ain’t never been short. Your bank has always been right,” Jovan’s connect said.
    As Jovan left the hotel, he felt like nobody in the city could fuck with him. All he kept thinking about was how much money he was gonna make.
    His pager was still blowing up like crazy as he headed back to his townhouse as fast as he could to cook up and move this shit like a fat turkey on Thanksgiving. Jovan then started counting figures in his head. He had eight bricks at sixteen hundred an ounce. That would come out to at least three hundred and eighty thousand. He had his 535 BMW worth forty-two thousand and his MPV van worth twenty-five. All together that was four hundred forty-seven thousand. His jewelry was worth about four hundred eighty thousand, and with the little money he still had out in the streets that niggas owed him, he figured he was worth about a half a million dollars. He’d have more than enough when Bilal came home. He wished that bitch Dee-Dee could see him now, he thought, smiling to himself.
    When Jovan got to his townhouse, he pulled his van in the garage, popped the hydraulic stash, retrieved the bricks, and went into the house to start cooking them up; but first he called all his clientele back and told them he’d be ready in a little while. Then he got the ceramic pie plate and baking soda out to cook the coke. He didn’t bother to whip it. He wanted this shit to be Grade A butta! He wanted the city to know he had that