Free A Gangsta's Son by Rio Page B

sentence reduced?”
    “She won’t say anything. We’ve already hired Britney Bostic, one of the cartel’s lawyers. Cresha will more than likely beat the case. Even if she doesn’t, she’ll only serve a year or two.”
    Aesha shook her head. “No more strip clubs for you.”
    King Royce ignored his wife’s last comment. He knew that he couldn’t tell her the truth about why he was looking after Lacresha. He couldn’t tell anyone, not even Lacresha herself.
    He leaned forward in his seat as several young black men with dreads exited Sosa’s home carrying duffle bags. He was paying the Costilla Cartel $10,000 per kilo , and charging Sosa $17,000 per kilo; which amounted to $350,000 in profit for this drug transaction.
    His iPhone started ringing with a call from Lil Cholly, a Vice Lord he’d been dumping kilos on for the past few months. He eased back in his seat and answered.
    “Back at me already?”
    “Nah,” Lil Cholly said. “Shit getting’ too hot out this way. Way too hot. It’s like the Wild West out here. Lil niggas shootin’ everybody, police everywhere you look. Fuck this shit, I’m about to fly out to Florida for the rest of the summer, or at least till all this gunplay slow down a lil bit.”
    King Royce was silent as he pondered over all the money he would undoubtedly miss out on if Lil Cholly suddenly skipped town.
    Then Lil Cholly offered a remedy to that monetary problem, and King Royce smiled tightly as he ended the call.
    Seconds later, King Royce’s driver turned the Benz around and, followed by two SUVs full of heavily armed Latin Kings, headed back to Chicago.

~Chapter 33~
    An hour had passed since I’d blown Manny’s brains out and I was more paranoid than ever. The Kush I’d smoked intensified my paranoia tenfold.
    “There’s about a hundred police out there,” Shay said, peeking out the living room window.
    I was pacing a tight circle in front of the wall-mounted flat-screen television. I was afraid that at any moment the CPD would come crashing through the door with their guns drawn; which is why I was holding my 9mm Glock with the 50-round drum in an unrelenting grip while I chewed the thumbnail of my other hand down to the flesh. I was determined to join Pops in the grave before I joined my niggas in prison.
    My two Louis Vuitton duffle bags were on the floor next to the sofa. The $200,000 ransom was packed into one of them and the rest of my cash and drugs—aside from the $8000 I had in my pants pockets—was packed up in the other one.
    “Nigga stop pacin’. You makin’ me nervous,” Scrilla Man said. He and Rose were standing near the door looking more paranoid than I was.
    “They’re letting people move their cars now,” Shay said.
    Thinking quickly, I put my pistol in one of the duffle bags, then picked both of them up and walked over to Shay.
    “Here,” I said, handing her the keys to the Caprice. “Put these bags in the trunk of that orange Chevy, drive down sixteenth to Trumbull, and park right there at the corner. We’ll meet you there in five minutes.”
    “Nah, she gotta take my truck, bruh,” Scrilla Man said. “We got two bricks in that muhfucka.”
    He was right. It was best to get all the drugs away from us as soon as possible.
    Scrilla Man gave Shay his keys and I took mine back.
    “You niggas better not get me locked up,” Shay said. She lifted the duffle bags and walked to the door. “Hand me my purse.”
    “Don’t go out there lookin’ all suspicious and shit,” I advised.
    Rose grabbed Shay’s Chanel bag off the coffee table and gave it to her. I held my breath as she descended the staircase.
    My heart dropped when Scrilla Man peeked out the window and murmured, “Damn! Shit, bruh!”
    “What?!” I said.
    “Cop just stopped her.”
    I slapped my palms to my forehead.
    “She just put the bags down.”
    ‘Oh, shit!’ was all that came to my mind.
    “She diggin’ through her purse for somethin’ now. Prob’ly her ID.”
    I