Attraction

8: You'll Know

Just a filler update...

"Fuck y'all lounging around fa'?!," an irritated Sherron questioned looking at his runners relaxing when there was money to be made. You could never get time back— time is money.

"Get y'all ass up," Bleu added clapping making the runners scatter like roaches. There were a total of eighteen runners– Sherron, Bleu and Key each employed six. Two would be over weed, two would be over the narcotics and two were hitmen. Even though it was levels to the street game, Sherron made to where everyone eats. No one was greedy— no one had room to complain.

Sherron sighed sitting on the worn out couch that was positioned in the middle of the living room.

"Say mane, how you know you ain't got them lil niggas selling bunk. That shit could be counterfeit as fuck," Key commented taking a seat next to Sherron. Key just had this thing that he knew for sure Benji was going to shit them— if not sooner than later.

"They're not pushing Benji's product yet. They're pushing Ant's but since you have doubts, test the waters," Sherron declared getting up and grabbing Benji's product out of the original duffle bag.

Pulling out a switch blade, Bleu did the honors of slicing the kilo open. Bleu scooped a small pile of cocaine onto the blade and passed it to Sherron who passed it to Key.

Key dipped his finger in the soft powder and rubbed the substance along his gums– the application was smooth not gritty or lumpy and the tingle kicked in almost instantly.

"Ight Rick James, become one of these crack heads if you want to," Bleu joked as just Key sat there feeling his gums numb.

"That's good shit," Key commented getting up and grabbing a water bottle of to the fridge. They all fell out in a fit of laughter as Key swished the cold water in his mouth.

Sherron started chopping the powder and cutting it into portions, just like his father taught him. Bleu grabbed the bags, assisting Sherron in the process. Even though his father wasn't there as much as Sherron would liked, he sure did come at a damn good time. By the time Sherron was 18 he was set for life. 

Key joined shortly, working the triple beam scale. After thirty minutes tops, there wasn't a single trial of substance on the glass coffee table.

Shanti ❤️: Bring me some iced oatmeal cookies please 🙃
12:04 p.m.

Call Trent.
Read 12:05 p.m.

Shanti ❤️: He's at work. 🙄
12:06 p.m

So am I.
Read 12:10 p.m.

I'm just playing damn.
Delivered 12:11 p.m.

Shanti ❤️: I loves you 😩

He chuckled at Shanti's pettiness, grabbing his keys off the table. "I'm 'bout to ride to the store. Y'all want anything?," Sherron asked the two men that rested on the couch.

"A Russian Cream," Key answered throwing a couple dollars Sherron's way. Sherron took a mental note of the requests and proceeded to his destination.

Bleu made sure to check and see that Sherron was gone before so he could talk about a certain subject.

"What's up with you, mane?," Bleu asked Key kicking his feet up on the table.