becoming a billionaire. In order to corner the market, they needed something that would keep people coming back seconds after they shot up and the average dope wouldn’t do it. After word got around that Black Montel, a dealer down south was dominating by manufacturing his own product, Jarvis and Kyope decided to make the trip to Texas. Manufactured dope was the new wave. Black Montel had a white chemistry student on his team who did just that. It wasn’t just any dope Black Montel sold. It was so addictive that it had people shooting up within feet of where they copped, just to come back seconds later to cop again.
They tried to reach the white kid and it was impossible. Nobody knew his identity. And getting close to Black Montel proved to be difficult too because his security was top notch. In fact, it took months to win Black Montel’s trust and even then, he wasn’t willing to give up his recipe. His only offer was to discount his wholesale price since they came prepared to do big business. Black Montel’s generosity was due primarily to the weight being too small to takeover but large enough to flood New York. He liked to remain in charge.
Black Montel’s offer wasn’t good enough for Jarvis and Kyope. After a gun show which left twelve of Black Montel’s men dead, Jarvis and Kyope managed to throw Black Montel into the trunk of their car and torture him until he told them how he made the dope he called, “Buckle”. It was named for curling niggas over after the first pull.
Only after pulling up his toe nails, taping his eyelids back and pouring rubbing alcohol in them, did he talk. He was so determined to die with the information that he endured hours of abuse. Realizing a quick death would be less painful, he finally spoke.
“I’ll tell you what you wanna know!” Black Montel cried as alcohol fell into his eyes stinging terribly. “Just please….kill me! I can’t take it!”
Jarvis looked at Kyope and smiled at his defeat.
Before killing him, they made sure the recipe was right. Jarvis and Kyope were shocked that dope mixed with a caffeine powder substance could be such a commodity. That was six months ago and now they were two of the richest niggas in America. But with JoJo being unable to cook, lately they were killing more people than they were causing addictions and dope heads were copping elsewhere.
“How ya’ll know it ain’t workin’ right anyway?” Jarvis questioned.
“We been givin’ out testers and niggas been droppin’ dead. At first it ain’t matter cuz word got out that we had the truth. After a while niggas was droppin’ like flies and word got out not to fuck wit’ us at all.”
“You mean in all of New York you can’t find one mothafucka that’ll try the shit out?”
“You know they’ll always be at least one mothafucka. But we not getting’ the flow we use to. I mean…we can go to DC and try it there. But ‘round New York, it just ain’t happenin’. And until we get it right, we short.”
“You niggas is worthless!” Jarvis focused on Steel’s mother as she wept over the casket. He knew from Steel that she indulged herself every now and again. Her pale white face showed years of dope abuse. He decided to use her as a tester. “ Don’t cut the dope wit’ nothin’ ‘til it’s proper. Just sell it straight up. And then I want you to get JoJo and have him show you how to cook.”
“But he in the hospital. He dyin’, man.”
“You heard me right? Drag his half-dead ass to the lab and have him show you. Cause if my product not right, I’m testin’ it on you next.”
A surge of fear went through Prangsta.
“And when it’s done, we’ll rename it “The Crown”.
“Why ‘The Crown’?” Prangsta asked hesitantly.
“Cuz when they first try it, they’ll feel like kings and queens. And then they’ll be stripped of all their possessions, startin’ wit’ they money first.”
“I like that,” Prangsta smiled trying to get back on his