Crackhead II: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

the entryway. Smurf saw the large shadow of someone, but couldn’t make out who it was. He raised his gun to the edge of the door so when the person tried to shut it, he would be head to head with his gun. The light came on.
    “You got three seconds before I smoke you,” Smurf spoke. “Three, two . . .”
    “Aye, yo cuzzo, it’s me,” the man said in haste.
    “Who is you?” Smurf spoke menacingly.
    “Shit, who you is?” the man spoke as he turned around. “I’m lookin’ for my muthafuckin’ play cousin.”
    “Play cousin?” Smurf repeated. He put the safety on his gun and tucked it away in the small of his back. Smurf had never seen Dirty until now.
    Dirty had the reputation of a smooth businessman withmajor playa status. He had connections that were hard to come by in the drug world, making him the only distributor for the Bronx. Little did Smurf know that when he killed Marco and had Dame sliced, he’d done Dirty a favor as well.
    Smurf looked closely at Dirty. He was a short specimen of a man, standing only a few inches above him. He was also slightly older than the average hustler in the streets, somewhere in his early thirties, brown-skinned, with a noticeable scar on the lower right portion of his chin. Fresh razor cuts outlined the hairline of his low-cut fade. He was dressed nicely in a red and black Troop jogging suit with a pair of Troop sneakers. He wore two gold rope chains, one plain, the other with a cross dangling from it, and on his left hand he wore a gold nugget ring. He had a reputation as a ladies’ man, with women all over the South Bronx, Harlem, and Manhattan. He knew that money talked and bullshit walked, and he didn’t mind putting a woman in her place, either.
    The larger-than-life image that Smurf had of Dirty quickly vanished, but he looked all of a nigga who knew how to take care of business. His body was muscular, as if he’d done time in prison at one point in his life. Regardless, this was the man and the reason he ate.
    “What you doing here?” Smurf questioned.
    Dirty looked at him quizzically, as if he should know.
    “No, I meant here in my apartment.”
    “ Your apartment?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I always crash here when I’m in town.” That explained why he had a key. Dirty thought for a minute. “Cuzzo told me to meet you here.”
    “Anyway,” Smurf extended his hand. “I’m Dink’s right hand. I’m—”
    “Smurf,” the man said, still cautious but more-so pissed that a gun had been held to his head just seconds ago.
    “Right, and I’m the one you’ll be dealin’ with until further notice,” Smurf smarted back, upset that Dirty had cut him off.
    Dirty sized Smurf up and wondered if he was as bad as Dink claimed. He didn’t look like a ruthless killer, but he knew that looks could be deceiving. Dirty knew that Smurf had got rid of the weak links in Dink’s crew, and for that he was glad; but he and Dink had put a key player in their operations in a most unexpected place. Now it was time for it to pay off and to take shit to the next level. Dirty walked over to the wet bar, grabbed a glass, clunked two ice cubes in it, and poured himself a glass of Absolut. Sitting down on the couch, he swirled his drink in the glass and took a sip.
    “I know that Dink is away.”
    “So you know what’s up?” Smurf asked. He didn’t plan on giving any more information than he already had. Smurf felt that not everyone needed to know what was going on, but in Dirty’s case, if he and Dink were that cool, he would have already known what the deal was.
    “I know it all,” Dirty confirmed, “and you got yo’ work cut out for you, but first you gotta check that goddamn attitude and get the fuckin’ bass outta yo’ voice when you dealin’ with me, son.” Dirty put his glass down on the coffee table and walked over to Smurf, who was sitting on the edge of the recliner, next to the couch. Catching Smurf off guard, Dirty grabbed him by the collar. “And if you