famous—"
"I didn't know that," said Tommy nervously. "Doesn't that kind of thing bring a lot of trouble? I don't need trouble. I already got people on my ass."
"Take the knot out of your dick," said LaShawn. O.T. laughed softly. "It's just a little newspaper story. You are the scariest damned man I know."
"It's just that this is delicate, that's all. Each of these processors is catalogued with a serial number. It takes a lot for me to erase the trail. I have to create new numbers, then intermingle them with legitimate ones. If someone got nosy—"
"Nobody knows shit, all right?" said LaShawn.
LaShawn heard a noise from outside. O.T. heard it too, and pulled a Cobra .38 and went to the old metal garage door.
"Hey, what's with the gun?" asked Tommy worriedly. He clutched the chips to his body unconsciously.
"Gotta be careful, that's all," said LaShawn.
Tommy was using the chips to build computers on the cheap, and then sell them to public schools via a government contract. A nice hustle, thought LaShawn, but it was a white man's hustle. He wasn't interested in elaborate scams. All he wanted was the money. His deal was one hundred percent profit.
"Shit's okay," said O.T. "Nobody out there."
"I might need some more of these next week," said Tommy.
"Can't do it," said LaShawn. "I barely got away with these ones. My people don't like side deals. I gotta wait until the time is right."
"I can pay fifty percent more in a week," said Tommy.
"Ain't worth it. I'm fucked if I get caught by my crew. You can't put no price on that."
"Look, my contract has got to be closed. After that, we can get a better schedule. It's all crazy now, and they want the shit yesterday."
"Sorry, can't help you," said LaShawn. "We out, man. Beep me in a couple of weeks or so."
LaShawn and O.T. started toward the door. LaShawn passed some money to O.T., who stuffed it into his pocket without counting it.
"Okay, double," said Tommy from behind them. "I'll have to fudge my numbers a little, but at least I'll make the deadline."
LaShawn and O.T. stopped walking. "Well, that changes everything," said LaShawn. "Maybe we might have to take more of a chance at them prices."
"Good," said Tommy. "I'll need Pentium II chips like these or better, and if you can get some of those Zip drives or writable CD drives, I'll pay ten percent more."
LaShawn tried to quickly calculate what that meant. He wasn't good at math, but he understood more . "All right," said LaShawn. "A week." He slapped five with Tommy.
When LaShawn turned to leave, a man with a sawed-off shotgun burst through a door in the back of the garage.
O.T. went for his gun, and the man fired, hitting O.T. in the meaty part of his thigh. O.T. fell to the ground, screaming and dropping his weapon.
LaShawn dropped the newspaper he was holding, and turned to run, only to find a woman holding an S & W shorty .40 coming through the metal garage door.
"Don't think so, my nigga," said the man with the shotgun. He turned the weapon on LaShawn. "Don't move, or I'll have to cut you down like your boy there."
"LaShawn, LaShawn," said the woman. "Whazzup, boy?" She had an evil smile on her lips.
"Dake, Nita," said LaShawn. "This was for the crew, I swear . . ."
Dake lowered his shotgun and kicked O.T.'s gun away from him. Then he went to LaShawn and Tommy and searched them for guns. He removed LaShawn's gun, a 9mm.
"White boy's clean," said Dake. O.T. groaned. Dake kicked him in the face. "Shut the fuck up," he said.
Dake was a stocky man, about twenty or so. He had medium-length braids that came to his ears and a baby face that seemed out of place on his frame. Nita was an angular woman with long black dreadlocks. She had a pretty face, marred only by a nasty scar on her chin.
The metal garage door creaked again. LaShawn turned to see another black man walk in. The sun reflected
"I didn't know that," said Tommy nervously. "Doesn't that kind of thing bring a lot of trouble? I don't need trouble. I already got people on my ass."
"Take the knot out of your dick," said LaShawn. O.T. laughed softly. "It's just a little newspaper story. You are the scariest damned man I know."
"It's just that this is delicate, that's all. Each of these processors is catalogued with a serial number. It takes a lot for me to erase the trail. I have to create new numbers, then intermingle them with legitimate ones. If someone got nosy—"
"Nobody knows shit, all right?" said LaShawn.
LaShawn heard a noise from outside. O.T. heard it too, and pulled a Cobra .38 and went to the old metal garage door.
"Hey, what's with the gun?" asked Tommy worriedly. He clutched the chips to his body unconsciously.
"Gotta be careful, that's all," said LaShawn.
Tommy was using the chips to build computers on the cheap, and then sell them to public schools via a government contract. A nice hustle, thought LaShawn, but it was a white man's hustle. He wasn't interested in elaborate scams. All he wanted was the money. His deal was one hundred percent profit.
"Shit's okay," said O.T. "Nobody out there."
"I might need some more of these next week," said Tommy.
"Can't do it," said LaShawn. "I barely got away with these ones. My people don't like side deals. I gotta wait until the time is right."
"I can pay fifty percent more in a week," said Tommy.
"Ain't worth it. I'm fucked if I get caught by my crew. You can't put no price on that."
"Look, my contract has got to be closed. After that, we can get a better schedule. It's all crazy now, and they want the shit yesterday."
"Sorry, can't help you," said LaShawn. "We out, man. Beep me in a couple of weeks or so."
LaShawn and O.T. started toward the door. LaShawn passed some money to O.T., who stuffed it into his pocket without counting it.
"Okay, double," said Tommy from behind them. "I'll have to fudge my numbers a little, but at least I'll make the deadline."
LaShawn and O.T. stopped walking. "Well, that changes everything," said LaShawn. "Maybe we might have to take more of a chance at them prices."
"Good," said Tommy. "I'll need Pentium II chips like these or better, and if you can get some of those Zip drives or writable CD drives, I'll pay ten percent more."
LaShawn tried to quickly calculate what that meant. He wasn't good at math, but he understood more . "All right," said LaShawn. "A week." He slapped five with Tommy.
When LaShawn turned to leave, a man with a sawed-off shotgun burst through a door in the back of the garage.
O.T. went for his gun, and the man fired, hitting O.T. in the meaty part of his thigh. O.T. fell to the ground, screaming and dropping his weapon.
LaShawn dropped the newspaper he was holding, and turned to run, only to find a woman holding an S & W shorty .40 coming through the metal garage door.
"Don't think so, my nigga," said the man with the shotgun. He turned the weapon on LaShawn. "Don't move, or I'll have to cut you down like your boy there."
"LaShawn, LaShawn," said the woman. "Whazzup, boy?" She had an evil smile on her lips.
"Dake, Nita," said LaShawn. "This was for the crew, I swear . . ."
Dake lowered his shotgun and kicked O.T.'s gun away from him. Then he went to LaShawn and Tommy and searched them for guns. He removed LaShawn's gun, a 9mm.
"White boy's clean," said Dake. O.T. groaned. Dake kicked him in the face. "Shut the fuck up," he said.
Dake was a stocky man, about twenty or so. He had medium-length braids that came to his ears and a baby face that seemed out of place on his frame. Nita was an angular woman with long black dreadlocks. She had a pretty face, marred only by a nasty scar on her chin.
The metal garage door creaked again. LaShawn turned to see another black man walk in. The sun reflected
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