Page 51 of This Is Law 2

Chapter Seventeen

DUTCH THORNE

It was after nine at night, and I was parked in the hood, at some apartments, where one of my trap houses were being ran out of.

I only pulled up out this way because I was headed home, so I decided to scope the scenery out, and see what my young boys were doing.

I liked to do shit like this from time to time because if you didn’t always hold these young niggas hands, they would tend to take advantage, fuck up, and not follow the rules that were set in place.

It’s been times that niggas that worked for me would treat trap houses like an after-hour spot, having their hoes, and niggas that they run with pull up.

They did shit like that, thinking that if it was late at night, I wouldn’t pull up, and catch them in the act, but the thing about me, you never knew what it was that I had up my sleeve, so you had to always be on your toes.

Shit like that, where I had men working for me, being sloppy, and putting all of our freedom on the line was the reason why I was now content in my decision about walking away from the game.

At first, I felt bad, knowing that I was taking money out of other men’s mouths, but I had to make this decision for me, and my future.

My son didn’t take the news too well. In fact, he found himself not fuckin with me.

The main thing Kross was upset about was the fact that I wasn’t passing down the thrown to him.

I loved him too much to even put him in a position of failure like that.

The shit that he needed to run a drug enterprise, he didn’t have it in him, and he wasn’t going to learn it in these short few weeks that I had left in the game.

Sadly, he just didn’t get a lot of my traits, and because of that, he didn’t have it in him, and I wanted him to be okay with that, but he acted like selling dope was the only option that he had.

I kept telling him to come to me with a plan on what he wanted to do with his future, and I would help fund it, but everything would always point back to him moving dope.

He even came at me, telling me to just put him on to my connect that I had, so that he could do business with him, but I told him that I wasn’t doing that, either.

Now, he was in his feelings, carrying on like a little bitch, and he hasn’t been to the crib in a couple of weeks.

I tried reaching out to him a couple of days ago, so that me and him could talk, but he didn’t pick the phone up for me.

My son was pretty much the only thing that I had left in this world.

Even though me, and Law squashed our differences, there was still that piece of me that didn’t know if I could trust Law, just like he didn’t know if he could trust me.

I didn’t know if that nigga was going to do some digging, and somehow find out that I was responsible for killing his pops, and if he found out, I knew he was going to get his get back with Kross before gunning for me, and that’s why I was trying to keep my son close to me because although me, and Kross didn’t always see eye to eye, and that boy could work my fuckin nerves, I loved him to pieces, and would lose my mind if something were to happen to him.

I was deep in thought when there was a tap on my window.

Because I had been on edge like a motha fucka these days, I quickly went for my gun that was in my lap, and I turned to look.

There was a young boy standing outside my car door, and even with him being young, that didn’t ease my mind because these young niggas are the ones that’s most reckless, lived like they didn’t have anything to live for, and would be quick to pull a trigger for the smallest shit.

I rolled the window down with my left hand, but with my right, I raised the gun, keeping it trailed on him.

His eyes bucked, proving that he was scared out of his mind.

When he saw the gun, he immediately stepped back, and he threw his hands up, letting me know that he didn’t have anything on him, and he didn’t want any smoke with me.

“I feel threatened. Nigga, you better say something fast before I blow your motha fuckin head off!” I was dead ass serious, not going to show his young ass any mercy, even though I could tell that he was just a kid.

“Chill out. I’m not even on that kind of time.

I don’t got shit on me. I just wanted to talk to you,” he said, raising his shirt, and he went into the pockets of the gym shorts that he was wearing, showing me that he wasn’t strapped with anything.

Nothing about this lil nigga was something for me to be scared, threatened, or on edge about, so I sat my gun down in my lap, but I kept my eyes on him, just in case shit went left, and I had to use my shit on him.

“What you want, man? Make that shit quick,” I got right to the point.

“I know who you are. I want to move weight for you. My name Quay,” he said. I looked him up, and down, trying to see where I knew this little nigga from. His face looked familiar. I just couldn’t come up with it right now.

“I know you from somewhere. Where I know you from?” I inquired.

“You probably saw me with Creed before. We not on the best kind of timing right now, but we used to be something like best friends. Damn near brothers. You could know my pops too. His name was Fred,” he shared with me.

The second he told me that he used to run with Creed, that’s when it clicked to where I’ve seen him before.

I remember seeing him around before with Creed on a few occasions.

I’ve been to one or two of Creed’s baseball games in high school, and I remember one of those times, he was there.

I knew who his pops was, too. Now that he said who his pops was, I could see the resemblance.

He looked just like that man. His pops hustled, and was murdered, just like Knox was.

They found his killer, though. It was a hating ass nigga that tried to rob him for his chain outside of a nightclub.

I remember when that shit was the talk of the town in Miami.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you before from running with Creed. I didn’t know you were Fred’s boy. You look just like that nigga. What you doing out here, man? Shouldn’t you be somewhere tucked in bed right now? You don’t have school in the morning?” I asked, playing a father role with him.

“My mama kicked me out a couple of days ago. I got a few homeboys that stay out this way, so I’m just crashing with them until I get on my feet.

I’m not in school right now. I was expelled.

I used to move weight for Whip, but he makes all the young boys go to school in order to work for him, and because I’m not in school right now, he not letting me work.

I was sitting over there on the sidewalk, just thinking about life, and I saw your whip, and I knew that it was you, so that’s why I walked over.

You got a spot for me? I’m not no sorry ass worker.

I know how to pull my weight. I may be young, but I got the heart, and the maturity of a nigga that’s twice my age,” he shared, and I took in the things that he was saying, cleared my throat, thinking on how I wanted to answer what he’d just asked me.

“You can’t be too mature if you not in school.

How old you is nigga? Like fifteen… sixteen?

At this age, the only thing you should be worried about is taking your ass to school, making good grades, and respecting your mama.

Let me ask you something. Why you want to be a dope boy?

Because your daddy was one? No offense to your pops, but you see where that nigga at, right?

” I asked. These were the same questions that I would ask my own son.

Kross wanted to be a dope boy so bad, and I felt like he only wanted it so bad, so that he could follow in my shoes.

You could tell that Quay didn’t like the questions that I asked him because he ended up sucking his teeth.

“I don’t understand niggas like you, and Whip.

Ya’ll have the city on lock, pushing the nicest whips, living in nice homes, and ya’ll get respect all throughout Miami, right?

Ya’ll know that the young niggas like me going to see that shit, and we going to want it too.

Ya’ll be quick to preach to us, telling us that we need to go to school and shit, knowing damn well that we not trying to hear that bullshit!

You going to let me move weight for you, or not?

Fuck all that shit you trying to teach me.

I’m trying to make some money,” he spat.

I laughed at this hot head nigga, while shaking my head.

I wanted to tell his young ass that he had a mouth like his daddy, and that’s why his daddy got popped in the first place.

Nigga had a gun to his head, with someone demanding his chain, and he was talking all that shit, not wanting to give it up, and that’s why he lost his life.

As much as I wanted to say it, I could tell that he was down on his dick, probably mentally fucked up, so hearing that probably wasn’t the best thing for the head space that he was in, so I wasn’t going to say it.

“Nah, man. I’m not going to be in this shit much longer, anyways. I’m retiring from it,” I told him.