Damiko was one of those dudes who didn’t fit in anywhere. He did not want to live in the hood forever. Damiko always said if he ever got out of this muthafucka’, he was never coming back. Not even for a quick visit. It would seem like legality would be Damiko’s answer to getting out of the hood. Get a job, save up some money, maybe get his credit score up along the way, and go about handling his business of getting out of the hood. Miko refused to work a 9-5 though. He was not giving some job and boss all of his good years for a $1500/month social security check when he turned 70-years old in return. People who didn’t want to work a 9-5 usually turned to the streets to make a buck in the hood. But Miko didn’t want to do that either. Miko refused to put himself in a position to be giving years and years of his life to the state or worse, the feds. Selling drugs to make a buck was not in the cards for Miko. It used to be though. Miko had a nice little run in the drug game back in the day. I mean, he didn’t get rich or anything, but he did pretty well for himself. Miko got popped with 9 ounces of crack and a loaded .380 handgun. That was enough to get a convicted felon a 15-year stretch. Miko did a 12-piece and some change on the 15-year prison sentence, and found himself coming home, a 35-year old adult who had never had a legal job in his life. Miko came home from prison in early 2015 with 3 and a half years probation to walk off. Miko maintained a job for those three and a half years. He worked at a few non-skilled, entry level gigs. Retail, construction, and assembly line work. Miko moved into his mom’s old house in North Philly. The same house he’d grown up in as a child. He was always making close to minimum wage, but Miko was managing to get by with his low paying gigs. The problem was, Miko didn’t want to get by. He wanted to get over. The only thing that kept Miko with a legal job for those three years was the constant reminder from his probation officer that he needed to have a job or be enrolled in some type of schooling. If he wasn’t, he would be sent back to prison on a violation of probation charge. Miko followed the rules. 12-years of your life spent behind bars was hella’ motivation for most people to never want to go back! The very day that Miko’s “completion of probation” papers came in the mail he quit his job. Miko had no plans for anything, but he’d always believed that he was put on this Earth to do a lot more than be an employee. After doing that 12-piece, Miko came to believe that he wasn’t put on this Earth to sell drugs either! But Miko believed that there was more to his life. More to his life than the every day “going ons” in the hood. Miko turned to the internet to find himself a hustle that did not take much money to set up, and more importantly, wasn’t a 9-5 that came fully equipped with a boss. Miko simply did a Google search for “Ways to make money from home.”



The first hustle from home project Miko took on was writing and self-publishing a book. Writing a book was hard work. That shit takes some people years and years to complete. But most people weren’t like Miko. Practically all of Miko’s whole life was spent dreaming. Even when Miko was out doing, the dreams that played out in his mind were always rolling. Turning a dream into a fictional book was pretty easy work for Miko. He wrote his first full-length book in 10-days. 10-days! A 300 page book. The book Miko wrote was similar to the ones he’d read in prison dozens of times. Hell, they were pretty similar to the life he once lived. The classic, hood drug dealer makes it big and puts his money into the music business novel. Miko titled his book “Dreamz & Nightmarez.” It was a pretty good book. At least, Miko thought so. Writing a book had been much easier than Miko had expected it to be. The hard part was self-publishing the joint. That part was going to take a little time to figure out. Self-publishing also meant self promotion, self editing, and self creative director. Those were some of the main reasons authors sacrificed a cut of their royalties to sign with a major publishing company. That, and the upfront advance check. Miko needed some money for advertising, or either a shitload of social media followers. Getting either one was going to take some time. In the meantine, Miko survived by going to garage sales, yard sales, and thrift shops and buying things for a low price. He turned around and sold the used goods on Ebay or Amazon. Sometimes for a pretty nice profit. That was cool and all, but that wasn’t going to be enough. Miko was in need of something bigger. Miko scoured the internet mostly all day in search of his next “make easy money from home” project. When he wasn’t doing that, he was chilling with one of two people, sometimes both.



In the 12-years that Damiko had been locked up, damn near everything changed in his North Philly neighborhood. Half of the people he once ran with were in prison or dead. The other half was like Mack. Just out there. Mack was one of the few people Damiko’s age who’d managed to play in the game without becoming highly succesful and turning their once illegal money into something legal, getting locked up, getting killed, or becoming addicted to the same drugs he’d once sold. Mack was just still out there. Not doing anything major, just on the block doing enough to get by. There were no misconceptions about the hood today. The younger generation ran that shit. Wild youngsters who were in their early to mid 20’s ran the streets. The same way that guys like Miko and Mack ran those same streets when they were in their 20’s. Dudes in their 30’s and older were simply something most youngsters accepted and tolerated out of respect. A lot of them were friends of their older brothers, uncles, and even fathers. Mack was flipping a little something on the block. Mack was only flipping a little ounce, but he did manage to sell it all maybe every three or four days. Mack had been in the streets so long that he’d realized he was never going to be a Pablo Escobar or anything like that. Mack was just flipping a little coke to basically survive. Mack had also been in the streets long enough to realize things had changed drastically from how they once were. The little bit he put out on the block he never sold himself. Mack mostly worked off of his burner phone. He didn’t even need a lot of customers. He just made sure that his customers had an understanding that he only delivered orders of $100 or more. How his customers got that $100 was up to them. They could pool their money together or go at it alone. Mack didn’t give a fuck. All that concerned him, was that he wasn’t taking the chance of driving somewhere to deliver crack if it wasn’t at least a $100 sale in it for him. When you had good coke, you could make those types of demands. Mack was one of the few people Miko really communicated with on any type of regular basis. Miko went out of his way to steer clear of the youngsters around the way. They were always into something. Your dumb ass could be standing next to them just minding your business and Bam! Somebody comes from out of nowhere, who had some type of beef with one of them, fuck around and shoot the entire area up, and you’re left laying there dead. And your dumb ass is in heaven or hell wondering why. Nah, Miko wasn’t going anywhere near that shit. Mack and Miko had never really been “hang out every day” type of friends back in the day. The thing that made them somewhat close today was that they were pretty much the last of their dying generation. Association by familiarity. It was safe to say that the two were something like close friends. But even Miko’s close friend found Miko to be a little weird. Miko never bothered to tell Mack about any of the big dreams he had, or even the things he currently did to make money. Miko was sure that a dude like Mack just could not understand. Mack was one of those people who needed to see something to believe it was real. Selling crack was something Mack could see that brought him in real money. That dreaming shit was not in the cards for someone like Mack. His philosophy was that, you’re doing something, or doing nothing. There was no in-between with him. Mack could be a little….. I don’t know, close minded? Out of touch with any type of reality that didn’t include things he already knew? Stubborn? You pick one. They all described Mack perfectly. Even still, Mack was one of two people in this world that Miko didn’t really mind spending time around.



The other person Miko spent a pretty substantial amount of time around was Armani. Just like Mack, Armani was one of a few people from the old days that still lived in the hood. Armani and Miko had never been particularly close back in the day, the same way Miko and Mack had not really been close back in the day. Back then, Armani was one of those chicks no one really understood. Just like Miko and Mack, Armani was all about a dollar. That wasn’t what some people didn’t understand about her. What people didn’t understand about Armani was some of the questionable ways Armani went about obtaining a buck. Back in the day Armani had probably done more dirt than your most notorious neighborhood stick-up kid. She’d never held a gun in her hands a day in her life either. Armani was complicated. There was a lot of good and bad to her. I won’t pass any judgement though. I’ll leave that up to you…….



Armani was a pretty up and up, “hoping to get ahead in life” kind of chick all the way up until shortly before her 18th birthday. Armani was fresh out of high school and trying to decide where her life was going. College was out of the question. With no scholarships on the table, that only left one option. Getting a bunch of loans and hoping for some grants along the way. Armani didn’t have the main luxury that most 17 and a half year olds had. Parents to fall back on. Armani’s mom passed away when she was 14-years old. Armani’s dad was never in the picture. She didn’t even know who that joker was, and honestly didn’t give a shit either. Armani had been living in the projects with her older sister Fendi since her mom passed away. But living with Fendi was pretty much like living alone. Well, not exactly. Fendi had five kids. When I say living alone, I meant that Armani grew up without any type of parental supervision. Fendi was a down-low crackhead who was always out running the streets. The only time Fendi was at home was when she’d brought some random dude back to the crib to have sex with. Fendi’s kids’ ranged from 5-12-years old. They basically took care of themselves. Armani played her part, but she honestly felt like they weren’t her responsibility. Fendi was 26-years old and had already gave up on life. Her self esteem took a blow when she gained some major weight after her last two kids. Those two had the same father. When Fendi’s weight began to tip up near 300 pounds, dude got ghost and never came back. That’s when Fendi began smoking crack laced with weed. Contrary to popular belief, crack was not a better weight loss product than Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig………at least not in Fendi’s case. Ol’ girl was still pushing over 300, even with her $50 a day crack cocaine habit. Anyway, back to Armani. Armani had managed to finish high school and even more incredibly, not get pregnant. I say incredibly, because Armani got out there early. With no type of parental supervision, what did you really expect? Armani was a very pretty chick, even as a 15-year old. Armani found the attention, and what felt like love, she was not getting at home, in boys. Or should I say boyssss. By the time she was 16-years old, Armani had gained a reputation as being the biggest freak in the neighborhood. Sometimes, when dealing with teenagers, people get a bad rap. It’s a known fact that teenage boys tend to lie on their dicks. This wasn’t the case with Armani. She was really an easy lay. No cap. With all of the sexual partners and unprotected sex she’d had between the ages of 14-17, Armani had miraculously managed to not contract an STD or get pregnant by age 18. Lady luck had really been on her side. The first time Armani had sex, she was 14-years old. She had unprotected sex with Mark from 1st period English class. The second time Armani had sex was three days later. She had protected sex with Larry from third period Science class. Armani made up her mind that she liked unprotected sex better than condom sex, and she had been rolling the dice ever since. Armani’s issues began when she met a low-level drug dealer named Gata at a carnival across town on 22nd Street. Armani had sex with Gata the same night they met. Unlike the multiple dudes she slept with in the hood, Gata was after more than a one-night stand. Gata fell in love with Armani. The two were living together in Gata’s house less than a week after they met. Gata was 21-years old. At least 10 of those years had been spent in the drug game. Gata was not a big-time drug dealer, but as a lower level guy, he did pretty well for himself. He had his own apartment and a nice little car. And more importantly to Armani, having money, taking care of his woman, or paying bills never seemed to be a problem for Gata. Armani had found something that she thought was better than college or any of that other shit. The love of her life. Armani was pregnant two weeks after moving in with Gata. He took care of everything. Armani didn’t even need to think about working. Gata took care of all of her needs. Three months after their child was born, Gata was killed at a crap game on Park Avenue. Armani lost it. She was one of the lucky people in this world who had found her soulmate. And he had been taken away from her in the blink of an eye. Not only that. Gata had been her support system, provider, and protector. Gata had been her backbone. And now her backbone had left her alone in this world…..with a young child to care for. Armani took her child and moved back in the projects with Fendi. Armani was back in the hood after being away for a year, and the hood couldn’t be happier. Armani was also in a bad place mentally. She was still trying to get over the pain of losing Gata. Armani left her oldest niece to care for her young son while she went out in search of comfort? I don’t know. What I do know, is that Armani slept with every dude who wanted to sleep with her. And there were many! In a just world, Armani would’ve been a model, actress, or just someone who was famous for being pretty. Armani was just as pretty or prettier than any famous person you can think of. Armani was a thin chick before she had her son. She was still thin, but the baby weight had done her well. Her ass got fatter and her breats had got a lot bigger. Armani was still having unprotected sex too. To no one’s surprise, Armani popped up pregnant again. Out of all of the people she had sex with, she fucked around and got pregnant by the very worst of them. A dirty ass joker from Dauphin Street named Akbar. Akbar was dirty in every sense of the word “dirty.” He was a broke, dusty ass dude, but he also stole anything that wasn’t nailed down, from anyone. Armani and Akbar was supposed to be a one-night stand kind of thing. But when Akbar found out Armani was pregnant he moved into Fendi’s house with her. Honestly, Akbar didn’t move in with Armani out of concern for his unborn child, or wanting to be a family, or any of that shit. He moved in with Armani because he didn’t have anywhere else to live. That dirty bitch was homeless. Akbar was about 25-years old. He had been low-key smoking crack for five of those twenty five. Akbar was a survivor though. He did whatever it took to make a dollar, besides actual legal work. He stole car stereos, snatched women’s pocketbooks, and robbed drug dealers. He also was one of the best boosters in the neighborhood…..whenever you could convince him to go out stealing. Akbar was the person to introduce Armani to the world of stealing clothes from stores A.K.A “boosting.”



Akbar started taking Armani out to high-end stores in the suburbs with him when she was 6 months pregnant. As you probably suspected, her pregnant belly played a role in the thievery. Armani was a natural from the very beginning. The two hit a Gucci store for over $10,000 worth of clothes on their first route together. They brought their bounty back to the hood and sold everything half price in less than an hour. It was on and poppin’ after that. Akbar and Armani became like the Robin Hood’s of the neighborhood. They stole from the rich and brought that shit back to the hood and sold it half price. Things were actually going pretty good for the two. Akbar had even curbed his crack habit for awhile. Armani never knew about his habit even though she’d kind of suspected something. She’d heard things from people around the way, and money she had stashed in the house always mysteriously went missing, but Armani had no solid evidence that her baby daddy was a crackhead. When the seasons changed from fall to winter, the Robin Hood thieves started doing better than ever. Coats and boots sold for a lot more than t-shirts and sneakers. When the money started getting good, Akbar fell back into his old ways. After a nice lick, he spent days at a time at crackhouses trying to smoke his life away. Smoking crack became the most important thing in life to Akbar. Armani could never find him when she was ready to go out boostin’. She started going out alone. Without Akbar there to watch her back, Armani got popped on her way out of the Louis Vuitton store. She was in possession of over $10,000 worth of stolen goods. Armani was held at the county jail, sitting on a $5000 cash bail that she could not make. Armani was 7 months pregnant with her unborn second child at the time. Armani had her second child while in jail. A baby girl she named Tianni. Akbar never got the chance to see his daughter. He got killed inside of a crackhouse after stealing some drugs from one of the young dealers. That happened a month after Armani got locked up. Being locked up, having a child in jail, and finding out the father of that child had been killed in a crackhouse was not the worst thing that happened to Armani. While she was locked up, Gata’s parents had been granted custody of Armani’s son. Armani was so beatdown and felling defeated that she did not even contest it. Armani’s cousin took custody of her brand new baby girl for Armani while she was in jail. Armani was happy. The last thing she wanted to do was to have to leave her newborn in Fendi’s care. Armani ended up doing 13 months in the county jail before she was released. She never went to get her daughter from her cousin. Armani’s cousin was actually happy because she’d fallen in love with the little girl.



Armani was back on the streets with two kids. Neither of which she had custody of. You’d think something like that would be enough to depress a young woman. Not Armani. She was back on the streets with no responsibilities. She was flat broke though. Armani was on probation. She wasn’t trying to go back to boostin’ just yet, but she needed money to survive. She went back to Fendi’s apartment in the projects and back to fucking anything that moved. Only this time, the pussy was not free. For people around the way, Armani was not a free fuck…..she wasn’t exactly an expensive one either. Armani charged a person based on her current standing and sometimes who you were. If Armani needed money for something, you were going to need to bring your checkbook. But if Armani had money already and was just looking for sex, you might get that for as cheap as a couple bags of weed or a grub from the deli. Like I said, it depended on which day of the week you caught up to her. Either way, dudes paid. No one ever complained either. Armani was still the baddest chick around and her goods were still in high demand. Dudes were willing to pay whatever for sex with Armani. She looked at it in a different way. Armani actually enjoyed sex. The sucking, the fucking, the licking, the eating. She really liked all of it. Not only was she getting it from different people every day of the week, she was also getting paid for it. Armani looked at it as a win-win. Everybody knew Armani was the neighborhood hoe, but even still……there’s always that one person. That one person who falls in love regardless of the reputation. That one person was Tyreke. Tyreke was the polar opposite of her last baby daddy, Akbar. Tyreke despised drugs. He hated drug dealers even more. Tyreke was an exterminator who considered himself a neighborhood vigilante. He was younger than Armani, which was definitely different for her. Armani was two months away from her 24th birthday when she met Tyreke. He was about to turn 20 in three months when they met. Armani had always known Tyreke. He lived in her building. She’d always known he’d liked her too. She always looked at him as a little ass boy though. That changed when Armani ran into Tyreke in the lobby at 3:30 one morning. He was fresh off of his latest robbery of a dumb ass drug dealer working the late-night shift, and she was in desperate need of some money. Armani took Tyreke upstairs to the apartment, and he never left afterwards. Tyreke was in love with Armani. She didn’t love Tyreke. She really liked him, and he was a pretty solid provider, but she didn’t love him. She couldn’t love him. He wasn’t capable of satisfying her sexually. Armani may have had sex with hundreds of people, but one thing about her, when she was in a relationship with someone she was loyal……usually…….most times. Armani was not loyal to Tyreke. She was fucking like she was a single woman. Every time Tyreke turned his back, Armani was fucking someone else. But she liked Tyreke though. She even respected him. Just like Akbar, Tyreke recruited Armani into his hustle/scheme. Tyreke’s hustle was a hell of a lot more dangerous than Akbar’s though. Tyreke robbed drug dealers. Not only did he rob them, he usually killed them. Tyreke had usually had to go after corner boys before he met Armani. They were good for a few dollars here and there. But with a pretty chick like Armani by his side, Tyreke knew that he could now go after the bigger drug dealers, and some bigger bucks.



Tyreke spent his nights staking out all of the nightclubs that the big ballas and shot callers in the city frequented. If you sent Armani to any club in the city all eyes were going to be on her. Tyreke took full advantage of that knowledge. Tyreke was a stone cold killer, but he was no dummy. The big balling clubs in Philly attracted people from the entire tri-state area. Tyreke tried to target people he didn’t recognize, or people that he guessed were not from Philadelphia. You could lay down a couple corner boys who weren’t from your neighborhood and not have to worry about heavy reprucussions, but big money dudes were a different story. You had to be careful when robbing those guys. Tyreke knew that he would never be seen though. If anything, a person was only going to suspect Armani. Ironically, he was o.k. with that. If things went all the way left, he would be able to protect Armani as long as he remained annonymous. After staking out the club and doing a little research on the club regulars, Tyreke picked a target. Some dumb joker from some part of Jersey. Tyreke got word that he might be from Camden. This dude came to the club draped in at least $100,000 worth of jewelry every weekend. He drove a black Rolls Royce Phantom. He was also, always surrounded by at least 10 homies/security who were definitely packing heat. Approaching that dude and trying to rob him was basically a suicide mission. Tyreke pointed Armani in the dudes’ direction, and she went to work. It took Armani all of five minutes of talking to get the dude to invite her back to his hotel room. Tyreke’s plan was to run up in the hotel room once Armani got the guy up in there. As she left the club with her target, Armani waved Tyreke off with a blink of the eye. A signal they had worked out prior to arriving at the club. That meant the whole thing was off for whatever reason. Tyreke couldn’t understand why she was leaving the club with the dude if she had called the whole robbery off. What Armani quickly discovered that Tyreke did not know, was that dude’s security was not leaving his side for any reason. Yes, she would be alone with him inside the hotel room, but his security would be standing by right outside the door. Tyreke’s plan was impossible. He wasn’t getting up in that room. Armani had a little plan of her own though.



Armani’s first targets’ name was Judge. That wasn’t his real name. It was a name that he’d earned. Judge wasn’t just a big shot in Camden. He was THEE big shot in Camden. Judge ran everything drug related. He got the name Judge because he was the decider of all things in Camden. Judge decided who got money in the city and who didn’t. Judge decided who died and who lived. Judge was a dark-skinned, big dude who weighed close to 300 pounds. The only working out Judge did on a daily basis was counting money. Before Armani and Judge even got to the hotel room, Armani had already made up her mind that she was likely going to have to fuck Judge to rob him correctly. Tyreke didn’t know this, and honestly, he didn’t need to. The goal was to get the bag. Period! Judge clearly had no idea that Armani had already made up her mind to fuck him tonight because he was still trying to impress her even after they arrived at his luxurious penthouse suite. Judge ordered up bottle after bottle of the most expensive champagne the hotel had in stock. That played directly into Armani’s hand. She excused herself to go to the restroom. Once inside the bathroom Armani got to work. She pulled out five Oxycotin pills she had in her purse and crushed them up. She wrapped the crushed contents up into a small piece of aluminum foil before strategically placing it in her bra. Armani headed back into the room. The second Judge stepped out of the room to take a “business” call, Armani slipped the Oxy into Judge’s drink and stirred it up. Judge came back into the room and swallowed the contents of his glass in one big gulp. Now all Armani really had to do was wait. Armani decided that it might be better for Judge to wake up in the bed whenever he woke up sometime tomorrow. Maybe he would think he spent all his money at the club the night before. Armani walked over to Judge and placed a passionate kiss on his lips. He slipped his hand up her skirt and was ready to go at it right there in the living room. Armani convinced him to take her to the bedroom so she could really get “freaky.” No man in their right minds was going to say no to that! Judge laid back on the bed when the two entered the room. He laid on his back as he stretched across the bed. It was pretty clear that he was already on his way to dreamland. Armani removed his pants and mounted the big man. She rode him reverse cowgirl for five minutes before Judge came. Armani didn’t bother to stop or get up off of the dick. She was caught up in the moment and felt like she wasn’t too far away from achieving an orgasm of her own. Armani began to thrust up and down harder in pursuit of the big ‘O’ that she was sure was about to come. Time was not on her side. It wouldn’t be too long before Judge was soft…..and useless. Armani turned around when she heard Judge snoring loudly. She was about to cuss his sleeping ass out until she suddenly came to her senses. Armani quickly got up off of Judge and headed straight for his pants which she’d strategically threw in the corner when she pulled them off. 50 grand in the pants pockets alone. Armani took less than 20 of that. Armani crept through the suite as she expertly searched every place she thought money may be hidden. Armani hit the jackpot when she searched inside the cushions of the couch in the living room. Judge had placed stacks and stacks of money under the couch cushions. He must’ve been planning to stay in Philly for a few days because there were easily six figures laying under the cushions. Everything inside of her was telling her to take it all. The voice of reason won the battle against the greedy voice in her head. Armani grabbed what she thought would be an unnoticable amount of money and stuffed it into her pocketbook. Armani called Tyreke and told her which hotel she was at. She told him to meet her in the parking lot in an hour. Unbeknownst to Armani, Tyreke was already there. He’d followed Judge and his entourage from the club. Armani poured herself a drink and turned on the tv before taking a seat on the couch.



Judge’s henchmen were waiting directly outside of Judge’s hotel room as she’d expected. She told them he was in there sleep as she made her way to the elevator. One of the henchmen nodded his head like this was Judge’s normal routine. Hit the cheeks then kick the chick to the curb in the middle of the night. The henchman gave Armani five thousand dollars that he said was from Judge for her services. Armani met up with Tyreke outside in the parking lot. The pair didn’t count their bounty until they stopped to get something to eat at a Mcdonalds around the way. $35,000 was the take for the night. And Tyreke hadn’t had to kill anyone or even pull out his gun. Armani and Tyreke split the money right down the middle. $17,500 was enough to last a few weeks or even months, unlike the few hundreds or thousands Armani used to make from boostin’. This was not the type of hustle that a person needed to do every day in order to survive. Armani knew she had found herself a new hustle and a new hustle partner. Armani and Tyreke began pulling jobs at clubs around the city every few weeks or so. Tyreke had gotten really good at picking out targets too. He was lining up some big money dudes who weren’t from the city. Even some athletes and rappers. Armani and Tyreke had the perfect hustle going. A few months after her first job, Armani started to get a familiar feeling. She’d already had two kids. Armani knew her body. She was 100% sure that she was pregnant. She was also 100% sure that the baby was not Tyreke’s. I honestly believe that Tyreke was 100% sure the baby Armani was pregnant with wasn’t his too, but he took the charge. He loved Armani, and honestly had no idea Armani was fucking the guys she was robbing. Plus, this was going to be his first child. There was no way in hell he wasn’t claiming this baby. Armani had a strong feeling deep down inside of her gut that her very first victim was the father of her unborn child. The worst part about having a robbery baby, was that even if she knew where Judge was, she could never tell him. She had no idea if he knew he had been robbed that night, or if he was out looking for revenge. He lived in New Jersey, was rich, and probably didn’t even care about the little money she robbed him for that night…..she hoped. When Tyreke found out Armani was pregnant with “his child”, he told her that they were putting their little hustle on hold until after the child was born. But he wanted to hit one last good lick to keep them with some money to live on until they could go back to work. Tyreke was out looking for a big fish. Scratch that. Tyreke was looking for a fuckin’ whale! After a few weeks of searching, Tyreke found his target. Some weird ass DJ named Skeet-Skeet out of D.C. Skeet-Skeet was a pretty big deal in the underground techno music scene. He made bank dj’ing all up and down the East Coast. Currently, he was the in-house DJ at a club on the Waterfront called “Desire.” Desire didn’t host a hip-hop type of crowd. This crowd was more molly addicted, white, college-type weirdos. This was exactly what made Skeet-Skeet an attractive target to Tyreke, who was used to dealing with straight up street gangsters. How dangerous could one of these weirdos really be?



Armani headed out to club Desire the Saturday after Tyreke said he was finished doing research on the target. Normally Armani could just head up to the V.I.P area to get close to her mark. Getting close to Skeet-Skeet was going to be a little different. She didn’t need to get up on the stage where the dj was located, but she did need to position herself somewhere that she could definitely be seen by the DJ. Armani headed up to the crowded front where, what felt like hundreds of people were dancing wildly and enjoying themselves, as they let the combination of multiple drugs and loud music control their bodies…and hormones. The dance floor was almost like a fully clothed orgy the way people touched and grinded on random strangers. This was exactly where Armani did not want to be. The random people grabbing her body parts and rubbing themselves up against her was bad, but that was something she could deal with. The issue Armani had was this many people seeing her. She liked to blend in with the crowd when she did her jobs. Armani got to the front and danced with anyone near her as she attempted to blend in with the drug infused crowd. She was hoping to blend in and stand out at the same time. She was hoping to stand out to only one pair of eyes though. Armani danced for maybe two full songs before a tall, burly, bearded, white guy tapped her on the shoulder and whispered in her ear.

“Skeet-Skeet wants to know if he could get a couple minutes of your time?”

Armani looked up toward the DJ booth and immediately spotted the infamous DJ Skeet-Skeet who was staring at her like she was a full three-course meal. Armani nodded to the burly guy before she followed behind him and allowed herself to be lead off the dance floor. To her surprise, Armani never made it upstairs to the DJ booth. Skeet-Skeet was waiting for her inside of the private stairwell that lead up to the booth. He licked his lips as her and the burly man made their way into the staircase. Skeet-Skeet dismissed burly man with a wave of the hand.

“Thanks Show. I got it from here.”

Show nodded before he turned and walked away, leaving Armani alone in the stairwell with Skeet 2X. Skeet turned his attention to Armani after Show closed the door and disappeared.

“You the finest bitch I’ve seen in here tonight. And the luckiest one too. You just won the raffle to leave out of this muthafucka’ with a certified winner.”

If this was real life, Armani would’ve laughed at this cornball. Skeet looked like his entire character was made up of the “Jersey Shore” cast. Not any one inparticular. Skeet seemed to take charcteristics from each one of the Jersey Shore men, and had miraculously managed to roll all that shit up into one weird ass person. Skeet’s face resembled “Mike The Situation’s”, his hair was slicked down similar to Vinny’s, his outfit looked like something you might find in Paulie D’s closet, and his physique was similar to Ronnie’s. Skeet clearly couldn’t chose which cast member he wanted to emulate, so he’d taken it upon himself to pick all of them. Just the thought of that shit made Armani want to laugh. She didn’t though. By this time, Armani considered herself a professional at this robbing shit, and as a professional, she always stayed in character. Tonight she was playing “the groupy”, but not the easy kind.


Armani said the one word as a question which had Skeet completely confused.


“You called that guy Show. What the hell kind of name is that?”

Skeet laughed as he realized what she was talking about.

“Oh naw! Show is short for Showtime. He’s a former boxer. Middleweight champ too. Showtime is his nickname. I just call him Show. I’m the type of guy who doesn’t use lots of words, I’m all about that action.”

Skeet said as he moved in close to Armani and began sniffing her neck. The neck sniffing quickly turned to kisses on the neck as Skeet bent down and grabbed two handfuls of Armani’s ass. Armani allowed it to happen and also encouraged more as she reached down and grabbed a handful of Skeet’s dick. Skeet quickly let his hands wander inside of Armani’s panties as he attempted to shove a couple of fingers into her asshole. Armani pushed him away and took a step back.

“You just gonna fuck me right here in the stairwell huh?”

Skeet nodded before he attempted to move back in. He was stopped by Armani’s hand to his face.

“Yeah….No. If you’re trying to get with me tonight, it won’t be in the damn stairwell. I’m not one of your teenage fans.”

Skeet rubbed his chin and smiled as he looked at Armani. The chase was the best part of the entire game in Skeet’s eyes.

“Oh, you must be tryna bust it open for a real one all night long. You tryna head back to my hotel with me tonight?”

Armani nonchalantly shrugged.

“I damn sure ain’t tryna be fuckin’ in no damn stairwell.”

Skeet smiled and nodded before he started dialing numbers on his cell phone.

“Yeah, get your ass in here now.”

Skeet said into the phone. Seconds later Show appeared. Before he even had a chance to say anything, Skeet was already barking out orders.

“Aye Show, take this fine ass piece of ass to my room. And get your ass right back here afterward!”

Skeet turned to Armani.

“And I’ll meet you over there after I finish my set sweet thang!”

Skeet kissed Armani on the lips before he turned and headed up the stairs.

Armani left the club with Show. He drove her over to Skeet’s plush hotel suite at the Ritz Plaza in Center City. Show opened the door to the Suite and turned on the lights. The suite that Skeet was staying in was absolutely gorgeous. It had two stories, wall to wall heated wood floors. A huge kitchen and living room. And one of those huge 80 inch televisions on the wall in the living room. A balcony overlooking the city. And a huge walk in shower that sprayed streams of waters from the bottom sides and overhead. This suite was something you’d see on that “Million Dollar Homes” show. And all Armani could see was the first floor. Armani made a promise to herself right then that one day she was going to have one of these. Not rent it for a few nights like cornball ass Skeet. Armani was going to own one of these joints! Fully paid, no mortgage. As Armani stood there daydreaming, amazed by her surroundings, she heard Show’s deep voice.

“The remote over there. Anything you need you can order through the tv.”

Show turned around and started to head out the front door. Armani stopped him.

“Wait! You’re leaving me here alone?”

Show shrugged.

“I gotta get back to the club. Skeet will be finished in about another hour. I’m sure you’ll find something to do with yourself until then.”

Show left the suite and closed the door behind him. Armani shrugged.

“I’m sure I’ll find something to do with myself for an hour too.”

Armani walked to the front door and opened it. She peeked out into the hallway. Empty. Armani closed the door and made a dash for the staircase. She headed straight for the bedroom. She searched the dresser, under the bed, behind cabinets. Nothing. Armani ran downstairs and searched the living room. Nothing. Armani was just about to give up, when a huge painting caught her eye. It didn’t catch her eye because of the beauty of the painting. It caught her eye because it didn’t look like it was hanging sturdy. It seemed to be crooked or something. Armani headed in the direction of the painting and began to see why the painting looked funny. It wasn’t fully pressed against the wall. Half of it was hanging off the wall. Armani didn’t touch it. She was scared it might fall. Instead she tried to look at the wall behind it to figure out why it was hanging there in this way. When she did, her eyes grew wider than the Grand Canyon. There was a big ass safe behind the painting. Armani moved the painting, which she discovered was more like a door. The safe had a huge keypad on it along with a few other buttons and a handle. Armani shrugged before she pulled the handle. That bitch opened! There were stacks and stacks of cash inside. Also a few very expensive looking watches and two diamond rings. Oh, this was the jackpot her and Tyreke had been hoping for, and she was about to clean this muthafucka’ out! Armani frantically searched the living room and kitchen for a bag of some sort. She settled on the bag that was in the trashcan in the kitchen. She poured all of the trash onto the floor before she ran back over to the safe. Armani called Tyreke and held the phone with her shoulder to her ear as she started emptying the contents of the safe out into the bag. She told Tyreke to meet her in the parking lot of the Ritz Carlton. When she told him about the safe, and that she was alone, Tyreke decided that he was coming upstairs. There was probably something in the suite that she was missing, and he was determined to find it. Before Armani could protest, Tyreke had hung up the phone. Two minutes later he was knocking on the door. Armani panicked and looked for somewhere to hide the bag. She got a text from Tyreke telling her to open the door. Armani ran to the door and opened it.

“What are you doing here! I told you to wait in the parking lot!”

“So you can stash on me again before we split the loot? I think the fuck not!”

Tyreke blew past Armani and immediately headed for the staircase. Armani stood there incredulous. What he fuck was he talking about stashing on him? These accusations had literally come from out of nowhere. He’d never even bought the subject up before this. She’d never even thought about not sharing everything they took 50/50. This muthafucka’ was out of his damn mind! Armani promised herself that this was definitely the last job she was ever doing with Tyreke. Armani ran back to the safe to finish cleaning it out. Shortly afterward, she heard the sound of the front door again. This time nobody was knocking. That joint was opening! Skeet stepped inside with a big smile on his face. Almost immediately he knew something was horribly wrong.


Skeet yelled at the top of his lungs. Tyreke must’ve heard what was happening because he appeared at the top of the stairs in the blink of an eye. He wasn’t talking either. He was letting shells fly in Skeet’s direction. Show dived onto Skeet as he threw him to the floor and shielded him from the gunshots at the same time. Armani was out of the line of fire, but she still ducked down and screamed as she covered her ears. Show took one to the back, but he didn’t feel it. He was running on pure adreneline. He rolled over, grabbed his gun, and fired back wildly in the direction of the top of the stairs. A few more shots came from the top of the stairs and then the place went deadly silent. For two whole minutes Armani stayed where she was and tried not to even breath, afraid that any noise would cause the gunfire to start again. Armani stayed still for a few more minutes before she finally got to her feet and hauled ass for the front door. As she arrived at the front door she began to see why it had gotten so quiet after the gunshots stopped. Show and Skeet lay next to one another, both dead as a doorknob.



Armani ended up leaving the suite and the hotel with nothing except for her life. Even though he’d taken a fatal wound to the back, Show had managed to fire off a few shots and hit Tyreke with three of them as he fired back. One to the shoulder, one to the chest, and one went through the side and pierced an artery. Tyreke fired back down the stairs after he was hit. It was practically out of reflex because he was already on his way to the afterlife. One of the wild shots hit the crouching Skeet smack dab in the back of the head. A wild, wild scene that left Armani in shock for weeks afterward. Armani never got locked up for that either. It only took 48 hours for the police to track her down and bring her in for questioning. She told them someone was in the suite when she arrived with Skeet and Show. And they started shooting, so she ran out of the hotel and never looked back. The police brought it. Who was alive to tell them anything different? Armani was so shook up after that incident, that she barely left the house. She applied for welfare, and spent the rest of her pregnancy sitting in the house watching television. Five months later Armani had a healthy baby boy. She named the child after his deceased step-daddy Tyreke. Armani knew for sure the baby wasn’t Tyreke’s when she looked into her child’s eyes. Armani didn’t hit the streets again until her son was almost a full year old. She didn’t hit the streets like she used to, but she started going outside to go to the store and things of that nature. At the deli on 9th Street was where Armani met Dawud. Dawud hustled on 9th Street and he also lived in the neighborhood. Just like everyone else in the neighborhood, he’d known Armani for years. It had always been a hi and bye type of thing though. Dawud hung out on the corner every day with Damiko and the rest of the 9th Street boys. Damiko and Dawud weren’t best friends, but they’d grown up together, hustled on the same corner, and hung out together as they both worked the corner. I guess that would make them squad? Dawud said little things to Armani for a full week before he actually stopped her to have a conversation. Armani liked Dawud from the start. She used to go to the store three times a day just hoping he would be standing out there on the corner hustling. Armani and Dawud hit it off right after their first conversation. Just like most of Armani’s other boyfriends, Dawud moved into Fendi’s crib with Armani and her young son after one night together. Dawud was a street dude. He was something like Tyreke, but he hustled instead of robbing people. Dawud was not a big time drug dealer. Just like Damiko, Mack, and everyone else on 9th Street, he was flipping a little coke, hoping for the day he would be big time. 9th Street was a freelance corner. Mostly everybody that hustled on 9th Street were selling drugs for themselves, except Dawud. Dawud hustled for dark skinned Jermaine, who had the most coke on the corner. Guys like Damiko and Mack were flipping an ounce on their best days. Jermaine was working with 9 ounces and was clearly on his way to taking over the whole corner. Dawud was the most violent person on the corner, so to prepare for the 9th Street civil war that was surely coming, Jermaine paid Dawud very handsomely to sell weight for him. Dawud was doing pretty well for himself. People avoided getting into any type of drama with Dawud because he was a hothead with an itchy trigger finger and everybody knew it. At home with Armani he was a completely different person. Dawud was a dude who had no kids and longed for the family life. The second he found out little Tyreke’s dad was the dead stick-up kid Tyreke, Dawud claimed the young child as his own. Armani’s heart melted. She was in love again. At 26 years-old, for the first time in her life, Armani actually planned to have a child with someone. Her and Dawud sat down and made plans for their lives and future before they decided to begin trying to make a child. Dawud had an exit plan from the street-life. Two, or maybe three more years of hustling, and he was out of this shit for good. The only problem with Dawud’s exit plan was that it was not a guarantee. His whole shit depended upon gambling. That was his plan. Build up a bankroll of $250,000 and become a professional gambler who spent their days at the casino gambling. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was better than selling drugs. Besides, Armani was happy about it and she encouraged Dawud to chase his dreams. Nothing else really mattered to him.



Shortly after moving in with Armani, things began going extremely well for Dawud. Fendi had found someone to love her. She packed up her kids and moved across town with her new boyfriend. The project apartment was left to Armani. Without Fendi’s bad ass kids around to break everything, Armani and Dawud decided to hookup the two bedroom apartment. Dawud brought a few huge flat screen televisions, some new leather furniture, and decked out the little balcony. The little apartment in the projects was actually looking like a condo. Spending that kind of money wasn’t a big deal for Dawud. He was “getting it” now. Jermaine had an extraordinary month of August. By mid-September he’d turned the 9 ounces of coke into two kilos. Okay that’s a lie. One of those birds Jermaine had, came from a robbery of his former connect that Jermaine and Dawud had pulled off. Either way you look at it, Jermaine was now working with two bricks. His coke was so good that even his fellow 9th Street hustlers began buying their coke from Jermaine through Dawud. Having a lot of good coke gave Jermaine the leverage he needed to make his move for the entire corner. Jermaine bullied his way into control of half of the corner. From 12pm to 12am no coke was sold on 9th Street except for Jermaine’s. Damiko, Mack, and the other freelancers on the corner agreed to it, but unbeknownst to Jermaine and Dawud, that had been the first shot fired in the pending 9th Street civil war. They were plotting and waiting for the right time to strike a blow to Jermaine and Dawud. On the home front, Dawud proposed to Armani when she was three months pregnant with his child. The couple planned to get married a week after their child was born. Back on the corner, more money meant more problems for Dawud…..ironically the trouble didn’t come from who you’re probably suspecting. Word about good coke spreads. Dawud wasn’t just selling weight to the 9th Street boys. Customers came from all over the tri-state area to cop some of that good work and take back home with them. One of Dawud’s new customers was a guy from Jersey. Camden to be exact. You guessed it. Judge. Judge had took a bit of a fall from grace since the last time he appeared in this story. Judge wasn’t up like he used to be, but he was still very easily Dawud’s best customer. Judge was coming to Philly buying a half a chicken cooked every 8 days or so. Someone buying a half a kilo cooked was very unusual behavior. No one who knew anything about cocaine would purchase that much coke already cooked. It literally defeated the whole purpose of buying that much coke. If a drug dealer was selling crack. He purchased huge amounts of cocaine for mainly one reason. Well, actually two reasons. The first reason was for the wholesale price. You’d never get anything close to that price buying cocaine already cooked. The other reason was for the extra grams that you got after the cook. If you brought 18 ounces and had a halfway decent hand with the whip, you could find yourself with three or four extra ounces. Easy. Pay for 18 ounces, after the cook you’ll be working with 22. Buying 18 ounces already cooked just didn’t make sense to Jermaine or Dawud. There was only one logical explanation for this shit. That muthafucka’ Judge was working with the po-po! Before they decided to overreact, Jermaine took a trip to Camden to do a little research on Judge. A few days spent in Camden showed Judge to be legit. He was not a cop. Either he didn’t know how to cook or have anyone to cook for him, or he couldn’t cook as good as Jermaine so he sold it like he got it. Who knew? The one thing Jermaoine did know was that Judge was legit. So business went on as usual…until near the end of November.



Dawud personally drove Armani to every doctor’s appointment. On this particular day, Dawud was attempting to juggle a couple of things at the same time. He had his #1 customer coming down today to grab his regular 18 ounces. He called earler and said he would be there at around 12:30. Armani’s doctors appointment was scheduled for 1pm. It was going to be close, but if everything worked out how it should, he would be able to do both on time. Judge and his homie showed up 10 minutes early. Dawud drove to his apartment to grab the work. He told Armani to get little Tyreke ready. He planned to drop the weight off to Judge real quick, then shoot Uptown to Armani’s doctors appointment. There was no use in wasting time going back to the crib to get her after he made the sale. Two birds with one stone. Armani got in Dawud’s Lexus and strapped little Tyreke down in the baby seat in the backseat. Dawud headed up to 9th Street. Judge approached Dawud as he got out of his car. Judge passed Dawud the $12,500 he was carrying inside his Nike sneaker bag. Dawud took the bag and headed to his trunk to get the weight. As Judge stood there talking with his homie, as he waited for Dawud to get his work out of the trunk, Judge took a look inside the passenger’s seat of Dawud’s car. His eyes widened as he saw a face that he definitely recognized. Armani’s eyes widened the minute she saw the recognition in Judge’s eyes. Judge had been fuming ever since that night Armani robbed him. The very next day one of Judge’s stash houses got raided and the cops took $1 million cash from the house. Judge didn’t think Armani had put the cops on him, but he did believe in his heart that her robbing him had been the beginning of his fall from grace. He promised himself that he was going to kill that bitch if he ever saw her again. And here she was. Judge completely lost it. He ran around to the passenger’s side of the car and tried to open the door. Armani saw him coming and locked the door before he got around to her side. Judge began banging on the car’s window.


Dawud looked up from inside the trunk when he heard the commotion. He had no idea what was going on, but he didn’t care. The mother of his child…. or children as far as Dawud was concerned, was being attacked. He reacted. He ran around to the passenger’s side and sucker punched Judge, who dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks. Judge’s homie attacked Dawud from behind. The attack gave Judge time to recover, and he joined in his homie in whipping the fuck out of Dawud on 9th Street. Where were the 9th Street Boys you ask? Remember, Jermaine took over 12 hours of the corner. Nobody else even bothered to come to the corner until midnight when it was their hours to hustle. Judge and his homie pummeled Dawud until he lay on the ground, a bloody mess. Armani screamed as she watched things play out from her seat inside the car. Judge wasn’t done. As Dawud attempted to crawl away, Judge grabbed the weapon from his homie’s waist. He shot Dawud in the back of the head twice at point blank range. Dawud was on his way to meet his maker, but Judge wasn’t done. He pointed the weapon at the car and fired five times before him and his homie took off running toward his car.



Armani was grazed in the arm by the gunfire. She had been lucky. Little Tyreke had not been so lucky. One of the bullets Judge fired pierced the baby’s little heart as he sat in his car seat drinking juice from his sippy cup. Armani was a complete mess. She checked out of life. She sat in her apartment all day just staring at the wall. Fendi’s oldest daughter came back to the apartment to care for Armani, who wouldn’t even eat. Armani was pregnant. She needed to eat for her and the baby she was carrying to survive. Meanwhile, back out on 9th Street, Mack, Damiko, and the others did not mourn Dawud’s death. When they were outside around others they did. They talked about how they were going to head to Camden and kill everything moving. You take one of ours, we’re gonna take 10 of yours. Yadda, yadda, yadda. They didn’t mean a word of that shit. They didn’t plan on doing shit about Dawud’s murder. They were low-key thankful for what Judge had done. They didn’t know Judge, but he’d basically won the war for them. They hadn’t even had to fire off one shot either. Jermaine’s muscle was gone. He was now food who was living on borrrowed time, and he knew it. Jermaine got the fuck out of dodge and moved to Atlanta with his baby momma. Mack and Damiko took control of 9th Street. Ironically, they broke the corner down the same way Jermaine had. Damiko and his squad had the corner from 12pm until 12am. And Mack and his squad had the corner from 12am until 12pm. Life was funny like that sometimes…..Armani eventually got herself together and started giving a fuck about life again. As her due date got closer, she began getting excited to see her new child. It was all that would be left on this Earth as proof that Dawud had ever been here, except for memories. Judge and his homie’s dumb asses got locked up for two homicides and one attempt about two months after killing Dawud. They beat the attempt charge because Armani refused to testify, but they got booked on the two murders. Judge’s homie snitched on him to avoid the death penalty. He ended up getting natural life. Judge is likely still on death row…to this day.



The hood is a grimey ass place. If you don’t believe anything else in this story…please believe that! Armani began coming outside on a regular basis again about three months after her son was born. Little Dawud was what she named him. Armani walked to 9th Street’s deli to get food damn near every day. Every day the 9th Street boys told her how sorry they were about what happened to Dawud, how Judge was lucky the cops got him before they did, and told Armani stories about how much of a “real nigga” Dawud was. Dawud loved Armani when he was here, but he never pillow talked with her. Armani had no idea that 9th Street had been in the middle of a civil war around the time of Dawud’s death, and that these same dudes that were giving her condolences, likely would’ve eventually been forced to try to kill Dawud if Judge had not done it for them. She really thought they all were friends. They were all from the same corner. Why would she think anything else? Besides lying to Armani, most of the 9th Street boys were up to some other deceiving shit where Armani was concerned. All of them were low-key trying to put their bid in. Dawud didn’t pillow talk with Armani, but he did frequently brag about how good her pussy was to his boys. The 9th Street Boys all wanted a go at Dawud’s BM….including Mack……and Damiko.












“Hell yeah! That’s the sound of the final bell gents! The work day is done and I’m ready to get a drink!”

Jidal yelled loudly as he began to remove his apron from around his neck. His excitement was met with a 250 volt shock from the guards’ Lencil. Debal shook his head as his friend dropped to the floor and flopped around like a fish from the Lencil hitting flesh and sending voltage throughout Jidal’s body.

“That guy never learns.”

What Debal said was true too. Jidal got hit with the Lencil at least two times a day. Most times for the same things. Still, he never seemed to learn his lesson. Jidal rose from the floor and stood face to face with the guard. Well, face to helmet. The guards at the factory wore full resistance suits at all times. Resistance suits were full body-armor uniforms, armored glass helmets included. Resistance suits worked just like the Lencil did. They were fully charged and programmed to send 250 volts of electricity into the bodies of anyone who dared to touch them. Debal knew that his friend was still foolish enough to attempt to attack the guard even though he already knew this. He knew this from experience. Debal quickly intervened before his friend had a chance to be handed down anymore torture. Debal ran up to Jidal and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Hey! Let’s get out of here and go get that drink. I’m buying.”

The anger that showed on Jidal’s face slowly started to be replaced with a smile. Jidal loved nothing more than drinking. It was one of the few joys he had in life. Truthfully, drinking and drugs were two of the only joys that the people living in the Necropolis had in life, and even that was allowed only because it made the people in power money……




The Necropolis was the direct result of what had inevitably been coming to the Earth since the day someone figured out how to make nuclear weapons. I’m almost certain that whoever that person was, probably thought that creating such a weapon was a good idea. They probably thought that creating such a weapon would ensure one Country’s survival in this unstable world. Really, what type of crazy person would attack a Country knowing that said Country had the power to turn entire portions of the earth into a flaming ball of shit? Once one Country obtained the ability to create nuclear weapons, every Country realized that it was a necessity that they owned at least one too. Owning nuclear weapons quickly became the only way to protect one’s self and guarantee the survival of a nation. For years and years, nuclear weapons were just that. Tools that ensured a nation would survive. Nuclear weapons were mostly used for surviving and threatening. Every Country had nuclear capabilities, but no Country had ever really seriously considered using their nuclear weapons. Anyone with any sense at all knew that multiple nations firing off nuclear weapons at one another could easily mean the end of civilization here on Earth as we knew it. Nuclear weapons were more of a symbol of power than they were actual weapons here on Earth. That was until two Countries came to be ruled by two madmen at the same time. North Korea and The United States. North Korea’s leader had just come to acquire weapons with nuclear capabilities after over 50 years of trying, and he couldn’t wait to let the whole world know that the small Country was now just as much of a threat as the larger Countries. The United States had been the peacemakers of the earth for over 100 years. That changed when Americans elected a deranged lunatic who was rapidly losing his senses….and all sense of sensibility, along with any sense of reality. Instead of removing the maniac from power, a large number of Americans followed the madman. Led by an inept Congress, The American President thought that it would be a good idea to provoke the madman in North Korea who had just acquired these nuclear weapons, that he couldn’t wait to use. The president of The United States warned the madman in North Korea that if he threatened the United States, North Korea would be met with “fire and fury like the world had never seen before!” The threat of a nuclear war did not scare the madman in North Korea, it actually excited him. North Korea fired off a few nukes at South Korea. Of course, the police of the Earth stepped in to protect their foreign allies. America retaliatted and fired off at North Korea. While the United States were busy and pre-occupied with North Korea, Russia took the opportunity to let loose on The United States. Countries that weren’t directly involved in the attacks feared for their own safety. This set off a free-for-all of Countries across the Earth setting off nuclear missles and firing them at any Country they did not trust. Entire portions of Countries were demolished in the blink of an eye. Millions of humans perished in the attacks. In the end, no one won the war. All of mankind took a huge loss.


The Bible says it took God six days to create the Earth and everything else in the world. It took a nuclear war all of four days to destroy it…. well, most of it. Millions of people perished in the four day nuclear war…. millions of people also survived. Humans are adaptable creatures by nature. That adaptability was put on full display during the early hours of World War 3. People who were underground during the initial strikes, (subways, underground tunnels, etc.) were smart enough to venture further underground when the war kicked off. That quick thinking saved millions of lives. Being deep underground in the sewage system was very smelly and uncomfortable for the survivors, but they were alive. The survivors stayed underground for weeks out of fear of the radiation that surely still swirled around in the air above ground. Food was already scarce, but after a few weeks, scraps of food became like oxygen to the underground residents. Out of fear of dying of hunger, a few brave people ventured above ground in search of food and water. Nothing could’ve prepared them for what they saw when they poked their heads out of the sewers.




Throughout the course of history, America has always been suspected of causing horrendous disatsters for the sake of a few. Even in instances where a huge number of lives were lost. Things like these were always looked at as “a small price to pay for the greater good of the world.” Turns out, World War 3 was one of those things. That’s not to say that the leaders of the two Countries that started the war weren’t very stupid men who did a very stupid thing with no thought of, or plans for the future of the world…..they were. World War 3 was not planned by the president of either Country. The thing was, there were people in the United States who had prepared for such a catastrophic event. Honestly, they were a step beyond prepared, they had actually planned for World War 3. They didn’t just plan on living through World War 3, they planned on changing and owning the whole world after it. It goes without saying, that these were all very rich and powerful individuals who made these plans. Most held a passionate hate for the poor even before the war. In the new world that the group had planned, the rich would always be rich and the poor would always be poor. You see, these weren’t just rich people who were in on this plan. These were “old money” kind of rich people. Folks that came from generations of money. Turn of the century money. Families that had made their fortunes in the early 1900’s through businesses such as railroads, metal and steel, and oil. These “old money” families considered themselves dynasties. And the group named themselves as such during one of their very first meetings way back around 2008. The motivation for the Dynasty group even forming was the fear of a black man winning a presidential election and becoming the first African-American president the Country had ever seen. Just the thought of a black man holding the highest office in the nation made most members of The Dynasty sick to their stomachs. These men carried that sickness throughout the entire 2008 presidential  election. After delivering a passionate speech before a crowd of hundreds of thousands, at the Martin Luther King Jr. National Park in Atlanta, Georgia, on an unusually cold October night, it started to become more and more clear to the group, that The Dynasty’s biggest fears were actually going to come true. This black man was going to become the next president of The United States. It was on that fateful night in October of 2008 that the group held their first secret meeting in the home of billionaire oil tycoon Everette “Big Daddy” Paulson. This wasn’t the first time Paulson tried to form a group to help him with his plans, but this was the first time he would find a group that was competent enough to help him pull off his big plans. Everette Paulson had long money. Everette Paulson had also come from long money. His great-great grandfather, Wilbur started the family’s dynasty with a $500 investment in a newspaper a friend of his was starting way back in 1903….




Owning half of anything had never been enough for Wilbur Paulson. He eventually saw to it that his partner “had a horrible accident”, that led to his death, and also led to Wilbur’s 50% ownership in the company turning into 100%. Wilbur Paulson never looked back after that. He was a cut-throat businessman who made his first million dollars before he was twenty one years old. Everette had his great-great grandaddy’s blood running through his veins. At 58 years old, Everette Paulson had personally ordered more hits on business partners and business competitors than John Gotti. Paulson was a cold-blooded murderer, but more than that, he was also considered one of the smartest businessmen who’d ever lived. Paulson was also the man who put the Dynasty group together. No one had the type of clout and respect that was needed to get all of these billionaires together in one room except Paulson. From hearing that a small group managed to take over the whole world, you would think that there were a bunch of members of that group, right? Wrong! The Dynasty group was made up of four billionaires. These four billionaires weren’t even the richest people in the United States. The thing that made these four billionaires special was the power and influence they possessed. The members of this group had every law enforcement and political entity on their payroll in one form or another. Sometimes having someone on your payroll, meant having some dirt on them that you could use to blackmail that person. From local police officers all the way up to the head of The Justice Department , Congress, and even the President Of The United States. That last part was the issue that bothered The Dynasty most. They knew that their money and power were not going to be enough to control the newly elected, incorruptible, black president of the United States. Just thinking about this gave The Dynasty many sleepless nights.










Ground Zero
(July 4th 2008)



Everette Paulson
Washington D.C

“Everette! Everette! You’re missing the fireworks!”

Everette Paulson heard his wife calling him, but he did not move from his seat in front of the 60′ television in his living room. Everette looked at the television in total disbelief.

“That black sonofabitch is going to pull it off!”

Everette angrily threw his drink clear across the room. The glass barely missed his wife as she headed in his direction. She let out a scream before she angrily yelled at her husband of 32 years.

“EVERETTE MICHAEL PAULSON! You turn that television off right now! Whatever it is you’re watching that’s making you so angry is messing up our whole holiday! The kids and grandkids are outside watching the fireworks and everybody’s looking for you. Stop working for ten minutes and come spend some time with your damn family!”

Betsy Paulson picked up the glass that Everette had angrily tossed before she turned around and stormed out of the room.


Everette yelled out. Betsy was already long gone. Everette reached for his remote and turned the television off. Everette reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his favorite mirror before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of cocaine. Everette dumped the contents of the $20 bag of cocaine onto the mirror before he quickly pulled out his razor blade and made a few neat lines with the cocaine. Everette rolled up a $100 bill and snorted the coke off of the mirror almost as quickly as he’d poured it on there. Everette wiped his nose as he looked around for his drink. He cussed under his breath when he realized he’d thrown it across the room. Everette grabbed his hot beer sitting on the table.

“I guess this will have to do.”

Everette rubbed his hands together and smiled after he took a swig from the beer.

“Alright. I’m ready to go have some family fun!”




Ryan “Sonny” Allen & Charles Watson IV
Atlanta & Miami Beach

“And together we can, not only be the change we need, more importantly, together we can be the change we can believe in!”

Sonny looked around and took in the scene as the crowd went crazy when Illinois Senator Ronald Billups recited his popular campaign slogan to a crowd of excited millions. The crowd seemed to be in a trance as they held onto Billups’ every word. Sonny had seen Senator Billups give speeches on television plenty of times since he’d been on the presidential campain trail, but to see it in person was a remarkable sight. Billups becoming the next president of the United States was the very last thing that Sonny wanted, but even he had to admit that what he was witnessing right now…first hand…was something amazing. Sonny could actually feel the energy in the air as the crowd cheered loudly at the top of their lungs. Sonny had been in denial for a long time, but he couldn’t deny the truth as it looked him directly in the face. Ronald Billups, the Democratic Senator from the State of Illinois…..wait, I forgot the most important part. Ronald Billups, the AFRICAN-AMERICAN Democratic Senator from the State of Illinois, was going to be the 44th President of The United States unless some crazy unforeseen events took place.


Sonny removed his hat and glasses as he entered his black limousine.

“Pour me a fuckin’ drink bitch!”

Molly, Sonny’s longtime assistant did as she was ordered without one word said. Molly had been Sonny’s personal assistant for over 10 years. It was not surprising to her at all to hear her boss call her a bitch. She’d heard him call people much worse things.

“Get Charles on the phone.”

Sonny was already handing Molly her next order before she’d even had a chance to finish completing the first one, which was making Sonny a drink. Molly was a pro though. Multi-tasking was her specialty. Molly carefully mixed her boss’s favorite cocktail as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Charles Watson’s secretaries’ number at the same time. Seconds later she handed both to Sonny.

“Mr. Watson is on the line sir.”

Sonny grabbed his drink and the phone at the same time. He took a huge gulp of vodka, orange juice, and pineapple juice before he spoke into the phone.

“Charles. I just witnessed it with my own eyes. We’re in trouble. That mutherfucker might win this thing!”

Sonny Allen and Charles Watson had not only been friends since high school, they were also business partners in many businesses. None bigger, or more profitable than manipulating stock prices for their own personal gain. Things like this took lots and lots of money, and even more connections with the right people. Charles and Sonny had major connects in the SEC. (Securites And Exchange Commission) Those connections….. or lack there of, were the reason why many people got locked up for doing the exact same thing that Sonny and Charles did for a living. And it was the reason that Charles and Sonny were able to get away with what they did to make money. Charles and Sonny were little more than Wall Street crooks the likes of Bernie Madoff. Bernie was arrested and accused of running one of the, if not THEE biggest Ponzi scheme in history. Bernie took a lot of money from people, but his crooked accomplishments didn’t come close to what Charles and Sonny had done in their lifetimes. The duo had robbed unsuspecting investors for amounts that ran up into the double digit billions! Bernie couldn’t accomplish that if he’d lived three lifetimes. The connections, scheme, or ability to carry it out weren’t new ideas that came from the minds of Sonny and Charles. These ideas had been passed down to the duo from their fathers who had done the same type of things. And their father’s fathers had also done the same things. Always on much smaller levels. Charles and Sonny both came from old money. Old money that had been passed down for generations and had allowed generations of Allen’s and Watson’s to live the kind of lifestyles that most people couldn’t even imagine. Those lifestyles were being put in jeopardy with the rise of Senator Billups. Outside of change and an equal playing field for all, one of Billups’ main rallying cries was to crack down on the Wall Street crooks who robbed poor and middle class citizens for a living. Billups had even mentioned Charles and Sonny by name during a few of his campaign rallies! They were becoming targets. Public enemy numero uno! The dynamic duo of thieves were staring directly down the barrel of a R.I.C.O indictment if Billups won the race for the presidency. Both men were more than certain of that!

“What do you mean you just saw it with your own eyes?”

Charles casually spoke into the phone as he sipped from his Margarita that included tiny wooden umbrellas, just how he liked them.

“I mean, I am here! At the rally in downtown Atlanta! People are going fucking crazy! I’m telling you, this guy’s going to win if we don’t do something, and do it now!”

Sonny hysterically yelled into the telephone. Charles sighed. This was just like Sonny, being a damn drama King as usual. Sonny and Charles were as different as night and day. Their differences were one of the main things that made the duo such a great team. Sonny was overly cautious about everything, where Charles mostly did things on a whim. Charles always did things at the spur of the moment without any thoughts at all given to the consequences for his actions. There was a good reason Charles was this way. He’d learned at the young age of 12 that money could buy your way out of any kind of trouble. His father Charles Watson III had taught him that much. Not by his words, but more by his actions. Young Charles set his school on fire when he was 12 years old. Burned the whole joint down to the ground. It didn’t even take a full two hours before the authorities tracked the culprit down. The evidence was overwhelming. Charles was still wearing the gasoline soaked clothes when the police caught up to him. Not only that, a store across the street from the school also had Charles on video committing the crime. The good news was that the school was empty because of summer vacation when young Charles set the building ablaze. Even still, Charles was taken down to the station by the two officers who’d done the great police work of tracking down the leads that led them to the young arsonist. Charles sat in the police district for all of 10 minutes before his father burst through the doors followed by a team of lawyers, four local politicians, and one very powerful United States Congressmen. He was furious. Not at his son…..Charles’ dad was furious that the police had the nerve to arrest his son. Even though his son was guilty as hell. Charles Watson III was a very powerful, rich, and popular man in his small Madison town in Mississippi. Charles Watson had no official title in the small town, but everybody in Madison knew that nothing got done, or moved around here period, without the approval of one Charles Watson III. Charles had poured more money into his hometown than anyone in the towns’ history. And he damn sure didn’t do it out of the kindness of his heart! He did it to ensure the status of his families’ name in this town for decades to come. He did the same thing his father had done before him, the same thing his daddy’s daddy had done, and he was doing the same thing he hoped his 12 year old son would do in the future. On paper, Charles Watson III was the biggest real estate mogul around, but unofficially, Charles Watson III was the connects, connect. He was one of the biggest drug traffickers/money launderers in the Country. Charles was not actually in the drug game. His money came from renting his jets to drug kingpins who lived in other Countries and giving them a safe place to land with their drug shipments in the United States. At a private airport owned by…… Charles, of course. Charles’ airport never had any heat from the authorities. Local or Federal. Why would it? Charles had every cop, fed, and politician in this town, and the entire state of Mississippi, in his back pocket. Not only did Charles III walk into that police district and forcefully convince them to reconsider charging his son with the crime, he also managed to get the two arresting officers fired immediately. Young Charles learned a valuable lesson that day. Having money and power meant that you could do whatever the hell you wanted, to whomever you wanted to do things to, and get away with it! Money and power placed you above the average citizen. Even more important than having money and power was being born white. Young Charles took his newfound knowledge of the way the world operates and understanding of white privilege, and put it to good use. Between the ages of 13-18, Charles committed every crime imaginable. Including rape, robbery, and even murder……of a dog, but murder nonetheless. Charles III paid his son’s way into prestigious Yale University upon completion of high school. Young Charles was not an extraordinary student. He wasn’t even an average student. But money talked and bullshit ran a marathon. At Yale, was where Charles met other young privileged white youth like himself. Including his new best friend Sonny. Charles and Sonny wasted no time in putting their white privilege to use. The two frequently did small things such as buying alcohol with fake ID’s and picking up prostitutes and not paying them. The pair’s lives changed as they sat around smoking weed inside Sonny’s plush college-bachelor pad that was fully paid for by his father. The two were supposed to be in class, but of course they weren’t. They figured class was a waste of time being as though their rich daddies were going to ensure that they passed all of their classes and graduated on time anyway. Sonny stared at the television, entranced, as he watched an infomercial for a “how to get rich in 30 days or less” seminar. Sonny wasn’t amazed by the sales pitch. He knew that the guy was selling bullshit. The thing that amazed Sonny was how many poor people were probably at home watching this and believing the bullshit that the salesman was pitching. That was the day Sonny and Charles began a partnership that would easily surpass anything their fathers and grandfathers had ever dreamed of doing. Sonny and Charles made out a business presentation, complete with graphs, charts, and made-up investors. Most were rich and well known friends of their families’ who had no clue that the two were using their names as references. Sonny and Charles took their presentation and sold the idea to their fellow rich classmates. They were going to invent a wonder drug! A mind altering drug that made people three times smarter in a matter of hours. The kicker, was that the effect of the drug wore off after two hours. So customers would always need to buy more pills. Once a customer was hooked, they could drive the price up as high as they wanted. There was no competition on the market. Their aspiring classmates/business students eagerly brought the bullshit line. They did more than buy it. Those fools emptied out their trust funds for an opportunity to get in on the bottom floor of this profitable new business venture that was going to change the market and possibly the world! Sonny and Charles collected from willing investors daily. They were even smart enough to show big money people a little return on their investment. A return that most greedy investors doubled down on instead of taking what they got and cashing out. Sonny and Charles ran the scam for their full four year term at the school. Shortly after graduating, the two simply informed their investors that the FDA had not approved their drug and the whole venture had gone belly-up. Charles and Sonny claimed to have lost millions of dollars in the deal also. Of course they didn’t. Sonny and Charles took their scheming ways to Wall Street after graduation. They didn’t work for anyone. They started their own investment firm with the money they’d made in college. They mostly pushed bullshit penny stocks to unsuspecting investors who knew absolutely nothing about the market. The bullshit stocks were surely going to go belly-up anyway, but Charles and Sonny never even bothered to invest the money they collected from their investors. They simply pocketed the money. Millions! As time went on, Charles and Sonny developed more and more intricate scams that netted the duo millions of dollars. By the time they were 28 years old, the two were billionaires who were considered the wiz kids of Wall Street. Sonny and Charles brought power at every level with their huge profits. Things were going great for the two. Getting locked up had never even been a distant thought or possibility…….until Ronald Billups decided to run for president of The United States. Ronald Billups was going to be a huge problem for the duo if he managed to get elected.







Linda Binghampton
Manhattan, New York


“What is it Nigel?! I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed!”

“Umm, Ms. Binghampton, Senator Wesley is on line 1. He said it’s important.”

Nigel nervously answered from the other side of the door. Linda sighed.

“Alright. Give me two minutes and then put him through.”

Linda suspiciously peeked under her desk and frowned.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You stop when I tell you to!”

Linda opened her legs and leaned back in her chair. Mitch dug his head back deep into Linda’s aging box that had well over 100,000 miles on it, where it had been before he’d attempted to come up for air. Linda tried to shove Mitch’s whole head inside of her. Like a reverse child birth or some shit. Linda moaned in pure joy as Mitch’s tongue probed around deeply inside of her gold mine. Mitch was not Linda’s husband, boyfriend, lover, or even a one-night stand/booty call. Mitch was one of Linda’s young interns. Linda Binghampton was a strong, powerful businesswoman with an even stronger and more powerful sex drive. Linda Binghampton was a 55 year old super cougar. 25 was considered old to Linda. She preferred her sexual conquest to be in the 21-24 year old range. And just as in the business world…..Linda always got what Linda wanted. After Linda was brought to her third orgasm in the last 15 minutes she roughly pushed Mitch’s head away before she stood up and pulled her expensive designer dress down and made herself presentable. Linda grabbed a towel from her desk and threw it at Mitch.

“Wipe your damn face off before you walk out of my office! You got pussy juice dripping all down your face. Looking like a damn baby! And hurry the hell up!”

“Right away Ms. Binghampton!”

Mitch quickly wiped his face before he rose from his knees and quietly rushed out of Linda’s office. Linda watched Mitch leave her office with pure disgust in her eyes.

“I hate weak ass men. They’re not good for anything but sucking pussy!”

Linda slowly walked to her luxurious bar and poured herself a Vodka tonic before she walked back to her desk and sat down. Linda pushed the button on her intercom to talk to her secretary.

“Put him through Nigel.”

Seconds later, Linda heard the sound of the Republican Senator William Wesley from Arizona…. and his irritating voice on the other end of the phone. Wesley was the type of guy who attempted to carry himself with masculinity, but his overcompensating somehow managed to make him look like even more of a whimp.

“Linda! How are you doing today beautiful?”

Linda sighed loudly before she spoke.

“Cut the bullshit William. You and I both know that you will never get close to having this pussy sitting on your face. If we were the last two people on the Earth, I’d go fuck a goat before I fucked you! Now, if we’re done with the pleasantries for the day……what do you got for me?”

William paused before he spoke. Linda had just delivered a vicious blow to William’s pride and ego. William’s ego would only be temporarily bruised though. He was one of those dudes who seemed to forget being humiliated by women in a matter of seconds. William was the type of guy who really lived the “shoot your shot until there are no more balls left in the gym” motto. This was not the first time that Linda had blatantly let William know that he didn’t have a chance in hell with her, this probably wasn’t going to be the last time either.

“I had my private investigator look into the guy, and I even had my connections down in the FEDS take a peek at this guy. The man is completely clean. Not a traffic ticket, not even a damn jaywalking ticket. Nothing! The guy is like some type of adult boyscout or something.”

Linda sucked her teeth loudly. This was complete bullshit! Linda had been around the block long enough to know for a fact that, a politician this clean had never been born. The people that the Senator hired obviously didn’t know what the hell they were doing. That, or either they had no idea where to look at to find some dirt. Wesley was basically useless to Linda as far as this was concerned, but she still needed him for his vote in the Senate. That was the only thing preventing Linda from cussing this idiot out right now.

“Well, thanks for your help. You’ve been very useful. If I….”

The Senator quickly interrupted before Linda had the chance to cut this useless conversation short.

“Wait, wait, wait Linda! You promised me! I did my part. It’s not my fault things didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to. I think I should still be compensated for my effort. Friends in The Senate are a good thing to have as I know you’re fully aware of.”

Linda sighed before she grabbed her cell phone from the desk and opened up her flip phone. She leaned back in her chair and opened her legs wide before she snapped a picture. Linda found Wesley’s name in her contacts and sent the picture.

“Enjoy, you fuckin’ dirty little pervert!”

Linda hung up the phone and sighed. This was bad. Not the part about her sending “up skirt” pics to The Senator. That was business as usual. What was bad for Linda, was the Senator Ronald Billups from Illinois. He was bad for business. Very bad for business for people like Linda. And he was going to win. That much was clear to anyone that was paying the least bit of attention. If what Wesley said was true, then Ronald Billups wasn’t even blackmailable. Was it really possible that an elected official had no scandals at all? None? A black man at that? Not even any out of wedlock kids hiding anywhere? Linda didn’t think such a thing was possible. There was no way that Linda was about to sit back and allow Ronald Billups to interfere with her business empire with his stupid ass morals either. Linda knew that if she wanted to get some evidence against Billups that she could use to blackmail him, she was going to need to go out there and get it herself. Even better, she was going to go out there and create a “Billups related scandal!”










The Crossroads
(July 12, 2008)



Philadelphia, PA

“Senator Billups, your speech is ready sir. I already looked it over for you. Everything looks good. I’m going to go ahead and edit and print it up now if that’s okay with you.”

Billups frowned at Frank, his hired campaign manager.

“Let me look it over Frank. I’ll get back to you and let you know if I approve.”

Frank hesitated before he nodded and finally passed the papers to Billups who sat the papers on his lap.

“I’m going to give these a look as soon as I finish eating Frank.”

Frank nodded before he turned and left the room. Billups looked over at his best friend since their high school days, Corey after Frank exited the office inside the Senator’s plush Center City hotel suite.

“What do you think of him Corey?”

Corey shook his head as he bit into his turkey sandwich.

“I don’t trust that sneaky muthafucka! I don’t trust that bitch ass muthafucka’ at all!”

Ronald and Corey were both in agreement on that opinion. The difference between Ronald and Corey was, that Corey was blunt enough to say it and believe it. Ronald wasn’t. And it wasn’t just with Frank either. Ever since he was a kid, Ronald Billups believed that there was some good in everyone. Ronald held onto his beliefs even when people were biased against him for no reason other than the color of his skin. Ronald faced that type of discrimination the minute he stepped foot onto Harvard’s College campus. Ronald and Corey were two, of a very few black faces around campus. There were even less black and other minority faces centered around the law courses at Harvard. Ronald and Corey both had earned the right to attend this school by hard work. The admissions officials at the college recognized that both were a great addition to the school immediately. And the partial scholarships that both were awarded, were earned and deserved. Ronald and Corey’s names rang bells around the University before either had even stepped foot on the campus. It was well known that the two were scholars. This knowledge didn’t stop their classmates from attempting to delegitimize the pair at every turn. Ronald and Corey had to do double the work their peers did just to be looked upon as equals. This did not deter the pair. As a matter of fact, it made them push harder. Ronald faced the criticism by excelling in class. Corey did the same, but Corey also wasn’t shy about letting his classmates know how he really felt either. How did Corey feel about things? Corey believed with all of his heart that his classmates were privileged, racist, white boys who had never had to work for anything in their whole lives. Life had been handed to them on a silver platter. After college, the friends attended separate law schools on opposite ends of the Country. Their friendship never wavered. The two still managed to talk on the phone daily and meet in person once a month. After law school, the friends took very separate paths. Ronald got a job in the prosecutor’s office in Chicago. Corey took a job with a well known law firm that did criminal law out in Baltimore. Being on opposite sides of the law put a little strain on the friendship, but the pair remained close. After six years at the prosecutor’s office, Ronald caught an interest in politics. His thinking was that he could do much more for his City as a representative than he could ever do as a prosecutor. Ronald had always been a great public speaker. That greatness fast tracked him from local politics, to the National stage in the blink of an eye. Ronald married his college sweetheart Nichole shortly before his overwhelming Senate victory. Ronald and Nichole had two daughters. Ronald served six years in the Senate before he decided to make a run for the office of the Presidency of The United States. He was convinced that right now was the right time. People were fed up with the government always taking away from the poor to give to the rich. The people of the United States were looking for an equalizer. Someone who could level out the playing field so that poor people could be afforded the same opportunities that the rich had always had. Ronald stepped up to fill that void. The people of the United States responded with overwhelming support of the Democratic candidate. Ronald was surrounded by people he was not familiar with. People he was not sure if he could trust. Ronald bought in his old college friend to hopefully be the eyes that could see what his could not.


Ronald shook his head and laughed at his good friend.

“You don’t trust nobody do you? You’ve always been like that.”

Corey smirked.

“I don’t know about all of that, but I do know that sonofabitch Frank is no good. Trust me. Where the fuck did all of these assistants and campaign managers and shit come from anyway? Why you got so many white people around this joint? Where all of the brothas’ and sistas’ at bruh?”

Ronald casually flagged his good friend.

“Here you go with this shit again. Chill out Malcolm X. Or should I say Dr. King? Which one are you today?”

Both men laughed. Moments later they were interrupted by Ronald’s secretary Rebecca who peeked her head into the office.

“Excuse me sir, but are we still doing that thing?”

Ronald raised an eyebrow curiously. He was clearly lost in this whole conversation.

“Please remind me what thing you’re speaking of Becca?”

“Volunteers for the campaign here in Philadelphia. Is that still on, or should I change plans? There’s a young man here who says he’s interested in volunteering.”

Ronald smacked himself upside the head.

“Oh yeah! I forgot all about that! I’m glad you reminded me Rebecca. Yes, send the young man in right away please.”

Ronald turned to Corey after Rebecca stepped out of the room.

“Can you believe I forgot about one of my main goals of coming to Philly other than to speak at the convention?”

Corey nodded.

“Yup, you would forget your damn head if it wasn’t attatched to your shoulders!”

Both men broke out laughing. Mostly because both knew that it was true. Ronald often forgot about things that he’d just been reminded of five minutes prior. Such was the life of a very busy man with a full schedule every single day. Corey interrupted the laughter.

“I ain’t gonna forget that I need to holla’ at you about that piece of shit Frank either. We can speak about that a little later though. Right now let’s concentrate on building up a strong base here in Philly. Hopefully the young man waiting outside can help with that.”

Ronald nodded hopefully. Out of all of the places in Pennsylvania, Ronald was strangely having trouble gaining momentum in Philadelphia. That was strange because Philly was a historically Democratic city. Corey immediately suspected foul play. It took him a few months, but he had finally gotten Ronald to come around to seeing things his way. When Ronald finally came to his senses he was upset with himself for not suspecting foul play sooner. Ronald leaped into action immediately though. He fired the entire Philadelphia staff, except for a few loyalist. Which was definitely a dangerous thing to do being as though they were now this late in the campaign. Election day was only a few months away.




Frank stood directly outside of Ronald Billup’s office door with his ear pressed against it.

“Fuck! I can’t hear shit!”

Frank frowned. He quickly put on his best fake smile when he saw Billups’ secretary Rebecca headed toward the door.

“How’s it going today Rebecca?”

“Good. Thanks for asking. I’m about to go in here and talk to Mr. Billups about our Philadelphia campaign recruitment efforts. Did you know that we got rid of almost half of the old staff?”

Frank nodded.

“Yeah, and good riddance to them! Those damn corruptable bastards! Anybody who’s not fully on board with Mr. Billups needs to be replaced immediately!”

“Yeah, I agree one hundred percent. Excuse me Frank.”

Frank nodded and took a quick peek at Rebecca’s ass as she poked her head inside Billups’ office before entering. Frank smiled as he headed toward the elevator. His smile was partially about the joy of checking out Rebecca’s ass in her tight dress, but most of Frank’s joy came because he was smarter than everybody here, including Senator Billups. And he knew it. Frank was the one who’d sent Billups on a wild-goose chase trying to find the loose link in his campaign staff here in Philadelphia. Billups had fired over 100 people and still had not even come close to discovering the real culprit behind the leaks. If Billups weren’t so trustworthy, it wouldn’t have taken him long to figure out that Frank was the source of the leaks. Frank didn’t have evil intentions, he didn’t even dislike Billups. Hell, Frank thought Billups was actually a good dude. Maybe too good to be President of The United States. The reason that Frank was attempting to sabotage Billups’ campaign was purely financial.







Frank had a trickin’ and gambling habit that you wouldn’t believe unless you witnessed it firsthand. Frank’s debts to the various pimps, loansharks, and underworld figures he owed money to easily reached into the hundreds of thousands. Frank was in a hole that he most likely was never going to be able to climb up out of. Especially when you considered the fact that Frank was still piling on debt to the debt he already owed. Frank had been a lowly, part-time tax preparer and part-time private security detail person for a few local celebrities and wanna-be celebrities. That was before the night he had a pillow case placed over his head and was forcefully pushed into the back of a black Lincoln sedan as he came stumbling out of a local bar on a rainy night over a year ago.




Frank was knocked out cold by the two henchmen that abducted him. He awoke in a plush hotel suite in Washington D.C. The first face he saw when he came to, was that of billionaire businessman Everette Paulson. Paulson’s face was not one that was widely known to the public. Paulson mostly lived his life in the shadows. The reason Frank recognized Paulson’s face, was because Everette Paulson had made the mistake of allowing Forbes Magazine to take his photo and write an article about him when he made the Forbes top ten richest people in America’s list. Paulson quickly realized his mistake, and dived back into the shadows after allowing his picture to be made public back in 2002. Paulson had managed to keep himself out of the public light ever since. Most people forgot all about the billionaire. But Frank didn’t. After reading the article about how Paulson had outsmarted powerful men from every Country in the world while building his business empire, Paulson had become Frank’s idol and role model. Honestly, Frank would never come close to being anything like Everette Paulson. He didn’t have the hustle, discipline, or desire to crush anyone who dared to oppose him. Paulson informed Frank that he wanted him to do a job for him. A job that was going to pay $100,000 cash! With that type of money on the line, Paulson’s offer was a hard one to turn down. One hundred grand wasn’t even enough money to get Frank out of all of the debt he owed around town, but it would definitely be enough money to buy him some more time, and even more importantly, allow him to run up some more credit with his debtors. Honestly, Frank would’ve taken the job even if it was for less money. Frank wanted nothing more than to get in good with a rich and powerful man like Everette Paulson. That was the type of thing that could change a person’s whole life. Paulson put Frank up in one of his plush Washington D.C. hotels and told him that he would be briefed about the job bright and early the next morning.


Frank was awakened at 7:00 a.m. the next morning by someone banging on his suite’s front door like the police. Frank opened the door to see two men dressed in black suits and wearing dark sunglasses standing there. They handed him a plane ticket to Illinois and a check for $10,000. One of the men informed Frank that he was going to be met by his contact in Illinois when his plane landed. That was it. Frank’s mission, or job description was very vague at the time. Frank didn’t care though. He had a $10,000 check in his hands. The first of many more to come……he hoped. Frank was met at the airport by an older looking white man with grey hair and a matching grey beard when he landed. He introduced himself as Wolf. No last name was given, and Frank seriously doubted that Wolf was even the old man’s real name. When Frank got into the limousine with Wolf, and Wolf informed him that they were headed to U.S Senator Ronald Billups’ campaign office, Frank’s reason for being here in Illinois began to become a little more clear to him. Paulson had hired him to kill Ronald Billups! Frank was not a killer. He’d never been a killer. This type of shit was more than he was capable of….even for $100,000. Frank hated to do it, but he was going to have to turn this job down and give the $10,000 he’d already collected back. Frank pulled the envelope from his pocket that contained his $10,000 payment and attempted to pass it to Wolf.

“Look man, here’s the money back that I’ve been paid. You can take me right back to the airport. I’m a lot of things, but a contract killer is not one of them.”

Wolf did not reach for the envelope. He never even took his hands off of the steering wheel, or his eyes off of the road.

“Nobody wants you to kill anyone.”

“Well what am I here to do then?”

“You’ll find out when it’s time for you to know.”

Wolf and Frank drove in complete silence after the brief exchange. Wolf parked in front of a white building right outside of Arlington Heights. The two sat quietly for two minutes before a young white woman who appeared to be about 25-years old or younger came walking out of the building. She peeked around as if someone were watching her before she hurriedly headed towards the car and hopped into the back seat. She was barely seated before she started talking at a rapid pace.

“I did my part. I want to talk to my daughter to make sure she’s okay! You told me that after I did what you said, you would let me!”

Wolf slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellow envelope. He counted out $2500 before he passed the bills to the young woman.

“I got one more job for you. This is Frank. Introduce him to Billups and get Frank on as a trusted campaign person.”

The woman sighed loudly before she looked at Wolf like he was crazy.

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that!? I’m not even a trusted campaign person! This isn’t even the main office anymore! Billups never comes through here. He uses the Deerfield office more than this one.”

Wolf slowly nodded.

“Well, if he doesn’t come through here that much anymore, then you know you need to make the most out of the opportunity when he does. Or go to him. I don’t care how you do it. Your job is to get Frank here inside the inner circle. Capiche? Now get the fuck out of my car.”

The young lady rolled her eyes before she got out of the car and headed back toward the office. Frank watched from his seat in the car. He turned to Wolf to ask a question about the kid the girl had asked about. Before he could ask any questions, Wolf was talking to him.

“What are you waiting for? Get the fuck out and get to work!”

Frank briefly thought about protesting. He still had no idea what the hell his job was supposed to be. When Frank caught a glimpse of the Glock hanging from Wolf’s waistband he thought better of asking any questions. He’d just have to figure it out himself.


Frank followed the young lady into the office. She later introduced herself to him as Brooke. Brooke was a blonde hair, 24-year old, aspiring actress. At least that was what she said. Brooke said that she was hoping to save up enough money to set herself up in L.A., in the hope of being discovered. Frank listened to Brooke talk, but he found her plan hard to comprehend, being as though the only job Brooke had, that he knew of, was this one as a campaign volunteer. Most people here didn’t get paid. Brooke was one of the few who did, but how much money could possibly be in this type of thing? Frank would soon discover just how naive this type of thinking was. Frank was shocked to learn that he had his own little office inside the headquarters. That, along with many other things had been taken care of for him beforehand. Frank was touted as a campaign specialist, even though he’d never done this type of job before in his life. He really didn’t even have an idea what was going on. Brooke walked him through the process though. Campaigning was 95% advertising and begging for money from wealthy donors. Well, not exactly begging, it was more like dealing. The art of making promises that you surely wouldn’t be able to keep, in return for some money right now. Frank was perfect for this job. For years he’d been managing to talk bookies into giving him lines of credit, even though he was in debt to every bookie in the city. Frank even talked himself out of beatdowns for not paying what he owed on time……on many occasions. Frank had his new personal assistant Brooke, make him a list of every businessman in the area. Frank then got up off of his ass and hit the local bars. Frank asked around about where he could purchase drugs. He started with heroin. Frank was introduced to a guy who he paid to introduce him to his boss. Frank worked his way up the heroin ladder from there. Promising every heroin boss the world in return for a campaign contribution. It worked. All the dealers could see was a white man in a nice suit who spoke as if he really knew what he was talking about. Every drug dealer dreamed of having political connections. Frank was promising them just that, in return for a substantial donation of course. Frank hit up the big bosses of every drug in the city. Heroin, crack, cocaine, weed, Estacy…..the list went on and on and on. Frank managed to get money from all of them. Frank then took on the task of speaking with the local business owners. Just like with the drug dealers, Frank promised them the world in return for a campaign contribution, and their votes of course. Frank found that many of the business owners also had some type of illegal side businesses going on. For the promise of having the cops and FEDS look the other way while they did their business, they gladly gave huge donations. Of course, Frank’s promises were all bullshit. At this point, he had no pull with anyone of any importance in the world, especially not the FEDS or the local police. In a months’ time, Frank had collected over $5 million in campaign contributions. A big portion of which came from drug dealers and other shady characters. Frank could not account for the money from the illegal sources. What he did was upped the contributions of the legal business owners……on paper. If a business gave $20,000, Frank would just write it up as $40,000 or $50,000. Frank even managed to pocket almost $125,000 for himself in the process. $4 million and some change was more than this whole office could ever dream of raising in a whole year. When Frank told Brooke she was ecstatic. Frank had basically did her job for her. The only thing she needed to do now was contact Billups’ people. Once Billups heard about how much money Frank raised for the campaign he would surely want Frank close to him. Then her job would be done. She would have her money, get her child back from the kidnappers, and be on her way to California.


Things went down exactly how Brooke had hoped they would. Once Billups got wind of Frank’s great fundraising efforts, he invited Frank to join him at the main headquarters in Deerfield and work by his side. The night Frank got the call from Billups’ people, Frank’s cell phone rang. It was Wolf congratulating him on successfully accomplishing the first mission, and briefing him on the next mission. Frank’s next mission was to get some dirt on Congressman Ronald Billups. Not just dirt, but documented dirt. Recordings or video.










The Man With The Plan
(September 17, 2008)




Paulson Luxury Suites
Washington, D.C.


“Mr. Paulson, all of the guest have arrived. They’re seated in the study.”

Everette Paulson flagged his secretary, Dana away dismissively. As Dana turned and walked away, Paulson suddenly remembered something important. He stopped her before she reached the door.


Dana stopped walking and turned around to face her boss.


“Show me those tits one time before you leave.”

Dana didn’t skip a beat as she removed her 36DD breast from their resting place inside of her bra. She let her huge melons sit atop her white blouse for a full 10 seconds before she reholstered the lethal weapons and headed out the door. She did it like it was nothing. It really wasn’t. At least, not to her and most of Paulson’s other female employees. Just like 90% of aging, successful, crooked, rich, white men, Everette Paulson was an old ass pervert. Everette Paulson was a pervert, but he paid his employees very well. At least, the white ones. Everette Paulson hired no employees who were in close proximity to him for any extended period of time who were minorities. Everette Paulson was an unapologetic racist. He was raised that way as a child, and had remained that way throughout his 58 years of life. Paulson had always been rich his whole life. He knew nothing other than being rich. Paulson believed that those who weren’t rich were beneath him, and should always remain that way. Paulson also hated the fact that things like sports, entertainment, and now the internet, helped to make people who weren’t white males like himself, very rich. Paulson hated that shit with a passion. He liked to be entertained by minorities, but he didn’t believe they should have as much money as he did. Paulson honestly hated minorities. Everette Paulson was also a regular supporter of the Klu Klux Klan. That was a trait that had been passed down to him from his late father. Just like his father had, Paulson believed in the Klan’s message of white superiority and separatism. And just like his late father had, Paulson dreamed of the day when the white man would once again be great. To Paulson, and like minded individuals, great meant unchallenged superiority. Paulson only knew of one way to accomplish that goal for people like himself. Fear. Paulson truly believed that fear was the great motivator. Fear of being deported was what would keep the Mexicans in check. Fear of being killed or arrested was what would keep the black folks in check. Fear of getting slapped across their faces was what would keep women in check. Fear of execution and complete eradication was what would keep Muslims, and every other religion other than “White Christians” – also known as “Patriots” in check. And fear of being denounced and degraded for simply being themselves, was what would keep the whole LGBTQ community in check. In Everette Paulson’s eyes, fear was a good thing. It worked for Adolph Hitler back in Nazi Germany, why the hell couldn’t it work for him and his ilk in today’s times? All he needed was enough like minded people with enough money and resources. That was exactly what Everette Paulson hoped awaited him in the next room. Like minded people.


The light conversation that had been taking place in the study room of Everette Paulson’s plush penthouse suite ceased the minute Everette Paulson slowly walked into the room. His guests watched in awe as Paulson made his way to his seat and was served a drink by a female member of his staff. You ever heard of E.F. Hutton? The guy everybody stopped what they were doing to listen to every time he spoke because he always had great investing advice? Paulson was like E.F. Hutton multiplied by two. Not only did people stop what they were doing and listen when Paulson talked, people stopped what they were doing and stared at Paulson in awe whenever they were in his presence. The respect that Paulson’s name carried was what allowed him to get these three people in a room together. Sonny Allen and Charles Watson were two very rich and powerful men. Linda Binghampton was a woman who was equally rich and powerful. All three were included in the list of the top 100 richest people in the United States. But if you added in the groups’ illegal monies, each were easily bumped up to the top 10 or 20. The people seated in this room were bosses. The kind of bosses who didn’t wait for anything. People waited for them. Yet and still, Everette Paulson had managed to get these people to come to him for a meeting. And no one in this room doubted who was in charge. Everette Paulson lit up one of his very expensive Cuban cigars and took a long pull. He exhaled the smoke as every pair of eyes in the room eagerly waited for Everette to speak some words. After blowing a few smoke rings with the cigar and approvingly staring at it for a few seconds, Everette finally opened his mouth to speak.

“My great-grandfather came to this Country from Africo, Italy in 1901 with nothing but the clothes on his back and $7 in his pockets. Africo is a beautiful place….to tourist. However, the residents of the town are very poor. The kind of poor that we couldn’t even begin to imagine. Most young people join the Mafia. My great-grandfather didn’t. He was just an honest, hardworking man. My great-grandfather came to America with my great-grandmother and grandfather in the hopes that he could save his son from growing up and joining the Mafia. He assumed that America was the place to give his son the best opportunity of becoming something other than a mobster. My great-grandfather didn’t know one person in this Country. He didn’t even speak English. Somehow, he still managed to become one of the richest men in this Country before he died. His story is not an extraordinary one in that way. There were hundreds of thousands of people that immigrated to this Country and made something of themselves over the years. No, immigrating to this Country and making something out of nothing is not what made my great-grandfather a great man. What made him a great man was his age. Most people who immigrated to this Country and made something of themselves were young. It’s much easier for a young person to adjust to a new way of living and excel. My great-grandfather was 53 years old when he came to this Country. He had been dirt poor his whole life. Working long hours and making just barely enough to survive. This was life for him back in Italy. No aspirations for anything more. Just continue to try to get by. That changed when my great-grandfather came to the United States. Sure, he planned on working and just trying to get by, but he quickly realized that what he considered normal work, was considered very hard work to lazy Americans. What he considered regular hours, was considered extremely long working hours/overtime to Americans. My great-grandfather used that knowledge to benefit himself and his family. He worked 3 jobs, 20 hours a day. Something that most Americans wouldn’t even dream about doing. He took the money he saved and purchased a building and rented out apartments. One building turned into two, two turned into four, and so on and so on. Before he died, my great-grandfather was a millionaire. He passed his empire down to my grandfather who turned the millions into hundreds of millions. When my grandfather died he passed the empire down to my father, who turned the hundreds of millions into a few billion before he died. This is the American dream people! Going from nothing to something. As red- blooded, Aryan, white men and women, this is our right! Not every American….US! White people! The people who’ve built this great Country from the ground up. The only race who has ever made any substantial contributions to this Country. OUR COUNTRY! So, I ask you, how the fuck are we supposed to thrive in OUR Country with a fuckin’ nigger in the White House!?”

Strangely, Everette Paulson failed to see the irony in his impassioned speech. If it weren’t for his great-grandfather (an immigrant), fleeing his Country and illegally entering the United States, and the opportunities America offered his grandfather (an immigrant), Everette himself would not be the extremely rich man he is today, or even be an American citizen living in America period. And now, Everette Paulson, of all people, was preaching about being racist toward immigrants and other minorities because this was HIS, and only people who looked like himself’s Country. EYE-OR-KNEE! The guests in the room were already quiet from the moment Paulson had walked into the room, but when he got around to that last part, the room became deadly silent, with a clear sense of uncomfortability in the air from the guest. No one said anything as they focused their attention on Paulson. This racist rant was the last thing any of them were expecting to hear come out of the billionaire’s mouth. Especially International Playboy Charles Watson, who had just began a very low-key, very serious relationship with the beautiful African-American B-list actress Veronica Whatley, who he’d recently met while vacationing in Hawaii. Most of Paulson’s rags to riches story about his family’s rise to power were true. However, he conveniently left out a few important details. The first was that Paulson’s great-grandfather denounced his Italian heritage the minute he learned to speak English. His real last name wasn’t even Paulson. It was Moretti











“C-A-N-C-E-L-L-E-D! That fool is cancelled! With his weird ass! Anyway….You gonna be on time right? I don’t want to hear that running late stuff! I’m in desperate need of some S, S, & S! Sand, sun, and sex!”


Dina laughed as she taked to Ashley on the phone. Dina was halfway joking, but she was halfway serious too. The ladies were leaving for their vacation in Mexico this afternoon, and Dina planned to treat Mexico like it was Las Vegas. What happened in Mexico during this vacation, was going to stay in Mexico. Unless of course, she met a millionaire and decided to keep draining him for cash when she got back to the states. The ladies were headed off for a vacation, just like most people did at this time of the year, but unlike most people, the Boujee Circle were traveling in style! Fuck airports and long ass lines! The ladies were chartering a private jet for their getaway.


Dina checked inside her bedroom closet one last time before she zipped up her Luis Vuitton luggage. She wanted to be 100% sure that she’d packed all of the new things she brought yesterday. Dina dropped a cool $15k on clothes and shoes for this week long vacation. She didn’t plan on wearing anything twice during this whole trip, including bathing suits and lingerie, that she was pretty certain a few millionaires would be seeing up close and personal during her time in Mexico.


“Mom, when you coming back?”


Dina jumped a little. She was startled to hear a voice in her room. Dina had no idea Dianna was home. She had no idea what time Dianna had got in this morning. As Dina stood there thinking about it, she realized she didn’t really care either.


“What I tell you about sneaking up on me like a damn stalker! And you’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m telling you when I’m coming home! You think you’re slick! Tryna plan a party around my schedule and shit. Not in my damn house you won’t!”


Dianna put on a fake pout. She knew her mother very well. She also knew that her mother was playing right into her game of deflect and attack. Partying was Dianna’s life. But more than partying, Dianna’s biggest accomplishment in life was living responsibility and care-free. Dina had played a big part in Dianna becoming this way, she knew it, and she hated it. But, she still continued to contribute to it.


Dina grew up an only child. She’d always wanted a sister to share clothes with and do other sisterly things with. Since she had none, Dina settled for friends to fill the sister role. As hard as Dina tried, friends were not the same as family. Dina’s life had been one never-ending party since she was 14-years old. Having Dianna at 17 did not slow down Dina’s partying ways, not even a little bit. Dina passed her child off to her mother to raise while she continued her partying ways. Dina kind of forgot she even had a child……until her mom passed away when Dianna was 16-years old. Dina suddenly felt a huge amount of guilt. Her daughter was 16-years old, and she barely knew her. With her mother no longer around to care for her child, and take care of her responsibilities for her, Dina’s motherly instincts finally kicked in…..kind of. Dina went and got her child, who was now a teenager. Dina moved Dianna into her plush house with her. Dianna wasn’t really a bad kid, but she wasn’t all that innocent either. Dina had been running the streets since she was 14-years old. If there was one thing that stayed the same throughout generations, it was the streets. Times change, things change, people change, but one thing that always remains the same is the street mentality. There was nothing going on out in the streets, past or present, that Dina had not witnessed or experienced first-hand. Dina watched her daughter come and go as she pleased. She never said a word. Dina watched for a month straight as Dianna walked around like she was slick. After a month of watching her daughter, Dina finally approached her to burst her bubble. Dina told Dianna that she knew everything she was doing. She didn’t even have to see her doing it to know what she was out there doing. Dina knew about Dianna sneaking out of the house late at night, she knew about the boys Dianna was sneaking into the house late at night, and she knew about Dianna smoking weed in the basement. Dina knew all of this even though she was barely ever home. Dina told Dianna she was not angry at her, she just wished that she learned to do things in a better way. Dina made Dianna a deal. If Dianna continued going to school, getting good grades, and graduated high school, Dina would allow her to do all of the things she thought she was sneaking to do, under her roof. Dina was true to her word. She allowed Dianna to have parties, sleepovers, and Dina even allowed Dianna’s boyfriends to spend the night sometimes. Dina became known around town as “the cool mom.” Dina loved the title too. Dina also began spoiling Dianna something terrible. Dina brought Dianna anything she wanted. Dianna got a Masserati for her 17th birthday. When she turned 18, Dina threw her an expensive birthday party, complete with high-priced entertainers. Dina also brought Dianna a Lamborghini. But the party and the bithday gifts weren’t the best thing about Dianna turning 18. The day Dianna turned 18, she became Dina’s best friend and the sister she had always wanted. The two did almost everything together. So it should come as no surprise that Dianna followed right in Dina’s footsteps. Unlike her mother, Dianna didn’t have that natural knack for separating real from fake. Real ballers with real money, from fake ballers who specialized in making it look like they had money. Dianna was getting played by fake ballers a lot. Every time Dina tried to teach Dianna real from fake, the two got into heated arguments. Dianna said she wasn’t a child anymore and she was not going to tolerate being treated like one. (even though she had no job. Everything she owned and almost every dollar she ever got came from Dina) After warning her three times, Dina decided to let Dianna find her own way in life. She never did. Seven years later, at 25-years old, Dianna had not found a real baller to take care of her, Dianna was not even considering getting a job and taking care of herself, she was still having sex with broke-boys, and she was still living off of, and with her mother. Dina clearly didn’t mind. She never kicked Dianna out, pressed her to pay any bills, or stopped taking care of her every want and need. Even still, Dina hoped that her daughter would grow up one day.


“I better not find out you had a bunch of your broke ass friends in my house while I’m gone! You’re gonna find yourself living in the streets with their bum asses if you keep it up!”


“Mom, can you leave your car here. Mine is in the shop again.”


Dianna paid no attention at all to her mothers’ threats about kicking her out before she moved on to asking for what she really wanted. Dina stopped packing clothes for a second and looked at Dianna. Before she could question Dianna about why her car was in the shop this time, she heard the sound of the doorbell ringing. Dina sighed. She was not going to stress herself out over Dianna’s dumb ass problems. How she was going to pay to get her car fixed was on her.


“The keys on the kitchen table Di.”


Dina said as she nonchalantly walked past Dianna on her way to answer the front door. Dianna stood there completely befuddled. Her mother had shown no care at all about her car being in the shop. The fake party line was supposed to set her up so that Dianna could hit her up for what she really wanted. You know, ask for something big, so what you really wants seems small. It usually worked for Dianna. She stood there wondering why it wasn’t seeming to work this time. Dina smiled as she headed to the front door. She was enjoying seeing Dianna sweat it out. Dina knew that she was going to eventually be the one paying to get Dianna’s car out the shop, but it was still fun seeing her fret about her car at the moment. Dina opened the door with a smile still on her face. Her smile disappeared when she saw no one standing out there. But there was something on her doorstep. One red rose.


“What the fuck?”


Dina shook her head as she closed the door and walked back into the house. Whatever this rose was about, surely had nothing at all to do with her. Probably was some weird ass shit Dianna was into. Dina shrugged. She had better things to think about than Dianna’s unorganized life, like meeting some extremely rich men in Mexico!




Ashley laughed as she ended her call with Dina. She was purposely taking her time as she sat in her chambers looking at videos on Instagram. Ashley was being petty. She was sitting here bullshitting, knowing that people were in the courtroom awaiting her ruling. They were all on her time, and this was how she chose to waste it. Why shouldn’t she? The prosecution had wasted her time making her come back here to have to look up this case. If he would’ve just told the truth, everyone would’ve been out of here by now. Off somewhere enjoying their day. But noooooo! He felt the need to waste her damn time! Now she was purposely wasting his, and everyone else in the courtrooms too. The D.A. had no case against the defendant and he knew it. This was another example of the state trying to pin a bullshit charge on the first black man they could find. If there was one thing Judge Ashley didn’t tolerate in her courtroom, it was that! Prosecutors trying to take black men off the streets, simply to get a conviction. A lot of times they ended up getting that conviction too. Not from her, but there were other judges in the system who played along with the game. Ashley shook her head as she thought about how fucked up the criminal justice system was. The game was completely rigged against poor folks and minorities. Nobody seemed to really care either. Ashley’s recess to look a little deeper into the case that had been unexpectedly dumped into her lap, was supposed to be 10 minutes. Ashley had been back here in her chambers for 45 minutes. It had taken her all of five minutes to do a little research and discover that the prosecution was full of shit. The other 40 minutes back here had been filled by Ashley talking to Dina on the phone and surfing Instagram profiles. Ashley took her time as she stood from her chair and began putting her robe back on. When she was done, she summoned her clerk and told him to call to resume the proceedings. Five minutes later, Ashley took a seat in her judge’s chair and stared darts of death at the prosecution’s table before she spoke.


“Mr Olsen, you clearly, and I do mean clearly, have no case here whatsoever. The defendant was arrested and charged with a crime with no credible evidence or reasoning behind his arrest at all! And the worst part about this is that you had the nerve to request to raise the defendant’s bail not once, but twice! Even though the $100,000 bond for a class three felony was ridiculously high to begin with! Mr. Olsen, in my honest opinion, you are in direct violation of your civic duty to serve this court with honor. In my opinion, this case was an attempted railroading of an innocent man. One thing my mother said while laying on her death-bed that stayed with me was, that if a person will do something once, he will do it twice! I seriously doubt that this is your first attempt to railroad an innocent man, and I seriously doubt that it will be your last, unless you are stopped! Therefore, I’m writing to the bar association to request that your activities be investigated and hopefully that investigation leads to you being disbarred!”


Ashley paused for a second and looked at the defendant.


“Mr. Milton, I would advise you to get a lawyer, a real lawyer! When you do, I suggest you pursue civil action against the state and Mr. Olsen personally! Mr. Milton, I am sorry that you were robbed for a year of your life behind this nonsense.”


Ashley shuffled the pile of papers sitting in front of her before she continued.


“This case is dismissed. The defendant will be processed and released from custody immediately. That’s my final ruling.”


Ashley banged her gavel and rose to her feet. Defendant Milton jumped up and cheered loudly.




Ashley heard what the defendant said as she was on her way out the door. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve held his dumb ass in contempt of court, but she already had vacation on her mind as she headed off to her chambers. Charging that dummy with contempt would mean spending more of her time here. Not today Satan! Defendant Milton smiled as he yelled over at the prosecutor as he was being led out of the courtroom by deputies and taken over to the jail to be processed and released.




D.A. Olsen said nothing as he sat at the table still shaking his head and wondering what the fuck had just happened.




THE BOUJEE CIRCLE (episode-1) by Kareem Rahman *extended preview*


42 year-old, Ashley Jackson had it all. The million dollar home, the hundred thousand dollar car, a closet full of name brand clothes and shoes, the ability to afford luxury shopping sprees and exotic vacations, great friends who shared the same tax bracket she did, and most importantly, a thriving job that she loved. My bad, Ashley didn’t have a job. Ashley had a career. Big difference. Ashley’s official title was Munincipal Judge Ashley Jackson. Ashley was a judge at Philadelphia’s Criminal Justice Center. Judge Jackson’s court was held in courtroom 723. Judge Jackson mostly presided over criminal cases. Ashley loved her job. She was one of a few people in the world who’s job made a direct impact on her community. In her hands, Ashley held the power to decide an individual’s fate. She could decide if an individual deserved to live amongst law-abiding citizens or not. Ashley took this responsibility and her job very seriously. It was her, who might be standing between a criminal charged with a small crime, not being able to go back to the streets and commit a bigger one, that might hurt more people. Since the very first day Asley put that black robe on, she’d been on a personal mission to clean up the streets of Philadelphia. Ashley’s personal mission helped to make her one of the most hated judges in the city…..by criminals. Ashley was loved by everyone else. She was looked at as a role model. Here, you had this black woman, attempting to clean up the same neighborhoods that she had grown up in. Ashley’s perception of a role model had managed to make her millions of dollars outside of her well paying job. Ashley was also a 4-time, New York Times best-selling author. Ashley was frequently booked to speak at events and conferences. Especially at events for black women. Ashley was frequently the headliner at these events. She was a woman who had made her way on her own. Ashley worked two jobs throughout her time at college and law school. Her motto was “if someone like me can do it, why can’t you?” Ashley’s other big source of income was her YouTube channel. Ashley posted bi-weekly podcast type shows. Sometimes she invited her friends or other successful women on as guest. Sometimes Ashley just talked about the issues facing the black community and its citizens. Either way, Ashley’s videos always got over 10 million hits, in a very short amount of time. Two days tops. Ashley’s good looks may have had a lot to do with her commercial success, but it was her career success that people respected, even the criminals who tried to avoid courtroom 723 at all cost. It was a known fact by every criminal and every criminal attorney in the city, that if a person went in front of Judge Ashley Jackson, and lost, she was throwing the book at them. No exceptions. This kind of threw criminals off who didn’t know of Ashley’s reputation and had the unpleasant pleasure of standing before her for the first time. What men saw when they looked at Ashley, was anything but the type of black woman that would hit you with a 20-40 year prison sentence without batting an eye. Especially if you appeared in front of her for illegally possessing a firearm, any type of drug distribution charge, or anything having to do with violence, especially domestic violence. What most dudes saw when they went before Judge Ashley Jackson, was the chick they would try to holla’ at in a crowded night club. Ashley was 42 years-old, but she damn sure didn’t look like it. Ashley didn’t look a day over 24, and she carried herself in this way sometimes….especially when she had that Henny up in her system.


Ashley may have had it going on in the career department, but her personal life was a totally different story. To Ashley’s friends, she looked like a happy camper, but Ashley Jackson was anything but happy. Having a career like Ashley had took sacrifice. Ashley had sacrificed a lot to live the kind of life she was currently blessed with. Including a meaningful relationship and kids. Ashley was very single and had no kids. Ashley had only had two pregnancy scares in her whole life, and both times she knew that she was just wishing on a star. Ashley always told people that a husband and kids were things that meant very little to her, but that was a bold-faced lie. Ashley would gladly trade her career for a soulmate and a few kids in a heartbeat. Ashley wasn’t single because she couldn’t get a man either. Men fought each other just for the opportunity to get a little bit of Ashley’s time and attention. Ashley was single because she reaaaaaaly cared about what people thought of her, especially her circle of friends. Trying to live up to what Ashley believed was acceptable to her friends, was one of the main reasons that Ashley was single right now. Ashley feared that any man she got involved with would fail to meet the ridiculously high standards her circle of friends had set for themselves, without a single word about it needing to be said. Actions spoke a lot louder than words, and Ashley’s circle of friends actions had set the standards for male companionship very high.




Miranda, the baby in Ashley’s circle of friends, was a 29 year-old successful real-estate agent. Fresh out of college at the age of 22 years-old, and with no clear direction for her life, Miranda had an encounter, that was supposed to be a one-night stand, with a man named Randolph who she met at a night club during a night of heavy drinking and partying. Randolph instantly fell in love with Miranda. The two moved in together, because……..why not? Miranda wasn’t doing shit else. Turns out, Randolph was the realtor to the stars. Every athlete, politician, and entertainer in the tri-state area who was in search of a multi-million dollar home went to see Mr. Randolph Scott. Miranda wanted a piece of the action the moment she realized who Randolph was. He was her opportunity to become a resident on “Easy Street” for the rest of her life. Miranda asked Randolph to teach her the business. He did her one better. Randolph told Miranda that he would make her a partner in his real-estate empire if she would marry him. The decision to say yes wasn’t a hard one for Miranda. Seven years later, the two were still happily married, with two kids, and known as the King and Quenn of real-estate In all of P.A, South Jersey, and major parts of New York City.




Brittney was the outspoken member of the group. Brittney was the one that wasn’t afraid to say what everybody else was thinking……even if her words hurt a person’s feelings, which they usually did. Brittney had traveled the conventional road to obtain her wealth……she married into it. Marrying into wealth wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Brittney didn’t marry an already wealthy man. Brittney married her husband after he obtained his wealth, but she had been dating him for ten years straight before that. Brittney was married to Eric Easley. Eric was a former all-star shooting guard for the Dallas Mavericks. Eric’s road to the NBA had not been an easy one, and Brittney had been by his side, every step of the way. Eric was not a highly recruited prospect coming out of high school. He was a walk on at a D-2 college. After playing for four years with below average stats, Eric was on no pro team’s radar. Getting drafted by an NBA team was out of the question. The only option Eric could see, if he hoped to continue pursuing his dream of playing in the NBA, was to head across seas. Eric packed up and asked his high school sweetheart, Brittney to come with. Brittney, a recent college grad, had just landed a sweet gig at a tech company. The company had actually pursued Brittney. Her computer programming and developing skills were sought after before she even graduated college. Val-Tech, the company Brittney went to work for, was growing at a rapid pace. There was plenty of opportunity for advancement in the company. Brittney signed on with an $85,000/year salary, a company car (current year BMW that was upgraded every year), and a luxury condominium, all paid for by Val-Tech. Brittney left it all to head to Italy with Eric in pursuit of his dreams. Life in Italy turned out to be anything but a dream for the couple. Brittney drained her savings account in less than three months. Her money wasn’t spent on luxury items, and she damn sure wasn’t living in excess. Brittney’s money was spent on necessities. Brittney drained her savings account just trying to keep her head above water. There was rent, groceries…….and Eric. Eric wasn’t working. Going across seas had not been as simple as just going and playing somewhere. Eric was attempting to walk-on to a team. He had to try-out for a squad, and so far he’d been having no success at all. Eric claimed that he couldn’t work because he needed to train all day and be ready when his opportunity came. Eric was doing everything except working out and training, Brittney kind of new it, but she footed the bill for the couple anyway. Eric always claimed that he needed this and that. Basketball sneakers and gear. Not the cheap stuff either. Eric also made a habit of needing to look fly every single time he left the house. His weekly clothing tab was more than the couples’ rent, groceries, and bills combined. Damn near every night, Eric went out. He claimed that he needed to be in the mix of the night-life if he hoped to make some contacts that might be able to help him get on a team. That was what Eric told Brittney. Of course it was all bullshit. Brittney knew what the truth was, even though she didn’t want to admit it. Eric was out there partying and whoring every night…..and she was paying for all of it! Brittney made money by offering website building services online. She worked all day and night, building websites for clients at rock-bottom prices. For the quality of her work, and the name Brittney had build up for herself, the low prices she charged were beneath her. Brittney felt dirty for doing this type of work at these prices. She felt like a prostitute. She was creeping like she was cheating on someone. This was embarrassing to Brittney. This was definitely a low point in her life. Brittney had been forced to sell herself short so she could finance Eric’s dreams of playing professional basketball. A dream that was looking more and more like it was just that…..a dream, and not ever going to be a reality. As Brittney thought about the sacrifices that she was making, and the thought of Eric out there cheating on her, Brittney became more and more pissed off. She resented Eric. Brittney had no proof of Eric’s infidelities, but just the thought of being played for a sucker was enough to make Brittney want to bounce. And that’s exactly what she did…..or tried to do. Brittney packed her bags and called a taxi to come and take her to the airport one night while Eric was out partying. As luck would have it, Eric arrived at the couples’ modest studio apartment before the taxi did. Eric begged for another chance before Brittney even had the chance to say anything. He realized that he was busted, and the gig was up. Eric had no pride or swag in his mannerisms as he cried and begged for another chance. He said that he would be faithful from now on. Eric also promised Brittney that he would be signed to a team and be able to take care of the both of them soon. Eric told Brittney that if he wasn’t signed to a team in the next three months, he would not try to stop her if she still wanted to bounce.


Eric was a man of his word. He stopped bullshitting and got down to business for real. He seeked out an agent the very next day after begging for Brittney’s forgiveness. Eric’s new agent came through almost immediately. He got Eric a tryout with “Dinarro Basket Sassari” basketball team. Eric impressed the coaches at tryouts, and manged to make the cut and be added to the team’s fifteen man roster. Eric signed a i-year contract with the team that paid him the league minimum, $5000/month. Eric was also buried deep on the bench. Dinarro Sassari had stars on the squad. Eric was signed as no more than a “break in case of emergency” player. He wasn’t signed to actually see any significant playing time. About three weeks into the new season, the team’s plans for Eric changed. Four of the team’s star players went down with injuries. Four missing stars, changed the team’s rotation, especially since two of the injured players played Eric’s position. Eric was added to the regular rotation. Not only was Eric added to the regular rotation, he was inserted into the starting two guard position. Eric took full advantage of the opportunity. In his very first start with the team, Eric dropped 48 points and added 8 assist and 12 rebounds. The coaches quickly found out that Eric’s scoring explosion wasn’t a fluke. Eric scored 40 points or more in 10 of the teams next 11 games, and led the squad deep into the playoffs before his team was eliminated. Eric had only been signed to a 1- year contract. And that contract was signed before the team really knew Eric’s worth. Dinarro Sassari wasn’t the only team in Italy who knew Eric’s worth anymore. Every team in the league had saw Eric in action. Eric now held all of the cards. A bidding was for Eric broke out in the off-season. Eric was definitely going to make 6-figures next season, no matter where he signed. The couple would be able to finally breathe a little bit, with a six-figure a year check coming in. Eric was about to get paid! Strangely, Eric wasn’t happy. He wasn’t even sure about playing in Italy anymore. Italian teams weren’t the only ones calling on Eric. He’d received a call from a “D” league team (now known as the “G” league) offering him a tryout. Eric was looking at guaranteed money here in Italy. This “D” league tryout was not guaranteed money. There wasn’t even a guarantee that he was going to make the team. This was simply a tryout. When Eric told people that he was considering turning down the guaranteed hundreds of thousands of dollars to tryout for a “D” league team, people thought he was crazy. The “D” league was not the NBA. Even if he made the “D” league team, there was no guarantee that he would ever be called up to play in the NBA. Most people couldn’t see what Eric saw though. Playing in the NBA was his dream. Making a “D” league team would be a step in the right direction, even if it paid a lot less than playing in Italy. Eric truly believed that saying “It gets greater later.” Eric asked Brittney what she thought about the whole thing. Brittney said that she was riding with him, no matter what he decided to do. That was all of the motivation Eric needed. He decided to take the gamble and see what would come of it. He and Brittney headed back to the States. The gamble paid off. Eric made the team, and signed a 1-year, $13,000 contract to play with the Texas Legends of the NBA’s D-League. The contract was the league minimum, but D-League money was not what was important to Eric. Sure, him and Brittney was living in another studio apartment, this time in the Dallas area, and still struggling to get by from month to month, but Eric now had an opportunity. An opportunity was all that a person could hope for. What happened with that opportunity was up to you! Eric showed the D-League what he could do, almost immediately upon arrival. Eric averaged 28 points/game, coming off the bench in his first ten games with the team. He was promoted to the starting line-up soon after. Eric took over when he got that opportunity. Eric was averaging a whooping 40 points & 8 assist/ game by the All-Star break. Eric made the All-Star squad in his first season as a D-League player. He would never get the chance to play in the D-League’s All-Star game though. The NBA’s Dallas Mavericks called down to the D-League and offered Eric a 10-day contract. Once again, Eric made the most of his opportunity. The Mavericks ended up signing Eric to a contract for the rest of the current season. After the season, the Mavs signed Eric to a 5-year, $89 million deal. Eric and Brittney immediately got married. The happy couple had two kids. Eric played 8 seasons in the NBA before a nagging ankle injury forced him to retire, still in his prime. Eric and Brittney moved back to PA with their kids after Eric retired. Eric was only 31-years old, and was already retired. Life comes at you kind of fast sometimes. Eric didn’t get down on himself though, Instead, he shifted occupations. Eric took some of the NBA money he’d saved over the years and invested some of it in a start-up social media app, that messed around and blew up…..big time! Eric and Brittnet were set for life financially, but Brittney wanted more. She wanted a purpose of her own, outside of being a wife and mother. Brittney gathered a few wives of ex-basketball players that she’d befriended over the years, and other celebrity and popular social media types from the Philadelphia area, and created a reality show called “The Boujee Circle.” The ratchet ass reality show took off almost immediately. After the success of “The Boujee Circle-Philly”, Brittney expanded her empire. Brittney now had “The Boujee Circle” reality show filming in 8 different cities, with 8 different cast. Brittney signed a eight-figure distribution deal with “RatchetTvNow!”, the television station that broadcast’ her show. The Boujee Circle was the biggest ratings grabber RatchetTvNow! had ever had.




The last member of Ashley’s circle of friends, was Dina. Nadine Petty (yes, Nadine’s last name really was Petty), or Dina as she was known by her friends was 42 years-old, and the mother of a 25-year old daughter named Diana that Dina desperately tried to hide. She didn’t try to hide Diana because she didn’t love her, Dina tried to hide Diana, because knowing that she had a 25-year old daughter, would make Dina’s lie about her being 32-years old totally ridiculous. Whenever someone discovered that Diana was Dina’s daughter, Dina desperately tried to lower Diana’s age to around 20….18, if anyone was willing to buy that bullshit. Just like all of the other members of Ashley’s group, Dina was doing very well for herself financially. To simplify Dina’s occupation, she was a high-priced hooker. But if you wanted to put “official” titles on Dina’s “occupations”, she was an Instagram model/boutique owner/reality personality. None of that shit paid Dina’s bills, even though she bragged about her “hustle” to anyone who was willing to listen to her. Selling pussy was what really paid Dina’s bills and afforded her to live a life of luxury. Way back in the 90’s and early 2000’s, Dina was one of the most popular video vixens walking this earth. Dina was drop dead gorgeous! Dina was still drop dead gorgeous today at 42, but 42 year-old Dina, had nothing on 23-year old Dina. Back in the day, Dina appeared in almost every popular rapper’s rap videos. They all tried to get at Dina. They all got shot down. They didn’t just get told “no thank you”, Dina laughed at rappers who tried to get with her. Dina never even considered getting involved with a rapper. In Dina’s eyes, rappers were the lowest of lows on the totem pole of big money people. Dina was bad, Dina was paid, and Dina was choosing. Rappers didn’t stand a chance with her……….that was back in the day. Fast forward to 2012. Things had changed drastically. Dina wasn’t the young, new face on the block anymore. There were many newer, younger, and badder chicks available to appear in videos now. Dina was 36 years old at the time, but in the rap world, she may as well have been about 89. Dina was bad, but she wasn’t young and in demand anymore……at least not in demand to appear in videos anymore. Dina was still sought after by rappers…..young and old. Even though Dina had been around the industry for years, she had never gained a reputation for sleeping with every rapper she encountered, or being an easy lay. Dina was 42 years old, beautiful, and what was known in the industry as “vintage vagina.” She was definitely still in demand, just not in the way that she had hoped for. Dina saw value in sleeping with rappers now, and that was exactly what the 36 year old mother of a 19-year old daughter did. Dina was sleeping with guys who were closer to her child’s age than her own. After sleeping with a few of the younger rappers, word quickly spread around the rap industry, and every other industry, that some “vintage vagina” was available and willing. Some good vintage vagina too. Dina was no young dummy. She was grown. Dina turned sleeping with multiple men into a very profitable business. Dina approached sex with a business-like mentality. Everything was about collecting contacts. Collecting contacts could lead your business to that huge account that could possibly take your business to that next level. Sleeping with rappers quickly turned into sleeping with athletes. Sleeping with athletes, quickly turned into sleeping with celebrities. Dina’s business was a’ boomin’ in no time at all. Dina took some of her money and started an online boutique. Dina also learned to use her Instagram page to make money for herself. Dina’s Instagram page was all about the fabulous vacations she took, shopping sprees, and very tight and skimpy outfits. Dina was definitely someone men were in a hurry to follow on Instagram and lust after. Dina racked up millions of Instagram followers in no time at all. Dina turned those followers into a paycheck. She started promoting Flat-Tummy Tea and any other product someone was willing to pay her to promote. Around 2015, Dina stopped sleeping with any and everybody who had some money and fame attached to their name. Dina cut her roster down to one or two wealthy men, who were willing to give her anything she asked for. Dina had no real job at all, yet she lived her life like money truly wasn’t a thing to her. Probably because she never spent her own. Dina also made appearances on “The Boujee Circle – Philly” every now and then.



New episodes of The Boujee Circle (season-1) will be released bi-weekly GET THE FULL BOOK EPISODE-1 “The Introduction” right here $0.99