Avon Barksdale was sitting on the corner of West Fayette and North Monroe, waiting. He'd been there waiting for twenty minutes already and was starting to get impatient.
"Yo, Bey, what's the count?"
Wee-Bey, Avon's right-hand man, perked his head up.
"Forty something'."
Avon slowly turned and looked at his younger assistant through squinted eyes.
"Nigga, you don't know the count?"
"I said forty somethin', forty... forty... three! Forty three."
Wee-Bey seemed pleased with himself.
"You gotta learn yourself some 'rithmetic."
"Nigga, that shit aint me. I'm no good with them numbers, you know that."
"True," Avon conceded.
"But give me a nine mil," Wee-Bey starting rubbing his hands together, "and those East Side niggas be off our corner for good."
Avon laughed and looked around. No sight of him. He kicked an empty beer can out of boredom and eyed the front, right-hand tire of the Ford Explorer parked in front of him.
"You gonna fight 'em all off yo-self? Hell, one nine aint gonna do shit."
"Fine, give me two."
"You couldn't hit a nigga from a foot away"
Caught off guard, they both turn around to look at who just said that. The third kid continued, "You should get one of them sawed-offs, can't miss with that shit."
Avon walked over to the kid who just arrived, "Well, well, Stringer Bell decided to show."
The two embrace and Avon returns to his seat on the stoop.
"String, I can at least hit a nigga with a shotty. And besides I ain't no stick-up boy," Wee-Bey joked before he too got up and hugged Stringer.
String turned to Avon, "It's quiet, bad product?"
"Nah man, they all just scared 'cause all the warring and shit."
"That's still going on? Shit, I thought them East Side niggas were smarter than that."
"Not everyone is bent on making their livin' robbing corner stores at night," Avon replied.
"I still get the paper," Bell retorts, pulling out a thick stack of twenties.
"But no pussy," Wee-Bey points out.
"Nigga, is that all you think about? Start using your brain and forget about the chicks for a second. Worry about the money. The chicks come once the money comes."
Avon turned to Bell, "That nigga can't keep a count if his life depended on it; he's not cut for thinking."
"I can think nigga, put a gun to my face, I know what to do. Your boy String over there would crap his pants. Why don't you make him keep the count, he's Mr. I-graduated-high-school."
"Aight, aight, calm your black ass." Avon turned to Stringer, "C'mon, we got shit to talk. But not here, I got the place."
"What you gonna do 'bout the corner?"
"Bey got that, aint no customers anyway."
As Avon and Stringer walk away String turns and asks, "So what's this all about? Why am I down on the corner?"
"Because I need to talk to you, you gotta get off that thieving shit. You're too smart for that."
"I can't work nowhere though, it seems like everyone needs to know something about computers. Where are we going anyway?"
They turned the corner and Avon walked into a boxing gym.
"This is it?" Stringer asked.
"Yeah, this is like my second home. Known these niggas for a long time."
"Ok, we're at the spot, now what's the deal?"
Avon sat down and studied his hands for a bit. He finally turned up and said, "Look, you gotta get into the game, you would go so far with me and Bey."
"Oh yeah? How you suppose that? One misstep and you're eating bullets."
"Exactly, but with you there won't be any missteps. Any legit dope group needs the brains behind it, and these West Side niggas don't have that, they slippin. They went too far going into East Side territory. And that shit with ripping their stash? That shit can't fly. Soon there is gonna be an opening for a new kingpin and I'm gonna take it. And I want you to be there. You gotta be the brains. I can manage my men and snatch a life when needed, all you need to do is manage the money, and we all set."
String sat there for a while contemplating his friends offer. Finally he spoke,
"What happens with the cops then? What happens when we lose control and the next Balimore nigga comes up and drops some led in us for the corners?"
"I can't say. But String, if you use your brain, shit that yous always preachin, we can figure a way around it. I've done some thinking myself, and first off, no phones. That's how Bubba Charles got his ass locked up back in '94. The rest you figure out."
Stringer was silent. He was running every situation through his head; figuring out his best bet and how to proceed. He realized Avon's offer would be the best choice, it would offer money and, given enough distance, enough separation from actual crime to be arrested.
"How you gonna start this up?"
"Well, it all starts with the corners. It's all about territory. See it's not about how many corners, but what corner. Some corners are slow, some have cops, and some are too crowded. Once you got the right property, you need to supply, you get good dope and those niggas come to you. Lastly, keep your shit tight. Eliminate snitches and keep your enemies scared. After that, we get some lieutenants to do the street shit and we just manage and live the life."
"What about the money, that shit is gonna say dope all over it."
"That's what we have Levy for. Man, the old folk knew a thing or two after all. Get that Jewish lawyer and he can make shit right. For the right price of course, but once he's done with it it'll smell more like bank than the corner."
"Levy, huh?"
"Yeah, he's for real."
Stringer thought about it some more. The lawyer made things a lot more interesting now, and a lot safer.
"No phones and I'm not on the street."
"I can't promise the second part, until we get to the top, you gotta do some dirty work."
"I ain't touchin no gun."
"It's all good, that's what Bey is for."
"He's in on this?"
"We need muscle, migga."
Again Stringer thought. Longer this time.
"Fine, I'm in. But we cut it fifty-fifty."
"Cmon string, you think I'd play my favorite nigga? Course fifty-fifty."
The two started walking back to the corner to figure stuff out with Wee-Bey and to make sure everything was running smoothly.
"So Avon, when does all this shit get started?"
"We gotta wait til the top falls. If you go at him, people start to know your name, and in a bad way, you see? Once they're gone we can fight with the other niggas, 'cause at that point they in the same position as you, and it just looks like 'let the best nigga win'."
They walked in silence back to the corner and finally met up with Wee-Bey and the gang again.
"So did you two boys talk on whats gonna happen?"
"Yeah nigga, we got shit figured out," Avon replied.
"So String, you one of us now?" Wee-Bey turned to Bell
"I guess so, but I'm your manager, so you gotta listen to me."
"I'm cool with that, as long as you don't tell me how to shoot my nine."
"About that, there's not gonna be much shooting up the block when I'm around."
Avon quickly got up after Bell said that and pulled him aside.
"String, to get to the top some bodies gotta drop, it has to happen."
"Man, I don't want to be in charge of no murders," Bell whispered
"Bey got that, you just worry about the money and let me worry about the street."
"I swear, I ain't going away for no murders. That's all on you and your buddy Bey there."
Wee-Bey realizing what they were discussing yells out toward them, "It's all good Stringer, I got that shit covered."
"Damn straight you do," String said turning to face Bey.
"Aight, aight, settle down now. String, you stay here and make sure the corner stays good, you don't need to handle anything, we got the runners for that. Just make sure they be doing their job. Me and Bey got some business to attend to."
"Ha Ha, hells yea we got business."
And with that Avon and Wee-Bey were off to go intimidate some other corner boys and to get some more territory. And Stringer was left on the stoop to think over his latest career change.