"That's it? You're kidding me, right?"
Colby Carter looked at the pile of bills that the severe looking dude, an ugly man named Norton, had put in his hand.
It was a nice pile, but not in the eyes of Colby. To Colby it looked like shit. Norton closed the tackle box, like a fisherman
would use. Colby, a seventeen year old black kid from the SA Projects, gave the ugly dude a look. Try to stare him down,
put the fear in him. Norton sneezed some phlem into his hanky and put the box away.
"That's all you deserve this month, kiddo. Sales are down, that means revenue is down, which further means not as
many bucks for you. You should know that."
"Fuck you. Revenues? Shit, blood. I've been putting the product on the streets as much as before, you know this.
I've just had to be more careful, pigs are cracking down. It's tough."
"Boo fucking hoo. That kind of sounds like your problem, not mine."
Colby softened his glare, tried to approach it a different way.
"Dude, you gotta feel me on this. I'm putting my ass on the line for you and your boss. I got shit to take care of. I
gotta payrent, my girl's gotta feed my daughter, and I need to stay fitted. I got a rep on these streets needs to be upheld.
Show them punks that I'm it. Numba one stunna, no doubt. Feel me?"
Norton leaned back in his chair, making it squeak under his weight. He shook his head, wasn't going to budge.
"Too bad. Sell more, get more. Else go work at a Wendy's, sling some burgers, work the drive-thru"
Colby sneered and threw up his hands. He walked over to another chair in the tiny back room of Toby's Card Hall
and slumped down, resigned. The ice on his body contrasted the color of his skin, his authentic oversized Sin City Sabrecats
jersey hanging loose on his lanky body. Colby counted the pile of Benjamins in his hand, muttering to himself. Pushing
for Vladimir Makar could afford to keep him style, but it was just getting too much of a hassle. Getting shook down by the
pigs, having to keep his turf in check, always carrying heavy, risking his life. Colby's final count was forty-seven hundred,
ten percent. Fuckin chickenfeed. Colby pulled a toothpick from his pocket and started to play with his teeth.
"You sure on that?" Colby said "No more than this?"
Norton, polishing his bifocals with his shirtsleeve, stopped, put them back on, and looked Colby in the face.
"What part of 'sell more, get more' do you not understand? You fucking jig. Did you even make it to high school?
Christ, all you darkies are all the same."
Screw this racist motherfucker, Colby thought to himself, I need to get paid. Norton went back to reading some
papers or whatever on his desk and Colby reached behind his back to pull his piece, a slick looking Armas RA5 Uzi machine
pistol. He pointed it at the dude, holding it sideways.
"Get your box back out. We ain't done." Toothpick sticking out of the side of his mouth.
"Stick that six pound piece of shit back in your britches before you piss me off, kid." Norton said, barely looking up
from his work, not taking Colby seriously. Colby advanced, sticking the gun right next to the man's temple.
"I want whats due, right fucking now, or you're deader than Pac."
The dude looked over, almost smiling.
"You ain't got the stones, jig."
The stones? Oh, fuckin A. Colby squeezed the trigger, expecting the severe looking dude's head to explode, but
only heard clicks. With a speed not even hinted before, the man snatched the gun from Colby's grip then backhanded him
across the lips. Colby hit the deck, the back of his hand going to his mouth, tasting a little bit of blood. The dude stood over
him, holding the Uzi, pointing to a part of the gun.
"See this? It's called a safety. You really are dumber than you look. Jesus Christ, do you know who I am? Who I
work for? Course you do, you just don't care. You're just a greedy, stupid little nig. You know what happens to greedy,
stupid little nigs?" The dude aimed the Armas at Colby. Colby threw his hands in front of his face, and heard gunfire, just
not in the little back room of Toby's Card Hall.
The action was out in front.
The dude's head snapped up, and he made a funny face. He picked up the phone on the desk, and started dialing
numbers. Colby sat up, rubbing his jaw, looking towards the wall to which he heard more guns go off behind. The severe
looking dude started bellowing shit into the receiver, then hung up. The gunfire paused, started up again, then stopped again.
Colby could hear voices, two people talking, and footsteps approaching. Norton went to the door, opened it, and stuck his
gun toting arm out, spraying the hallway with lead. Colby heard some shots, then Norton screaming, falling from the back
room into the hallway. More footsteps. Then four shots. Norton quit screaming.
Colby licked his lips and swallowed. He had to get out. Staying in this little room would be like shooting fish in a
barrel. His eyes wandered to the tackle box, brimming with cash, cash that could set him up forever, cash that would let
him get off the streets, quit hustling, start a new life. Colby got up, and took a step to the tackle box, when he heard more
steps coming closer now.
What the fuck am I doing, Colby thought. Get out, nigga!
Colby darted into the hallway to come face to face with Norton's assailant. He was a hard looking man, his face
rugged, a little cut up from something. The man wore a leather jacket, bomber styled, and a set of green khaki cargo pants.
Colby saw his eyes, the color of mud, then checked out the pair of pistols the dude had, pointed at him. Colby was in a
state of paralysis. His mind told him to go! go! go! but his legs felt like they were caught in cement.
Click, click! The man in front of him was empty. Hearing those empty rounds trying to go off set Colby in motion.
He tore down the hallway, sprinting like his 'fro was on fire and his ass was catching, hearing clips inserted, guns being
reloaded, then kicked open the door leading to the back alley. Colby kept running, not looking behind him, just running,
getting the fuck out. He got to a couple blocks down then doubled over, gasping for air.
Did what happen just really happen? Colby started walking down the street, looking over his shoulder to see a beat
up Idaho tearing away from Toby's Card Hall. Oh shit, this is big. What now? Colby took out his Nokia, and dialed
information.
"What city?" The voice on the other end said.
"San Andreas. The Red Star."
***
Colby sat in a plush black leather easy chair, holding a glass of club soda, stirring it with his straw, trying to
remember everything. Vladimir Makar sat opposite him, legs crossed, well dressed but wearing an anxious expression.
"Again, it's good that you came here. Very wise. You did the right thing, now tell me again: who was this man?"
Colby took a drink and looked at his feet. The man had very nice carpet in his office.
"Colby." Makar said.
"Yeah, I've never seen him before. But he looked like a bad motherfucker."
"What did he look like?"
"I thin- well, I- I can't exactly remember, it all happened so fast, mista Makar, I just-"
Makar nodded to the designer clad thug on Colby's flank.
"Serg. Help Colby remember."
Serg pulled a .45, then hit the hammer.
"All right! All right!"
Colby told Makar what happened in the back room of the card hall, leaving out the whole uzi business. He really
couldn't remember what the hard dude looked like, all he could see were those guns pointed at him and the old fashioned
leather jacket he wore. Serg put his gun away.
"And he drove off in an Idaho. A really shitty one. That's all I got, mista Makar. I thought he was gonna blow me
away!"
"Colby, you did right. Now go out and see the man in front, he'll take you where ever you need to go."
"Mista Makar? I, uh, never got paid either. I was hoping that-"
"Fine. Tell the man in front, the man you talked to when you came in."
Colby smiled and got up.
"Thanks, mista Makar."
Makar smiled as Colby left the office. Serg closed the door.
"Tell Boris to take young mister Carter out to the kennels. Find out what he really knows, and doesn't. And have
the gentleman drive by Toby's with some gasoline. The front is bust." Serg nodded and left the room. Makar looked over to
the side of the office by the bookcase. Katrina sat, smoking a cigarette, looking sultry and dangerous.
"When we find out who he is, it is your responsibility to deal with him. Contact our man in Lobo's organization, find
out about that Idaho."
Katrina nodded, then stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray. She rose and left the office. Makar watched her
leave, then picked up the phone.
"Get me Graves."
NEXT:
CHAPTER 9---SHALLOW GRAVES
Colby Carter looked at the pile of bills that the severe looking dude, an ugly man named Norton, had put in his hand.
It was a nice pile, but not in the eyes of Colby. To Colby it looked like shit. Norton closed the tackle box, like a fisherman
would use. Colby, a seventeen year old black kid from the SA Projects, gave the ugly dude a look. Try to stare him down,
put the fear in him. Norton sneezed some phlem into his hanky and put the box away.
"That's all you deserve this month, kiddo. Sales are down, that means revenue is down, which further means not as
many bucks for you. You should know that."
"Fuck you. Revenues? Shit, blood. I've been putting the product on the streets as much as before, you know this.
I've just had to be more careful, pigs are cracking down. It's tough."
"Boo fucking hoo. That kind of sounds like your problem, not mine."
Colby softened his glare, tried to approach it a different way.
"Dude, you gotta feel me on this. I'm putting my ass on the line for you and your boss. I got shit to take care of. I
gotta payrent, my girl's gotta feed my daughter, and I need to stay fitted. I got a rep on these streets needs to be upheld.
Show them punks that I'm it. Numba one stunna, no doubt. Feel me?"
Norton leaned back in his chair, making it squeak under his weight. He shook his head, wasn't going to budge.
"Too bad. Sell more, get more. Else go work at a Wendy's, sling some burgers, work the drive-thru"
Colby sneered and threw up his hands. He walked over to another chair in the tiny back room of Toby's Card Hall
and slumped down, resigned. The ice on his body contrasted the color of his skin, his authentic oversized Sin City Sabrecats
jersey hanging loose on his lanky body. Colby counted the pile of Benjamins in his hand, muttering to himself. Pushing
for Vladimir Makar could afford to keep him style, but it was just getting too much of a hassle. Getting shook down by the
pigs, having to keep his turf in check, always carrying heavy, risking his life. Colby's final count was forty-seven hundred,
ten percent. Fuckin chickenfeed. Colby pulled a toothpick from his pocket and started to play with his teeth.
"You sure on that?" Colby said "No more than this?"
Norton, polishing his bifocals with his shirtsleeve, stopped, put them back on, and looked Colby in the face.
"What part of 'sell more, get more' do you not understand? You fucking jig. Did you even make it to high school?
Christ, all you darkies are all the same."
Screw this racist motherfucker, Colby thought to himself, I need to get paid. Norton went back to reading some
papers or whatever on his desk and Colby reached behind his back to pull his piece, a slick looking Armas RA5 Uzi machine
pistol. He pointed it at the dude, holding it sideways.
"Get your box back out. We ain't done." Toothpick sticking out of the side of his mouth.
"Stick that six pound piece of shit back in your britches before you piss me off, kid." Norton said, barely looking up
from his work, not taking Colby seriously. Colby advanced, sticking the gun right next to the man's temple.
"I want whats due, right fucking now, or you're deader than Pac."
The dude looked over, almost smiling.
"You ain't got the stones, jig."
The stones? Oh, fuckin A. Colby squeezed the trigger, expecting the severe looking dude's head to explode, but
only heard clicks. With a speed not even hinted before, the man snatched the gun from Colby's grip then backhanded him
across the lips. Colby hit the deck, the back of his hand going to his mouth, tasting a little bit of blood. The dude stood over
him, holding the Uzi, pointing to a part of the gun.
"See this? It's called a safety. You really are dumber than you look. Jesus Christ, do you know who I am? Who I
work for? Course you do, you just don't care. You're just a greedy, stupid little nig. You know what happens to greedy,
stupid little nigs?" The dude aimed the Armas at Colby. Colby threw his hands in front of his face, and heard gunfire, just
not in the little back room of Toby's Card Hall.
The action was out in front.
The dude's head snapped up, and he made a funny face. He picked up the phone on the desk, and started dialing
numbers. Colby sat up, rubbing his jaw, looking towards the wall to which he heard more guns go off behind. The severe
looking dude started bellowing shit into the receiver, then hung up. The gunfire paused, started up again, then stopped again.
Colby could hear voices, two people talking, and footsteps approaching. Norton went to the door, opened it, and stuck his
gun toting arm out, spraying the hallway with lead. Colby heard some shots, then Norton screaming, falling from the back
room into the hallway. More footsteps. Then four shots. Norton quit screaming.
Colby licked his lips and swallowed. He had to get out. Staying in this little room would be like shooting fish in a
barrel. His eyes wandered to the tackle box, brimming with cash, cash that could set him up forever, cash that would let
him get off the streets, quit hustling, start a new life. Colby got up, and took a step to the tackle box, when he heard more
steps coming closer now.
What the fuck am I doing, Colby thought. Get out, nigga!
Colby darted into the hallway to come face to face with Norton's assailant. He was a hard looking man, his face
rugged, a little cut up from something. The man wore a leather jacket, bomber styled, and a set of green khaki cargo pants.
Colby saw his eyes, the color of mud, then checked out the pair of pistols the dude had, pointed at him. Colby was in a
state of paralysis. His mind told him to go! go! go! but his legs felt like they were caught in cement.
Click, click! The man in front of him was empty. Hearing those empty rounds trying to go off set Colby in motion.
He tore down the hallway, sprinting like his 'fro was on fire and his ass was catching, hearing clips inserted, guns being
reloaded, then kicked open the door leading to the back alley. Colby kept running, not looking behind him, just running,
getting the fuck out. He got to a couple blocks down then doubled over, gasping for air.
Did what happen just really happen? Colby started walking down the street, looking over his shoulder to see a beat
up Idaho tearing away from Toby's Card Hall. Oh shit, this is big. What now? Colby took out his Nokia, and dialed
information.
"What city?" The voice on the other end said.
"San Andreas. The Red Star."
***
Colby sat in a plush black leather easy chair, holding a glass of club soda, stirring it with his straw, trying to
remember everything. Vladimir Makar sat opposite him, legs crossed, well dressed but wearing an anxious expression.
"Again, it's good that you came here. Very wise. You did the right thing, now tell me again: who was this man?"
Colby took a drink and looked at his feet. The man had very nice carpet in his office.
"Colby." Makar said.
"Yeah, I've never seen him before. But he looked like a bad motherfucker."
"What did he look like?"
"I thin- well, I- I can't exactly remember, it all happened so fast, mista Makar, I just-"
Makar nodded to the designer clad thug on Colby's flank.
"Serg. Help Colby remember."
Serg pulled a .45, then hit the hammer.
"All right! All right!"
Colby told Makar what happened in the back room of the card hall, leaving out the whole uzi business. He really
couldn't remember what the hard dude looked like, all he could see were those guns pointed at him and the old fashioned
leather jacket he wore. Serg put his gun away.
"And he drove off in an Idaho. A really shitty one. That's all I got, mista Makar. I thought he was gonna blow me
away!"
"Colby, you did right. Now go out and see the man in front, he'll take you where ever you need to go."
"Mista Makar? I, uh, never got paid either. I was hoping that-"
"Fine. Tell the man in front, the man you talked to when you came in."
Colby smiled and got up.
"Thanks, mista Makar."
Makar smiled as Colby left the office. Serg closed the door.
"Tell Boris to take young mister Carter out to the kennels. Find out what he really knows, and doesn't. And have
the gentleman drive by Toby's with some gasoline. The front is bust." Serg nodded and left the room. Makar looked over to
the side of the office by the bookcase. Katrina sat, smoking a cigarette, looking sultry and dangerous.
"When we find out who he is, it is your responsibility to deal with him. Contact our man in Lobo's organization, find
out about that Idaho."
Katrina nodded, then stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray. She rose and left the office. Makar watched her
leave, then picked up the phone.
"Get me Graves."
NEXT:
CHAPTER 9---SHALLOW GRAVES