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“For what we’re paying that fool, shit better go smoother than a Jamba Juice.”
Mateo agreed.
Alex Mont was their experienced real estate attorney who had fifteen years in the business. He was expensive, but for Mateo and Pyro, he was well worth it. They needed a professional legal opinion on their closing documents. It was a lot of paperwork and a lot of red tape that many well-educated folks couldn’t comprehend. Alex Mont knew where to look for potential problems in their paperwork. Doing a title search and obtaining title insurance was something that gave them a peace of mind and a legal safeguard, so when they bought their property, no one else could try to claim it as their own.
“So what happened the other day with Chanel?” Pyro asked him out of the blue. “Y’all ain’t say shit once you were back in the car.”
“I had to get my woman out of the madhouse. You saw that nigga her sister got living up in there.”
“I saw dude, and he looks like a grimy nigga.”
“And he got the nerve to call himself God,” Mateo said.
“God?” Pyro chuckled.
“Yeah, cornball nigga staying with his girlfriend’s parents in the projects,” Mateo said.
“Now that’s some pathetic shit.”
“Tell me about it. But Chanel good, though . . . moved her in and she loves the place, even though it’s temporary.”
“So you’re ready to go through with buying that condo?”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be my wedding gift to her.”
“She’s a lucky woman.”
“Nah, I’m the lucky one,” Mateo corrected.
“I’m glad to see that you’re happy with her.”
“I am.”
The two men finished their meal, left the waitress a nice tip, and left the diner with full bellies.
From Long Island, they traveled to the Bronx to Spanish Fly Barbershop, where they got haircuts from Bolo and talked shit. Although Bolo was a heavy buyer from them, he was also a good friend who they grew up with.
While cutting Mateo’s hair, Bolo joked, “So, when are the wolves of Wall Street gonna make their first million? If y’all haven’t already.”
Mateo and Pyro laughed.
“So tell us, what we need to invest in to make money like y’all?” one of the barbers asked.
“Municipal bonds, stocks, cryptocurrency, real estate, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera . . .” Pyro joked.
Mateo and Pyro were like the investment gurus of the Bronx, but everyone also knew that their primary income came from weed sales.
“Nah, but on the real, Bolo, we ain’t doing shit you can’t do. We’ve been sittin’ in here for years schooling you, yet you ain’t get in. What you waiting on?” Mateo asked.
Bolo shrugged. “Investing is a rich man’s hobby.”
“See that’s where you’re wrong. Do you see a rich nigga in your chair?”
Bolo looked at Mateo with a side eye. “Yes! You got a helluva lot more cash than most of us.”
“We built up to that. You don’t gotta go big. Buy what’s called odd lots. It’s where you buy less than a hundred shares. Take this challenge. For one year save all your tip money and once a month buy three or four shares of a stock, whatever you can afford. Nike, Twitter, Amazon, mix in some Municipal bonds and cryptocurrency. One year from now we’ll discuss your portfolio and how it’s grown.”
“My tip money, huh?” Bolo gave him a look of skepticism.
