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The man she works for, Rubio, owes me some money for some product I fronted to him. He supposed to sell it and pay his dues, that’s the whole point of fronting kilos of cocaine to someone.
My sellers make some profit and give the rest to me, but this pendejo, idiot, has been slack on his due date. Deciding to take the option from him without killing him yet, I set up a plan to empty his safe.
A safe filled with my money.
At thirty years old, I've been around the darker side of this life. I was born to a lower-class family. One where my father worked hard labor all his life for shit pay, until he died from a heart attack when I was eighteen. He left me, my sister, and our mom all on our own. As the man of the house, it was completely up to me to make sure Letty had an education and my mom had a roof over her head.
There were many times I wasn't sure how a nine-to-five job would make ends meet. Finally, I had enough sleepless nights, working tirelessly, for an engine shop only to be thankful Letty got a free breakfast and lunch from school.
I was sick of working endless hours for shit pay, so I quit my sucker's job and began making drug runs for some crazy ass southern guys. Me and my closest friends, Brian and Hector, traveled to Tennessee, Texas, and California every month to deliver pounds of marijuana to dealers.
We did this for a few years, working our way up in the underworld until we’ve become the well-known men we are today.
Yeah, yeah, I know, a guy from the hood doing the cliche. Well, kiss my ass.
When pops died, I applied for the police academy but, shocker; I was denied because I had a ticket from when I was fifteen.
I offered to pay it when I applied for the job, but the pricks just laughed in my face.
I promised myself that day, as they wiped the amusement leaking from their eyes, that I would never walk the line.
From that day forward, I took care of my family the way statistics dictate, and I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone says.
After drug running ourselves, we began to build our organization. Every year, the Alonso Familia grew in size and reputation until it finally became the empire it is now.
Known as Chicago’s Finest.
Now, I have my hands in many illicit businesses but one of the greatest things about being the Boss, I don’t have to get my hands dirty… unless I want to, of course.
My businesses range from drugs to weapons. From casinos to the whores working them. No, I don’t deal in sex slaves, but I do own many strip clubs and high-end escort businesses, and all my workers are willing and cared for.
I also have small time street runners looking to work their way up in the ranks like I did by stealing cars and selling them across the southern borders.
Believe it or not, Cartel members will pay outrageously for a Tahoe.
Of course, I have rules in all my businesses and when it comes to cars it's simple. Never steal a car with handicap plates or any signs of children.
Sippy cups, diapers, baby bottles, car-seats... any sign that it's a mother's car means its off limits, no matter how much money we could get for it. Break the rule and you’re cut loose.
Yeah, that's right. This criminal has morals. Fact is that mothers are everything in this world.
Have you ever seen a single mom bust ass while keeping her kids fed? I have. I've seen so many moms looking tired as fuck but still got their kids looking fresh as hell. Dressed in the best clothes they can get them, rocking fresh fades or little ponytails.
Yeah, moms and kids are where I draw a line.
So, pulling into this parking lot to make sure Dice keeps her mouth shut is not something I'm looking forward to, but it's got to be done.
I meant what I told her; she doesn't know shit about me, and that money I took from the safe means my family continues to want for nothing. It also means my reputation continues to be blemish free.
Parking the car in front of the tall apartment complex, I look up at the side of the building. There are makeshift clothes lines across the balconies where sheets and other linens hang to dry.
Potted plants are on most of the balconies as if the people are trying their best to bring some light to their otherwise dark living conditions.
Along the side of the building, there is a large memorial painting of a little girl who was shot and killed in a drive-by. A sad occurrence in the hood.
Sighing, I turn off the ignition with the screwdriver and exit. I'm not worried about any cops seeing the stolen vehicle because around here, cops don't come snooping unless there's a murder.
I walk up to a street level apartment where a woman is outside watering her plants.
"Buenos días señora. ¿Sabes dónde vive Raquel Garza?"Good morning, ma'am. Do you know where Raquel Garza lives?
The older woman looks me up and down, sizing me up to see if I pose a danger to her neighbor. That's the thing with the hood, everyone looks out for each other.
"She hurt herself three days ago, I can call her and ask her if she knows you, but if she doesn't, you better get your ass out of here. ¿Me entiendes chico?"Do you understand me, boy?
I smile, fully expecting this,"Si."
As the woman picks up her house phone and dials, I hear the police sirens in the distance.
"Tell her it's Leo from the coffee shop. Dice sent me to check on her."
