before work, causing her to lose focus and slip up at the table, but Mookie wasn’t trying to hear that shit. Game recognized game, and after a week of straight losses Mookie knew what time it was.
And man, that ho caught a bad one.
Stealing from any niggah in the game was some risky biz, but skimming off Mookie Murdock’s table winnings was a cardinal fuckin’ sin. The ho prolly could have gotten away with fuckin’ with his money stream from any other revenue without a whole lot of fanfare, but dippin’ in his gambling pot was a big no-no.
A little surveillance and investigating uncovered the fact that the chick had sticky fingers
and
a greedy heart. To Mookie’s fury, she had gotten down with the dealer to shut him out of his wins. The bird was losing on purpose at times, and winning big at others, then splitting the ends with the dealer without giving Mookie a cut.
Mookie blacked the fuck out.
He rolled up on that trick in daylight right on 125th Street.He jumped outta his whip in the middle of the street and crashed his tool across her face.
“Bitch, you can either take one in the dome,” Mookie said, cocking the burner and pressing it against her temple as she cringed and clung to a parking meter for dear life, “or you can pay me with them sticky-ass fingers you got.”
It really wasn’t much of a choice.
Seasoned hustlers flinched on the sidelines as Mookie held his Glock to the chick’s head and dragged her into the middle of the street, where he had left his car running. He forced her to stick her fingers in the small crack between his whip’s body and the door as the chick screamed and begged for mercy.
Blood flew everywhere as Mookie made sure her hand was jammed in the crack real good, then slammed the car door closed with every bit of his massive strength, swinging it so hard that the impact shattered the glass in the window along with most of the bones in the girl’s fingers.
“What about that thumb?” Mookie demanded at the top of his lungs as the poor girl shrieked and gripped her bloody hand to her chest. You could tell the pain was excruciating by the way she heaved and vomited all over herself, but Mookie gave a damn about all that. “You throwing up and shitting all over ya self and I ain’t even get you good yet, baby,” Mookie told her. He shoved the barrel of his piece into her ear and not a soul on the streets doubted that he would pull the trigger. “Stick that thumb in there now.”
Not every gangsta had the stomach for this type of thing, but Mookie Murdock did. He actually enjoyed it to the max. He saw the way some of them bitch-ass posers who was supposed to be hardbody were turning away from the scene in disgust. They prolly felt sorry for the dumbass girl, but not sorry enough to open their traps and take her fuckin’ punishment!
Mookie damn near sliced the girl’s right thumb off in the car door, and then he went to work on her left hand. By the time he had gotten his money’s worth she was a mess. With both of her crushed, rapidly swelling hands pressed to her chest, the chick stumbled over to the curb and fell down in the gutter, slumped over. Passed the fuck out. Her hands mighta been all fucked up, but at least she still had her life. And she could thank Mookie Murdock and his generous spirit for that.
“Time to fly, boss,” his manz Donut had said, urging Mookie toward their whip as a small crowd of concerned Harlemites gathered around the unconscious girl.
“That’s domestic fuckin’ violence, yo!” somebody hollered from a nearby window. “Call the fuckin’ cops!”
Mookie took his time getting in the whip. He didn’t give a fuck who they called. Putting a bird in her place wasn’t a federal offense. He kept mad pockets lined in every precinct in his perimeter, and there wasn’t much the local authorities could do to Mookie Murdock.
But it wasn’t the local boys who would prove to be a problem.
“You gone wanna lay low for a minute,”
And man, that ho caught a bad one.
Stealing from any niggah in the game was some risky biz, but skimming off Mookie Murdock’s table winnings was a cardinal fuckin’ sin. The ho prolly could have gotten away with fuckin’ with his money stream from any other revenue without a whole lot of fanfare, but dippin’ in his gambling pot was a big no-no.
A little surveillance and investigating uncovered the fact that the chick had sticky fingers
and
a greedy heart. To Mookie’s fury, she had gotten down with the dealer to shut him out of his wins. The bird was losing on purpose at times, and winning big at others, then splitting the ends with the dealer without giving Mookie a cut.
Mookie blacked the fuck out.
He rolled up on that trick in daylight right on 125th Street.He jumped outta his whip in the middle of the street and crashed his tool across her face.
“Bitch, you can either take one in the dome,” Mookie said, cocking the burner and pressing it against her temple as she cringed and clung to a parking meter for dear life, “or you can pay me with them sticky-ass fingers you got.”
It really wasn’t much of a choice.
Seasoned hustlers flinched on the sidelines as Mookie held his Glock to the chick’s head and dragged her into the middle of the street, where he had left his car running. He forced her to stick her fingers in the small crack between his whip’s body and the door as the chick screamed and begged for mercy.
Blood flew everywhere as Mookie made sure her hand was jammed in the crack real good, then slammed the car door closed with every bit of his massive strength, swinging it so hard that the impact shattered the glass in the window along with most of the bones in the girl’s fingers.
“What about that thumb?” Mookie demanded at the top of his lungs as the poor girl shrieked and gripped her bloody hand to her chest. You could tell the pain was excruciating by the way she heaved and vomited all over herself, but Mookie gave a damn about all that. “You throwing up and shitting all over ya self and I ain’t even get you good yet, baby,” Mookie told her. He shoved the barrel of his piece into her ear and not a soul on the streets doubted that he would pull the trigger. “Stick that thumb in there now.”
Not every gangsta had the stomach for this type of thing, but Mookie Murdock did. He actually enjoyed it to the max. He saw the way some of them bitch-ass posers who was supposed to be hardbody were turning away from the scene in disgust. They prolly felt sorry for the dumbass girl, but not sorry enough to open their traps and take her fuckin’ punishment!
Mookie damn near sliced the girl’s right thumb off in the car door, and then he went to work on her left hand. By the time he had gotten his money’s worth she was a mess. With both of her crushed, rapidly swelling hands pressed to her chest, the chick stumbled over to the curb and fell down in the gutter, slumped over. Passed the fuck out. Her hands mighta been all fucked up, but at least she still had her life. And she could thank Mookie Murdock and his generous spirit for that.
“Time to fly, boss,” his manz Donut had said, urging Mookie toward their whip as a small crowd of concerned Harlemites gathered around the unconscious girl.
“That’s domestic fuckin’ violence, yo!” somebody hollered from a nearby window. “Call the fuckin’ cops!”
Mookie took his time getting in the whip. He didn’t give a fuck who they called. Putting a bird in her place wasn’t a federal offense. He kept mad pockets lined in every precinct in his perimeter, and there wasn’t much the local authorities could do to Mookie Murdock.
But it wasn’t the local boys who would prove to be a problem.
“You gone wanna lay low for a minute,”
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