I drove in silence. I didn’t wanna hear shit. The only thing I wanted was a hot shower, some sleep, and to be back on that plane first thing in the mornin’, headin’ to Jersey. I couldn’t wait to get home to collect the remainin’ half of the hundred gees I had comin’ to me for smokin’ that nigga back at the hotel. Not bad for a day’s work, I thought, headin’ to my hotel suite on the other side of town. Murkin’ these crab-ass niggas is as easy as snatchin’ candy from a baby.

The followin’ afternoon, I was home chillin’ in my two-story condo in the suburbs of Jersey, standin’ at the mahogany island in the middle of my walk-in closet, waitin’ for the whir of the countin’ machine to finish totalin’ my money. Snoop Dogg’s “For All My Niggaz & Bitches” blared through my Bose surround sound system. Oh, hell naw. Somethin’ ain’t right, I thought. But I knew what I saw. It totaled my paper at forty thousand dollars. I knew shit wasn’t wrong with the machine, but I recounted my money anyway. Nothin’ changed. I stormed outta the closet, snatchin’ up the cell on my nightstand. I punched in his number and waited. The deep voice answered on the third ring. “What’s good?”

“My motherfuckin’ money, nigga!” I snapped, turnin’ down my stereo. “That’s what the fuck’s good. Now where’s the rest of my shit?”

“Yo, chill, ma,” he said, lowerin’ his voice. “I got you.”

“Nigga, chill my ass. I want my motherfuckin’ shit. And I want it today. And I want another ten for you tryna finger-fuck me.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, soundin’ like he was ready to raise up. “You buggin’ for real, ma. I said I got you. And that’s what it is.”

“Buggin’ hell, muhfucka! I tell you what, bring me my shit and the extra or we got problems. And that’s what it is. This is like the third time you tried some bitch shit on me, and I’m not the one. So, you betta buy a vowel and get a fuckin’ clue. Now what’s it gonna be, ’cause another body don’t mean shit to me.”