Ripped Dollars 2 Read online

  Ripped Dollars 2

  …3 Years Later

  Dear Lotta,

  What’s good babe? I got some good news. With my good time plus credit for the time I sat in the county, I got like 3 more weeks and I’m out of here! I just want to thank you for riding this whole bid out with me. You know I ain’t really got any family so you are the only person I could count on throughout everything, and now ya bul bout to get out of this hellhole. It’s been like 4 years but in just a lil’ while, I’m home…and I can’t wait to see you. The things I want to do to you, I can’t even describe on a sheet of paper. You already know, you mean everything to me and in no time, I’ma be able to show you that.

  Love Tone

  P.S. I still got my half of the Ripped Dollar, do you?

  Lotta couldn’t help but smile, as she laid face down on her plush Queen-sized bed with her Beats By Dre headphones playing The PARTYNEXTDOOR’s mixtape. Damn near blushing, she re-read the short letter from her incarcerated boyfriend Tone. Lotta definitely still had her half of the ripped dollar, which was a symbol of their undying love for each other. Nostalgically, she retrieved the ripped dollar from her back pocket and held it tightly in her hand as she reminisced over Tone.

  Tone had been locked up since 2009, when the rented truck that the two of them were riding in on the way to Lotta’s high school prom had been pulled over and searched. The police found a package of cocaine taped up under the car, but Tone said he had no knowledge of the drugs. Unfortunately, that defense didn’t fly in the courtroom and Tone was just another young black man who was locked up, even though he swore he was innocent.

  Since Tone had been gone, Lotta’s life had been very, very good. She had finished high school and enrolled in college. She was taking classes that would eventually enable her to become a registered nurse, and make a living for herself. However, Lotta wasn’t a full time student. She was taking her time with school, taking semesters off at a time whenever she felt like it. Her education was important to her, but not as important as enjoying her life was.

  For Lotta, enjoying life consisted primarily of shopping, traveling and partying. She most certainly had acquired a taste for the finer things in life. Lotta owned hundreds of pairs of shoes; every high level brand from Tom Ford to Balenciaga. She even had some heels that she hadn’t even worn; she had just copped them to make her closet look good! Lotta’s wardrobe was also major. She had a nice, thick, juicy video-vixen body so she stayed in clothes that showed it off. Tight one piece Chanel catsuits and Versace leggings flooded her dresser drawers. Her handbag game was also official and she was loaded up with more Michael Kors and Louie Vuitton handbags and clutches than she could even keep track of!

  Whenever possible, Lotta loved to take one-off vacations and had more than a dozen stamps on her passport. She had been everywhere from Jamaica to the Dominican Republic, and loved showing the vacation pictures all over her Instagram and Twitter pages. Lotta was living her life like a true hood princess, and her chariot was a BMW 3-series coupe, custom candy painted hot pink, which was her favorite color. She could no longer say she was a virgin like she was when Tone had left, but less than a handful of men could say they had been intimate with her, which was still a good number by today’s standards.

  The reason Lotta was able to live so lavishly was because of her father Roc, who was still hustling hard in the Philadelphia streets. Roc had turned his hustle game all the way up over the past couple of years and was on a whole other level. He no longer had to really physically touch any drugs; instead he just orchestrated the moves that needed to be made to keep the cocaine flowing through his section of the city. Roc had achieved boss status long ago; now he was on straight kingpin level!

  The Lexus LS460 Roc once had owned had been replaced by a Maserati Quattroporte and a Porsche Cayenne, both of which were white on white with smoke grey tinted windows. The modest row home he owned in West Philly was now used as a rental residence and Roc and Lotta were living all the way out in the rich suburban Delaware Valley area of Pennsylvania. Roc was close enough to the hood to handle business, but far enough away to get some peace and quiet. He had neighbors that were CEO’s and medical professionals and his money was just as long as theirs was, if not longer.

  Roc was no ignorant drug dealer; he knew how the game worked. Instead of just stacking a bunch of dirty money and sitting on it, Roc had invested his cash into multiple businesses. Technically, the term was called money laundering. It was also illegal, but at least it provided a front. Roc had a car detail shop off of MacDade Boulevard, a coin-op Laundromat on 56th Street in West Philly, and a drive through car wash out in the Kensington section. All of the companies were doing relatively well and providing some much needed clean money for Roc.

  Roc’s cocaine hustle was based on his ability to move large amounts of work in a short amount of time. He had a dream drug connection with some Mexicans who had a pipeline straight to South America. The Mexicans were living in Pennsylvania but their roots went all the way back to the Los Zetas drug cartel. They were the real deal and only dealt in large amounts of money and drugs. The Mexicans were not afraid to resort to violence if anyone got out of line or owed them anything. They fronted work to Roc, and he was able to repay them back quickly, which was why they absolutely loved dealing with him. Kilo after kilo, Roc and the Mexicans gradually shut down West Philly and all surrounding areas to the point that roughly 85% of the work on the street was their product!

  For a while, Roc and Lotta’s life was as close to perfect as it could be. Then, it all came crashing down…

  *****

  Roc tossed his Polo boxers into his dirty clothes hamper and strolled his 5’10 inch stocky frame across the room in the direction of his personal bathroom. He cut the water on ice cold, just how he liked it and eased into his shower. Growing up, Roc had gotten used to the hot water always being cut off, so cold showers had become a habit for him. The cold water reminded Roc of where he had come from and all of the things that he had accomplished. It was his own way of keeping himself humble, even though he was filthy rich.

  Although it was still early, Roc was getting himself ready to hit the streets and make a few power moves. He had to slide by the businesses that he owned and make sure everything was operating as it should be. After that, he had arranged a meeting with his Mexican connect to setup his next shipment of cocaine. They had been getting work up to Philadelphia by using rented U-Haul trucks, but Roc was starting to think it would be cheaper to invest in an 18 wheeler. He was constantly looking for ways to evolve his hustle and improve on his grind. If he copped his own truck, he could just send it down there, and have the Mexicans send their own driver up with the truck containing cocaine.

  As Roc listened to the DJ Caesar do his thing on Shade 45 satellite radio, he could hear commotion coming from downstairs. Roc knew his daughter Lotta was off in her room, so the loud noise coming all the way from the lower level of his house baffled him.

  “What the hell is goin’ on?” he wondered aloud.

  By the time the words came out of Roc’s mouth, the crisis had already started! The front door of Roc’s beautiful home had been battering-rammed in and the ‘Alphabet Boys’, also known as the DEA, ATF, and FBI were storming through Roc’s living room. The federal agents were armed and were executing a search warrant with the intent of arresting Roc for conspiracy to traffic drugs!

  There were over two dozen agents and they rapidly split up and scoured the house. They fanned out and carefully checked each room, before heading for the custom made stairwell. One by one, the aggressive agents made their way up the stairs searching for their target; Roc.

  “What is all that noise?” said Lotta, as she finally heard the commotion over the b
lare of her headphones.

  Lotta hopped up off of her bed and sauntered her voluptuous body over to her bedroom door. She watched in horror as the gun toting agents flooded upon her father’s master bedroom. Never in her 20-plus years on the planet had Lotta seen anything remotely close to the situation that was currently unfolding before her eyes.

  “Police! Police! Get down on the ground! Now!” hollered the lead agent, as he finally spotted Roc.

  “Shit!” said Roc, as he obediently followed the agent’s orders and laid face down on his hardwood bedroom floor.

  Roc was just stepping out of the shower when the men had bombarded his room, so he was still dripping wet. The soft linen towel wrapped around his lower body was the only thing covering him. To say Roc was stunned would be an understatement. He felt like he was in a nightmare, but didn’t need to pinch himself because it was obviously all too real. The lead DEA agent read Roc his Miranda rights and handcuffed him, making sure that he followed the legal protocol down to a T. There was no way the DEA was going to mess up their indictment on a technicality or trifle.

  “Can I at least put some damn clothes on?” asked Roc.

  “Don’t even worry about all that. We got a fresh jumpsuit just your size down at the jail, buddy,” smugly replied the DEA agent, with a snicker followed by a full blown smile.

  All Lotta could do was look on in shock as the men led her father out of his room and towards the staircase. She was doing her best to be strong and hold back her tears. Through all the excitement, her father managed to make eye contact with her.

  “You know where to go, Lotta,” he solemnly said.

  In the back of his head, Roc had to know this day was coming. For a hustler of his magnitude, it is the inevitable end; either death or prison. There is no such thing as retiring comfortably from the game that Roc was playing. How can a hustler ever be comfortable when he knows there is more money to possibly be made? The same qualities that are responsible for enabling a kingpin to become a kingpin are also the same qualities that are responsible for his downfall. The ‘never say die’ attitude mixed with the belief that anything is possible are precisely why a true hustler can never walk away from the game in his prime. It is a classic catch-22 with deadly consequences. From the old school hustlers like Guy Fisher to the new era bosses like Big Meech; the story never changes. Roc was about to be another name in the long list of legendary hustlers taken down by the federal government.

  Chapter 2

  The federal indictment was the worst possible thing that could have happened to Roc, businesswise. The second that the raid was complete, the DEA placed an immediate freeze on all of Roc’s accounts and assets claiming that his businesses and properties had been obtained by using illegally obtained drug money. It was quite obvious that the DEA, state detectives, and the local police were all in cahoots to shut Roc down. They had been working together and watching his every move for a while. The powers that be were sick of seeing him use the lucrative Philadelphia drug trade to live a luxurious life that they could only dream of.

  Lotta was escorted out of the house and instructed to stay off of the property, or risk being arrested. Everything in the house was considered evidence from that point forward and tampering with evidence constituted a felony. She didn’t have time to grab anything except for her purse and her half of the ripped dollar which was something that she never left home without. Luckily for Lotta, she wasn’t included on the indictment so she wasn’t in any danger of being locked up. However, all of her possessions immediately became Federal property, including her beloved 3 series BMW. The only thing Lotta could do was to follow the instructions in the last words that her father had spoken to her: “You know where to go.”

  Roc was no idiot; he knew that at any time the Feds could rush in on him. Since he was his daughter’s sole provider, he had a plan in place for a tragic event like this one. The most important part of the plan was making sure that Lotta was safe. So when Roc said “You know where to go”, Lotta already knew that he was referring to her Uncle Marv’s house.

  Marv was Roc’s stepbrother, and also his right hand man. Marv and Roc were partners in crime, but Marv wasn’t nearly on the level that Roc was. However, Marv was pretty much all that Roc had in terms of people that he actually trusted. Without her whip, Lotta was forced to walk to the bus stop and rely on public transportation, which was something that she hadn’t used in years. Her Uncle Marv still stayed in the hood; 58th & Ludlow to be exact. His small row house was a far cry from the opulent, plush crib that Lotta gotten accustomed to living in.

  After a short, but uncomfortable bus ride where she was forced to sit next to a woman and her crying toddler, Lotta was back in the hood.

  “Unc! Open the door!” hollered Lotta, at the top of her lungs as she banged on her Uncle’s screen door.

  Lotta was hollering as loudly as she could, but her voice was drowned out by the Rick Ross CD that was blasting from inside the house. One thing about her Uncle Marv’s house, there was always something going on, whether it was day or night. Realizing that he would never hear her knocking on the door, Lotta reached into her pocket for her cell phone.

  “Damn it!” she said, realizing that she had left her iPhone back at the house.

  The way the federal agents had rushed Lotta out of the house, she hadn’t even thought to grab her phone. Frustrated that no one was answering the front door, Lotta decided to take another route. She went around to Marv’s window and peered inside. She could see her Uncle sitting on the couch, sipping on a Corona and smoking his weed like he always did. He was nodding his head hard to Rick Ross’ bass heavy banger “Hold Me Back”.

  “Yo! Unc! Come to the door!” screamed Lotta again, while she banged on the glass window this time.

  Finally after all the banging on the window, Marv noticed his niece and made his move towards the front door.

  “The Feds came and got my Dad just now!” Lotta blurted out before Marv could even get the door all the way open.

  Marv was Roc’s stepbrother through marriage. When they were teenagers, Roc’s Mom had married Marv’s father. Although both of their parents were deceased, Marv and Roc had always remained tight. They had come into the game hustling together, but Roc had always been more successful. While Roc was always strictly about his business, Marv wasn’t as focused. He made decent drug money, but he seemed to spend it twice as fast.

  Marv never evolved his hustle to kingpin status like Roc did. Roc was pretty much a supplier for the hood, while Marv was more of a transporter who still had to get his hands dirty with cocaine from time to time. Marv was still in the midst of the scuffle and dealt hand to hand with other drug dealers and sometimes even users. In some aspects, that was the way Marv liked it. He didn’t want to be living out in the ‘burbs with the white picket fence like Roc. Marv still enjoyed being in the hood, where the action was. He didn’t have any kids, so the sense of responsibility that Roc possessed was completely absent in Marv.

  “You gotta do somethin’!” continued Lotta, as she barged through the front door.

  “Slow down, slow down,” calmly said Marv.

  Marv was still half high from his marijuana, plus the Percocet he had popped earlier and the case of Corona’s he was working on had him grooving just a little. All of the drama that Lotta was coming at him with was blowing his vibe.

  “Look, if the Feds came and got him, then there ain’t nothin’ we can do about it right now. We gotta wait until they let him know exactly what his charges are,” said Marv, who was a little too unconcerned for Lotta’s liking.

  “So you just gonna let my Dad sit in jail?” asked Lotta.

  “This ain’t your Dad’s first time being locked up. He’ll be cool. When we find out everything that’s going on, we will go down there and throw something on his books. You already know he’s gonna add us on his visitation list,” said Marv, as he returned to smoking his weed and sipping his Corona.

  Marv’s lack of urgency w
as pissing Lotta off. She couldn’t understand how he was sitting around like it was no big deal when all those agents had just stormed their crib and taken her father away like they did. Her father was her rock; he paid all of her bills and was the only shoulder she really had to lean on. Since Lotta’s mother had been killed years ago, her father was all that she had left to count on in the world. With Roc out of the picture, Lotta was lost.

  “Don’t get all stressed out. You know that I got a place for you to stay. There’s mad food in the fridge and you can even have a beer if you want since you 21 now,” said Marv.

  “Look, I don’t want no beer but I do need to take a shower. I been so nervous that I have been sweating like a damn nasty ass pig. I just need to calm myself down,” explained Lotta.

  “I feel you. You just make yourself at home. You can stay here as long as you like. We family so mi casa es su casa. Ain’t that how the Ricans say it down North Philly?” said Marv.

  “Yea, I guess,” said Lotta, unsuccessfully trying to muster up a smile.

  Marv understood his niece’s reasoning. She was stressed out and just needed some time alone to sort things out. He gave her his spare key and showed her up to the bedroom where she was going to be staying. Then he gave her a washcloth and beach towel to dry off with. Lotta had gotten used to the tub at her house, with the massage flow showerhead and her super soft loofah and Carol’s Daughter Body Cleansing Cream. Marv’s tight, funky shower and bar of Dial soap was nothing like that. Some of the tiles were missing and there was rust around the showerhead. Lotta wondered how she was going to even get clean in the dirty ass shower, with the cheap soap.

  Despite the subpar conditions, Lotta managed to get herself washed up. She stayed in the shower for damn near a half an hour, but it was worth it. The hot water had helped to wash away some of Lotta’s fears and concerns, but she had a feeling that her life was about to go through some serious changes, and she was absolutely right about that.