Chapter 6 - Back to the Streets
2004, Miami
Freedom tastes like exhaust fumes and hot concrete, but it's the sweetest thing I've breathed in over a year. I stretch my arms wide outside the juvie gates, feeling joints pop that been cramped too long behind bars.
"Yo, Link!" Ace calls out from behind the wheel of a clean black Impala. "Finally done with that vacation?"
I slide into the passenger seat, dapping up my boys one by one. Ray, Miguel, Blaze—all looking older, harder around the edges. Street life ages you fast.
"Man, that place was like a resort," I lie, grinning. "Three meals a day, free gym membership. Y'all should try it sometime."
"Hell nah," Ray laughs from the back seat. "I'll take my chances out here."
We roll through Overtown, and I can see the changes. New tags on the walls, different faces on the corners, but the same desperate hustle grinding on. Some things never change.
Back at the safe house—a two-bedroom apartment we rent under a fake name—we settle in with some beers and catch up. The place smells like takeout and marijuana, with newspapers taped over the windows for privacy.
"So tell us about that big fight," Blaze says, cracking open a Corona. "Heard you put some Trey in the hospital."
I give them the rundown—the disrespect, the setup, the beatdown. They listen with the attention of soldiers getting briefed for war.
"Damn, Link," Ace shakes his head when I finish. "That was risky as hell. You could've caught adult charges, ended up in real prison."
"Had to be done," I explain, taking a long pull from my beer. "Can't let nobody think we're soft, especially with the business we're in. Word gets out that Young Menace takes disrespect, and we're finished."
Ray nods understanding. "Still, calling that fool the Nigga in front of his whole crew? That was always gonna be a fight."
"He called me a snitch first," I counter. "In our world, that's a death sentence. Had to shut that down immediate."
They all know the code. Snitches get stitches, and sometimes worse. Reputation is everything in this game.
"Alright, enough war stories," I say, setting down my beer. "How's business been while I was gone?"
The mood shifts instantly. Everyone gets uncomfortable, won't meet my eyes.
"What's the problem?" My voice gets that edge they all recognize.
Blaze speaks first, careful with his words. "Business has been... complicated."
I wait, letting the silence pressure them to talk.
"The money's good," Ray jumps in. "Better than ever, actually. Your college boy connections been buying everything we can supply. Rich kids love their party favors."
Miguel nods. "Latin Kings are happy with the volume we're moving. My cousin says the bosses like doing business with us—we pay on time, don't cause drama, keep things professional."
"Local crews respect us too," Blaze adds. "We help them push back against the big gangs trying to muscle in, they help us with territory disputes. It's working."
"But?" I prompt, knowing there's more.Ace finally speaks up.
"Zoe Pound's been testing us. While you were locked up, they tried to tax our operations twice. Said we were moving too much weight through their territory without permission."
My jaw tightens. "We settled that months ago. Had a call with their leadership, worked out the boundaries."
"Yeah, well, apparently some of their younger soldiers didn't get the memo," Ray says. "They hit one of our stash houses last month, took about ten grand worth of product."
"What'd you do about it?"
"We hit back," Ace admits. "Caught two of their boys slipping, took their money and drugs. Made it clear we ain't to be played with."
I process this, thinking through the implications. Gang wars are bad for business, bring too much heat from cops and feds."They escalate after that?"
"Not exactly," Miguel says. "But there's been tension. Standoffs, posturing, you know how it goes."
I lean back in my chair, mind working through the problem. We're strong enough to defend ourselves but not big enough to go to war with a crew like Zoe Pound. Need to find a smarter solution."Set up a meeting," I decide. "Face to face with their shot-callers. This beef's bad for everyone's money."
"You sure about that?" Blaze asks. "They might see it as weakness."
"Nah, they'll see it as business sense. Nobody gets rich fighting wars in the streets."Ace nods, already planning. "I'll reach out through the usual channels, see if they're willing to talk."
"Good. What about the cops? We staying clean?"
"Clean as we can," Ray grins. "Your boy Martinez been earning his retainer, greasing the right palms. Long as we don't get too flashy, we fly under the radar."
That's what I like to hear. Violence brings attention, but money talks louder than bullets.
"Alright, sounds like y'all held it down while I was gone," I tell them, genuinely proud. "Tomorrow we get back to work. Tonight, I need to handle some personal business."
"Where you headed?" Blaze asks.I stand up, stretching muscles still sore from juvie fights.
"Gonna go see a bitch still around. Been too long since I had some female company."
They laugh, understanding. Over a year locked up with nothing but dudes will make any man desperate for softer company."Just don't get too distracted," Ace warns. "We got work to do."
"Always do, brother. Always do."I head for the door, already thinking about smooth skin and soft lips. But part of my mind's still on business, always on business. That's what keeps us alive in this game—never letting your guard down completely, even when you're trying to relax.The streets of Miami are waiting, and I got a lot of catching up to do.
To be continued...