Biting The Hand That Feeds

Chapter 4

Tyrell lurked at a native store known as Grant’s. It was formerly his and Fredrick’s favorite place to pick up a snack or just chat with the locals there. Now it has become nothing more than Tyrell’s block, as Tyrell will sell drugs around his area. It was the perfect place to make a business; considering that no authorities ever approach these corners of the streets, Tyrell could make at least two grand and never get caught. To top it off, locals actually know about this—let alone don’t mind, and make Tyrell’s profit easier.
The manager at the store peeked outside, staring at Tyrell slouching on his wall. “About time your ass showed up!” he snorted. He was in his forties with his gray hair forming a horseshoe. With wrinkles nearly garnishing his face, his bottom lip penetrated a fierce glare as his brown eyes locked on Tyrell. He spits a wad of saliva on the asphalt road, as Tyrell glanced back at him. “Business been running slow, where the hell you been, nigga?”
“Stop putting a cuss word in every sentence you say,” sighed Tyrell. “I’ve been busy, old man. I’m here now, either way we both getting what we want.”
“Whatever, boy, shit,” he spat. “Just do what you do best, dammit! You know that Grant don’t like his damn paper coming short!”
“Gotcha, old man,” said Tyrell rolling his eyes at the man for speaking in first person. As he slipped back inside, he let loose a soft chuckle. Tyrell didn’t mind the manager cursing him out, at least that’s the only thing he’ll try to pull. The fact of the matter is that Grant needed Tyrell to get a profit himself!
Considering that Grant is a newcomer to the neighborhood, his store is fresh, so he doesn’t get any customers or very few. Formerly, his son was taking the role of taking car of the store. It was at first a mere place where people would hang out, play billiards, and obtain small groceries. The worse you can do there was smoke cigars or gamble.
However, when he passed away due to a heart attack, Derek Grant Sr. took the role of mending to the store. And with his hands he basically transformed a good-looking store to a drug store. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the progress that he had anticipated. But five years after Fredrick died, Tyrell located a worthy spot where he will sell his drugs to his friends and others. Combine that with a beverage of alcohol and you have the perfect spot for thugs and gangsters alike.
Almost instantly, men approach the store greeting Tyrell with the greatest respect. Grant peeked back out of his window, his rotten teeth appeared happy to see that he was gaining money again. These men that greeted Tyrell were merely his regular customers. Regardless of the location, they would pinpoint Tyrell for a good puff of marijuana weekly. After exchanging dollars with weed, the men entered inside the store as well.
Tyrell counted his money painstakingly as he noticed a car approaching the store. It was a black Toyota; its looks weren’t pleasant at all, as bullet markings were noticed on the window along with a huge dent in the back of the vehicle. Despite it’s appearance, Tyrell recognize the person with ease. Exiting out was a bony teen in a white tanktop and sagging jeans. He approached Tyrell with an extremely large Afro, and dark shades.
“What’s good with you Bones,” said Tyrell gripping the hand of the teen called Bones.
“Nothing much, nothing much,” he replied. “You decided to skip school too?”
“Might as well. Since you bailed, you might as well buy some weed man. Regular price…”
“You ain’t got no coke?” asked Bones referring to some cocaine.
“Naw, I’ve been busy. Weed’s all I got…Well if you ain’t gonna buy some puff at least get some drinks from that old man.”
“Sorry man, all I want is some Vodka anyways. Keep doing you, man.”
“Alright, then.” Tyrell watched Bones entered in the store; Bones has always been Tyrell’s right hand man. He met him when he was fifteen and they’ve become friends ever since—something that Tyrell had very few of. He could always rely on Bones to assist with robbing banks or selling drugs. However his usefulness doesn’t cease there; Bones is capable of obtaining weapons from the black market! With this prowess, Tyrell could acquire top brand weapons to take out gang members opposing them—unfortunately, Tyrell has no need for them. He believes that a good old pistol could finish the job with no problem, but he doesn’t take the idea of a M-16 out of his mind at all.
As Bones returned, they watched as more people cruised up to Grant’s. The store began to reach his maximum as the swarm overwhelmed Grant. Although, Tyrell had ran out of marijuana, his very presence was enough for others to come visit. Before the day was over, Grant had his share of money, while Tyrell frowned at his currency. Considering that he didn’t have enough marijuana to nourish the minds of the thuggish men, he was only able to make five hundred dollars.
“I really need to get my stash up,” sighed Tyrell.
“This the lowest you ever made,” sniffed Bones. “You’re falling off, homie.”
“I just ain’t packing like I use to,” said Tyrell. “When the weekend’s hit, I’ll get some cocaine and all that good shit. It’s only Friday, anyway.”
“Alright man,” said Bones gripping his hand tight. “You do you homie.”
“Yeah, watch yourself now.” While Bones entered in his car, Tyrell set foot inside the store. He watched the old man drooled over the enormous piles of money. With his sly, sneaky grin, he advanced towards a counter with rows of can beers aligned perfectly. Tyrell, without hesitation, popped open a can swallowing a Colt 45. Grant abruptly gazed at Tyrell furiously, actually seeing his money being guzzled away.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!” he blasted.
“Taking my share, old man,” said Tyrell. “I came up short so I’m getting what I want.” After finishing the can he chucked it inside a trash bin reaching for another.
“That’s money you’re drinking you ugly motherfucker!” he snarled. “Why the hell you making it hard for me to make a business.”
“Nigga, I’m practically the owner of this so-called business!” said Tyrell starkly but jokingly. “Look at your cash register; the damn spiders done made a amusement park out of cobwebs with that thing.”
“Fuck you, you fake ass gangster!” Tyrell laughed finishing his third can; he tossed it away heading for the door. Before he could leave, Grant replied, “You’ll be back here tomorrow?”
“Yeah old man,” snickered Tyrell opening the door. “See you around.” Tyrell shook his head, still chortling over Grant’s comments. The best of that scene was the fact that they do this on a daily basis! It helps pass time, and Tyrell gets a kick at listening to the unpredictable Grant.
As he starts the ignition to his car, he suddenly noticed something in his rear view mirror. It was a police vehicle, it perched on the other side of the store. Tyrell tried to see if the officer in the vehicle was staring at him, but it seems as if the windows were tinted!
Were they even allowed to do that, he thought.
Tyrell wasn’t frightened, it was just rare to see a cop in these areas. Therefore it had to be a motive of its attendance, and he had to be connected with this cause. Even so, the company of the police would not alter Tyrell’s emotions. He would still probably confront the officer with the least bit of fear. After all it wasn’t the first time he’s been chased by law enforcement.
To make sure, he begins to roll out of the parking lot of the store and back on the road. If this cop were pursuing only him, he would follow him immediately. Of course, what purpose would he have for chasing for him. He glanced back at the mirror again, he was even more surprised to see the vehicle had went the opposite way. Perhaps he detected the wrong person—still it seem bizarre for a cop to just linger at an alcohol store, without making a couple of stops to people. Nonetheless, he wasn’t involved so it would basically go unsettled for now.
And yet he still wondered…