Todd

“A’ight, tell me again about this nigga Bobby Knight,” I asked Dray as I paced again. My mind was racing with a million fucking thoughts about the money Dray had said this cat Bobby Knight had up in his crib.

“Yo, I’m telling you, nigga. He is fucking crazy paid. He owns all the strip clubs in the Chesapeake, Virginia, area. He is not just a two-bit hustler—that motherfucker is basically the head of his own fucking cartel. On my word, he got paper. Yo, what I’m talking about would be the ultimate heist. But I’m telling you, your people would have to mirk this nigga, because if not, he will kill you, your crew, and ya whole fucking family—puppy dogs, grandmas, and all,” Dray informed me. Once again, the sound of a money machine was ringing in my ears. I could just see the fucking paper this nigga had, and I could also picture my fucking hands right on it.

“So if the nigga is so thorough, how you think this shit gonna go down?” I asked, rubbing my chin deep in thought. It was obvious this ultimate-heist shit was gonna take some planning.

“Listen, T-man, the one thing that is Bobby Knight’s weakness is pretty women,” Dray said, giving me a telling glance.

“Whatchu saying?” I asked, crinkling my eyebrows, knowing what he meant.

“I’m saying that I’ve seen your wife on visits. No disrespect, but she is gorgeous and she is one hundred percent Bobby’s type. All she would have to do is get in and set that shit up,” Dray said, his words tumbling so fast I couldn’t think.

“Nah, nigga, that sounds like some indecent-proposal-type shit,” I replied, not willing to give no nigga at no cost a taste of my fucking wife.

“She don’t have to fuck him. All she gotta do really is get that nigga to sweat her. Listen, man, I used to work around that dude, and I know his weaknesses. The cat got low self-esteem, and if you saw him, you’d know why. But see, he keeps the most pretty bitches in his stable and on his arm so he can make other niggas believe these gorgeous-ass woman are really attracted to his hideous ass,” Dray explained, chuckling. “I’m saying I know Knight very well, and he would definitely latch on to your wife from day one,” Dray continued.

“So, why you trying to get that cat set up?” I asked. Not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I needed to know why Dray wanted to do this nigga Bobby Knight dirty.

“It’s simple. Bobby Knight is a backstabbing prick bastard,” Dray gritted, spit flying out of his mouth as he spoke. “He turned his back on me, and he had my brother killed. We had been loyal street soldiers in Bobby’s army. See, that nigga Bobby Knight got a God complex, and he thinks he is untouchable. Basically he is, unless you know his inner workings and how he operates,” Dray explained, his eyes getting small and squinty like he was either gonna cry and shit or kill a nigga. I could feel his pain of being betrayed too. I was now convinced that that nigga Jock had turned his back on me in the worst way.

“So how much money you think this dude is sitting on?” I asked, trying to change the subject since Dray seemed to be having a hard time talking about why he hated Bobby Knight. His explanation was good enough for me. Shit, I lived by the death-before-dishonor code, so I was feeling Dray all the way.

“Nigga you couldn’t understand the magnitude of this dude’s bank. He is a millionaire a thousand times over. We talking Pablo Escobar—type money … rooms full of money. See, he can’t put that shit up in no bank with all these money-laundering and money-tracking laws, so the nigga got rooms in his house just filled with boxes and boxes of money!” Dray said, spreading his arms wide to illustrate how much and sounding like he was getting lifted just thinking about it. “I’m talking about boxes of money. You ever seen that movie Blow? How them dudes had money in a room from floor to ceiling? That’s the type of money I’m talking about,” Dray explained.

I knew just what the fuck he was saying. I had watched that movie at least ten times; aside from Scarface, it was probably my favorite movie of all time.

“When I went down, this motherfucker Bobby ain’t so much as put a dime on the fucking books for me, and he took away my brother, leaving me with nobody,” Dray continued, his chest heaving a little bit.

I could tell Dray was trying hard to keep his composure. I noticed that it was a sensitive topic when he spoke about Bobby Knight.

“Boxes of money sound good to me. Where this nigga stay at?” I asked, putting a halt to my pacing. Dray started drawing on the inside of a small cereal box. He drew zigs and zags like a fucking maze.

“We talking about a complex. It ain’t no regular house—that’s what I’m trying to tell you. This nigga live behind big iron gates with a massive security system. He got his own closed-circuit TV security system that he can see anywhere in the house,” Dray explained, passing the little drawing to me. I examined it closely.

“Dayum, it’s like that?” I said, opening my eyes wide.

“For real, for real. This nigga Bobby Knight is a thorough dude. That’s why this shit is gonna have to be done from a trust standpoint, and Bobby don’t trust many niggas. But bitches, especially grade A beauties, now that’s his weakness. I have seen him bring bitches to his home after a first date when he knew absolutely nothing about them. He got a bad weakness for pretty women. I’m telling you, your wife got what it takes to get that nigga’s eye,” Dray said with extra emphasis on Shannon having what it took. “After she gets inside, she can map out the house and assemble a team to get it done. But it gotta be thorough, with cats you can trust,” he continued.

I was all ears, but I still didn’t know if I wanted to send Shannon out there as fucking bait. Dray was right about one thing—this shit was gonna have to be planned out like some Ocean’s Eleven shit. It wasn’t gonna be no regular fucking stickup-type robbery; it was going to be a heist!