The craft that Petey mastered was playing his position. He didn’t mind supporting my leadership. That’s the problem with most hustlers in the game, they get greedy. What they don’t know is that everybody can’t be in the lead. If your man has a talent and is making money, don’t try to undercut him to make more; use his knowledge, skills, and leadership to get us bread. Most importantly don’t focus on getting more than or as much as him. As long as you’re eating and eating well in proportion to him, you’re good. If he’s making sure money is in your pocket and you’re living well—leave it be and play your position. Everybody don’t shine the same brilliancy. Everyone isn’t born with an equal amount of talents. You use yours and let him use his so that the two of you can get that cake. Petey understood that right away. For every three properties I had, he had one, which he preferred. No competition, no hate, no betrayal—all love.
“Petey Crack!” I sang as I suddenly recalled our agreement to meet that evening. “That’s cool, man. Do you have an agenda?” I quizzed. I had to. What people know about me is that I wear two faces. I’m a hustler to the bones but I hustle during the day with a suit and at night with loose denim and Timbs, so to speak. At times, my day gig spills over and I demand the same etiquette in the street as I do in the boardroom. Now, Petey was planning to have these goons up in Cobalt, which isn’t usually the case because they’re not the type of clientele this establishment was intended for. I have a club in South L.A. for that type of energy. If the meeting would be here, he would need to move it efficiently. That meant he needed a plan and the agenda would do just that.
“You know it, yo!” Petey beamed proudly.
“Alright!” I went back to finishing my Filemina’s.
“Let me run it down to you and you let me know if I need to change something, a’ight?” Petey grabbed a seat next to me at the small round conference table.
We sat and talked for a little while about my plans of starting a basketball league in Inglewood. I thought it was necessary for the high school-aged boys who were the most at risk for gang recruitment. Gangs were actually recruiting kids in grade school but I preferred the older guys because I thought they’d be easier to work with. I had to seek approval from the older G’s out there before proceeding with this. We would, after all, be using their local basketball court. That process was smooth because I’d been cool with them over the years from running a club and bodegas around the way. In the early years, we had a few run-ins but when they saw I was no punk and was willing to go toe-to-toe they started to respect me. Those were some of my darker days. The streets don’t allow for many pleasantries or peaceful negotiating. You’re forced to do some things that can haunt you for years to survive. But no matter what, with this venture, I had to respect their turf.
There were a lot of dancers in the building. Many of them were women who were fine as hell. Many of the moves on the stage reminded me of those seen at the Drop It strip club that Petey owns down in the Watts. One chick had moves I’m sure I’ve seen at a nude bar.
Later on, the crew came through for the conference Petey arranged. He led the meeting, I gave my input and we closed. After we were done, a few of them stayed around to chitchat. Lil’ Mikey yelled from the window, “Yo, look at this bitch! Yo, she bad as hell, yo.”
We all gathered at the window and although his delivery was callous, he was right. The woman on stage was a fucking banger. She danced to that song from back in the 80s—the one that sounded like Prince but there were actually women singing. Something about, “Living in a fantasy…Do you think I’m a nasty girl?” She was extremely sexy – mildly sized boobs showing a little cleavage, tiny waist and a plump ass—thick in all the right places like an hourglass. Although the song was suggestive, she swayed with class. There were no stripper moves going on in her dance. It was just a showcase of tasteful body expression. We all watched until the song was over and she left the stage.
“A’ight, it’s time to roll out, now!” Petey announced over the vulgar verbal appraisals and usual male banter.