Ripped Dollars
Chapter 1

“How much money is she gettin’ out?” asked Tone.
Amir looked through his binoculars as the lady across the street swiped her card through the ATM machine. Amir and Tone were two young niggas from the heart of West Philly who were trying to make ends meet, just like everybody else. Right now, they were desperate and needed to get some money as quickly as possible, so a broad daylight robbery was their plan.
“Man, that bitch ain’t take out but $40! That ain’t gonna help us any.” said Amir.
Patiently they waited, staked out across the street in Amir’s 92’ Buick Regal. Both of them were nervous about being all the way out in King of Prussia, an affluent mostly-white suburb of Philly, but they knew that was where the money was.
“Yo, that mothafucka right there hoppin’ out a Jag. I know he gettin’ some real paper. Get ready, nigga.” said Amir.
Amir focused his binoculars in and watched as the man put in his pin-code and withdrew $500 from the ATM. Tone cocked his gun and got ready to make his move.
“Go head, get him! I’m gonna keep the car runnin’!” instructed Amir.
Quickly, Tone hopped out the whip and pulled his black bandana up so it was just beneath his eyes. He darted across the street, dipping through the oncoming traffic. Just as Tone’s targeted victim tucked the cash into his wallet and walked toward his Jaguar, Tone ran up on him.
“Run that shit homie.” said Tone, aiming his .38 at the man.
“What?” said the man.
“You heard me. Give me your fuckin’ wallet!” yelled Tone.
The man was scared as hell, he completely froze up. Living out in King of Prussia, he had never been robbed before.
“Oh, you playin’ dumb? Fine.” said Tone.
Tone quickly bum rushed the man and hit him in the face with the butt of his gun. The blow landed square and knocked him off his feet. Then, Tone ran the man’s pockets and snatched his wallet.
“C’mon nigga, let’s go!” said Amir, as he pulled up behind him in the Regal.
Tone hopped back into the car, and pulled his bandana off. Amir maneuvered the Regal through traffic and back toward 76-West. Both of them wanted to get back to West Philly A.S.A.P., because they knew King of Prussia cops didn’t play any games.
As Amir dipped through the lanes and headed for the highway, Tone pulled the cash out of the man’s wallet and counted it up.
“How much?” asked Amir.
“525.” said Tone.
“There has got to be an easier way to pay the rent.” said Amir, with a laugh.
Then he turned up his Jay-Z “American Gangster” CD and let “Roc Boys” dump. Within a few minutes, the two best friends were safely back in the hood with the rest of the money they needed for rent, food, and their other living expenses. For most people it would have seemed like a crazy day, but Tone and Amir were used to living so recklessly.
Even though they were both only 18, they were pretty much on their own in the Philly streets. Tone never had much family, only his mother and grandmother. His grandmother had recently passed away, and his mother was battling a drug addiction so she wasn’t really involved in his life.
Amir’s mother got sick of Philly and relocated to Atlanta a year ago. She offered Amir the opportunity to leave with her, but he was so used to Philly, he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She kept the lease for her apartment in the projects right off of 58th street for Amir to live in, but him and Tone had to pay the rent and handle the bills every month. Needless to say, it wasn’t easy for two young niggas with no high school degrees and no jobs.
“I wish you would have been video tapin’ that shit. I knocked that white boy out cold. ” said Tone.
Tone was a real cocky bul, the type of nigga who swore he knew everything. His swag was crazy, which made a lot of niggas jealous. He was 5’10 with dark brown skin and a muscular, tattooed body. Tone always kept a sharp haircut, a fresh pair of sneaks, and a crisp Polo shirt on. Even though he wasn’t gettin’ any real money, all the young jawns in and around his hood knew who he was and were on his dick because he was thorough.
Amir was like the complete opposite of Tone; he wasn’t into all that pretty boy shit. Amir was short, and a little on the pudgy side. He had long cornrows, but they were always fuzzy and needed to be redone. Nearly everyday he wore Dickies and Tims, no matter how hot it was outside. Amir didn’t care what people though about him, all he cared about was trying to make his life better. Shit was hard, and he was getting tired of the everyday struggle.
Since Amir was so grimy, Tone always teased him about his appearance.
“Nigga, I don’t even know what you be doin’ with your money. You ain’t brought no clothes in 4 months.” said Tone.
“I’m stackin’ my bread. I ain’t tryin’ to live in the ‘jects forever.” said Amir.
“Whatever nigga. You need to worry about gettin’ fresh, and gettin’ at some of these hoes once in a while. Its March 21st, the first day of spring, and these hoes is about to start gettin’ in shape for the summer.” said Tone.
“Man, fuck these dumb ass bitches.” said Amir
“You just sayin’ that cause you don’t get no pussy.” said Tone, with a laugh.
“What? I get more bitches than you.” said Amir, knowing it wasn’t true.
“Word? That’s how you feel. Watch this.” said Tone, as he pulled out his cell phone.
Send me a nasty pic baby, I miss you he texted.
Then, Tone sent the group-text to all the girls in his phone. In a matter of minutes, all types of pictures were coming through to his phone. Flicks of girls in panties, bras, thongs, and even some butt-ass naked pics were quickly filling up Tone’s inbox. Tone had a way of making every girl he talked to feel like they were the only one who mattered to him, so they were never hesitant to do some freak-ass shit for him. However, one girl wasn’t going for it.
You know I don’t do that hoe shit nigga. Don’t disrespect me read the text from Sharlotta.
Sharlotta was one of the few girls in Tone’s phone who he hadn’t fucked yet. She was different than the others, which made Tone dig her even more. Sharlotta, Lotta for short, was one of the baddest young jawns in the city. She earned the nickname Lotta because she had a whole lotta body. Lotta was 17, and in her senior year at Overbrook High. She was short, with a dark chocolate complexion and real thick thighs. Her ass was round and phat, while her titties were 36C’s. Lotta even had the sexy, lower back dimples that only a small percentage of women are blessed with. Best of all, her stomach was as flat as a checkerboard and she had a nice, tight six-pack. Lotta was most certainly a young dime in the making.
Tone had known Lotta for years and even though they were cool she wasn’t giving up the pussy to him, or anybody else for that matter just yet. Lotta had made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t have sex at least until she turned 18 and she had lived up to it. Ironically enough, Lotta’s birthday was on the same day as the senior prom. Every nigga Lotta knew was trying to be the one who was lucky enough to take her to the prom, but she was really only feeling Tone. Even though he wasn’t technically her man, they had a special connection.
“Damn, I better call her before she get mad and don’t let me take her to that prom.” said Tone.
“You’re goin’ to a prom? We already dropped out of school, now you wanna do all that youngbul shit.” said Amir.
“Look, I only wanna go so I can fuck Lotta. Unlike you, I get pussy.” said Tone.
“Whatever nigga, I could smash Nakirah again if I wanted to.” said Amir.
“Please, everybody know she fuck with the bul Joey. You hit it one time on some lucky shit.” said Tone.
“Yo, I gotta better chance of gettin’ some butt from Nakirah again than you do of gettin’ some from Lotta’s stuck up ass.” said Amir.
“What! You wanna make a bet?” asked Tone, knowing that Amir loved to gamble.
“No doubt.” said Amir.
“We can put a stack on it!” said Tone.
“Ok.” replied Amir, knowing damn well he hadn’t seen $1,000 at one time in the past year.
Tone picked up his phone and called Lotta, to apologize for his disrespectful text.
“What?” she snapped, as she answered her phone.
“I just called to say I’m sorry, I ain’t mean to be rude with that text babe.” said Tone.
“Whatever Tone, it was disrespectful. I ain’t like them hoodrat bitches you talk to. Don’t confuse me.” said Lotta.
“I don’t talk to any hoodrats baby. Why would I deal with them when I’ve got you?” lied Tone, who was knee deep in hoodrat smuts.
“Well I don’t like text messages like that Tone.” said Lotta.
“I know, it’s just that you so gorgeous and I be wanting to see that sexy body up close, yahmean?” said Tone.
“Well a woman’s body is her temple. It ain’t for the whole world to see. And I know niggas be showin’ them stupid cell phone pictures to all their horny little friends.” said Lotta.
“I know, I just miss you that’s all. Do you miss me?” said Tone.
“Maybe.” said Lotta, as she calmed down.
“Well what you doin?” asked Tone.
“Chillin’. Sittin here hungry. I want some Pizza Hut.” said Lotta.
“Say no more. I’m gonna go get us a pizza right now, ok?” said Tone.
“Ok.” said Lotta.
Tone got off the phone and headed for the front door to the apartment.
“Nigga, you’re pussy-whipped off that bitch already and you ain’t even fuckin her’. Lame ass sucka for love!” said Amir.
“Whatever, I’ll be back later.” said Tone, as headed outside.
“Bring some weed with you. Some piff too nigga, not no bullshit.” said Amir.
“I got you.” said Tone.
Tone walked outside and hopped into his whip, a Delta 88. He had no insurance or registration, but he was too cool for public transportation so he rode around dirty. The car needed brakes, rotors and an alignment, but his sound system dumped. Tone turned up his Weezy mixtape as loud as it could go and made his way to Pizza Hut. He ordered his pizza and then headed toward 56th and Locust, which was Lotta’s block.
Tone already knew the routine when going to visit Lotta; he had to park at least two blocks away and come in through the back door. The reason for this was because Lotta’s father was super strict and really overprotective of his daughter. Lotta’s pop didn’t play any games; she wasn’t even allowed to have any company on her front porch, much less inside the house.
Lotta’s father was a West Philly O.G. known in the street as Roc. He had been raising Lotta all by himself, ever since Lotta’s mother had passed away 4 years ago. Roc was only 33, but he was doing a good job taking care of his 17 year old daughter. He brought her new clothes and shoes on a weekly basis and gave Lotta money to make sure her hair was always done. Although Roc spoiled the hell out of Lotta, he also kept her out of trouble. He made sure that she went to school everyday so she wouldn’t end up hanging out in the street like some of the other girls in her hood. Having his daughter amount to nothing was Roc’s worst nightmare.
Tone walked through the alley that led to the back of Lotta’s house and knocked on the door.
“What’s up babe?” said Tone as Lotta opened up the door.
Lotta was wearing a tight, white, cut-off wife beater and some boy shorts. Her hair was wrapped up in a Louis Vuitton scarf and she didn’t have any make-up on, but she still looked good as hell.
“What you get on the Pizza? I hope it ain’t pepperoni cause I don’t eat no pork. ” asked Lotta.
“I got pineapple and extra cheese. And breadsticks.” said Tone.
“You remembered!” said Lotta, excited that Tone had remembered her favorite toppings.
Tone knew it was little things like that which left a lasting impression on a young woman’s heart.
“Come inside.” said Lotta.
“Where ya dad at?” asked Tone.
“Relax, he won’t be home for a while. He’s out takin care of some business.” said Lotta.
Tone stepped inside Lotta’s house and gave her a hug. As his body was pressed up against Lotta’s, she could feel something hard in his jeans.
“Damn! Are you that happy to see me, boy?” asked Lotta.
“Yeah I am happy to see you, but that’s my burner.” said Tone.
“Oh.” said Lotta disappointedly, who hated guns.
“Look, I just carry it for protection. You already know, shit is crazy out here.” said Tone.
“You don’t have to explain. Let’s just eat the pizza.” said Lotta.
Tone could tell Lotta was a little upset about his gun, so he tried his best to comfort her.
“Look, guns are nothin’ to be scared of if you know how to use them right. Let me show you how to hold this jawn.” said Tone, as he handed Lotta the gun.
However, Lotta put her hands down and stepped back.
“Ugh, uh. I ain’t touchin’ that! My daddy told me a long time ago never touch a gun that ain’t yours. Fingerprints make cases in court!” said Lotta.
“You’re right.” said Tone.
“And my Daddy already showed me how to bust a gun anyway.” said Lotta.
Lotta led the way into her kitchen as Tone walked behind her, watching her ass jiggle the whole time. She sat down at the table and got some plates for her and Tone. Tone looked around and noticed how nice their kitchen was. They had gotten a bunch of new shit since Tone’s last visit. The kitchen was equipped with a stainless steel refrigerator, a hardwood finished floor, and a nice glass top kitchen table. On top of the granite countertop, there was a flat screen TV so that Lotta could watch videos while she cooked. Roc definitely wasn’t cheap when it came to decorating his crib.
“You and your Dad have nice taste.” said Tone.
“Thanks.” laughed Lotta.
Then, Tone looked at a picture of Roc that was hanging on the wall.
“Is that Beanie Sigel and Freeway in that pic with your dad?” asked Tone.
“Yeah, my daddy loves music.” answered Lotta.
Tone looked around and saw that Roc also had pictures with a few other well known celebrities and athletes.
“Her pop knows everybody.” thought Tone.
Just as they started to eat their food, Lotta’s iphone rang.
“Hey Daddy.” said Lotta, as she answered her phone.
“You and Uncle Marv are comin’ up here now? I thought ya’ll were gonna be out until late?” she said.
Lotta hung up the phone quickly.
“Tone, you gotta leave. My Dad and my uncle are on their way up here now to handle some business.” explained Lotta.
“Damn, I ain’t even get to eat any pizza.” said Tone, feeling like a sucker.
“Look in that drawer right there. Take out that Saran wrap and wrap up a few slices for yourself. But hurry up.” said Lotta.
Tone went over and opened up the drawer under the kitchen counter. He took out the Saran wrap and started to pull off a piece. However, he changed his mind.
“You know what babe, you keep that Pizza for yourself. I’m gonna call you later.” said Tone.
Then he put the Saran wrap back onto the roll, hugged Lotta and made his way back outside. In his head, he was getting closer and closer to getting some ass from Lotta. He had never worked this hard to get some pussy, but he had a feeling that Lotta would be worth it.
“Damn her ass is phat.” thought Tone to himself as he walked up a few blocks to his car.
Tone hopped back into the whip and headed towards North Philly, where he knew he could get some good marijuana. Even though the hustlers in West Philly had good shit, he preferred to get his weed from down North. Out in North Philly, weed dealers made their bags extra husky, so it was worth the 20 minute drive.
Back at the apartment, Amir was already making the first steps in attempting to win his bet with Tone.
“What’s up Nakirah?” said Amir, into his phone.
“Damn Amir, I thought you forgot my number. You ain’t called me in weeks.” said Nakirah.
Nakirah was Amir’s closest friend, next to Tone. They had known each other since elementary school. Before Nakirah moved out of the projects, she lived right next door to Amir and his family. Nakirah was a real sweet person, the type of girl that everyone felt comfortable around. Her personality was very likeable, but on top of that she was gorgeous. Nakirah was tall and slim, with very fair skin like Lauren London. She had a sexy smile and gorgeous hazel eyes. Her legs were long and smooth, and led to some very pretty feet.
Nakirah’s good looks had even given her the opportunity to do some commercials for a few Gap and Baby Phat advertisements a while back, but she had aspirations to model for one of the big-time designers like Marc Jacob or Versace. It had always been her dream to be featured on a billboard in Times Square or to be an actress in a motion picture.
Although Nakirah was real cool, her boyfriend was straight up crazy. Off and on for almost 4 years she had been dating Joseph Greene, known in the hood as Crazy Joey. Joey was one of them niggas who nobody really liked, and he loved it that way. Since 13, he had been in and out of juvenile detention centers and jails. When he wasn’t locked up Joey made decent money doing construction work, but he would always end up in a fight with somebody at his job that usually resulted in him getting arrested again.
Joey had a reputation for knockin’ niggas out with one punch, them standing over them until they woke up just to knock them out all over again. Everybody in the hood wondered what Nakirah saw in him, but it was just another case of opposites attracting. Besides that, Nakirah was a freak behind closed doors and her and Joey got it in in the bedroom!
About a year ago, while Joey was doing a short bid, Nakirah and Amir had slipped up and crossed the fine line between friends and lovers. With her man behind bars, Nakirah was really lonely. Amir took her out for drinks, then to dinner and a movie. After that, all both of them knew was that were butt-ass naked in the back of Amir’s car having crazy sex. Even though it was good, Nakirah still went back to Joey after he got out. It was a night that Nakirah and Amir rarely talked about, but neither one of them could ever forget.
“I’m sorry that I haven’t called you. I’ve been a little busy.” said Amir.
“So what’s up? How’s ya mom and sister.” asked Nakirah.
“My mom is good, my sister is still crazy. But I wanted to ask you somethin’.” said Amir.
“What?” said Nakirah.
“Do you think we could go out again sometime soon?” asked Amir.
“What? Are you high?” asked Nakirah.
“No, I ain’t high. I’m serious.” said Amir.
“You know my man is home now Amir.” said Nakirah.
“Look, I ain’t hatin’ but you need to be done with Crazy Joey. I see all the bullshit he puts you through, and I always think about how I could treat you better. I just think you deserve to go out with a nigga who will treat you right all the time.” said Amir.
“First of all don’t call him Crazy Joey. And secondly, you know how he is. He’s gonna try and hurt you if…” said Nakirah.
Amir interrupted Nakirah’s statement.
“Look, I ain’t scared of Joey. I ain’t like these other niggas out here. I just think you need to give somebody else a chance. You’ve been with him for four years, and he hasn’t done anything for you but cause trouble in your life, real rap.” said Amir.
“You’re right about that.” said Nakirah.
“All I’m sayin’ is that I’m much mature now, and I’m not gonna let a good woman be unhappy. Go out with me one time. If you don’t enjoy yourself, then I won’t say anything else about it. So think about it and let me know. I’ll holla at you tomorrow.” said Amir.
“Ok Mir-mir.” said Nakirah.
“I told you don’t call me that.” laughed Amir, as he got off the phone.
Nakirah hung up the phone and thought about what Amir had just said to her. She had to admit, he was a real man. Nobody had ever come at her like that before; they were all too scared of Joey. Nakirah knew she did deserve to have a life that was drama-free. She was really thinking about what her life could be without him.

*****
Tone parked up his Delta 88 on 24th & Somerset, which was a gully-ass North Philly block. He didn’t like being in North Philly because it wasn’t his hood, but Tone had to admit they had the best weed for the least money. He tucked his gun under the seat, locked up his car and headed to the house at the end of the block.
Outside at the front door, Tone looked up and saw the motion censored camera watching over him. The camera was hooked up to a 17-inch monitor inside the house, so that whoever was inside hustling could see just who was coming to the front door. Tone’s weed man was definitely taking the necessary precautions to prevent being raided by the cops or being robbed. He even had a metal detector at his front door, just in case someone tried to come in with a gun!
After ringing the doorbell for a few minutes, Sheem finally came to the door. Sheem was a true North Philly nigga to the fullest. He had a husky Osama Bin Laden-like beard, a shiny bald head, and a scar under his left eye. Fresh out of federal prison after a seven-year bid for narcotics distribution, Sheem was already pushing weight throughout North and Northeast Philly once again.
“Yo Tone! Come on in. Give me one minute, I’ll be right with you dog.” said Sheem.
Tone sat down on the couch, as Sheem ran upstairs.
“Yo, you gotta get the fuck out. I got business to handle.” said Sheem, to his other company.
No sooner than the words came out of his mouth, a young woman scurried down the stairs, half-naked.
Tone couldn’t help but look as the woman stood there with just a pair of jeans on. Her titties were nice and firm, definitely implants. She had tattoos all over, but a big one that read ‘Tionne’ and covered her lower-back was the most noticeable. Quickly, she slipped her tight Armani T-shirt shirt on as she saw Tone looking at her.
“Do you want me to come back tomorrow?” asked the woman, as Sheem came back down the stairs behind her.
“Yeah.” said Sheem.
“Well can you give me my money in advance so I can go get a new outfit for you?” said the woman.
“Bitch I don’t give a damn about you wearin’ a new outfit. You can come here naked for all I care. I’ll pay you tomorrow. Just make sure you here at 10am when I wake up and my dick is still hard.” said Sheem.
“Ok.” said the woman, as she headed for the front door.
“How many times I gotta tell you T, leave out the back door. In through the front; out through the back! It’s simple. I don’t want my crib lookin’ hot with people comin’ and goin’ through the front door all day.” said Sheem, as he grabbed the woman’s skinny arm.
“Sorry.” said the woman as she turned and headed for the back door.
Apparently, Sheem’s twist was tricking on the dancers he met from the club, fucking with them for a few weeks, and then changing them out for a new one. After being in prison for so long, he didn’t have time to waste getting numbers, talking on the phone, buying gifts and going on dates. So everyday, Sheem tricked off a hundred bucks to have sex with dancers that he had met in the strip club. The way his trap house was poppin’, a hundred dollars a day wasn’t really hurting his pockets.
“How much you need dog?” asked Sheem.
“All I got money for is a quarter.” said Tone.
Sheem was a true hustler; he sold anything from a nick to a brick, if he could make a profit. He went to his kitchen, opened the cabinet under his sink, pulled out his digital scale and a whole bunch of weed. Then Sheem walked back into the living room and sat down next to Tone. As he sparked up a Newport, he began piling weed on the digital scale. Sheem always looked out for Tone, since he was a consistent customer. He let the scale get all the way up to 8.5 grams, then tossed all the weed into a sandwich bag.
Tone handed Sheem $100, which was a hell of a deal for an quarter ounce of Haze.
“Good look my nig.” said Tone, as he tucked the baggie in his boxers.
“Yeah, no problem.” said Sheem.
“I’m gonna come grab some more tomorrow when I get some more cash.” said Tone, as he headed for the back door.
. With a loaded gun, more than a quarter ounce of weed, and no insurance or registration Tone hopped in his car and headed back for West Philly. Most people would be extra careful riding so dirty, but Tone was truly ruthless. He blasted his music, sped through yellow lights, and even stopped at the corner store to get a Dutch.
The bodega around the corner from Tone and Amir’s crib was the spot to go to for any and everything. They sold T-shirts, phone cards, sodas, cigars, and even cashed checks. It was owned by an Asian man named Tai, who drove a husky ass jet-black S500 Benz and stayed in Cavalli clothes and Gucci shoes. It always bothered Tone how Tai made all his money by overcharging people in the hood, then took his cash and laid-low in the suburbs while the hood stayed broke.
“Let me get a Vanilla Dutch.” said Tone.
“$1.50” said Mrs. Kim, who was Tai’s wife.
“They just was $1.25 yesterday.” complained Tone.
“Price go up this morning.” explained Mrs. Kim.
Tone fished in his pocket for another quarter, but he was having no luck.
“It’s cool, I got some change.” said a girl in line behind him.
Tone turned around and saw a young, light-skinned jawn behind him. She took a quarter out her pocket and handed it to Tone with a smile that let him know she was feeling him.
“Thanks, ma.” said Tone.
“No problem, now you owe me one.” she replied.
Tone walked outside and waited for the jawn who had given him the change to come out.
“What’s up? I seen you around before, but I don’t know your name.” said Tone.
“I’m Chaunte.” she said.
Tone talked to Chaunte for a second and got all the vital information; Chaunte was 17, had a car, went to school, lived somewhere in West Philly, and smoked weed. The two of them exchanged numbers and went their separate ways. For Tone, shit like that always happened. Girls were always giving him their numbers, which was why he stayed with some pussy on deck.
After leaving the store, Tone drove home and parked up in front of his projects.
“You done suckin’ up to stuck-up ass Lotta.” asked Amir, as Tone walked up.
“Whatever, I got that Haze. Let’s blow something’.” said Tone.
“Roll it up.” said Amir.
Tone pulled the weed out his pants and broke off a nice amount. He rolled up an L and him and Amir smoked right in front of the projects. They got higher and higher and just watched all the crazy shit that went on in their hood. From fiends, to hustlers, to hoes; someone was always doing something crazy in the ‘jects. Every night, smoking weed helped Tone and Amir to escape from reality for a little while. No matter how crazy the day had been, weed calmed both of them down and got them ready for the next day; which was sure to be full of just as much bullshit as the previous one had been.