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any suburban neighborhood with similar houses equal distance from one another, fences out front, lawns and driveways with regular cars parked on them.
    â€œThis is going to be your home from now on. You do right by us and you may never see the inside of that prison cell again . . . You fuck this up . . . you will never see the light of day again,” LaBeckie threatened me, in true LaBeckie fashion. He was such a dick rider for power that I realized he couldn’t help himself: being a dick was what kept his ass alive every day. I had long ago realized that LaBeckie was hiding behind that badge like the coward that he was.
    We all exited the heavily tinted Impalas that had transported us to the house. I was still shackled and shit. What did they think I could do to the ten of them with no ass gun?
    The inside of the house was cool. I mean it was nowhere close to how I was living at the time I got locked up, but it wasn’t a hole-in-the-wall roach-ridden project apartment like what I thought they were going to put me in.
    The house was simple. It had light hardwood floors, beige standard cabinets in the kitchen with those cheap, bottom-barrel counter tops. There was a small family room area off the kitchen with a dark brown suede couch, a small glass coffee table, and a forty-two-inch flat-screen hanging on the wall in front of it. The TV was a plus since it had been almost a year since I had been able to watch what the fuck I wanted to watch on TV.
    Shit, it wasn’t the mini-mansion I had lived in before I got knocked, but it damn sure was better than a hard metal bunk and a dank, pissy, roach-infested prison cell. At least in this house I wouldn’t have to inhale the stink of another man’s balls all fucking day long.
    After LaBeckie’s flunkies unshackled and uncuffed me, LaBeckie immediately started with his rules, regulations, and lectures. There were more rules to becoming a confidential informant than there was being a fucking prisoner. But I listened because there were a few things I had in mind that I was going to benefit from being out. Number one, I was going to see my son in the flesh. Not a muthafucka alive was going to keep me from doing that. I wasn’t going to let Lil Todd see me and start crying and shit, but I was going to creep and see him. I need assurance that he was alive and well before I went through with this mission for LaBeckie. Wasn’t no use in snitching if they had already did some shit to my son.
    Number two, all the niggas that had shitted on me while I was inside were going to get a visit from me. That meant those bitch niggas Zack, Billy, and most important of all, Jock. And, last, I was going to find Shannon’s heist stash and I was going to take every single nickel of that shit. I knew my wife well enough to know that she had taken some of the Bobby Knight money and put it away. What I had to figure out was exactly where she had stashed it. I had a few places in mind. I also knew that she had been trying to get in touch with my old attorney, Mr. Kaufman, because when I called him his secretary had said, “Oh, Mr. Marshall, I told your wife yesterday that Mr. Kaufman would get back to her.” That let me know that my snake-ass wife was trying to hire Kaufman to get her off, which also meant Shannon had money somewhere that she was going to use to pay him.
    It would take me some time to get my bearings being out of prison, but as hood rat and predictable my wife was, I knew it wouldn’t be long before something came to mind about where she might have hidden her stash. That bitch thought she had pulled off the ultimate heist, but this nigga here was about to pull off the last heist.

5
    Shannon
    I was fucking sick when I finally recovered from my injuries and returned to general population and heard that Dee had been stabbed to death trying to save me from those Latina bitches that Todd had put on me. None of the other bitches I had in my crew had