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Divine Nine crack sales, and people were flocking to Harlem in droves for that shit. At the rate Salida was selling there were gonna be more meth heads than crack heads left on the streets pretty soon, and Flex wanted him a piece of that icy action.
    Actually, it was only right that he should get a piece of it. He had helped Salida tap into a virtually underexposed market, and since he was the one who provided her with the raw materials she needed, damn straight he should be getting him a lil cut on each vial of shit she sold.
    But just like Juicy, Salida was a hardheaded bitch who didn’t wanna cooperate. When Flex sent a couple of his boys to tell her about his new shakedown rules where she was either gonna have to dig real damn deep in her pockets to keep purchasing his shit, or slide him a cut off the top of her profit, that bitch sent him back a note with only two words written on it.
    Fuck you.
    Oh, I’ll fuck you, you old-ass bitch, Flex fumed. He didn’t know what the world was coming to when some elderly come-up bitch thought she could cross him and get away with that shit.
    Flex had read the note and then stared at the kid she had sent to deliver it with cold contempt in his eyes. “So this how them G-Spot niggahs wanna do me, huh, Bilal?” he barked on him. “I gave them pussy niggahs the scope on Juicy, and this is how they let this trifling bitch Salida do me? A’ight,” he had nodded his head and balled up the piece of paper and hurled it across the room. “You go tell that bitch Salida we gone see who’s got the biggest dick in this town.”
    Flex had immediately called a meeting with three of his most trusted members of the Divine Nine. The four of them had sat in his basement battle-den plotting and scheming on that bitch Salida, as Flex tried to figure out how he could fuck her shit up and teach her a lesson at the same time.
    He gave less than a fuck about the broad being old enough to be his mama, or about her being G’s ex-tramp neither. She was just another trifling money-hungry bitch in his book, and somebody shoulda taught that dried-up slice of pussy how to stay in a pussy’s place a long time ago. All he had to do was figure out what was in Salida’s shit that kept feens flocking to it, and he’d be ready to make his move.
    Luckily, every last member of Flex’s inner circle was a thinker and a schemer, and by the time their meeting was over Flex and his small crew had figured out how to drive Salida McKay outta business and launch a highly profitable new branch of their own business at the same time. Shiiit , Flex laughed to himself. Salida wasn’t the only one who could feed club drugs to the rich white kids who were all of a sudden so fuckin’ in love with Harlem. Yeah. Flex was about to get his hands on that jawn’s secret formula, cook up his own batch of chemicals, and bone in on all Salida’s action and her fuckin’ customers too.
    And if them G-Spot niggahs had a problem with that shit, then let them chump ass niggahs just try to jump. Flex hoped the fuck they would! He was already planning to twist Ace and Pluto’s shit up by stiffing them on the joint-connect deal he had told them to work out with Moonie. He didn’t have the slightest fuckin’ intentions on sharing a common supply line with Ace or Pluto, and if either one of them bear-lookin’ fags got fancy he would send his lil hooligan Maleek out to bust a cap in their asses.
    Regardless of what them niggahs did, Flex was still aimed and charging toward his original agenda. All of his dreams were gonna come true in due time, but in the meantime, Flex knew he had to keep his cool and let his plans unfold naturally. All things in time , he calmed himself as he wiped off a dirty Smith and Wesson that had about ten bodies on it. Once he got his hands on that clean stash of burners that he’d ordered from that Italian boy, he’d be ready to storm the G-Spot and press a tool to that bitch Salida’s forehead and squeeze