forty-five thousand.”
Mox kept smoking his cigar. “It don't matter anyway, Supreme is dead. I came to talk about Queens and our two hundred and forty-five thousand a month.”
“The Old Man still needs something,” Mikey bargained.
“Well the Old Man ain't getting shit from me till I get a piece of Queens.”
Vito raised up. “Hey, watch your fuckin' mouth, guy.”
“Fuck you, Vito!”
Cleo stood. “Mox, chill.”
“Nah, Cleo. Fuck these EYE-Talians!” He stressed. “We don't need these muthafuckas… they need us!”
Mikey fixed his tie. “Cleo, talk to your boy. Maybe come back tomorrow. Things might be different, eh?”
“Yeah, tell ‘em to shut up, Cleo before I do it myself.” Vito added.
Mox smiled at the two brothers. If he really wanted to, he could kill them both right now, but the chances of him and Cleo surviving were slim to none.
The only reason he hadn't started a war was because the money was coming in at rapid rates. The Italians controlled the ecstasy market throughout the five boroughs as far as the manufacturing went, but Mox and Cleo provided the muscle and protection for those labs to operate.
They produced thousands of ecstasy pills a day that were sold and distributed to wholesalers, who in turn, re-sold them at market rate which varies from $7 to $10 a pill. At the time, the four major manufacturing labs are located in Brooklyn, Staten Island, Manhattan and the Bronx.
Each factory roughly accumulated five to eight hundred thousand dollars a month in revenue and Mox and Cleo’s cut was 20% of everything.
The Telescos thought they were being slick by secretly opening up another lab in Queens, thinking Cleo and Mox wouldn't be too worried about it. They were wrong. Mox caught wind of the situation and wanted in. Cleo, on the other hand, really didn't care, but what's right is right. They made an agreement and the Italians were trying to renig.
Mox removed the hat from his head and grilled Vito. “Try it, Vito. I dare you.”
They eyed each other intensely.
“C'mon, Mox.” Cleo tapped his shoulder. “Mikey, we gotta make this thing right. I'll be in contact. And tell the Old Man I said, get well.”
Mikey frowned, “Sure, Cleo.” Then he remembered. “Oh, I almost forgot; sorry for your loss, Casey was a good kid, it's a fucked up situation.”
“Yeah, it is.” He replied.
Cleo and Mox stepped out the door and into the windy, pedestrian filled streets. It was four days before Christmas and the holiday shoppers were out in abundance, scurrying to get their last minute gifts.
Cleo pulled his cell phone out to call a cab.
“You still fuckin' wit' them cabs, huh?” Mox questioned, knowing exactly what Cleo was doing. He couldn't understand why he hadn't bought a car yet. He had more than enough money.
“I can't find a truck comfortable enough for my big ass,” he joked.
He wasn't lying though, Cleo shopped around for a new truck, but the ones he test-drove didn't fit him the way he wanted. He wasn't in a rush to buy a vehicle any way; he took cabs everywhere he went.
“Man, fuck that cab. I got the truck around the corner.”
“Cool, but Mox you gotta be easy with these Italians. Right now ain’t the time to be stirring up a war.”
“Fuck them degos, Cleo!” He fumed. “Pasta eatin’ muthafuckas. I don’t trust ‘em and you shouldn’t either. Those assholes knew exactly what they were doing when they opened up that lab in Queens. They thought we wouldn’t find out, but I want mines, and if I gotta get it in blood, so be it.”
Cleo knew Mox was hotheaded, but he wasn’t about to let stupidity come in the way of millions.
He took a deep breath. “We don’t need any more problems, Mox. That’s all I’m sayin’. We gettin’ good money from these dudes and The Old Man’s beginning to show some leniency. Let’s not fuck up
Mox kept smoking his cigar. “It don't matter anyway, Supreme is dead. I came to talk about Queens and our two hundred and forty-five thousand a month.”
“The Old Man still needs something,” Mikey bargained.
“Well the Old Man ain't getting shit from me till I get a piece of Queens.”
Vito raised up. “Hey, watch your fuckin' mouth, guy.”
“Fuck you, Vito!”
Cleo stood. “Mox, chill.”
“Nah, Cleo. Fuck these EYE-Talians!” He stressed. “We don't need these muthafuckas… they need us!”
Mikey fixed his tie. “Cleo, talk to your boy. Maybe come back tomorrow. Things might be different, eh?”
“Yeah, tell ‘em to shut up, Cleo before I do it myself.” Vito added.
Mox smiled at the two brothers. If he really wanted to, he could kill them both right now, but the chances of him and Cleo surviving were slim to none.
The only reason he hadn't started a war was because the money was coming in at rapid rates. The Italians controlled the ecstasy market throughout the five boroughs as far as the manufacturing went, but Mox and Cleo provided the muscle and protection for those labs to operate.
They produced thousands of ecstasy pills a day that were sold and distributed to wholesalers, who in turn, re-sold them at market rate which varies from $7 to $10 a pill. At the time, the four major manufacturing labs are located in Brooklyn, Staten Island, Manhattan and the Bronx.
Each factory roughly accumulated five to eight hundred thousand dollars a month in revenue and Mox and Cleo’s cut was 20% of everything.
The Telescos thought they were being slick by secretly opening up another lab in Queens, thinking Cleo and Mox wouldn't be too worried about it. They were wrong. Mox caught wind of the situation and wanted in. Cleo, on the other hand, really didn't care, but what's right is right. They made an agreement and the Italians were trying to renig.
Mox removed the hat from his head and grilled Vito. “Try it, Vito. I dare you.”
They eyed each other intensely.
“C'mon, Mox.” Cleo tapped his shoulder. “Mikey, we gotta make this thing right. I'll be in contact. And tell the Old Man I said, get well.”
Mikey frowned, “Sure, Cleo.” Then he remembered. “Oh, I almost forgot; sorry for your loss, Casey was a good kid, it's a fucked up situation.”
“Yeah, it is.” He replied.
Cleo and Mox stepped out the door and into the windy, pedestrian filled streets. It was four days before Christmas and the holiday shoppers were out in abundance, scurrying to get their last minute gifts.
Cleo pulled his cell phone out to call a cab.
“You still fuckin' wit' them cabs, huh?” Mox questioned, knowing exactly what Cleo was doing. He couldn't understand why he hadn't bought a car yet. He had more than enough money.
“I can't find a truck comfortable enough for my big ass,” he joked.
He wasn't lying though, Cleo shopped around for a new truck, but the ones he test-drove didn't fit him the way he wanted. He wasn't in a rush to buy a vehicle any way; he took cabs everywhere he went.
“Man, fuck that cab. I got the truck around the corner.”
“Cool, but Mox you gotta be easy with these Italians. Right now ain’t the time to be stirring up a war.”
“Fuck them degos, Cleo!” He fumed. “Pasta eatin’ muthafuckas. I don’t trust ‘em and you shouldn’t either. Those assholes knew exactly what they were doing when they opened up that lab in Queens. They thought we wouldn’t find out, but I want mines, and if I gotta get it in blood, so be it.”
Cleo knew Mox was hotheaded, but he wasn’t about to let stupidity come in the way of millions.
He took a deep breath. “We don’t need any more problems, Mox. That’s all I’m sayin’. We gettin’ good money from these dudes and The Old Man’s beginning to show some leniency. Let’s not fuck up
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