Too Close For Comfort

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We are in Kenny’s apartment. Actually this is the basement of a row-house where each level is a separate apartment. Kenny and Ceil took the area that is supposed to be a storage area for all three apartments and turned it into their house. They did this by just straight Debo-ing it. Anyway, we had got on and were smoking ready. The problem was that we had nothing to come down with.
So here we were in this basement, in the middle of July in Baltimore. No AC. No fans. Sweating extra profusely because of the coke. It was going to majorly suck ass to have to go out for hours boosting all hoped up. Not to mention the fact that I would be extra paranoid due to the coke. (I was already paranoid enough because of the FTA warrants, I believe it was two at that time, that I had.) We knew that we had to get some dope, like ASAP.
The stores within the city lines are blazing hot. That is if they even have anything worth stealing out. There was a store that was like almost right on the Baltimore City/Baltimore County line that we would hit occasionally. It was technically within the county jurisdiction, and was shockingly easy to hit. (For a time that is. I eventually got locked up there, but another story another time.) Now, this wasn’t the kind of place that you would go to in order to pull out a few hundred, this was a place for situations like this.
We asked Kenny if he wanted to ride with us, and he did. I went in and was disappointed to see that they didn’t have much at all. I don’t remember what I ended up getting, but I was able to pull out about $40 worth of shit. We went to the pawn shop and cashed in. Next up was Red Dot.
Now, when you went down Franklintown Road once you crossed over Baltimore Street there was a few dope and coke shops before you hit Frederick Avenue and the Westside Shopping Center. The first of which was Red Dot. The next street was Jigga which we got on and off for years, but at this particular moment Red Dot was better. We pulled down the street and saw a cop car driving down Franklintown. We kept driving and circled the block. We then came back down and pulled up to the hitter. We told him that we wanted three. He came back with them. Aaron handed him the money and received the pills. “Watch out,” the dude told him, “Cops been watching us all day.” Aaron handed me the pills which I placed in between the lining of my panties. We pulled back out on to Franlintown, continuing on the one-way until we hit the light at Frederick. As we turned right on Frederick, here came like three cops with the lights on. Visions of Central Bookings danced in my head.
Ok. Pause. Aaron is driving because the car we had at that time was a stick shift, and I am not what you would call good at driving stick. At all. His license was suspended. Like I mentioned previously, I had two FTA warrants. Kenny had a warrant as well. Oh, and the car was my mothers. Mine was in the shop. Also, the first thing that uniformed officers in the city (as opposed to the knockers) ALWAYS did when they pulled you over was run your name for warrants, and check your license. They come across so many people people with warrants, and suspended or revoked licenses that it makes their job easier. See, if you have a warrant out for your arrest, then they have an automatic legal reason to search your car.
They pull up and demanded the dope. We told them that we didn’t know what they were talking about, that we were just taking Kenny home. He did live like less than a quarter mile from where we were stopped. They proceeded to explain in excruciatingly exact detail what had happened. Clearly they had motherfuckers on the roof somewhere cause they described the dude who hit us, dreads and an orange shirt, the order in which everything happened, who payed, everything. “Ok,” we said. “You saw us give him money, but you didn’t see him give us anything. He fronted us a couple pills this morning, and we were paying back or we wouldn’t be able to cop from them.” “No,” they said, “She has it.” So, they pulled us all out of the car.
The female officer walked me over to these steps off of the road that lead to a church or something and patted me down. She grabbed the cups of my bra and shook them out. Next she made me pull down my pants. You should know that Frederick is a main road. She told me to hold the crotch of my panties with my thumb and forefinger and shake my underwear from side to side. The three pills were in a cigarette cellophane in between the outer fabric and the cotton gusset. I put my finger and thumb on the bag to further secure it and did as I was told. Disappointed in her futile effort she walked me back to the car where they tore it apart. Funny thing was, in their haste of assuming that they had us dead to rights, they forgot to run any of our names. If they had, they would have had us dead to rights.
Eventually they gave up. “I think it’s up inside her,” the female cop bemused. They told us to get the fuck out of there. We went back to Kenny’s and got on and I had one of the best highs of my life.

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