A loud whistle blows a young woman scurries by the gentleman with the black jacket and white shirts knocking on the door. Yet he does not move, the young man continues to stare out of the window watching the busy bodies passing by. Never had a chance, never had a chance he can hear these words over and over again. Caught in a trance, his thoughts began to drift back to a time not to long ago. Get up the man screams get your ass up and give me my money or else I will burn this shit hole you call a bar down. His father always so violent always so angry he could remember watching his father make collections for No joke Johnson. If his father was not hitting his mother he was hitting or threatening someone else. He watched as his father continued to kick the man screaming pay me you shit gargler. Then gesturing to another gentleman Big Tracie to come over as he would walk up and kick the bleeding man in his head ever so often. As bad as he wanted to look away he wanted more to watch. His father would often take him on collection runs often make him watch as he beat some guy to within an inch of his lie. He knew everyone and everyone knew him he was TRIGGA'S boy and TRIGGA didn't play. No one in the neighborhood messed with him not so much as even a cross word.

He grew up fast became a numbers runner for the family. Yeah he had managed to follow right into his father footsteps. With a taste for fast women fast money and slow Cognac. He wanted it all and then some. Once a Mark didn't pay he burned down his house killed the dog and the cat fucked his wife and daughter and made him watch he was worse than his father ever was. Never any compassion never and pity. He had made a nae for himself. The word on the streets was if you saw hi coming it was too late. Running coke stripping cars working hoes on the hoe stroll what ever it was he had his hand in it. If there was money to be made he was making a hustler by trade a gangster by birthright. West they called him west coast playa. T

the name stuck as he was all over the place facing 25 to life his grandmother once said Never had a chance, Never had a chance. Born into a life of crime his father a life time criminal his uncle behind prison walls and a hunger for respect. West had head if you can make it to New York you could really make some money. Determined not to serve a day in jail he fled for the big city.

The conductor had begun to knock again West came to his senses knock on that door one more time old man and I will slap that stupid ass hat off your head. Don't touch me and don't touch my bags. As he began to stand his jacket opened and revealed the two ivory handled chrome .40 caliber smith and wessons he always carried. they had become his signature toys, strangely enough they were the only thing he took off of his dead father's body after he shot him. I am here and this city is like a big mouth just waiting to suck me off and i am going to do my best to raise pure Hell. I have to find Mr. Brandon Heat I heard if you were new in town and willing to hustle he would offer you a job. Little did grand know how right she was never had a chance none but the ones I took never wanted anyone to give me anything. Cause i never wanted to owe any one shit. It's not where you from but how you come. He exited the rain, left he station and began on his way.