Tales of Finnagus Boggs, Confessions of a Marid Djinn

All of the names, characters, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. Information regarding permission, write to: Entropy Publications, LLC, San Francisco, CA, query@entropypublishing.com. It was Billy's idea to rip off the liquor store. He heard brotherabe on his cell say the place was ripe. Heart of the hood, where this kinda crap happens all the time. And Lucky Liquors is run by this old chink. Gook's at the mart from opening til closing cuz he too damn cheap to hire help from the Projects. Serves him right getting tagged every couple of months. Slide convincing Ty to do the deed. Bluds since Sunshine Daycare, they bled enough and shredded enough to earn respect as the cracka/nigga posse not to jack. Lunchroom Thursday, Billy goes on spouting about taking what they deserve for being dissed since they was kids. From jacking construction sites at seven, to ripping music, movies and apps off the net and selling it on Craigslist at eleven, Tyron is always angling for money. To Ty, it buys respect. He be flipping off his hammered old man and dick-head brother on the way outta town, and his mom too, if she'd stuck around. "One strike gets us a sled and elevates us the rest a high school, blud. Then we outta here, down to Hollywood, man, do some rappin, some actin, be whoever we wanta be, Ty. And even if we get caught, but we won't, the most we'd get is maybe a short stint in juvie since we ain't got no rap sheets. And if we don't get caught, and we won't, I heard Chris say the gets around five large." Tyron stares at Audrey, the hoodrat who brought him out, across the lunchroom, now slumming with the cracka slanger, Baker. "Five grand would get us some respectable treads," Ty says. "We be legally stylin by the weekend if we did the deed this week." "Late afternoon, tomorra," Tyron says. Hoodies and caps, keep our mugs down, away from cameras, and we golden." "We ain't gonna just glide in there and ask for cash, blud. And copin a gun's gonna take time, and it ain't gonna be cheap," Billy feels a need to reality check him. "We don't need no gun. No shit Tyron hated guns. Took his old man out in a drive-by in their driveway when he was nine and his dad's brains landed all over him.