Harlem Heat

by Anthony, Mark; 50 Cent

• ISBN13: 9781416549093
• ISBN10: 1416549099
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2007-07-24
• Publisher: Gallery Books

Summary

SHE'S ONE TOUGH MOTHERRoxy Reynolds learned the rules of the street nearly two decades ago as a low-level member of what was once New York City's most powerful drug organization. She was also a mom at fourteen years old, and did what she had to do to raiseher daughter, Chyna. Now Chyna's all grown up, a stunningly beautiful exoticdancer with a baby girl of her own, while super-sexy Roxy is at the height ofher power running Harlem Heat, a gun-trafficking ring. It's a lucrative life-style some would do anything to have. And when former drug kingpin Panama Petereturns to the hood after serving fifteen years in prison, a spiral of violencetraps Roxy and Chyna and has them running from the law - and running for theirlives.

Author Biography

50 Cent (a.k.a. Curtis Jackson) is a record-breaking rap recording artist, entrepreneur, music producer, and actor. His debut album, Get Rich or Die Tryin’, sold more than 12 million units worldwide, is certified eight times platinum, and was the basis for the semi-autobiographical film of the same title, in which he starred. He is the first artist to have four songs in the top ten of Billboard’s Hot 100 since the Beatles in 1964. He published his memoir, the New York Times bestseller From Pieces to Weight, which was hailed as “cool, hard, and vivid, a minor classic of gangster rap noir” (The New York Times). He is also the author of Hustle Harder, Hustle Smarter. Under the G-Unit brand, his business empire includes a record label, apparel and footwear ventures, vitamin water, and more. He created the nonprofit organization The G-Unity Foundation, which aims to better the life of urban youth. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @50cent.

Excerpts

I can't front. I was nervous as hell.

My heart was thumping a mile a minute, like it was about to jump outta my chest. The same goddamn state trooper had now been following us for more than three exits and I knew that it was just a matter of seconds before he was gonna turn on his lights and pull us over. So I put on my signal and switched lanes and prepared to exit the parkway, hoping that he would change his mind about stopping us.

"Chyna, what the fuck are you doing?" my moms asked me as she fidgeted in her seat.

"Ma, you know this nigga is gonna pull us over, so I'm just acting like I'm purposely exiting before he pulls us over. It'll be easier to play shit off if he does stop us."

"Chyna, I swear to God you gonna get us locked the fuck up. Just relax and drive!" my mother barked as she turned her head to look in the rearview mirror to confirm that the state trooper was still tailing us. She also reached to turn up the volume on the radio and then slumped in her seat a little bit, trying to relax.

Although my moms was trying to play shit cool, the truth was, I knew that she was just as nervous as I was.

"Ma, I already switched lanes, I gotta get off now or we'll look too suspicious," I explained over the loud R. Kelly and Snoop Dogg song that was coming from the speakers.

As soon as I switched lanes and attempted to make my way to the ramp of exit 13, the state trooper threw on his lights, signaling for me to pull over.

"Ain't this a bitch. Chyna, I told yo' ass."

"Ma, just chill," I barked, cutting my mother off. I was panicking and trying to think fast, and the last thing I needed was for my mother to be bitchin' with me.

"I got this. I'ma pull over and talk us outta this. Just follow my lead," I said with my heart pounding as I exited the parkway ramp and made my way on to Linden Boulevard before bringing the car to a complete stop.

I had my foot on the brake and both of my hands on the steering wheel. I inhaled and then exhaled very deeply before putting the car in park. I quickly exited the car, wearing my Cartier Aviator goldrimmed shades to help mask my face. The loud R. Kelly chorus continued playing in the background.

"Officer, I'm sorry if I was speeding, but -- "

"Miss, step away from the car and put your hands where I can see them," the lone state trooper shouted at me, interrupting my words. He was clutching his nine-millimeter handgun, that was still in its holster, and he cautiously approached me. Soon, I no longer heard the music coming from the car and I was guessing that my mother had turned it down so that she could try to listen to what the officer was saying.

"Put my hands on the car for what? Let me just explain where I'm going."

The officer wasn't trying to hear it, and he slammed me up against the hood of the car.

"I got a sick baby in the car. What the hell is wrong with you?" I screamed. I was purposely trying to be dramatic while squirming my body and resisting the officer's efforts to pat me down.

On the inside I was still shitting bricks and my heart was still racing a mile a minute. The car was in park at the side of the road and the engine was running idle. I was hoping that my mom would jump into the driver's seat and speed the hell off. There was no sense in both of us getting bagged. And from the looks of things, the aggressive officer didn't seem like he was in the mood for bullshit.

"Is anyone else in the car with you?" the cop asked me as he felt between my legs up to my crotch, checking for a weapon, even though he was clearly feeling for more than just a weapon.

My mother's BMW 745 that I was driving had limousine-style tints, and the state trooper couldn't fully see inside the car.

"Just my moms and my sick baby. Yo, on the real, for real, this is crazy. I ain't even do shit and you got me bent over and slammed up against the hood of the car feeling all on my pussy and shit! I got a sick baby that I'm trying to get to the hospital," I yelled while trying to fast-talk the cop. I sucked my teeth and gave him a bunch of eye-rolling and neck-twisting ghetto attitude.

"You didn't do shit? Well, if this is a BMW, then tell me why the fuck your plates are registered to a Honda Accord," the six-foot-four-inch drill-sergeantlooking officer screamed back at me.

The cop then reached to open up the driver's door, and just as he pulled the car door open, my moms opened her passenger door. She hadn't taken off the shades or the hat that she had been wearing, and with one foot on the ground and her other foot still inside the car she stood up and asked across the roof of the car if there was a problem.

"Chyna, you okay? What the fuck is going on, Officer?" my mother asked, sounding as if she was highly annoyed.

"Miss, I need you to step away from the car," the officer shouted at my mother.

"Step away from the car for what?" my moms yelled back with even more disgust in her voice.

"Ma, he on some bullshit. I told him that Nina is in the backseat sick as a damn dog and he still on this ol' racist profiling shit."

As soon as I was done saying those words I heard gunfire erupting.

Blaow. Blaow. Blaow. Blaow.

Instinctively I ducked for cover down near the wheel well, next to the car's twenty-two-inch chrome rims. And when I turned and attempted to see where the shots were coming from all I saw was the state trooper dropping to the ground. I turned and looked the other way and saw my mom's arms stretched across the roof of the BMW. She was holding her chrome thirty-eight revolver with both hands, ready to squeeze off some more rounds.

"Chyna, you aight?"

"Yeah, I'm good," I shouted back while still halfway crouched down near the tire.

"Well, get your ass in this car and let's bounce!" my moms screamed at me.

I got up off the ground from my kneeling stance and with my high-heeled Bottega Veneta boots I stepped over the bloody state trooper, who wasn't moving. He had been shot point-blank right between the eyes and he didn't look like he was breathing all that well, as blood spilled out of the side of his mouth.

Before I could fully get my ass planted on the cream-colored plush leather driver's seat my mom was hollering for me to hurry up and pull off.

"Drive this bitch, Chyna! I just shot a fucking cop! Drive!"

My mom's frantic yelling had scared my ten-month-old baby, who was strapped in her car seat in the back. So with my moms screaming for me to hurry up and drive away from the crime scene and with my startled baby crying and hitting high notes I put the car in drive and I screeched off, leaving the cop lying dead in the street.

If shit wasn't thick enough for me and my mom already, killing a state trooper had definitely just made things a whole lot thicker. I sped off doing about sixty miles an hour down a quiet residential street in Elmont, Long Island, just off of Linden Boulevard. My heart was thumping and although it was late afternoon on a bright and sunny summer weekday, I was desperately hoping that no eyewitnesses had seen what went down.Copyright © 2007 by G-Unit Books, Inc.

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Excerpted from Harlem Heat by Mark Anthony, 50 Cent
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.