No Way Out

By Raymond Francis

Instead of a synopsis, this book comes with a warning. Included is a story about a lifestyle only understood by a select few, but relatable to all. The realism is intense, but for all curious eyes, please remember this is a work of fiction and any attempts to replicate these events could be fatal.

Set in the 2000's, No Way Out is the tale of Naj, a young man forced to make a difficult decision; kill or be killed. Before passing judgement, understand the events that lead to that point and ask yourself: Once there is no way out; what would you do?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raymond Francis
• Release date: Mar 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215386415

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RAYMOND FRANCIS

© 2023 All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

This is a work of fiction.

Instead of a synopsis, this book comes with a warning. Included is a story about a lifestyle only understood by a select few, but relatable to all. The realism is intense, but for all curious eyes, please remember this is a work of fiction and any attempts to replicate these events could be fatal.

Set in the 2000’s, No Way Out is the tale of Naj, a young man forced to make a difficult decision; kill or be killed. Before passing judgement, understand the events that lead to that point and ask yourself: Once there is no way out; what would you do?

1

2001

It was right around the time Bush had the towers knocked down...

I was up 7 bands off of a dice game, which was something that never happened to me. I gambled all the time, but usually my money and my luck ran out about the same time, and I went home empty handed. This day was different though; I had really flipped $2,500 into $7,000! I was hype, and like a true gambler, I could only think of doing one thing: winning again. 

I wasn’t really the 9-5, working for a company type, and since I’d graduated from high school a few years ago, I’d been a small-time hustler, schemer, and gambler. It was fast money, but not enough to live how I really wanted to. I had dreams that were way bigger than my neighborhood, so I was always looking for my next come up, that was just my way of life.

As I slid my slim frame into the driver’s side of the rental whip I had just copped, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and liked what I saw. At 6’3 with light bronze skin and my Mom’s dark brown eyes, most women liked it too. I wasn’t cocky, I just knew what I knew. I had braids in my hair, a good eye for fashion, and a nice smile, so I turned heads in most places I went, but I liked it that way.

My first stop after my dice game win was my oldhead X’s crib. X was cool as hell, but he was a mysterious type of bul. I didn’t know his exact age or even his full name, but I figured he was about 10 or 15 years older than me, probably somewhere in his 30’s. With the long locks that hung over his face half of the time, it was hard to tell.

I didn’t even know where X was from originally, but he damn sure wasn’t from one of the 13 sections that made up Willingboro, like I was. He was one of them guys who just kind of popped up out here out of nowhere one day and had been around ever since. I had first met X at the salon/barbershop that he worked at. He was that barber in the last chair all the way in the back who barely ever seemed to have any customers and only worked a few days out of the week. Every Black barbershop had one of those guys. I don’t even know what made me decide to let X start shaping up my hair, but I was glad I did. Not only was he a good barber, but for some reason, X took a liking to me. 

After a while, he’d even started telling me to pull up at his house for my haircut and that was when I realized just how different X actually was. Even his crib was on some other shit. He had a bunch of paintings of Egyptian pyramids all over his walls and he kept historical documentaries and famous speeches steady playing on his TV. X’s bookshelf was full of religious books that I’d never even heard of. These weren’t copies of the Bible or Quran like I was used to seeing at people’s cribs, but something called the Kojiki and the Tipitaka that he always very careful with. Besides, cutting hair, X told me that he also owned 25 vending machines around South Jersey. Some of them did as much as $150 a day! Once I did the math, I realized that was serious bread he was raking in.

More than anything, I wanted X to put me on so I could learn how to get to the level that he was at. X had the crib, the whips, and the women which was all I ever wanted in my young life.

Yizzo! I said, as X let me into his spot.

What’s poppin’ Naj? X replied, as he turned his music down just low enough so that we could talk.

While mostly everyone around the way was into Roc-a-fella, Ruff Ryders or Cash Money music, X was still on his Wu-tang shit...hard. From Ghostface Killah and Gza to Shyheim the Rugged Child, X played strictly Wu shit all day long. He really didn’t want to hear anything that wasn’t Wu-related. I liked the Wu, but X loved them. In his spare time, he made beats and swore that one day he was going to get them into the hands of the Rza and get a production deal. It was a long shot, but that was X’s dream.

Despite the fact that others around The Boro perceived him as kind of weird, X was my homie, and I looked up to him. One thing about him, he always knew how to get to a bag, no matter what. When I told him about my dice game come up, all he said was one thing...

Take this ride with me, I’ll show you how to double those 7 stacks before the sun go down.

That was all a young nigga like me needed to hear. The next thing I knew, I was in X’s passenger seat, and we were on I-295 North headed out of town!

Usually when I rode out with X, we took his S-Class Benz. He’d even let me drive it when he got too drunk or high, which I didn’t mind one bit. Pushing a Mercedes was a like a nationally recognized status symbol of success that was known to make a young man’s pussy rate skyrocket. Besides that, the whip was like a spaceship on wheels with more buttons than I could even count, and I loved technologically advanced type shit. I was an 80s baby who was promised flying cars by the time I grew up. We didn’t have those, but Mercedes, BMW, and Lexus made the next best things.

This time though, instead of the Benz, me and X were riding in his old school Chevrolet Chevelle SS. The car was dark green, with white racing stripes and special wide tires in the back. Under the hood, was a big V8 engine with some real horsepower. The old school Chevy was fast as hell, but I preferred the comfort of the Benz personally.

Yo X, where you takin’ me, bruh? I asked from over in the passenger seat.

Trenton, he replied.

I didn’t really fuck around in Trenton if I could help it, since the different gang sets had their whole hood on fire. Bodies dropped in Trenton like it was nothing, and I wasn’t trying to be one of them, but I trusted X. Besides, he was talking about doubling the $7,000 in my pocket and even though I had no idea what he had in mind, one thing I’d learned was that sometimes it was best to just sit back and watch. X was like an evil genius who always had a trick up his sleeve.

After cutting through the Wilbur section, X pulled up on a dark, long strip. It was full of empty lots and abandoned homes for blocks, but most importantly, there wasn’t a cop in sight. The street was long, straight, and narrow and I quickly realized from all the sports cars lining the block that we were at some underground, hood street race. I’d heard these types of events happened, but I’d never personally been at one before.

Basically, people were lining up their cars and making bets on whose was fastest. People could race for pride, money, or the ultimate gamble, which was pink slips. The pink slip was another name for the title to the car, meaning that in a