Mr. Blue, whose real name was Travis Burns, and Mr. Green, a.k.a. Ronnie Grier, stood on the corner of 34th Street and 8th Avenue and waited for Mr. White, whose name was Jacquelyn Washington, to arrive. While they were on the train, they went in between the cars and took off their coats and jumpsuits and were now dressed in business suits and ties, but they still wore their gloves.
Travis looked at his watch and wondered what was taking Jackie so long.
“Where is she? She should be here by now,” Ronnie said.
“It’s almost lunchtime. She’s probably just stuck in traffic. Don’t worry, Ronnie. She’ll be here soon,” Travis said, looking at Ronnie and recalling the day’s events. This was the closest they had ever come to getting caught. They’d had some issues before, had to do a little shooting, but the cops had never been close enough to chase them.
This was never the life Travis had intended for himself. He had gone to college and graduated with a degree in computer science, a field that promised plenty of opportunity. Ronnie had earned a dual degree in business and finance, but now look at them. Now Travis was standing on the corner of 34th and 8th with a briefcase full of stolen jewelry, wondering what went wrong with his life.
It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. Is this what his years of college had prepared him for? Once upon a time they had been three eager college students, ready to go out and conquer the world, armed with their degrees. They thought they were so prepared; they had even created their own list of rules to live by to aid in their success.
It all began one night when they were fucked up, smokin’ bomb-ass weed and drinking Hennessey, and listening to 2Pac. While listening to “Blasphemy” from Makaveli, The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory, the trio heard 2Pac rapping about the rules his father taught him.
“M.O.B., money over bitches,” Travis said. “That’s some deep shit.”
“That’s some true shit,” Jackie added quickly.
“I wonder what the other rules are? He only told us two,” Ronnie said.
“I guess we’ll never know,” Travis said as he hit the blunt and chuffed.
“Why not?” Ronnie asked.
“Cause Tupac is dead, asshole,” Jackie stated flatly and laughed.
“No, he ain’t,” Ronnie said and stood up.
“Yes, he is, Ronnie. I saw the autopsy pictures,” Travis threw in.
“That don’t mean nothing. Pictures can be doctored. My cousin edits film for the networks and he tells me all the time about the wild shit they have him do to put whatever type of spin they want on those images. If they can do it with film, they can do it with stills,” Ronnie argued. He hit the blunt. “If he’s dead, why wasn’t there no funeral?” He too started chuffing.
“’Cause his momma had him cremated,” Jackie explained, taking the blunt from a still chuffing Ronnie.
“Yeah, I know. That’s my whole fuckin’ point. Pac never said anything about crematin’ his ass. He said bury him a G. He said bury him with ammunition, weed and shells. Y’all niggas know that shit just like I do. Pac ain’t dead,” Ronnie stated again.
As the CD played, the debate raged on for almost half an hour before Travis said, “Look, whether he’s dead or not, those are still some words we need to live by.”
“Why? We ain’t no thug niggas,” Jackie said. “We’re college students listening to Mr. Makaveli puttin’ it down thug style.”
“True that. I was just thinking about puttin’ y’all out so I can study for an economics test,” Ronnie said.
“Yeah, yeah, I know that,” Travis said. “But listen to what Pac’s sayin’. You can’t tell me some of that shit don’t apply to us.”
“He damn sure right about that, Jackie,” Ronnie agreed.
“Rule one: Get your cash on, M.O.B. That’s money over bitches ’cause they bleed envy,” Travis stated with passion. “Ain’t no truer shit than that.”
Both Travis and Ronnie turned to Jackie.
“As long as we can all agree the term ‘bitches’ don’t necessarily apply to women only,” Jackie said. “’Cause you know sometimes you niggas can be bitches too.”
“Agreed,” both Travis and Ronnie said.
“What about rule two, Tee?” Jackie asked, referring to Tupac’s second rule in “Blasphemy”. “You tryin’ to say you need to watch us? Like you don’t trust us?”
“No, that’s not what I’m sayin’. You two are like blood to me. I know none of us will ever betray the other. What I’m sayin’ is that you gotta watch your homies, because everybody you roll with that you may think is your friend, ain’t.”
“True that,” Ronnie said as he poured himself another glass of Henny. “Everybody you think is cool, ain’t.” He passed the bottle to Travis. “But we still eight rules short.”
Travis poured himself a drink and filled Jackie’s glass. “So, we’ll make up our own rules.” He got up and walked over to Ronnie’s desk to get a piece of paper. He returned to his spot and began to write. “All right, we got rules one and two. What else? Remember, these are our rules. Shit that applies to us and what we’re tryin’ to do. It ain’t gotta be that outlaw immortal, thugged-out shit.”
With Tupac’s lyrics as their inspiration, they created a list to fit the bright futures they believed they would have.
“Get off your ass if you plan to be rich definitely needs to be on the list,” Jackie said, and they all agreed. Travis wrote it down.
“I got one,” Ronnie said as he got up and changed the CD. He put in Thug Life. “Bury Me a G” jumped off.
“Stay smart,” Ronnie suggested, “’cause it’s all about survival.”
“That got to be one. And definitely keep your mind on your money,” Travis said.
“So, what we got?” He began to read from the list he was writing. “Rule one: Get your cash on, M.O.B. Rule two: Keep your enemies close. Rule three: Get off your ass if you plan to be rich. Rule four: Stay smart. And rule five is keep your mind on your money,” Travis said, reading from the list.
“Come on now, we need five more,” Jackie said.
“What about give back what you earn?” Travis offered.
“No doubt,” Ronnie agreed. “We had this chance to raise ourselves up. It’s only fair that we give somebody else a chance.”
“So, what you talkin about doin’, Travis?” Jackie asked. “You talkin’ about startin’ a foundation or something like that?”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of things we can do to give something back. You know we can do volunteer work or give to United Negro College Fund or whatever. But I think it’s important that we give something back, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Chill out, Travis. We know what you sayin’.” Jackie laughed.
“I got one,” Ronnie announced, once again inspired by the music.
“What’s that?” Jackie asked.
“Don’t fuck with trick niggas.”
“That’s good,” Travis said.
“I got one,” Jackie offered. “Snitches get dealt with.”
“Right. ’Cause y’all know we gonna meet up with some of them, even if we are headed for corporate America,” Travis said as he continued to write.
Jackie stood and walked over to the window. “I don’t want y’all to take this the wrong way, but I love you two. I mean, I love y’all like y’all were my blood. Shit, I love y’all more than I do them two lazy muthafuckas that call themselves my brothers. They only know me when they think I got money. I love you two. Y’all my family. So I got another one.” Jackie turned around and raised her glass. “Let no one come between us.”
Travis and Ronnie both stood up and joined Jackie at the window. Ronnie poured everybody another glass full of Hennessey. They all raised their glasses and repeated the words together. “Let no one come between us.” They turned up their glasses and they came down empty.
Ronnie poured himself another, “That’s word, for real. I would die for you niggas,” he said and passed the bottle to Jackie.
“That’s how it is for me, too,” Jackie said as she drained her glass. She passed the bottle to Travis.
Travis poured and quickly emptied his glass. “Shit, y’all can die if you want to. I plan on livin’ forever.” They all laughed.
“So, that’s only nine. Come on now, we need one more rule to make ten,” Jackie said.
“I know what number ten should be,” Travis said.
“What’s that?” Ronnie asked as he filled each of their glasses again.
“Even though it isn’t exactly a rule, number ten should be ‘Bless me please, Father.’ ”