Written By Mario Redding

Chapter: Investment Vehicles

From “Rich Negus in the Hood”

A vehicle, as described by Webster’s dictionary, is “a medium through which something is achieved; a means of carrying something.” An investment vehicle—such as real estate or businesses—helps achieve the accumulation of wealth. An investment vehicle will carry us toward financial freedom.

Financial freedom, or Economic Emancipation, is the destination for these investment vehicles. It’s the point where we no longer have to work for money because the money is working for us—hard enough to pay for everything we want and need. Think of it like putting your money on the block, making it post up and trap, on all-night flights.

When we put our money to work, it generates more money. When the income coming in exceeds the expenses going out, that is financial freedom. We need the right investment vehicles to get us to this destination. Let’s get it.

On Cliffview, back in 2006, the main vehicle being used by the niggas in the streets was crack. Cocaine was the primary employer for the people in the streets of the hood. The dope game was like what Walmart and McDonald’s are to people not in the streets—a source of income for many. Most of the boys on Cliffview sold crack, and the majority of these same boys ended up incarcerated for trafficking or possession of it. Some were even railroaded into prison for these crimes, receiving decades in the cage for trappin cocaine. It was the same plot in the hood, the same script repeating, but this wasn’t a movie. The only way these boys in the hood knew to chase riches was by selling crack. It was their only vehicle.

“It’s all about having multiple investment vehicles, bleed,” Cap said. “It’s like the whips we drive. If this Lac breaks down, then I got the Ram truck to jump in. The ’69 Camaro is in the garage. The Mrs. got the Benz truck. We got multiple vehicles to transport us. It’s the same with money. If you’re trying to travel far and keep going, you must have multiple investment vehicles.”

Cap was cruising down Euclid Avenue in his black Cadillac Escalade, talking to Easy, a younger nigga from the block. Cap always looked out for the younger generation, not just by keeping low numbers on the pack but by dropping knowledge too. On this July morning, while serving a brick for $24,000, Cap was giving Easy some wisdom about making money legitimately.

“Cap, I’m getting money, big bruh. I’m winning,” Easy responded, proudly. “I’m gonna move these zips for like $800 apiece to these niggas, straight drop. The pack gon’ be gone in five or six days, tops a week. That’s $21,000 profit when I put an extra nine on the brick. That’s three stacks a day. I’m good. My phone is a vehicle—it’s like a Lambo.”

Cap had to smile. He loved the energy that came from the young trappers, reminding him of his own yesteryears.

“For sure, bleed. You know I respect the hustle, which is why I’m putting you on to this higher-level shit,” Cap said, swerving through the busy traffic. The ice on his wedding band sparkled as he gripped the wood wheel. “The problem is you only got one vehicle, Eazy-E. That’s dangerous. Anything can happen with that whip. Just catch the analogy, bleed. You might only catch a flat tire—that’s like a weekend in the county. Now, the dope ain’t getting sold, the phone’s off. The Lambo parked instead of moving on the road to riches.”

Easy, distracted by his phone ringing constantly, replied, “Man, two or three days ain’t gon’ hurt me. Shit still go be moving. People in position know what to do.”

Cap, expecting this reaction, pressed on. “Okay, so what if it’s a major issue? Say the engine blows on the Lambo—that’s like getting knocked with a slab and a strap. They’ll give you a dime for that, mandatory ten years. You know the game. Anything can happen. So, how’s the money gonna keep moving?”

Cap continued, “See, if you got other vehicles, at least you know some money’s still coming in. If this dope stops today, I still got vehicles in motion. I got a twenty-unit apartment building bringing in $5,000 a month profit. That’s a guaranteed sixty grand annually, just from that one spot. The property manager takes care of everything—deals with the tenants, collects the rents, deposits the checks. My queen is running the restaurant, that’s another ten stacks a month in profit. And I’m stacking money in stocks like it’s a shoebox, getting compound interest. It’s about multiple vehicles, lil’ bleed. That phone’s only one car.”

Easy cut in, “Yeah, but it’s a Lambo, Cap! I’m doing three stacks a day, bruh! This dope money serious! You see how I’m shopping. I’m not sure about compound interest and all that but this dope money too serious!”

Cap nodded, watching the light change. He could see how hooked Easy was to the dope game—just as addicted as the fiends walking down the Ave at this moment. The game can play a sick trick, trappin the trapper, like the predator becoming prey. “I feel you, E. You sound just like Josh. What’s up with him? You talk to him lately?”

Josh, Easy’s right-hand man, had just gotten ten years for a dope case. A nigga had set Josh up on a controlled buy for a nine pack (i.e., quarter brick, 250 grams)  and he had he had another nine on him when the cops rushed. Cap already knew what was up with Josh because they spoke regularly, but brought him up to make a point.

Easy looked out the window, deep in thought. “You know Hot Boy Josh straight. I just shot him $2,500. He got a phone and some weed with that. He’s in there trappin and stacking, fighting to get back early.”

Cap responded, “Josh just had a nice trap going out here, a Lambo just like yours, bleeding the block. He was running through the snow like an eskimo. Now he walking on that compound. You see, if you don’t have multiple vehicles, you’re bound to crash. I did twelve years because I didn’t have other investments. But now, I’m making sure the money always moves. I was just telling him the same things I’m telling you Easy. Josh was talking just like you. Now he in there with no vehicle out here to keep the money coming. It’s like he gotta build a bike in there now, start from scratch.” Cap was just driving his point home hard, wanting Easy to understand that importance of financial vehicles.”

“ Yeah, he go be cool. We go be good together”, responded Easy. “I’m out here and I got us. His auntie playing crazy with like $60,000 he left with her. Then he had a few dollars with his BM, that bitch playing crazy too, probably blew it. People play crazy with that money when niggas go down. He gone be cool though. Fuck it, we start out walking and riding bikes.”

“ Yeah, but that goes with what I’m saying”, stating Cap, we gotta have more than just one vehicle, that way the money always coming in regardless, the money still moving. By setting things up with passive investment vehicles your people won’t have to steal and blow money. The vehicles will take care of them too. A manager can run the business. The stocks require no work for real. The money suppose to make money”.

“I was just in Hawaii for two weeks celebrating our anniversary. Money was still coming in! With that pack a nigga go come back and the streets go have your business all messed up.  Real talk, try going to Hawaii with that Lambo, we gone see what’s gone happen nigga”.

Easy started laughing. “ A nigga gone be at the bottom of the ocean trying to go to Hawaii in that Lambo. You need a plane, or a boat at least”

“ Exactly! That’s what I’m saying Easy. In order to get far you need several vehicles, different types of vehicles to go certain places. In New York they catching trains and taxis more than us, because it fits where they at and where they going. They might be on boats in Florida. LA big on cars”.

Going to certain places financially requires certain vehicles so they call them ‘investment vehicles’, because they take you to the money. Stocks, bonds, real estate, gold, weed, it’s just a different investment vehicle that’s gone take us closer to the riches”. Cap was really expressing this point hard, wanting Easy to understand.

“It’s go be super hard to take the dope game to millions. This game is a real trap, a lot of niggas  fuck around and drown trying to use this dope vehicle to go certain places. I did 12 straight years for this game bleed, felt like I was at the bottom of the ocean in there. I didn’t have no vehicles. We need these businesses, we need these properties to get far. We gotta diversify bleed. It’s bigger than the dope game”.

Cap pulled onto Cliffview and parked on Olympia behind Easy’s whip—a low-key Honda rental tinted all around. It was a nice incognito vehicle to get him through his routes, get him to the destination of his dollars. Easy had been in this whip for the past week, he sold over a brick out of it, hitting many sells. He was feeling hot. Easy usually switched up the whip when he went to re-up, so right now was that time.

“You just gotta learn these other games, bleed. It’s the same hustle, just a different game. These legit vehicles don’t come with prison time.”

“Damn Cap, you did twelve years! Man, I respect how you bounced back like a real big dawg. That’s how Josh go come back, he go come get a big bag. I’m just trying to never touch that shit,” Easy replied.

Cap nodded. “It wasn’t easy bouncing back my nigga. I had to switch up and reprogram my thinking to get these legitimate vehicles moving. I’m moving closer to my destination. I’m bout to cop these other properties and I plan on being done with this dope shit for real. The check made off, I have to get away from the Game completely. I drove this vehicle as far as possible. The next man gotta step up and feed the block. That’s supposed to be you. You gotta be all the way focused, ready to take the wheel, because I don’t want you crashing bleed.”

Easy responded, “I’m already focused. Ain’t no crashing. You might as well plug me in, go ahead and kick your feet up big dawg. I’m gonna move that dope even faster.”

Thoughts about being more connected instantly had Easy excited. He knew Cap was getting at least 10 bricks at a time, and the possibility of getting that type of pack gave him a burst of energy.

“Listen, you still being one track minded E. I know you go move the dope, but you gotta diversify. The dope is still only one vehicle. You can have a plug but it’s only so long before something go wrong in this game. You need to play these other games. You gotta hop in other vehicles bruh”.

. Look, there’s a project I want you to check out. I told you to park over here so you can see this.”

Cap pointed to a yellow and white two-family house with boarded-up windows. The property had a ‘for sale’ sign stuck in the uncut grass. Two windows had wood boards over them. Clearly nobody was living there. The abandoned house definitely needed some work. “That spot’s for sale for $12,000. You can fix it up with $18,000. Altogether, $30,000 will get it running. Rent it out, and that’s guaranteed cash flow—a whole other vehicle driving towards riches”

“Cap, I ain’t tryna put 30 Gs in that house. I can flip another brick or put a Rollie on my wrist.. That rent ain’t enough money, bruh! What’s it go be, like a soft stack every month?”

Cap smiled, knowing this was a long game. “But that’s another vehicle, E. You entering another Game. You gotta start at the bottom and grind up. Get some experience. It’s just like the dope game. You ain’t start with a brick. What’s the first pack you copped?”

“I bought a 50 block from that nigga Tat, made like $110 off it,” responded Easy. “That smooth $60 profit got me hooked to the paper chase, I been trappin ever since.”

“Exactly, the same way you started with a 50 block is the same way, you start with one house. And trust me, this investment vehicle drives itself. With the house you don’t gotta chase it, you don’t gotta be on the block, you don’t have to pull up on drops serving them. For real, it’s gone be like  $1,500 every month from this one spot, going to your bank account. You gone have that $30,000 sitting around anyway, might as well have it sitting in that property. It’s more safe there. Nobody can steal your equity. A jacker can’t rob you for your house. Make the house a shoebox. And this type of shoebox add money to it. The house bring in rent money, and the house go appreciate over time. Do that shoebox stash at home add money on it’s own Easy?”

Cap was speaking, really trying to get through to his young nigga, wanting Easy mind to be open to new ways.

“Plus the game get deeper once you in it. It’s just like the dope game got deeper once you went from buying hard to cooking caine. When you get the property fixed up, after you  put that $30,000 into it, then you can get it appraised. These type of properties in this area going for about $80,000 right now, that’s the ARV, after repair value. You can snatch the equity out the house, like going in your stash. Get a 75% LTV loan and get sixty thousand back out. After that repeat the process by buying two more properties. Utilize that debt money to buy something else. I’m go put you on to this financing, my lender cool, he on the team. I’m go put you on with the knowledge and connections, you go be able to level up off top. You gotta get with it bleed”. Cap leaned in, emphasizing his point. “After you make your money back, it’s all profit, forever. No re-up, no product, just cash flow. And you can’t get robbed for your house. That equity is yours, and the property keeps appreciating”. And you ain’t worried about going to prison. Imagine having 10 houses bringing in that money, that’s $15,000 a month. Plus the homes going up in value. Right now you gotta start with the one property, build up from there. You was happy with the $60 off that first pack and now you looking down on free stacks! Come on bruh, you gotta get with this. Make the house a shoebox, get another vehicle going”.

Easy was listening now, nodding slowly. He could feel the wisdom in Cap’s words, the shit was interesting. Easy liked making money. He knew that big money was in the real estate game.  It’s just that Easy’s mind was already filled with ways to survive and thrive in the game he was already in. The streets take a lot of energy, it’s so much to be aware of, so many variables and elements to think of. Driving the dope vehicle is like Nascar, the game just moving so fast. The pull of the streets don’y stop. So trying to get in another game is difficult when you knee deep in the dope game. Easy was buying the pack, riding with the pack, stashing the pack, cooking the pack, selling the pack, managing the money, dealing with all type of people. His thoughts were filled to capacity at this time. He was fully strapped into this cocaine car.

I feel you dig dawg, I feel you. Let me think about everything you saying Cap. I gotta get some bread together. I’m gone get back with you. Right now I gotta get to these drops.”

Easy phone had been going off constantly, people calling him for everything from a quarter ounce of crack to 4 1/2 zips of soft. He really was serving niggas, hands on with the action. Easy was pulling up on niggas with the scale and giving them their grams in their face like that.

“Hello, yeah I’m bout to pull up on you bleed, everything straight”. Easy spoke into one of the two flip phones he had before hanging up and putting them in his hoodie. “I’m gone get with you Cap”. He gave his older nigga dap, then jumped out off the black leather seats into the high 80° weather, instantly filling the scorching heat.

Cap rolled the window down,“Hey, remember what I was just saying about these vehicles bleed, invest in them, diversify”

“Right now I got a fresh brick bruh, and it’s hot. So I’m thinking about downing this pack in this AC Cap”. Easy stated this as he was laughing, walking away. Easy was watching his surroundings carefully while holding the bag of dope in one hand and clutching the Glock on his waist with the other hand. He hopped in the trap vehicle he had and drove off to get his money.

Cap pulled off, listening to Let’s Get It/Sky’s The Limit. Jeezy was rapping:

“I see opportunity, I’m an opportunist / Nigga you heard what I said, I’m an opportunist / Soft to hard, white to green, all these free agents / You better build your team.”

Cap drove away, reflecting on the lesson. He was determined to keep teaching the younger generation that the game was bigger than dope. Investment vehicles, real ones, were the keys to true wealth. He’d been trapped in the streets long enough to know that if you only have one vehicle, you’re bound to crash.

Cap was conscious of Easy being part of his team. Of course, money was a significant element of their relationship—they were both assisting one another in getting paid. Money was their main priority, no doubt. This wasn’t altruism.

However, there was a genuine interest in each other’s well-being, the type of care that typically comes from being raised in the same hood. When you claim the same block as someone, a bond naturally forms. The real ones want to see the other real ones elevate. Cap genuinely wanted the best for Easy, and he knew that as an older G it was his duty to shine a light on Easy’s path. He could see Easy was being reckless. Easy wasn’t seeing the whole court, just as Cap hadn’t at his age. Cap knew this because he used to be that same young nigga—cocky, getting money, and ignorant to the broader game. He could see the potential crash coming and wanted to help prevent it.

As he pulled up to the Tank, Cap thought about how far he’d come—and how much farther he had to go. The Tank was the nickname for the neighborhood convenience store. The name stemmed from a time when niggas used to stand in the parking lot, moving multiple bricks of crack every day. It was a war zone with all the action and heat, hence the name The Tank.

By now, The Tank wasn’t going hard like it once did, but it was still producing some income through walk-ups and ride-through fiends. You could still make money there if you were brave and wise enough to handle the grind. It was still hot though—police always lurking, looking to rush a Black man they presumed to be dealing drugs.

The prevalence of cell phones with unlimited minute plans had transformed the hood. This shift destroyed the traditional block hustle by moving most of the customers to individual phones. The game had morphed into building your own network rather than standing on the block. The streets were drying up and dividing. The hood was becoming more and more individualistic

This was the same store where Cap had been caught about 14 years earlier. A police vice unit had pulled up five cars deep one Thursday evening, blitzing everybody standing out front. People were slammed on the hot hoods of police vehicles. The cops choked two individuals who were believed to have swallowed dope.

Back then at the time Cap had his 5.0 Mustang parked in the lot with about 70 ounces of cocaine in the trunk. He had been serving many niggas, so moving dirty like that was normal. Young and reckless, Cap had gotten caught by the pigs with his pants down, no homo. That mistake would cost him 12 years of his life. He was well aware of this truth as he pulled up to The Tank today. He had just sold his last product to Easy. While serving time, he had made a vow to never carry dope at The Tank again. Driving a dope vehicle at The Tank was a guaranteed accident waiting to happen.

Cap’s mind drifted to how legendary it would be if he actually owned The Tank. Transforming his old, illegitimate stomping grounds into a legitimate asset in his portfolio would be a full-circle move.

While inside the store, Cap ran into Lee, a nigga from the block, roughly the same age as him. Lee was considered second-generation Cliffview too, but he was washed up in the hood now, just an ordinary player at this point. He’d gotten money back in the ’90s when the block had enough customers for everyone to get a slice, when everyone could easily down their pack, but times had changed. Lee and others like him couldn’t adapt to the new hustle. He couldn’t build a new money-making vehicle, so he was stuck on the block, broke.

On top of that, PCP—water—had slowed Lee’s mind down. That drug had messed up a lot of dudes from his generation. Cap always stayed away from that shit. Nevertheless, Lee was still from the hood, still a member of the block, and still treated with respect. Financial situation or drug addiction didn’t matter when it came to being from Cliffview. You could be down bad and still be from the block. People would still pick you up, ride with you, buy you something to eat, and drop you right back off at the corner. People would still pick you up on rainy or cold days to bend the block.

Cap and Lee grew up together on Cliffview hill, in the old projects. They had their first fights together, sold their first stones together, and bought their first vehicles together. Lee was even there when Cap caught his case at The Tank back in the day. Lee was the one Cap had pulled into the parking lot to serve that day. Lee had called Cap for two ounces. Cap had actually considered that it may had been Lee that set him up. But with no proof Cap dismissed it as what it was, Cap just had gotten caught slipping.

They were day ones—real members from the block. Still, during Cap’s 12-year bid, Lee never sent pictures or visited, despite their childhood bond. It didn’t matter though—Cap was used to it. People be fake in the streets. And when you go to prison it is out of sight, out of mind for real. That’s how things go in the hood. Despite all that, Cap still handed Lee $50 when he asked for it, a soft gapper. It’s the way of the hood. We all we got.

After doing that good deed, Cap jumped back in his vehicle and went about his business.

Cap was headed to the Small Business Administration to get assistance writing a business plan for his next real estate venture. He needed to create more legitimate vehicles, ones that could take him far from the hood that had brought both pain and profit. He was seeking a place of paradise, moving towards new destinations, driven by better investments.