In the early seventies I worked as an estimator for the Claremont Ornamental Ironworks in Oakland. The shop was owned and operated by an Italian craftsman who knew how to design the most elaborate and elegant work imaginable, ornate doors, windows, and similar objects.
One would think that the business served the Carriage Trade, but Oakland being Oakland, instead the Black Aristocracy was our principal source of clients. The drug dealers in West and East Oakland needed their houses fortified against rivals, so they had us hopping.
One job I will never forget involved one of the Moore brothers, then the two most dangerous niggers in East Oakland. They lived out near the San Leandro line off East 14th right in niggerdom. I arrived at a modest residence and started to measure windows and doors. Since this Moore had a Dobermann, one of the bedrooms was its toilet. The floor was completely covered with dogshit, which I pretended not to notice. His woman was missing the middle four or five upper and lower teeth. Knowing niggers, I figured he had knocked them out to facilitate a smoother, more natural access for his daily blowjob.
I estimated the job at two grand, doubled him back to four, and told him I needed a deposit of of half the four thousand. He scrawled a signature on the proposal, pulled out the usual wad of one hundred dollar bills, and counted out "twenty of the muthahfuckahs."
We must have fortified every drug dealers' house in the East Bay, all for cash and all for a double markup. Only one job ever backfired. An elaborate iron door, which essentially replaced the traditional screen door, had to be remanufactured when it was totally removed and stolen by the expedient of removing the entire door frame, breaking and entering to steal a stash of drugs.
The irate dealer called us and after a sackful of muthahfuckahs, I agreed to redo the work at half the price, which would be our normal quote. For additional security, I told him that I would extend bars from the new door around the frame and into the house and then bolt the whole motherfucker from inside at no additional charge. He said, "Says which?" I repeated it and added a couple of more motherfuckers to raise his comprehension level. It worked and he finally understood.
We never had any trouble with those dealers, in fact, we were looked upon as a type of asset. I did get a call one day from the IRS on one of them. The Fed was calling around to see who had installed a major job of Ornamental ironwork on a house in Piedmont.I told the agent that I would go look and call him back. I had no recollection of a job in Piedmont, so if it was ours, it would have had to have been installed before my employment.
I could see from a block away that it was our work, which meant that we were in trouble with both the IRS and the niggers at the same time, a unique situation. I called the IRS and said that in fact it was our work. They wanted a copy of the paperwork for the job. I agreed to help, however I called the nigger and told him that I had to furnish evidence to the IRS, but I would lowball the figures. That worked with him since he was in a shitpot full of trouble and was actually grateful, so we were off the hook in two potential problem areas, one physical from the niggers and the other finanical from the IRS.
That double whammy taught me conclusively that it is never worthwhile to deal with niggers even for real money because the most intelligent person can never figure out what niggers will do next or what kind of trouble will come out of the association, Q.E.D., the IRS.
