Page 28

You can find anything about anyone on the internet as a regular peon. So imagine what me, a muthafucka who learned to type before he learned to write, can find out.

When the sweetest girl I know comes to me in tears, talking about a nigga disrespected her, it makes it real hard to keep up the facade of normalcy I show her.

Because my sweet girl doesn't bother anybody. She has a compliment for even the devil, and a smile for the most rotten mothafucka. She’s my own personal sun.

Her and my daughter.

But her and my therapist and everyone else have me under a microscope. Looking for any and all signs that I’m letting my monster run free.

I kept it cool last night, though. I held her, and we watched Dreamgirls–the original and the remake–and let her sleep while I tended to Sadé. I didn’t show any signs of malice. I didn’t zone out. I didn’t even look at my phone while she was awake.

I can’t speak for when she fell asleep.

I can’t confirm nor deny that Sadé was in her harness, sucking on her paci while I found everything I could about that nigga, syncing his accounts to my phone, transferring the deed of his house to one of my aliases, and reading his emails and browsing history.

The shit he looks up to jack off to… even if he didn’t hurt my Ace I’d get her away from him.

She didn’t buy my good boy act this morning when she went for work, but she wasn’t going to stay home. Not when I reminded her they’re having a taco party today.

An hour after everyone else leaves, I pack up Sadé and make my way to the Birch. I ring the special doorbell, and a minute later Ms. Katrina answers with a wry grin on her face. She blows a kiss at Sadé before letting me inside, and I see Reem on the couch with Angel.

Reem looks up and his eyes soften at my baby girl.

“The fuck you doing here?”

“Playdate, nigga. You’re predictable; family time is always Monday mornings before pickup.”

Ms. Katrina lifts Sadé out of her harness and goes to put her in Angel’s playpen. I set Sadé’s bag down on the table and sit.

“What you gotta do that you bringing her here?”

When I shrug, he grins at me.

“Aw shit. I told her not to tell yo ass.”

Ms. Katrina sucks her teeth, and when I look at her, she’s tapping her foot.

You need to stay out of trouble, dy, she signs to us, making me grin.

“I will. I’ll even take Reem with me so I have a chaperone.”

Reem shakes his head before kissing Angel on hers and setting her on the floor. Her busybody self gets up and waddles to her grandmother, who scoops her up and kisses her.

“C’mon nigga. You can take me to Ty after.”

We dip out and make our way to an office building down the block from Brina’s. That’s probably how my Ace met this clown.

She swears I’m a disrespectful dog. And maybe I am a dog, but disrespectful? I’m not. Getting in women’s faces? Calling them out their names? Not if they don’t deserve it.

And my sweet girl don’t deserve that shit.

“Yo bitch know you out here defending other females?”

Reem asks as I park illegally on the curb.

“One: I don’t have a bitch, and a bitch don’t have me. And two: she’s no regular female, and I’ll be damned if a nigga even breathes at her or Sadé wrong. Are you waiting in the car?”

He waves me off.

“Yeah. Don’t kill the nigga, dy.”

It’s my turn to wave him off as I bounce out.

I enter the lobby and smirk. The receptionist is young, Black, and attractive, and when we lock eyes, I know she knows who I am.

She squeals as I lean on the desk and lick my lips.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Oh. My. GOD. Shotta! Can I take a picture with you?”

“Of course. Before you do, can you call a Brandon Farlane here?”

“Hell yea!”

She dials an extension and relays the message before getting her cell phone and leaning close to me. We flick up, and I even wrap my arm around her neck like I know her and let her record a video. But I stop at singing. I don’t do that shit for free for nobody.

Brandon’s bitch ass gets off the elevator, looking every bit a Poindexter.

“Mona, you called for me?”

“Nah, I called for you,”

I say as I stand straight. His eyes expand, and he grins nervously.

“Uh, how–”

I forget to pull my punch as my knuckles meet the side of his face, and poor lil Brandon drops like a sack of shit.

The entire lobby freezes as I chuckle. This nigga doesn’t even deserve to live on the same planet as my Ace.

I grab the half-empty bottle of water on the receptionist’s desk and pour it on Brandon’s face, startling him back awake. When I crouch down, I try to look away from the blood leaking from his nose. Twenty-six and I’m still queasy around blood, but whatever. I’m still a real nigga.

“This is a preview of the rest of your short, miserable life,”

I say so only he can hear.

“For every tear that rolled down baby girl’s cheeks, something in your life will go wrong, until you wish I ended you today instead of just knocking yo weak ass out, pussy ass nigga.”

I stand straight, looking dead at the camera nestled between the wall and ceiling. When I walk away, I wink at the receptionist, and her freak ass simpers.

When I get back in the car, I check my program on my phone to make sure the cameras in their lobby and outside have been erased for the last thirty minutes. When I’m satisfied, I pull off toward Storyville, where I know for sure Ty is.

“Feel better?”

Reem asks, sparking up.

“Meh,”

I shrug. My phone pings and I check it at a red light.

Mace

Can we watch Sparkle tonight? I'll get you Soul Food Spot ;)

Musicals are her comfort, which means she’s still sad. I drain Brandon’s savings and reroute it through several shell companies and accounts to the one I set up for Sadé, then go back to our text thread.

Anything u want, shorty. I’ll get the food 2.

Youre the best dy :*

I shake my head to hide my smile and put my phone away before grabbing the blunt from Reem.

“Yeah, I feel better.”

“Good, ‘cause ain’t no telling how that meeting with Rico and Pooh finna go… you sure this the only way?”

I pull up in front of Storyville and put my whip in park.

“I went over this shit a million ways, and Pooh’s the only one with enough juice that we know that can get us into this. But you know he likes to stay lowkey. Nigga still mad you popped Ghost last year.”

Reem nods, blowing out smoke before putting the blunt out.

“Fasho. Just keep an eye on him.”

“Always.”

We dap each other up and he exits my whip to go get Rico. Truthfully, it’s a seventy-five percent chance this meeting will end in bloodshed. I just don’t know who will be bleeding.

Last time I checked, Rico and his pops haven’t been in the same room since his mother’s funeral. Pooh came in dramatic fashion and made the mistake of bringing some of his honeybees.

Rico knocked his ass out cold. Poor Nan, Rico’s grandmother, started having heart palpitations. That made Fredo go up on Rico, and next thing you know, they throwing haymakers right by the casket.

Causing it–and their mom–to fall on them. Which made Nan faint.

Which started it all over again.

Somehow he blames Pooh on why he and his brother had their only fist fight, and he has a bullet with his name carved into it that he keeps on him.

Asking him to meet with Pooh after so long is a tall order, and the fact he’s even willing to do it, I know he understands how serious this is.

My passenger door opens and Rico slides in. His hair is longer than it usually is, and he’s got the makings of a beard, a telltale sign he’s about to be or already on one of his mysterious escapades.

“Last chance to back out,”

I mutter. Set and I may be blood, but we’re all brothers, bound by shit muthafuckas couldn’t even imagine. I know all about complicated paternal relationships, and I know that Rico’s hatred runs deep, neverending really.

I never wanna put my bro in some shit that’ll take him forever to bounce back from.

He sighs.

“I’m good.”

I nod, turning my engine over so we can start the drive to the Hive.

“Wassup with the hair? You look more Hispanic than Nut.”

Rico glances at me, but he’s still stoic as fuck, looking at the window like he’s finna turn himself in.

The silence becomes awkward as he doesn’t answer me, so I just turn my music up as we fight midday traffic. He’s probably mentally preparing himself. Pooh isn’t as much a mystery as Rico, but he’s still as slick and manipulative as any oldhead pimp would be. There’s a reason we leave him be.

We’re off the expressway in the boonies when Rico suddenly turns my shit off.

“You know what a Saturn Return is?”

I cock my head to the side.

“Should I?”

“Brina and Dal are obsessed with that astrology shit. Apparently, we’re all going through a Saturn Return. Well, not you and Brina, since y’all still wet behind the ears. The rest of us though… we all supposed to be going through all these big changes.”

“I mean, you did turn thirty this year. That’s big shit, too. Shit, we’re all getting older. We all have shit to lose now, not like it used to be ten, fifteen years ago. So it makes sense you’re doing your Saturn whatever.”

Rico grunts and runs his hand through his hair. It’s almost long enough for some neck braids.

“Only shit I know about that is that I’m an Aquarius. I think Tati said I was a Scorpio moon, and that explained why I was so musical.”

I chuckle to myself, remembering how excited she was to order my birth certificate for my birth time, just to tell me I was made to be a fuck boy.

“You miss her?”

Rico asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Truthfully, it’s the first time anyone’s asked me that. Me and Tati were hella close. She was the big sister I always wanted. Sometimes it would just be me, her, and Sean, or even me and her with my grandparents at church, or in the library. She was the first person I took to Storyville. We clung to each other in our grief over Sean, and then in a blink of an eye, she was gone, too.

But while she was my sister, she was Nut’s better half. And I had to shove my own grief aside to make sure he didn’t go off the deep end.

I sigh, lamenting on that recurring theme of my life.

“Yeah, I do. I miss all of them.”

Rico pops his knuckles as we pull up to the gate. I put in the code for the BBs and it creaks open, letting me pass.

I pull around the fountain, turn off my car, but I make no move to get out. Rico’s tense as fuck in the passenger seat, the most bothered I’ve seen him in a long ass time.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“C’mon Ricky, you can’t kill this nigga,”

he whispers to himself.

“You kill him, you gotta kill the honeybees. It’s not worth it. You’re trying to get it right. Don’t kill him, Ricky. Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him.”

He brings the heels of his palms to his eyes as he chants to himself, before aggressively rubbing his face from his hair to his chin.

And my dumb ass is stuck just staring.

I almost wanna call Reem, Ty, or shit, even Nut, but I’m afraid to make any sudden movements.

“Ricky. You. Cannot. Kill. Him,”

he scolds himself under his breath, before sighing. Then, like magic, his whole body relaxes into the seat. He throws a lazy grin my way, before running his tongue ring across his lips.

“C’mon, dy. Let’s go parlay with my pops.”

And they be saying we neck and neck in the crazy department. Yeah aight.

We exit the car and before we get up the stairs, a fine ass woman in a maid outfit opens the door. Her eyes widen at Rico before she averts them to the ground, and steps back to let us pass.

There’s beautiful women all through the halls, pointing, whispering, and giggling at Rico. He seems to know the layout of the Hive, because before I know it, we’re at Pooh’s office.

The door’s ajar, but Rico doesn’t stop and knock. He barges in, so shit, I go in right after him, and quickly learn why we should have knocked.

This nigga Pooh man… he’s leaning back in his office chair, grunting his release down one of his honeybee’s throat, pinning her head down and all.

I cover my ears immediately. Ain’t nobody tryna hear no old nigga getting head.

The girl gets up and saunters out, licking the leftover cum off her lips as she passes.

Pooh tucks himself in, rubs hand sanitizer on his hands, and stands, grinning at his oldest son, showing them fangs of his.

“Oh, isn’t this a treat?”

I lower my hands, ready to take point, but Rico beats me to it.

“After thirty years of being the most useless nigga I know, you’re finally of use to me besides being target practice.”

I blanch, whipping my head to Rico.

“Nigga,”

I whisper, but Pooh holds his hand up, silencing me.

Pooh may be a pimp extraordinaire, and owner of the Hive, a high-class brothel on the edge of town that caters to the rich and powerful, but he’s still an old head BB, and one of two niggas we do kind of show respect to, the other being Tati’s dad Sarge. Like I’m known for my sawed off, Pooh’s known for that sharp ass razor he keeps in his sleeve, as well as the one he keeps in his mouth. That nigga had literally sliced muthafucka’s faces off for less.

And son or not, he doesn’t seem like the type of nigga to tolerate disrespect.

He grins wider.

“I was useful enough to plant not one, but two seeds in yo mama, now wasn’t I?”

“Watch it, before I make good on that promise I gave Ma on her deathbed and finally put one between your eyes,”

Rico grits. He takes a step forward, making Pooh chuckle.

“And then you can take my place, where you belong, guiding my honeybees like you were born to do.”

“I’m nothing like yo tired shrivel-dick ass, old man. The worst type of nigga, on Foe.”

Pooh’s eyes darken.

“And yet, you’re flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. Spitting image of me, and got my smooth rap to boot. My proudest achievement if I do say so myself, making not one, but two clones of me, full of isms. May God rest Fredo’s soul.”

I grab Rico’s arm to keep him from taking another step and feel how much he’s truly holding back. Pooh could probably do this all day, but Rico doesn't have many more words for his pops.

“We need your help, Pooh. That nigga Sincere linked up with the Mathers brothers and they’re coming for us.”

Pooh’s eyes harden as they shift to me.

“That’s not surprising; y’all niggas took out his pops. Some niggas still believe in going hard for the nigga who sired them.”

Rico scoffs.

“That nigga is a pussy and linked up with niggas already mad because he can’t stand on his own two. No need to throw jabs, old man; I’d piss on your grave, but I’d still avenge your murder, if only because they took the opportunity away from me.”

He snatches out of my grip and rubs his face a few times.

“That nigga shot Set. Boog’s son. Don’t that mean some shit to you?”

Pooh shrugs, taking his hat off to blow imaginary dust off of it.

“Sincere is Ghost’s son, too. Sincere came to me, and I’ll tell you the same thing I told him: I’m staying out of it, which is really a favor to Baby Boog, anyway. That nigga killed Ghost, and I know he killed Qi Mathers way back. Nigga should have tied up his loose ends.”

“What–”

“Aight. Nigga shot at me, too. Now what? You gone ride?”

Pooh chuckles, taking a seat.

“You can’t pick and choose when you wanna mean something to me, son. You either break bread with me or you don’t. Which will it be?”

He makes an inviting gesture, a victorious smirk on his face.

Rico shoves his hand in his pocket before walking over to the bookshelf.

“The day I’ll know true peace is the day I put this through that thick ass skull of yours,”

he whispers, standing a bullet as big as my pinky finger on the shelf. He turns and steadily walks out, fists clenched at his sides.

“You’ll never be able to kill me, son,”

Pooh calls to his back, but Rico doesn’t break stride.

I rub my temples, trying to remind myself that though it’s just us in this office, Pooh has the Hive locked down, and I can’t actually hurt this nigga.

“Pooh, what the fuck?”

This nigga grins like a cheshire cat, standing up again.

“A deal’s a deal. When I get the invite to the next auction, I’ll forward it to you.”

“When you said you just wanted to lay eyes on Rico, I didn't think you’d do the fucking most!”

I whisper-shout.

This nigga just waves me off, walking to grab the bullet Rico left for him. A Winnie The Pooh is engraved along it, and he smiles to himself, pocketing the bullet.

“Rico is committed to me being the villain in his story, so being sentimental was out of the question. If throwing jabs is the only way he’ll spend more than five minutes in the same room as me, I’ll take it. You’ll understand when that pretty little girl of yours gets older and stops thinking you’re her own personal God.”

He squeezes my shoulder, and gestures for me to go first.

The women are scarce now, but two big ass security guards flank us as we walk out the front door.

Rico is leaning against my Jeep, smoking a cigarette. He rolls his eyes when he sees us approaching, and flicks the butt away.

“Like it or not, you’re more like me than you think. And just like me, you’ll probably fall for a broad that is a sinking ship. Then you’re gonna have to choose between sinking or saving yourself. Maybe after that, you’ll understand me a little more.”

Rico snatches the door open and climbs in after me, and we peel off before he does something crazy.

“Use me as a pawn again, and I’ll rip your vocal chords out with my bare hands.”

His voice comes out low, monotone, and clear as fuck, leaving no room for error.

“I won’t… but in my defense, how was I supposed to know it would be that bad? He made it seem like he’d be begging for forgiveness, not antagonizing you.”

“You not knowing is the only reason you’re still able to sing pretty covers of songs to your seed. But if you don’t take me somewhere to do something soon, I can’t be blamed for what I do to you.”

I roll my eyes at his dramatic ass.

“I gotta go by Sahara’s. We can roll through the POD tonight with Ty if you can hold off.”

I glance at Rico when I don’t hear an immediate reply. His eyes are closed, head back on the rest, muttering to himself.

“Aight nigga,”

he eventually mumbles, before putting in his airpods and retreating into his own world.

I don’t let up from the doorbell. I already know Sincere’s here at Sahara’s crib, and she’s probably trying to hide him, scrambling.

That thought brings a smile to my face as I keep ringing the doorbell. You need a code to even get into the elevator to get to her floor, so I know she’s wondering how I’m even here unannounced.

It shows when she opens the door flustered, holding her robe closed. Her eyes stretch and she tries to pat down that tired ass weave.

I collar her neck, pushing her back as I walk in.

“Watchu doing, huh?”

I croon, backing her into a wall.

“Wha-what are you doing here?”

she asks breathlessly.

I smirk down at her.

“I can’t come see my girl? What was you doing?”

Fear and arousal make a pungent mix as her eyes dance around my face, trying to read me. I’ve been ducking her calls since the after party, but that hasn’t stopped her from posting me any chance she gets.

“I was just about to shower.”

“The water not running, Sahara. You lying to me?”

I squeeze her neck just enough to make her gasp.

I glance at the coffee table and zone in on a random phone. Shit really be aligning, even when I’m on some nefarious shit.

Before Sahara can see what has my attention, I let her go and lick my lips.

“I need my duffel. It’s still in your closet right?”

Her eyes stretch as she grabs my arm.

“My room’s dirty. Let me get it.”

I cock my head to the side, glancing at her hand before focusing back on the panic spreading on her face.

“I know you dirty. That don’t bother me.”

I begin to walk toward her room, but she stops me again.

“No, this is too much. I’ll get it.”

She zooms off to her room, closing the door behind her.

I waste no time going to the phone and unlocking it. Dumb ass nigga don’t even have a password. I text my special six-digit number, and click the link that automatically replied to it. Once the Takashi Murakami flower populates on the screen, I delete the text thread, lock the phone, and place it back on the coffee table.

Sahara comes back out to the living area with my Louis Vuitton duffel. I snatch it from her and palm the back of her neck.

“You gotta nigga in that room?”

I seethe, for shits and giggles.

She’s opening and closing her mouth like a fish, her eyebrows pinching when I break into a smile.

I let her go.

“Just kidding. I know you ain’t that stupid.”

She tries to laugh it off, but only ends up clearing her throat.

“D-don’t play like that, .”

I swing the duffel over my shoulder and begin backing out of her place.

“Why? You scared of me?”

I cackle, making her flinch.

Terror grips her up until I close the door. The locks engage right after, like that could stop me from going back in there.

Sahara used to trip so bad about me not letting her in. About her wanting to be a part of my life, especially after my pops died. Always fascinated with the shit Van kept her away from for so long. She don't even see the walls are closing in, and her choices are gonna leave Van here all alone.

I facetime Cap on the way back to my car. He answers, bringing a fat blunt up to the screen.

“Wassup Shotta.”

“Put out K.A.N.O. and the video everywhere.”

Cap grins.

“You really on that good bullshit. Say less.”

We end the call and I get the notification that my video is up. Fuck it. Sincere wants to be a player in this game so bad, maybe a direct shot will get him to come out and play.