Page 12 of Cannon

I had what I needed, gloves, flashlight, a new shovel, and a cheap-ass burner.

I wasn’t planning on staying in Reese’s house long, and I damn sure wasn’t gonna be moving around broke. I needed my own. My own crib, my own paper, my own plan.

I was headed to the house that I grew up where I buried a bag of cash. The Prices’ old home was still owned by Reese, but she was currently renting it to a young family. She told me she would evict them so that I could live there and I told her “hell no.” I damn near came to blows with her, suggesting that she look out for me like that.

I believe that men become better when we overcome adversity. I was not letting a woman make sure that I was good. If push came to shove, I’d rather sleep on a park bench for months until I got it on my own.

But that bag I buried? It was from back when I first started hustling. I had the good sense to save my first $5, 000. Just a little something I stashed for a rainy day.

And it had been stormin’ for five years.

It was always supposed to be my last resort. Something that no one knew about.

I headed toward the old Price house in Jersey. That house was where it all started and ended. It used to feel like home. Now? Just another place that belonged to somebody else.

I parked a block away. Killed the engine. Sat there for a minute.

The house looked smaller than I remembered. New paint, different porch lights, but the bones were the same. The windows were dark except for one dim glow in the back, maybe a nightlight, maybe a bathroom. Whatever. I wasn’t planning on getting caught.

I grabbed the shovel and slid on the gloves, moving like a shadow through the side alley. My boots crunched soft against the dirt path behind the tool shed. That’s where I buried it. Several feet deep. Wrapped in tarp, tucked beneath a pile of rocks.

I started digging. Slow at first. Controlled. The dirt was harder than I remembered, packed from years of rain andneglect. Every stroke of the shovel sent vibrations up my arms, sweat already breaking across my forehead.

Cursing under my breath, I wondered if I was off by a few feet. Wondering if some new resident found it and spent it.

Just when I was about to say fuck it, I hit something.

A dull thud. My chest tightened.

I dropped to my knees and clawed at the dirt with gloved hands until I uncovered the edge of a thick plastic tarp. I yanked it loose, revealing the black duffel I’d wrapped duct tape around ten different ways.

I opened it, heart thumping.

The cash was still there. Damp but intact. $5, 000 in rubber-banded stacks. Not life-changing money, but enough to make a move.

There was also an old prepaid flip phone with a dead battery, and a Polaroid photo I didn’t remember packing, me and Reese on the front porch, barefoot and grinning. Nathan must’ve taken it. Back when the world still felt solid.

The back porch light suddenly flipped on.

I froze. Eyes narrowed. Somebody was up.

A dog started barking from inside. Curtains shifted. I grabbed the duffel, hauled ass back toward the alley, cutting behind the neighbor’s bushes and leaping the side fence like my freedom depended on it. Which it did.

I dove into the car, tossed the bag on the floor, and peeled off into the night, dirt still under my nails and old memories scraping the back of my skull.

I didn’t even know where I was headed when I hit the freeway. I just drove. Knuckles tight on the wheel, jaw locked, brain still back there in that dirt.

Being near that house made me think of how life was before I started hustling. Before the streets got a hold of me. It was myfault my adoptive father was dead. That guilt eats at me every day.

I needed a drink.

Somewhere dark. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that didn’t play no happy-ass music. As I drove to the city, Reese called me but I didn’t bother answering. I had already decided I was going to stay in a hotel for the night. Gage had pissed me off and I needed space.

I needed to be alone and I had not had moments alone since I was last in solitary.

Just after she called me, I received a call from Tyran’s number.

“What up? You ready to get rich?!” I asked.