Page 7

ONE

“I’m listening.”

“Eh– eh– Everything is in– in motion, El.”

“Let me know when the drop is made.”

“Su–su–sure thi–”

I ended the call, leaving Stephen and his speech impediment to tussle with the words coming from his mouth. Somewhere between his brain and tongue, they were lost in translation. Hadn’t the call been necessary, I wouldn’t have taken it.

Stephen was restricted to texts. Not because I wanted it that way, but because it was better that way. He preferred it and so did I.

The wooden desk drawer slid open with ease. I laid the navy blue Motorola beside three others. Dissatisfied with its position, I maneuvered it so that it was better aligned.

One inch in width.

One inch in height.

The distance between each phone mattered more to me than the phones themselves. They could easily be replaced. My sanity couldn’t be.

A nod prefaced the closure of the drawer, signaling my night’s end. The phones formed a rectangle. Two on the top row. Two on the bottom row.

I sealed the gap between the desk and the top of the drawer and stood to my feet. The hem of my tailored slacks lowered to meet my ankles. I unfastened the buttons on my sleeves and rolled them up my arm. My body’s temperature had risen slightly at the mere thought of the task ahead.

I stalked the length of the floor of my office until I reached the door. Once on the other side of it, I stared down the dimly lit hallway trying to conjure the words to uplift the only spirit I truly gave a damn about in this world.

But, still, without even one of the words forming on the tip of my tongue truly making sense in the moment, I continued. There was someone waiting for me on the end of that hallway. And though I didn’t have the words to say, they weren’t always necessary. My presence would have to suffice this time. I was almost certain it would matter more.

My fifth prayer of the day led me to my knees where I placed my hands in front of me, palms upright, and bowed my head. I wasn’t a devout Muslim like my Arabic mother or father, but my upbringing instilled habits, routines, practices, and morals within me that were direct reflections of Islam.

“Ya ‘iilahi, ‘aet alsalam liqalbiha warasiha waruhiha,” I prayed.

Dear God, bring peace to her head, her heart, and her spirit .

“Alsalam ealaykum warahmat allah wabarakatuh.”

Peace, mercy, and blessings of God be upon you .

Back on my feet, I strolled down the hallway with thoughts of my mother on my heart. She and my father were aging beautifully. Their home in The Highlands of Berkeley City, Huffington, was everything they’d imagined. It was my pleasure to provide it.

Though I didn’t spend as much time with them as I’d prefer, visits to Berkeley City were impactful. I never left the city without a full stomach and heart. My mother’s love was so plentiful that she could hardly contain it. She poured into me continuously during my stays. I never returned home the same man I’d walked into their dwelling as.

Knock.

Knock.

My knuckles tapped against the wood as I pushed the door open, slowly. A round face, sad brown eyes, and pursed lips stripped me of every barrier I’d built to survive in the jungle we called life. Pretty brown skin lured me toward the bed where I stood over my daughter.

“What’s up, pretty girl?”

Malaya stared up at me, hesitating with her response. A shallow breath left her mouth as she closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Nothing,” she sighed.

Realizing the first mistake I’d made, I lowered my body to the floor, again. I placed a hand on top of the cover she was comforted by and stared back at her. Now seemingly smaller in stature, I displayed my submission.

Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, I was willing to provide as long as it was within my reach. Though there wasn’t too much that wasn’t, some things simply weren’t in my control.

“You want to talk about it?”

Her pain was evident. It caused me physical, mental, and emotional discomfort. The fact that there was very little I could do to soothe her aches was far more hurtful than anything I’d experienced in my lifetime. Nothing did me dirty like Malaya’s pain. Nothing else had the power to.

Barriers .

She shook her head.

“No.”

Her glossed lips separated momentarily before disappearing. My daughter turned her entire body, facing the wall, now, instead of me.

Boundaries .

She was making hers clear. Words weren’t the course of action she was willing to take. She preferred silence and that’s exactly what I’d give her. I stood up and leaned over. My lips landed on her left cheek. Saltiness vexed my tastebuds. I swiped the wetness from them with the back of my hand.

“Malay–”

“Dad, please,” she begged.

I kissed the skin of my teeth as I accepted both of our defeat. Instead of prying, I backtracked, finding my way to the door again. I flipped the switch, cutting off her bedroom light. Inch by inch, I pulled the door closer to its frame. My heart was heavier upon exiting than it was upon entry.

“I’m sorry.”

The softness of Malaya’s voice lifted the anchor. The spirit of defeat quickly dissolved. And, my feet developed thoughts of their own. I wasn’t sure when the journey began, but within seconds I was in the queen-sized bed, near the wall, with the comforter underneath me.

Slowly, I pulled my daughter closer. Even at fifteen, she was still my baby. Her battles were mine and would always be. She’d never have to face any obstacles alone.

When I discovered her conception, I’d vowed to keep her safe. Security didn’t end at the physical aspects of Malaya’s life. She was safe physically, mentally, financially, emotionally, and spiritually as long I was breathing and likely after I was gone.

Her forehead pressed into my chest. Her left arm snaked from underneath the cover, clinging onto me as if I’d vanish. My right hand caressed her scalp, massaging the tension I felt immediately. Stress should’ve been the furthest from her young frame, but it was crippling her.

The silent tears were no longer silent. She heaved. Her back shook with pain with each pull of oxygen, with each transgression, with each memory, with each thought, and with each attempt to regain control of her emotions.

I didn’t try to coax her. I didn’t try to extract words from her. I didn’t try to silence her. I didn’t encourage her strength. I comforted her and gave her space to feel. She needed it. She deserved it.

“I’m sorry, Malaya,” I whispered with a kiss to her forehead, “I’m so sorry this is your reality.”

For an hour, I laid almost completely motionless as my daughter released everything she’d kept bottled up over the last two years. She was due for an emotional cleanse and tonight was the night for her. It wasn’t until she’d purged completely that the tears ended and the whimpering faded out.

Light snores reminded me of the sunshine after every storm. I closed my eyes, briefly, asking God to bring her clarity and comfort by morning. When the sun rose, I wanted Malaya to do the same. She’d been glued to her bed two days in a row, and I was growing more worried with each passing hour.

Now that she’d freed herself of some of the thoughts and things she was feeling, I was hoping things would begin to look up for us both. Counseling was the next option. If things didn’t begin to evolve for Malaya, I’d be seeking therapy.

Once her slumber deepened, I rested her head on the pillow she’d been laying on when I entered her bedroom. She didn’t budge. Not even when I slid out of the bed and closed her door behind me.

Sleep would evade me tonight. I quickly came to the realization as I headed back to my home office. My bed didn’t hold the slightest of my interests. I sat in the cushioned chair, landed my elbows on the surface of the desk, and placed a thumb underneath my chin.

Thoughts of Malaya forced my eyelids together. Deeply, I exhaled. As an early-stage teen, she deserved to live a carefree few years before the ways of the world began to warp her sense of everything, including reality. She didn’t deserve severe depression that kept her bedridden for days at the hands of others.

My pretty baby .

I replayed her words in my head, remembering how each sounded as they fell from her swollen, tear-stained lips.

“Just listen,” she begged, barely above a whisper. Her head was still planted in my chest. Her arm was still wrapped around me. My shirt was drenched in her sadness.

I nodded with every intention to do just that. Though she couldn’t see me, I knew she could feel the subtle movement. Malaya wasn’t looking for me to fix her issues. She simply wanted me to hear them. And, comfort her as she vented about them. I could do that. I would do that–whenever she needed me to.

“I feel like life is so unfair to me. I’m sad more often than not for things beyond my control. And yours. To make matters worse, this new school is taking so much adjusting. Everyone is mean and snobby and rich and have groups of friends that are hard to penetrate because they were formed at birth almost.”

Malaya paused, unable to catch her breath. Her mumbles were loud and clear, so was her disdain. She was going through the motions. I hated every second of it.

“They’re mothers are in Pilates together. Their fathers discuss business plans and 401Ks together. They swung on the same swings at the parks near their homes or right in their backyards. They study at the same coffee shops. They made the same cheer and sports teams. And, they’re older. I am a fifteen year old graduating senior. I’m just– I don’t fit in.”

You’re not supposed to. You’re special.

“It’s not that I want to, but it’s lonely. It’s lonely at home. It’s lonely at school. It’s lonely in my head. I just wish things were different. I just wish Mom was different.”

But they’re not and she’s not, so this is where we are, pretty girl . This is not your story. This is only part of it. This is the part that strengthens you to your core and helps you develop a sense of self. This is your pivotal moment. Take control, Malaya. You have to take control and claim the power I know is stored in that head of yours. I can’t do it for you, my baby, although I wish I could .

My thoughts never left my mouth, but they were still present. And, now that I was alone again, they wouldn’t allow me to find comfort. The night would be long.

“Well,” I breathed out, “A drink, I suppose.”

My hands grabbed ahold to the arms of the chair. I pushed upward, prepared to stand. However, the vibration of the phone in my desk halted me. The pattern was different. Much different from the others.

Though I knew it well, it never sounded against the wood because it never rang. It had a purpose much different from the others. The vibration signified something deeper. My heart fell into the pit of my stomach as I listened closely to make sure I wasn’t mistaken.

Once clarity struck, I slid the drawer open and grabbed the Motorola cell. It buzzed against my skin as I located the button with the green phone icon. I placed the device against my ear. With shallow breaths, I waited for someone to announce their presence. Mine was clear.

“Package secured.”

“Location?”

“The coop.”

“See you soon.”

A pause caused the silence to linger.

“Samson–”

“Yeah, bro?”

“Alive.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Don’t try, nigga. Make it happen.”

I ended the call and placed the phone in its rightful place, beside the three others. I jolted from my chair. The hairs on my back stood at attention, brushing against the damp button down with each move I made. I exited the office, conquered every square footage of the hallway, took the stairs two by two, and ended up on the first level of my home. My stride didn’t slow or stop there. I located the key fob for one of the five cars in my garage. Two taps of the start button and the engine of the coupe roared.

I continued down the second hallway until I reached my bedroom. I vanished behind the door. My closet was the destination. Once inside, I stripped my body of the threads covering it. Within seconds I was dressed in black from my head to my soles.

Casual attire for any occasion felt ridiculous to me, but tonight was the exception. The stains on my tailored pieces would be difficult to explain to my dry cleaning lady. She didn’t need the details of my life, just the depths of my pocket because they got me to the front of her list of clients every time I dropped off a new load.

I lowered my six-foot-two-inch frame into the coupe. A small black bag led the way. It rested on my passenger seat, pressuring the cushion from its weight.

The engine roared with a tap of the gas pedal. When the garage door was fully lifted, I reversed the car until my entire home was in full view. I lowered the garage, making sure there were no dummies ready to give their life to God lurking in my lawn. Satisfied with the security status of my dwelling and my daughter’s safety, I punched the gas, spinning around one hundred and eighty degrees and heading straight for the streets.

The black truck at the gate’s entry followed me out into the night, keeping a good distance between us. It wasn’t by choice. Raquim simply couldn’t keep up, which was why he’d been requesting the Trackhawk for months now. The customizations were taking time. Unbeknownst to him, it would be in his possession sooner than later.

Gravel shuffled underneath my tires. Street lights passed me in a blur. The wind from the cracked moonroof revived something within me that I’d tried suppressing since Malaya’s birth. The night air breathed life into the beast, awakening him from his slumber with each mile added to the dashboard.

I tilted my neck leftward until it popped. I then tilted it rightward until it popped a second time. My shoulders lifted and fell a total of four times before I settled in my seat.

Twenty-eight minutes later and the coop was in my line of vision. I exited the car with my bag in-hand. The engine purred as I put distance between us. There was no need to shut it down completely. I wouldn’t be long.

The door echoed in the empty space, announcing my presence. The dust from the floor crowded beneath my feet, forcing the hardening of my nostrils as they spread. I pursed my lips, advising my allergies to stand down. When the urge to sneeze left me, I continued.

“El–” Samson called out.

I tipped my head in his direction, greeting him without words. There was a more pressing matter on my dome. I didn’t have any words to share. The limp, fear-infused body sitting before me had captured my attention.

George .

He was the root of my daughter’s issues. He was the root of my daughter’s mother issues. He was the bane of my existence and the pain of Malaya’s. His time on earth was limited the minute I noticed the subtle changes in my ex, Yara.

I watched her beautiful spirit disintegrate before my very eyes. Month after month, those pretty brown eyes were stripped of life. Her soul was a bit more tainted. And, her light dimmed a little more.

The day I had to rip my daughter from her care was the first time I’d shed a tear in my forty years of life. Though she was a functioning addict, she wasn’t fit to care for Malaya twenty four-seven. Because she worked from seven in the morning until seven at night, she gave her best twelve hours to her patients. The other twelve were a smear on her calendar.

The second her body touched the toilet and her vein was visible, the needle was in her arm and she lost her natural spark. It was replaced with a heroine-induced nod that slowed her down completely. By two o’clock, she was coming around and her high had worn off. Malaya was already in bed after crying herself to sleep or tucked in her bed at my home.

Before I gained full custody, my daughter spent two weeks at her mother’s home and two weeks at mine. Those two weeks at my house, away from her mother’s pain, she thrived. She worried less. She was able to be the child she was supposed to be at her age. But, it didn’t come without the stress of her mother’s illness.

She imagined coming home to a cold, stiff body one day. I couldn’t take that chance. When she began expressing her fears, I had to step in fully and control the narrative of my daughter’s life. To the naked eye, Yara was an angel. She was caring, careful, and a giver at heart.

How she’d allowed a low life motherfucker to convince her to put a needle in her arm was beyond me and I’d never understand. But, in the midst of her shortcomings, I’d make sure all was well with our daughter. This wasn’t Yara’s story. It was only part of it and I still had faith she’d come out on top of this as she did everything else. She just needed time and patience and love. Malaya and I had enough of that for her.

What we’d shared was over, but my relationship with Yara wasn’t. We had a daughter. She’d keep us linked for life and I had no problem with that. I just needed her twenty-four hours to resemble the twelve hours she was clocked in and walking that hospital floor, making sure her patients didn’t die on her.

Malaya and I were rooting for her and hoping she didn’t die on us. I wouldn’t allow it. Our daughter needed her. Death wasn’t an option for either of us.

I snapped back to reality. George’s eyes were covered with a black cloth. His mouth was stuffed with the same fabric. Both were obstructing my view. My joy. My pleasure. My happiness. My gratitude.

I reached behind his head and untied the black cloth. It fell to the ground next to his chair. I removed the tape from his mouth.

“URGH!” He yelped in pain as the cloth fell onto his lap.

I grabbed the bottled water from the small table next to him. Simultaneously, I sat the black bag on top of it. Suddenly, everything inside of it felt pointless. I had other plans for George.

“Israel– Israel, man. What– what’s going on, man? What is–”

He didn’t deserve a quick death. Nor did he deserve a simple one. He needed to suffer. Just like Malaya. Just like Yara. Just like me.

“Drink.”

I held the uncapped bottle at his lips.

“Tell me what this is all about, man. I– What I do, Is– What’s happening?”

“You’re dying tonight, George. Drink.”

The silence around us made the sound of gushing fluid ring out. Because I had yet to begin pouring the water, confusion plagued me. But, when the scent of urine entered my nostrils, I had a full understanding.

Hydration was clear. George didn’t need even the smallest sip of water. I placed the water back on the small table and removed my gun from my waistline. I sat it on top of the bag with the rest of my tools. I pushed my sleeves up toward my elbows and retrieved the knife from the holster around my ankle. This was personal. This was very fucking personal.

The first breech of the blade entered his rib cage, just underneath the third bone. He’d survive it, but there were more to come.

“Ahhhhhh.”

The sound of pain in his voice was profound. It brought unspeakable joy to my soul. It was addictive, leading to the next piercing. And, the next. And, the next.

Blackness surrounded me. I grew numb and his screams were so far in the distance that I couldn’t hear them anymore. I couldn’t hear anything but her .

The soundless tears that sounded like bombs dropping on my heart. The exhaustion in her voice from staying up at night, worrying her mother wouldn’t be alive to see the next sunrise. The stress. The depression. The lack of mobility simply because life was too hard to manage some days.

Pretty baby .

George had played on Yara’s fragility and that hurt me to the core. Her heart was gold. Everyone she’d ever encountered knew it. To have her spirit broken, her innocence revoked, and her choice to lead a healthy life taken away from her was unacceptable.

Yara barely touched meat. Ate clean. Floated through nursing school while pregnant and dealing with a newborn at home. Meditated. Visited the Pilates studio three times a week. Consumed more fruit than an island-dweller. And, knew her patients better than most of their close relatives.

She was love. In the dictionary, right underneath the word should’ve been her name. The love she gave was the reason I couldn’t let her drown in the mess this nigga had created for her. I’d throw her a life vest and bring her onto the raft whenever she was ready. I just needed her to be ready. She wasn’t yet, and that was alright. She would be soon.

Our daughter was the driving force behind her journey to treatment. I was confident in her ability to fight her demons. Malaya made the battle worthwhile. She loved our daughter with everything inside of her and her absence was killing her.

“El– El. EL!” Samson yelled, snapping me out of the trance I’d fallen victim to.

I paused, eyes feeling twice their size. My body had stiffened. My grip had tightened around the knife. The beast had been awakened.

“He’s dead, man. He’s been dead.”

My vision cleared slightly. A lifeless George leaned against the back of the chair. His neck no longer supported the weight of his head. His body was covered in stab wounds. From the top of his head to his ankles, he was hit.

Blood dripped from my knife. I could feel the splatters all over my face and hands. My black shoes had been victimized too.

“Hmph,” I breathed out.

My heart punched my chest. I could feel every beat. As they began to slow down, I began to gather myself.

“You one sick motherfucker, El, but that nigga deserved that shit. With his bitch a–”

Samson’s words trailed off. My bag was already in my hand and my knife was back where it belonged. I pushed the door of the coop open and made my way to the car. Once inside, I didn’t waste a second agitating the engine.

I’m on my way home, pretty girl .

It had only been thirty minutes since George’s demise, and the world felt like a better place already. I’d waited six months for the opportunity to gut him like the worthless piece of shit he was. He’d been hiding, but I knew that at some point his addiction would lead me right to him. I wasn’t wrong. I was hardly ever wrong.

The same threads covered my body as I stepped out of my home and onto the deck. I was in the mountains of Clarke. Their beauty was something to behold. The view was the main reason I’d chosen this home. It was my greatest escape. Not physically, but mentally. There were no boundaries of my brain when I stepped foot out here.

I sighed. Weights that had parts of me imprisoned were lifted immediately. Life felt more manageable now. So did Yara’s addiction. In the last month, she’d made great strides to cut back on the drugs in hopes that I’d return Malaya.

It wasn’t happening. We both knew it, but the hope she held for our daughter’s return gave her something to fight with. That was fine by me. She needed all the weapons she could obtain for the battle ahead. It wouldn’t be an easy one but she wouldn’t be alone.

I placed the clipped cigar up to my lips and put the open flame up to it. I puffed, inhaling the thick smoke and then blowing it out almost immediately. The weight of my body was transferred to the railing that faced the lake that ran between my home and three others. With so much land in between us, houses were few and far apart.

Water clashed against the grooves of the mountains, making a splash. The sound was alleviating. It kneaded the stress away, virtually massaging my temples and luring my heart to a safer, quieter place.

I closed my eyes as I puffed on the cigar. Life was good but it could get better. It would be better if there was an equal half of me to share the weight of my world with. However, I’d tried and I’d learned that women were no good in my care.

Not because I couldn’t maintain them, but because I couldn’t contain myself. I had the ability to change lives and that wasn’t a good thing in my opinion. Changing lives meant changing identities and expectations. Soon, entitlement became a bigger issue than it needed to be and was the catalyst of my agony.

I didn’t mind an outstretched hand. In fact, I preferred it. But, I wanted to add to what was already in the upright palm, not become the sole source of its supply.

The majority of women in the world were liabilities in my realm. I desired an asset. An equal. Someone I could count on if shit went left for me. Because, though I had an insane amount of the shit, money came and went.

A hustler .

That’s who I craved some nights but there weren’t enough of those nights to go hunting. My appetite wasn’t potent enough. My time wasn’t predictable enough. And, my heart wasn’t big enough.

A sharp pain rested in my chest. I rubbed it out with my right hand.

One day . I told myself, feeling like it was more of a lie than I’d ever admit.

As the pain subsided, I withdrew smoke from the cigar and exhaled. The waves clashed, waving the white flag, again.

Peace .

I spent my days trying to find it. The closer I came to obtaining it, the further the goal post was moved. But, like any other fight I’d been in, I wasn’t giving up. The journey was where the lessons were plentiful, the boundaries were clarified, and the idea of perfection didn’t exist.

My vibrating phone disrupted the snippet of that thing I was in search of. I pulled it from my pocket to find a name I was quite fond of across the screen.

Chino .

He was one of the few people in the world that I gave more than a few seconds of my time. Blessing him with my presence didn’t feel inauthentic. He had a purpose in my life. Though I hadn’t figured it out yet, I was fine with serving my purpose in his.

For ten years, he’d been under my mentorship. He was only five years younger than me, but he was a kid when I first encountered him– mentally . He’d matured over the last ten years and it was beautiful seeing him evolve.

I answered the line. Exhaling a new cloud of smoke, I waited for him to acknowledge his reason for making contact. His hesitation sparked concern, but I remained quiet. When he was ready, I would be.

“El–” he began.

“We both know my name, Chino.”

“Right. Righ–” he paused, “I uh– I’m calling for a few things. I guess I’ll start by asking if it’s a good time to holler at you.”

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have answered. Speak your mind.”

“Bet. Well, I’m expecting a child at the end of the third quarter.”

The news was surprising. The woman he’d chosen as his partner was knee deep in the game. Children would be the last thing on her agenda, or so I’d thought. Hearing Chino tell me otherwise brought the corners of my lips upward. She was a tough cookie. The best of the bunch. If he’d managed to convince her to prolong his legacy, then I commended him.

“Good, good. Congratulations to you two, but I’d have to see this shit to believe it.”

“It’s believable, El, because it’s not Roulette who is having my child.”

I clicked my tongue against my teeth. My smile faded and my head shook from one side to the other as if he could see me.

“Chino—”

“I know. Man, I’ve fucked up, but we will get to that. The first order of business is making good on my word.”

I chuckled, remembering his declaration clearly.

If ever a child of mine sees the light, prepare to step fully into your role as their Godfather .

“I remember,” I assured him. “I’d be honored.”

“Good, now to the next order of business.”

“I’m listening.”

“It’s Roulette.”

“Um hm.” I urged his continuation as I pulled on the cigar again.

“She left me.”

“As she should,” I expressed. “You had a gem, Chino. You pulled a lame’s move. Never lose an asset for a liability. Haven’t I told you this a hundred times.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know. I fucked up, but I’m not trying to lose her. You feel me?”

“I understand, but those are a different breed of women. They’re unlike the others. It’s not that fucking simple. How do you plan to do that? I can’t help you with this one. Shit,” I huffed, “That’s close to impossible. I’ve been trying to figure out how you slid into that line of fire since the day you told me she was yours and here you are fucking it up.”

“You can help, El,” he revealed.

“I can’t,” I replied, pulling from my cigar, “I won’t. Your dick, your issue.”

“It became yours when she made her terms clear.”

“How so?” My ears lifted a half inch and so did my eyebrows.

“We had rules to our thing. You know– She hated the idea of a traditional relationship so she let a nigga explore to keep me from being all up in her space while she got to her money and ran her businesses with an iron fist. Dick is a distraction, according to her and her people. But, there were rules. Don’t fuck with anyone she loves, trust, or knows. Don’t fuck with anyone who could fuck with her money. And, don’t bring her babies.”

“You broke the last rule?”

“I broke all three, El. I’m in deep shit.”

“You fucked someone she knows? Loves?”

“The manager of her spots. I never told her. She came back to the states, ready to surprise me. Kiara was bent over in my bed, getting her back blown out. This became the norm for us. A nigga got way too comfortable. Had that fucking girl legs in the air five times a week, letting off in her shit like she belonged to me. Like I wanted to be with her. Like she was Roulette.”

“You’re smarter than that, Chino.”

“I know, which is why I’m beating my own ass. I have a fucking kid on the way and it’s not with my fucking woman. She done wished a nigga well and promised to put that fire on my ass if I can’t get the message. But, she gave me something to work with, and that’s the true reason I’m on your line.”

“Speak your mind.”

“She didn’t hear of Kiara’s pregnancy from me. Neither did I tell her I was fucking ole girl. When Roulette arrived at my home, she didn’t flip or make a scene. She joined us.”

Wordlessly, I listened. At the final three words, my head lifted and fell. She was in total control, and she’d remain in control as long as Chino was above ground. Ironically, she was the biggest part of his small world. He wouldn’t survive long with her roaming the streets without his leash.

“And, for that, she wants me to feel exactly what she felt.”

He paused as his words became lodged in his throat. Quietly, I waited for him to gather himself. I pulled from my cigar again.

“Two million and a night with Israel.”

I choked on the thick smoke attempting to exit my mouth.

“With you and Israel is how she put it. And, as unorthodox as this shit might sound, so is Roulette. She’s a fucking handful, El, but I can’t lose her. So, I’m calling in a favor.”

By asking me to fuck your entire fucking world? I asked, inwardly.

“With all due respect, Chino, I can not help you.”

“El– one night.”

“It could be one minute and the answer would be the same. Find another route.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Find another route.”

“Alright man.”

I prepared to end the call, but before I did, I had a word of advice for him.

“Chino.”

“Yeah?”

“Never ask another man to fuck your woman. Especially not a nigga like me. I don’t give a damn how deep in shit you stuck your dick.”

I ended the call and slid my phone into my pocket. The tip of the cigar pressed into the metal railing. I slid the large door backward and entered my home. Not even the water could calm me, now. I was in turmoil. After Chino’s request, it was obvious I wouldn’t know peace. Not tonight.