Page 41 of This Is Law 3

Chapter Sixteen

CREED CRAWFORD

“Where you about to go while I’m out here?” I asked my mama. I stepped out of her car, and I grabbed my gym bag, looking inside, just making sure that everything that I needed was there. It was two in the afternoon, and we just made it to the park, so that I could get this work out in with Quay.

“I’m going to sit here for a little bit and then go the grocery store or something.

Just text me like fifteen minutes ahead, so that I won’t have you waiting.

You have enough water, and Gatorade in there?

It’s hot as hell out here today,” she said, reaching over, so that she could look around in my bag and see what all was in there.

“Yeah ma. I packed more than enough. Why you going to sit out here? Just go to the grocery store now,” I said, picking the bag up, and I put it on my shoulder.

“Because I need to make a couple of phone calls. Go Creed. Have fun. I love you,” she let me know.

“Aight. I love you more,” I assured her, and then I closed the door.

With my gym bag on my shoulder, my socks and slides on my feet because I would change into my sneakers once I was on the field, and my phone in my hands, I headed to the field, where I already knew Quay was because he texted me about five minutes ago, letting me know that he was out here.

I squinted my eyes a little bit, and I saw him on the grass, and he’d already started before me, getting some stretching in.

We were at Scott Lake park. I have a lot of memories out here.

The hood that my pops used to take us to, and the church that we attended wasn’t too far from this park.

That one time that I was put in football for a little bit, this was the park that I would practice at, and have games, but that didn’t last too long because I learned early on that football wasn’t the sport for me.

Years ago, this park used to be jumping.

Parking lot was always filled with cars to the point that people would have to park on the grass.

All the food trucks would pull up when practice was going on, the concession stands would have all the hood snacks, and it was rare that you would pull up out here, and it was quiet.

Now, this shit was like a ghost town. My mom’s car, along with another beat down truck that probably didn’t even work were the only cars in the lot.

Nobody was on the field except for Quay and I.

Outside of the park, like around the perimeter of it, you could see a few people walking, getting their exercise in.

There was a playground that was a little further down, and I could see a few kids playing there, and parents standing around, watching.

We weren’t necessarily the only two here, but just the only two in this area.

Quay must have been able to feel me walking up because during the lunges that he was doing, he turned his head around and looked at me.

With a smile on his face, he quickly came out of the position that he was in, and he walked over to me, putting his hand out, so that we could slap it up with each other, and he even pulled me in for a hug.

I missed my brother. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him until we embraced in a hug.

“What’s up, man? I missed you, nigga,” I voiced, and he laughed, as he pulled away from me.

“Here you go with that gay shit,” he responded, and I just shook my head.

I could be tough, but I also knew how to express my emotions.

My pops made me, and my brother that way.

These days, niggas were so hard that they couldn’t even tell their brother that they loved them, or other sentimental shit like that.

I had no problem expressing that, and I didn’t view that kind of talk as gay.

I tell my brother I love him every day. Shit, this afternoon when I left out the house, I went in his room, and told him what my plans were this afternoon, and I ended it with telling him that I loved him.

I could tell that Quay wasn’t raised where he had men in his life, telling him that it was okay for him to express his feelings because every time that I did so, he would throw jokes out about it being gay, or soft.

I sat my bag down on the grass, and I lowered myself down as well, so that I could change my shoes.

I looked up at Quay, and he looked different.

Physically he was a little off. Quay has always been slim, but today, he looked much smaller.

He would keep his hair in waves, and he would always boast about having the best waves in the game.

Today, he wasn’t rocking his waves. He’d allowed his hair to grow out, so he had a mini afro going on.

The afro didn’t look bad on him, but it would have looked a little better if he got a line up or some shit.

The white shirt that he was wearing looked dingy, and the gym shorts looked a little too small for him.

His sneakers were cool though. They were a pair of black Nike’s.

It shocked me to see Quay this way because for the past couple of years, he’s been moving weight, so the money that he would make, he would put it into his appearance.

He always had a fresh line up, waves were always on point, and when it came to putting that shit on, he was always dressed to impress.

It felt like I was watching this nigga crumble right before my eyes.

“Why your mama didn’t leave yet?” he asked me, his eyes on the parking lot, where we could both look out, and see that my mom’s car was still parked there.

“She said that she was going to make a few phone calls, and then she was going to dip. What? You scared she going to see me beat your ass a few times when we do these drills?” I joked, and when I asked it, he didn’t laugh. He just stood there, shook his head, and he nervously scratched at it too.

“Man, a nigga ain’t worried about that shit at all.

I came out here to get some drills in with my brother.

Why we gotta have a babysitter?” he asked me, and I sucked my teeth, while standing up because at this point, I had my shoes on, and I was ready to start stretching too, so that we could do what we’d come out here to do in the first place.

“Nigga, why you worried about what the fuck my mama got going on for? She not paying us no attention! I’m sure she’s on the phone handling shit with her business. We going to do some drills or what?” I snapped.

“Aight, man,” he responded, and I was glad that he chose to drop it.

I had him stand to the left of me, and I walked him through the stretches that we were going to start out with.

“You been hearing that shit that they saying about Dutch? You really think he killed your grand dad?” Quay wanted to know, changing the subject while we were stretching.

I had a feeling that that would be one of the topics because so many people were talking about it.

There was a page on Instagram, and it was called 305Uncut.

That page was a little different from the rest of the gossip pages that would post shit about who was fuckin who in Miami.

Instead, this page more so focused on stuff like shootings, beefs in the area, arrests, RIP tributes for Miami legends, and shit like that.

I liked to follow the page because in a way, I was learning Miami’s history.

Whoever was running the page, you could tell that they had the ultimate respect for my grandad because they would post about him often, and it would always be good things.

From the moment Dutch, and his crew were arrested, 305Uncut had been posting about it.

There was no need to watch the news, or to even go online, and look up the charges, and reports because they would post everything right there on social media.

When Dutch got locked up, I remember going to my pops, asking him why he wasn’t out there handling it.

Dutch was a big part of our life. He’d raised my dad, and he’s been in me, and Legend’s life since we were little boys.

I just knew that my pops would be the first one at the jail, trying to get him out, just as he did when he came to the precinct to get my ass out.

He wasn’t moving fast enough, so that’s when me, and Legnd came at him, wanting to know what that was about.

He put us on game, telling us that he had some evidence, proving that Dutch killed our grandad.

That shit was heavy for us because I would have never imagined that.

Although I never got the chance to meet my granddad, I’ve heard so many stories about him from Dutch over the years, and the way Dutch was always speaking highly of him, I never thought that he would have something to do with his death.

It wasn’t long before 305Uncut started posting about it and coming up with their theories on why Dutch might have done it. A lot of people were summing it up to jealousy.

“I know he did. My pops got proof that he did. Heard him confess it over an audio. I hope they kill that nigga in jail. Green ass nigga, man. How you kill your own best friend? Then, go on and raise his son like nothing ever happened. That’s some low-down shit,” I responded, finished with stretching now, and about to get started on some drills.

“Yeah man. That shit is crazy. You see Kross died too, right? he asked me.

“Yeah. I don’t feel bad for that nigga though. He used to talk crazy to my pops, and he said some shady stuff to my mom awhile back,” I let him know.

“Yeah, and he was into it with too many niggas, so it was only a matter of time before somebody popped him,” he added.

“Your right. Come on. Let’s get this work. I didn’t come out here to gossip though. Let’s leave that shit for the ladies,” I hit him on his chest, ready to start.

“Cool. What we going to do first?” he asked.