Page 27 of Gang of Roses: Dice

“Listen here, Fred.” Pop Pop’s voice stayed calm, which somehow made it even scarier. “Yo’ damn words will have you floating with the fishes when it comes to mine.” He pointed toward us with the knife. “Don’t let that bullshit mouth write a check yo’ ass can’t cash.”

“Damn, Larry, I ain’t know.”

“Who gives a fuck muthafucka what you ain’t know?” Pop Pop snapped. “That shit was disrespectful. Regardless of what he is, that’s my blood, and you a damn guest on my porch. He could walk up here dressed like a damn crimson red Big Bird for all I give a damn, and bet not nan nigga betta have shit to say.”

“Dang, Larry June,” Coca laughed. “What’s up with you and Glo when it come to the color red?"

“Coreal?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Shut yo’ shit up, I’m busy.”

“Yes, sir. I was just sayin’.”

Pop Pop shot Coca a look, and Coca zipped his lips with his fingers.

“Fred, ain’t nobody said shit about yo’ daughter with seven kids and five baby daddies, so you keep yo’ fuckin’ duck lips off the business at 1333 River Lake.”

Fred tried to apologize, but Pop Pop wasn’t hearing it.

“As a matter of fact, the card game is over.”

The other men groaned.

“Fellas, we will resume tomorrow. I’m gonna spend some time with my grands. Fred, you take a few days off and learn some damn respect fo’ you bring yo’ monkey ass back ‘round these parts. You already know I don’t pull it and not use it. You got a pass dis time.”

Fred tried to apologize again, and Pop Pop waved him off. The men folded up their chairs, and some of them took the ones they brought with them.

Pop Pop took care of us after our mothers were killed, and when Granny-Day passed away, it was all on him. My father was in prison serving life for killing the man who murdered our mothers, and Coca's father wanted nothing to do with him after he came out of the closet.

As for us, we left the judging to God. I hated people who walked around acting like they had a heaven or hell to put somebody in. Coca was family, and that's all that mattered. We loved him for who he was and prayed that all of us had a relationship with God that would continue to shape and change us.

“My bad, Pops,” Coca said as we came up to the porch and took a seat.

“Oh boy, please. I’m old skool, but I love yo’ sassy-twist ass. You, Hips, and that lil nigga that don’t look nothin’ like us…DNA test still out on him,” he said, talking about my poor baby. “But y’all have my whole heart. Well, as much as I have left.”

It got quiet.

I already knew what he meant by that. It's been over two decades since our parents' deaths and Granny Day’s passing away. It doesn’t get easier. Some days just better than others.

“Larry June, I might have a baby on the way,” Coca blurted out.

My head whipped his way.

I was grateful for the shift, but out of all the damn things to say…

I knew he was trying to change the mood, but why did he pick that to say?

“Coreal, what delusional broad done let you put yo’ sugar in they damn tank?” he said with a straight face.

I bit my cheek, trying my best not to laugh.

“Whyyyyy must you say datttt?” Coca’s dramatic ass dragged out every syllable while clutching his pearls. Definitely making the situation worse.

Pop Pop shook his head, picked up his sweat towel from the table, wiped his face, and removed his ball cap to wipe his bald head.

Coca was stressing him out.