Page 9

Did this mothafucka just call me a sellout on the low?

That turns my body hotter than a cabin’s furnace. Because this nigga’s really testing fate now. Audacity must be cheaper than gas nowadays. For somebody who doesn’t own much in his name, Rayne sure has a lot of it. Even though I want to ignore him, my legs think differently. After a heavy sigh, I march back over to him, standing close enough for either of us to sneak an uppercut. If it were to get there.

“Aight. Let me educate you on something, you goofy mothafucka,” I scorch, “Destiny is the manager of my first shop. While also going to school full time, tuition fully paid off because me and Pop took care of that. Remember Skizzy? The little nigga who had to get checked about her? It’s because of me he’s out here making moves now. Back in school. Working. Grinding. Off these streets. Head in the game. Because of me and my wife, the city has even more job opportunities. Whenever they decide to apply. Speaking of my beautiful wife, she’s always safe, satisfied, and happy with pockets full of cash. Because of me, nigga. Me. That’s something you wouldn’t know about. So, my people are good. What about yours?”

My rant clearly strikes a nerve. Rayne just stands there, seething silently like a raging bull. He frowns just like Pop when he’s mad. The only real noticeable comparison between the two outside of their stubborn nature. I can feel the animosity seeping from his pores. He wants to hit me. And I wish a nigga mothafuckin’ would. The door’s wide open for him to try it. I’m steadily composed with my fists clenched, ready to drop him like a tranquilized cow the moment he swings. But nothing happens. Something inside him keeps him anchored long enough for me to storm away again. Maybe it’s inner shame. Maybe it’s the fear of knowing his big brother

doesn’t fuck around. Either way, I’m not sticking around to find out. While he stands in silence, I storm away from him, this time without turning back.

“Make me proud and find your way, Rayne,” I say out of direction to him, getting back into my car, “I love you, little bro.”

He gets a brief look of pity as a parting gift before my engine revs and I’m out of sight. Leaving him to his vices. Hoping he hears me in time to really turn his life around. If he does, cool. If he doesn’t…well…that’s cool too.

My next move is ensuring the Rayne virus doesn’t plague the rest of our family. I’m immediately on the line with Pops, retelling the entire situation. His first reaction is to laugh out loud. Not even out of spite. More so because he saw it coming too, as did all of us. We chat for about five minutes or so. The main takeaway being his stern warning for me not to let Rayne become my downfall. While already fully aware of that, hearing it from him is a swift reminder I’m taking the right approach. And honestly, that’s all I need to hear.

I’m en route to the cafe once the call ends. Driving slow and cool as if the entire street belongs to me. Because one day it will. I’m only a block away when another call suddenly comes through. Siri tells me it’s Miami calling. I grab my phone without even looking at it, making a sharp right near the corner of 55th.

“What’s good?” I answer, finally pulling up to the shop.

“Hey, Dame,” Miami replies sweetly, “I just wanted to tell you I made it to Chicago. I’m on layover for a minute.”

“Aight, bet. As long as you’re safe.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, snickering, “You know me.” “Yeah, I do. We’re really going to miss your ass, Miami.”

“And this pussy will miss y’all,” we both laugh until her tone grows serious, “You just take care of that woman. She’s fucking amazing. And she makes you happy. You deserve all of that. For real.”

“I got you. She’s in good hands, always. Trust me.”

“Good boy. Well, I just wanted to check in. I’ll let you know once I’m in Tennessee. Love, Dame. Oops, I mean…Big Daddy.”

I chuckled into the speaker, “Yeah. That’s better. Much love to you, Miami.”

We hang up in unison. I’m sitting for a minute, thinking over what she said. It sends my mind back to the night I had to put down that Brendan nigga to protect her. I can still envision him down in front of me, blood oozing from a head wound. It wasn’t what I necessarily wanted to do, but had to do. So, I don’t regret it. Because for her, I’d do anything. To anyone. At any time.

An idea then pops into my mind. Instead of going straight to the cafe, I should reup on some weed so we can have a night of passion. Maybe do some painting. Listen to some smooth Jazz. Hit the smoke. End the night with wild sex until we pass out. It’s a really solid plan in my eyes.

The closest shop is a few blocks down on Hampton. Smoky Dayz. There’s another place a bit further, but I don’t have time to go on that type of excursion. It’s better to stay close. Besides, I don’t mind trying out a new business. The short distance there allows me to think over life some more. Little bro, in particular, is stuck in my mind. Speaking of reasons to smoke. It’s either that or strangle the kid. He really needs to get it together.

I pull up to Smoky Dayz and park at the front entrance. It’s all black with darkened windows, so I can barely tell if it’s even open. Maybe this was a mistake. I sit confused until two other people walk inside easily. Now I’m convinced to check it out myself. The smell of strong cinnamon-scented incense hit my nose as soon as I’m near the door. I guess it’s always better than the shop smelling like ass.

There’s two people standing at the front, both wearing black uniforms. One black man, tall but on the thinner side. He’s talking to a short, blonde-haired black woman. Sounding anything but kind.

“Like I said, answer your phone, folks,” he says to her, arms folded like he means business.

“Like I said, I was sleeping,” she shoots back, pointing right to his chest. She’s pretty but holds the youth of a freshman in college. Probably just needs a quick job. Clearly, this is nothing serious for her.

“Besides, aren’t you still in love with ol’ girl?”

He briefly glances my way. I don’t look concerned by his attention, looking around to take in the view of the shop. It’s pretty clean. Organized. Outside from some opened boxes discarded to the left of the shop. There’s one flat-screen TV bracketed on the right, broadcasting Angel Reese getting fifteen rebounds in one game. No music. The only additional sound is coming from these two goofs fighting like cats and dogs.

“Don’t worry about her, worry about what I’m saying now.” “Whatever, Makai.”

While they’re having a lover’s quarrel, I’m standing at the front looking at their cartons of THC nuggets. There’s about five different flavors. Insane OG. Pineapple Express. Blue Dream. Lemon Kush. Ten dollars a gram. They’re still arguing while I inspect the nuggets. They look fresh enough. I’d love to be able to take some if two people weren’t more concerned with themselves.

“Excuse me?” I speak up, getting completely ignored. What did she say his name was? Makai?

“Yo, Makai?”