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Dre was a seventeen-year-old dropout from my old neighborhood who had been in serious need of a positive role model when I hired him a year ago. He wasn’t going to find it in me, but I gave him a job anyway, hoping I could at least save him from a worse fate. I knew firsthand what happened to young black boys when left with no other options.
Once repairs were completed, Tommy—our other valet—and Dre would take the car next door to Master Bubbles for a complimentary wash before handing over the keys to reception to settle the bill and return the vehicle to the customer.
I disliked dealing with the customers myself because even though my work ethic was solid, my customer service needed work. I was blunt and impatient in all aspects of my life and didn’t give a fuck who was on the receiving end. It was the reason my boys and I hired Hudson since that bow-tie-wearing square could barely change a tire. That old fucker had a business degree, wisdom, and patience, which made him the perfect face for our business. I just liked fixing cars and making money. I had no interest in being anyone’s poster boy.
Checking the time again and realizing our new hire was now twenty minutes late, I wandered over to reception, where Tuesday was manning the desk, to see if she’d at least called.
“Morning, boss,” Tuesday absently greeted as she hung up the phone and started typing something into the computer.
Tuesday was one of the first people we’d hired after our business took off and one the few people whose ass I never had to get in since she possessed two of my favorite Ps—proficiency and proactiveness. Some might say she took her job a little too seriously, but I appreciated that shit. I made sure to show it, too, with a fat bonus at the end of every year.
“Sup. That new hire here yet?” I looked around the waiting room but didn’t see anyone that fit the bill. Roc had mentioned she was young as fuck but hadn’t specified how young.
“No,” Tuesday answered with a grimace, already knowing how I was, “but she called and said she’d be a few more minutes.” She tried to give me a reassuring smile, but it wobbled a little.
I ignored Tuesday’s feeble attempt to calm me and ran my tongue over my teeth with an audible “tch.” “Aight.”
I nodded and turned on my heel.
I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t fire this new receptionist as soon as she walked her unpunctual through the door.
I returned to the workshop and started up the stairs to the second floor, where Hudson and the four of us had our own offices overlooking the workshop floor. Mine was the biggest and the only one with a full bathroom since none of them had been willing to fight my ass for it.
Noticing the light underneath Joren’s door, I prowled down the concrete platform that was more like a balcony than a hallway with its metal balustrade facing the front windows overlooking the street. I then barged inside Joren’s office without knocking.
With his bald head in his hands, Joren sat behind his desk, looking like his dog had died.
“The fuck wrong with you?” I barked.
Slowly raising his head, I realized what was up the moment I saw Joren’s bloodshot eyes.
His dumb ass was hungover again.
Joren was the oldest of the crew, beating me by five days, but no one would ever guess that since he was still immature as fuck.
“Fuck you, O. I’m tired. I didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“Maybe you should take your ass to bed at a decent hour instead of partying and fucking bitches every night like you don’t have a wife at home.” I shrugged and checked my phone’s notifications. Joren was my best friend, but I wasn’t about to listen to him whine about bullshit. If he needed a shoulder to cry on, he was going to have to call up a bitch or maybe Golden or Roc. Golden’s ass never talked anyway, so he was the perfect person to vent to.
Joren and I had become friends when we were nine. He’d found me getting jumped by some older kids from Unity Garden and helped me fuck them up. There had been no questions asked when he came to my aid, and we’ve been best friends—brothers—ever since.
We were the closest out of the crew, our bond cemented by something more permanent than blood. It was an invisible pull that felt like an extension of myself, a phantom limb that could never be severed.
Before my parents decided the hood wasn’t a good environment to raise a child and moved us to the suburbs, Joren and I had grown up in Third Ward together. It didn’t matter, though. The low-rent district had always been home and was the reason I’d chosen this old factory at the heart of it to set up our shop.
Roc had grown up in Unity Garden to the north and Golden in Hooker’s Cove to the east. Together, we cut down anyone in our path, taking power, wealth, and whatever the fuck we wanted until the city had no choice but to bow.
Our unlikely bond had even earned a tenuous ceasefire between the three feuding territories, and to honor it Third Ward became known as King’s Cross.
I heard a knock at Joren’s door and looked over my shoulder just as Hudson walked in with his exasperated gaze zeroing in on me. I grinned at him, already guessing why he’d tracked me down. “Rowdy, please tell me you did not assault another employee.”
“All right.” I shrugged. “I won’t tell you that.” Crossing my arms, I leaned against Joren’s desk, who promptly closed his eyes and rested his head against the desk. Unlike Hudson, he already knew reasoning with me was pointless.
Hudson might run the show, but my boys and I ruled it all. This was our kingdom, our pride, and Hudson, wise as he was, was just another subject.
“Rowdy…” he tried again with a sigh.
Showing all thirty-two of my pearly whites, I sat on Joren’s desk and rested my forearms on my thighs before speaking. “First, tell me who you heard it from so I can fuck them up too.”
