Guttaand press call.
NICKOI
“…that’s why mi fawud miself,” I say, eyes locked on Weneil and his crew outside of the corner store. They’re leaning against cracked walls, talking low like they own this block. The night is thick with the smell of burnt rubber and stale liquor.
Trigga steps forward, calm and collected like always, but there’s a silent warning in his gaze. “Alright,” he nods, daps me up with a hard slap. Then he calls out, loud enough for the whole street to hear, “Gwan in, boys.”
Boys? I bite back a smirk. Mi deeven ‘bwoy’ round my G them.
He bumps his fist into mine. “Mi rate how yuh handle this hombre,” Trigga says, voice low.
I nod slow, eyes cold. “Time fi cut out certain style. Bigger moves fi focus pan.”
He shrugs. “No lie in a that, mi G.”
The conversation ends, I step off slow, my Clarks boot hitting the cracked concrete. The GLE waits in the shadows, its sleek black body only visible by the glimmer of headlights. Suddenly, Gutta’s phone breaks the silence, ringing nonstop. I slide inside, engine purring low. He climbs in behind me, hands me the phone.
“A Alex?” I snap, irritation creeping in. “Tell him mi deal wid it already.”
“No… a Zara,” he says, voice quiet. I check my phone and see five missed calls blinking red on the screen. My jaw tightens. I snatch the phone. Her voice, hoarse and shaky, cuts through the silence.
“Nickoi, come home… please. Something’s wrong with the baby.” My chest tightens, but I keep it steady.
“Mi a fawud,” I say, gripping the wheel, foot pressing down harder. I hear our
baby crying through the line, sounding ra.
Jah… and atwinnem.
“Wah a happ’m?” I ask, voice low but urgent.
“Him a cry nonstop… and n-nothing nah calm him,” Zara says, voice breaking.
“Yuh call aunty?”
“Mi nah get her,” she sniffs, trying to hold it together.
“Hold him close. Mi soon reach.” I hang up, calling my aunt. No answer. I glance at Gutta. “Weh mi fi drop yuh?”
“Anyweh good dawg. Just be there fi yuh family.” He steps out, nods firm. I blow the horn once, and the Benz disappears into the night, every second a countdown to what waits at home.
ZARA
I’ve never felt this kind of helplessness. Half an hour of Zahir’s nonstop crying. Missed calls. Voicemails. Everyone I try to reach is sleeping or not answering.
Why now? Why this? I kiss his belly gently, whispering, “You soon alright.” His little body jerks and the crying doesn’t let up.
The door creaks open. I already know it’s Nickoi. Still on the bed, I massage Zahir’s stomach like that alone can fix him. Nickoi crosses the room, takes him from me without a word. I sit there, just watching. Zahir keeps rubbing at his ears between cries. Why him a rub him ears? My phone lights up. it’s Mama. I fumble to answer.
“Gavin call me so til, a wah happen to the baby?”
“H-him a cry… and he won’t stop rub his ears. Mi-mi a wonder if a him belly or hurt him,” I say, my voice sharper than I mean it. I’m on edge. Mama shakes her head.
“Zara, get something cold fi him. Like banana. He’s teething, him a feel pain.”
I don’t hesitate. I grab a banana, peel it and hand it to Nickoi. He breaks a small piece and places it in Zahir’s mouth.
“Yes, let him chew pon it,” Mama encourages.
