“Nice place,”he said, walking to the windows to admire the view of the city below. “Very spacious. I’m proud of you, Prime. You’ve done well for yourself.”
“Thank you.”I relaxed slightly. “What brings you by, Rashid? It’s early.”
He walkedto my sofa and sat down without invitation, crossing one leg over the other. “I have a favor to ask of you. Nothing like your usual work,” he added quickly. “It doesn’t involve taking a life.”
I satdown across from him, curious despite myself. “What kind of favor?”
Rashid’s face grew serious.“I have a nephew, Meech. He’s been locked up for almost ten years now. A knucklehead, just got caught up with the wrong crowd. Made some mistakes.”
I nodded,waiting for him to continue.
“Meech hasa son who was just a baby when he went in. The boy has never visited his father. Not once in ten years.” Rashid shook his head, genuine sadness in his eyes. “Recently, I discovered that Meech’s baby mother and the child have moved to the city. They’re living in the southeast area.”
“And you wantme to find them?”
“I wantyou to visit them. Convince the mother to bring the boy to see Meech. And also,” he leaned forward, “to testify at Meech’s parole hearing next month. Her support could make all the difference.”
I rubbed my chin,thinking. “What if she doesn’t want to? People have reasons for keeping their kids away from prison.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance,Prime. You know that better than most.” Rashid’s eyes held mine, reminding me of everything he’d done for me. “Meech has changed. He’s educated himself, found faith. He deserves to know his son.”
I couldn’t arguewith that. If anyone understood the power of redemption, it was me.
“Do you have an address? Her name?”
Rashid reachedinto his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Zahara Ali. I don’t have an address, which is why I need your services. I no longer have the contacts that would give me that information. The boy’s name is Yusef. He’s twelve now.”
“I’ll find her,”I said. “Talk to her.”
What he was really asking wasfor me to threaten her… I wasn’t above that. Rashid was more than a father to me. I owed him my life, and this would be the easiest job I’ve ever had to do.
“Thank you, young blood.”Rashid stood, placing a hand on my shoulder. “This means a great deal to me. Family is everything.”
I walkedhim to the door, relieved that he was leaving without incident.
I walked backto the bedroom and opened the door. Farah was sitting up in bed, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Is he gone?”she whispered.
“Yeah, he’s gone.”I leaned against the doorframe, studying her. In the morning light, without the club makeup and attitude, she looked younger. Vulnerable.
“Go take a shower.I’ll take you home in a bit. I have work to do…”
“Can I stay…”
“Go. Shower,”my voice boomed. I was not about to let Farah get me caught up. No matter how fine she was.
3
ZAHARA
I twisted between tables, balancing three plates on one arm like some kind of circus performer. Monday lunch rush at Grits was always chaos, but today felt like the whole damn city decided to show up at once.
“Order up for table twelve!” Cookie shouted from the kitchen window.
“I got it,” I called back, even though my hands were full and my patience was running thin.
The bell above the door chimed again. More customers. Larry stood at the register, all smiles for folks who kept pouring in, acting like this soul food spot was some exotic safari adventure instead of just a place to eat. According to a lot of natives in the city, the quality of food had diminished once the original owner, Ms. Diana, Larry’s aunt, passed away. Larry had sucked the soul out of it. He invested a lot in the decor and cut corners with the food. It didn’t have that same delicious Southern taste, so the natives stopped visiting except for the occasional brunch for unlimited mimosas. Or for the sheer nostalgia. Only transients, gentrifiers and social media influencers came as frequently. And they spent a lot of money on under-seasoned chicken and waffles.
