He laid there until her breathing was so peaceful, he was sure she was asleep. He thought about leaving but laid there, looking at the stars and breathing to the beat of her heart for another two hours before he lifted from the air mattress.
He grabbed the throw blanket and placed it over her. She was fucking beautiful. He turned the volume down on her speaker and paused, looking at her for another beat before leaving.
Demi opened his phone and pressed play. The song Charlie had played on repeat oozed through his speakers. He pulled his pistol from beneath his seat, placing it in his lap, and pulled off. He was four hours late, distracted, and completely thrown off by the incidental vibe he had stumbled upon, but business was still business. It couldn’t be completely derailed. What could have been taken care of hours ago, would now be handled in the middle of the night. He had never allowed himself to become so distracted. He put his head back in the game, turned the radio off, and restored his gangster, a bit relieved that his interaction with Charlie was over.
Chapter 2
The club was silent. Dawn did the club no justice. As the sun cast an orange hue through the dirty windows, Demi waited patiently, staring at the empty stage. It was too small of a stage for Charlie. Her voice. Her face. Her aura. Everything about her was big. He was surprised the stage could even hold her. He had met her hours ago and here she was invading his mind when he was supposed to be focused on other things, heinous things.
Something that was supposed to be taken care of the night before had been put off until morning and that uneased Demi. He was a surgeon about his business. Precision and punctuality were important. When niggas got distracted, they usually made mistakes. He knew this. He had beat this into the heads of his team for years and still here he was playing fucking Mariah Carey lyrics back in his head.
Her voice filled these walls even when she wasn’t there.
The doors of the club clanged as they opened and he heard footsteps echo as he leaned over, rubbing his goatee as he waited.
The owner of the club, Frankie “Big Bands” Banks, stopped walking as soon as he saw Demi.
“Demi, man, I got what I owe,” Frankie said.
“You sure? Cuz I was told you weren’t paying me shit and that I needed to come see you if I wanted my paper,” Demi said. He pulled on the heavy herringbone chain that rested against his white t-shirt. “I try to show you niggas love out here, man. Try tobe fair, but you ungrateful motherfuckers always got to try me. Apparently, niggas think cuz I ain’t out here mobbing no more that shit sweet. That’s the problem, when you get rich. Niggas think you go soft. Since when you ever known me to be that?” he asked.
Frankie and Demi had come up in the streets together. He knew more than anybody that Demi didn’t take disrespect well.
“I got the bread, man,” Frankie said.
“You should. You running my shit through this club, you ain’t slick, nigga. Business ain’t that good in this bitch. You pay me on time every time,” Demi stated. “Or I’ma send somebody to come see about you, homie. Don’t play with my FUCK-ING MO-NEY.” Demi was still seated, rubbing his hands, squeezing his fists as he looked up at the man over a stern brow. He was really trying to practice some self-control.
“Man, we can just go to the office. It’s in the safe. I don’t want no problems with you. Shit went left with your man because he came in here disrespectful. It’s all respect between me and you, though, Demi. I was always going to pay you,” Frankie said. He was now singing a different tune.
Niggas so fucking scary. Stand on your word,Demi thought, as he recalled how his man had come back to him with a version of events that was filled with disrespect.
“You running ‘round this bitch feeling like the man cuz you pack this little-ass shit out every night. I heard you was saying sum’n different. Something like, ‘that nigga, Demi, can suck my dick, I ain’t paying him shit,’” Demi stated calmly. “That wasn’t you?”
Frankie’s eyes doubled in size. “Ya man putting some extra on it. I toldhimthat shit, man, it wasn’t nothing against you. I would never disrespect like that. We been square, my nigga. It ain’t like that.”
“Take me to the safe,” Demi ordered. He stood, hiking up his pants as he followed the man to the back office. He was in a mood now. Charlie’s voice was getting smaller and smaller now.
“It’s in the closet,” Frankie said.
“Nigga, open that shit. I ain’t gon’ hit you in the back. Any nigga I ever closed the casket on looked me in the eyes before he left this side,” Demi stated. “But you better be smart.”
Frankie reluctantly turned his back to Demi. There was a pistol in the safe. Demi was sure of it. So, he kept his hand ready on his waistline. It was nothing to pull the trigger. In a gunfight, he would always come out on top.
Frankie put a hundred thousand dollars on the desk.
Demi walked over to the desk and eyed the money on top of it.
“Do I need to count my money?” he asked.
“It’s all there,” Frankie said.
“I got better things to do with my time than chase a nigga on some street shit, Big Bands.” His level of irritation couldn’t be hidden. “You disrespect anybody we send up in here that’s the same as disrespecting me. I don’t care if it’s the mailman.”
Without warning, he grabbed the letter opener from Frankie’s desktop and viciously stabbed it through Frankie’s hand. His scream was deafening as Frankie grabbed his wrist with his uninjured hand. Demi gripped the back of the man’s neck, slamming it down to the wooden desk.
“Next time, you lose your life,” Demi said. His calm didn’t match his crazy. The place he had stabbed, dead center, missing the fragile bones between Frankie’s middle and ring finger, hitting soft cartilage only, no bones, was like target practice for Demi. A flesh wound. A deep one, one that would teach a lesson, without disfigurement. It was more blood than pain because Demi was sure shock acted as an anesthetic. “Clean your shit up and give my money to that pretty-ass girl you got singing in here.Every payment is to go to her from now on. The first time you short her...”
“I won’t be!” Frankie wailed, holding his bleeding hand as he held it up while shaking uncontrollably from the pain. He was leaking blood everywhere.
