“Then that’s all that matters,” he responded. “I’ma see you in a little bit, though, a’ight?”
“Okay,” she replied.
“Bitch-ass club owner should be handing you another bag today,” he said. “You still got the rest put up?”
“Yeah, it’s at my old townhouse.”
“Good girl,” he said. Another kiss. His mind was gone. He didn’t even recognize his need for her. He had never put himself in a position to rely on anyone, but he relied on this. Charlie climbed out and Demi looked down at his phone. Day had called him ten times in the last hour.
Demi picked up the phone and dialed him back.
“Niggas got problems,” Day answered.
“We got answers,” Demi responded.
“Half oowee,” Day informed. Day and Demi had known one another long enough to know it was the code they said to one another when they needed to meet in private. The rendezvous when discussing dirt was always their old recording studio. The little run-down brick building on the corner of Stewart Avenue and Detroit Street. They had recorded out of the rinky-dink studio for three years before Day had laid his first hit. It had been up from there. The only time they humbled themselves and revisited the past was when they needed to tap into some street. Apparently, it was needed tonight.
When Demi arrived, Day was already parked in front of the building. Demi reached beneath his driver’s seat, retrieving his pistol. Demi didn’t mind coming to the hood. He was a rich nigga who didn’t mind being in the trap if he was strapped. His burner gave him a pass in every hood because Demi was known to use it. He got busy and word had reached the streets that he was ruthless. Niggas had learned that it was easier to show Demi love than to receive his hate.
“Wassup, boy?” Day greeted.
Demi nodded.
“What’s the word?” Demi asked.
“That shit behind the club owner? Apparently, he’s connected,” Day said.
“How connected?” Demi asked. His mind instantly went to Charlie.
“He’s 5thWard. His Uncle is Tracy Hart,” Day informed.
Demi stilled. Tracy Hart was an old-school gangster. Where New York had John Gotti, Flint had Tracy Hart. It was rumored that the older gentleman had started Benny Atkin’s organization. Both men were Flint legends. The game hadswallowed Benny whole but Tracy still had respect in the city and his reach was long.
“How the fuck we miss that, Day? Huh? You the one put the product on this nigga! You brought him into the fold! You ain’t know who his family was beforehand?!” Demi barked.
“He ain’t mention it! We don’t be in Flint like that! I ain’t know ‘til I knew, but now that I know, nigga, it’s a problem,” Day explained. “He already sent shooters to one of the studio sessions. Followed Lil’ Reo to the crib, wet him up, now I’m picking caskets out with his mama.”
“He did what now?” Demi asked.
“I already got our people outside your crib,” Day said. “Word is, when you beef with this nigga, it’s bloody. Ain’t no rules. Women and kids apply.”
Demi pulled out his phone. His mind went directly to his wife and son. He didn’t know if it were habit, love, or loyalty, but saving Lauren echoed in his mind.
“Hello?” Lauren answered.
“Aye, Lo, you good?” he asked, finding relief in the normalcy of her tone. She was pissed at him, which meant things were okay, she was safe. She was just waiting for him to walk through the door.
“No, Demi, I’m not good. Where are you?” she asked.
“Shit thick out here. I need you to drop the attitude and listen. Grab DJ and go to your mom’s. I got some shit to handle but I’ma come for y’all as soon as I can. Just stay out the way for a few days. Keep DJ home from school and you take a couple days off. I need you out the way. You understand?”
The line was silent. It had been a long time since Demi had handed down those types of orders. She knew what the makings of war looked like. “Demi, come home,” Lauren said. She was afraid. He heard it in her voice.
“I will when it’s safe. I got to handle some shit first, though,” he said. “Take care of my son.”
“I love you,” Lauren said.
“Love,” Demi replied.
