“Yes, Cashmier?” he said, already sounding irritated.
“Don’t use that tone with me. Where the fuck are you at? With your fat wife?” I asked, talking my usual shit.
“Cashmier, just because you and I have sex sometimes doesn’t mean you get to throw shade at my wife every time you open your mouth. Do I talk shit about your nigga or niggas I should say?”
“Tech, shut the fuck up and listen. I’m calling you because I have a job for you.”
“A job?” he laughed. “I thought you didn’t need me anymore since you got your prized baby daddy, Crew.”
“I thought I didn’t either, but I do. So you should be happy to know you’re about to get paid again.”
“To be honest with you, I don’t even care about getting paid by you anymore. This job I got at the security firm in Manhattan is paying me well, and I don’t have to worry about gangster ass niggas popping up and trying to hurt me while I’m there because I was doing what I was told.”
“Well, had you helped me come up with better plans, it would have never happened with me either.”
“Whatever you say, Cashmier. What do you want?”
“Look, I need you to handle some shit for me. It’s actually quite simple. I need you to find someone to make a bomb to blow up this clinic in-.”
He cut me off before I could finish.
“Cashmier, I don’t need your money anymore, and I really want to stay clean and be there for my family. My wife and I are good, no I don't make as much money but it's clean, and I’m not getting mixed up in whatever shit you have going on with Hov or anybody else anymore. That man beat the breaks off of me to where I couldn’t breathe without my ribs poking me from the inside. I’m done doing that kind of shit for you.”
“This has nothing to do with Hov Tech. Just listen.”
“No Cash, you listen. I’m done. Find someone else to do it.”
The line went dead.
That pissed me off so bad that I wanted to blow up his house and have the whole block smelling the scent of his fat, greasy ass wife burning up, but fuck Tech. I didn’t need anybody to cover for me, or think for me, or even build a bomb for me, because Google is right there to give me the answers I need. I went to college, and I am not stupid.
I grabbed my phone and went searching for answers immediately, making sure to use a proxy server so nothing could get traced back to my phone. I typed in "how to make a quick bomb" and found a few different options; the winner was using fire, a water bottle, and alcohol as an accelerant. I didn’t want to put this shit off too long, so I packed up the baby and a bag to handle my business right away.
With the plan I had, I knew I couldn’t take King along with me, so when I got in the car, I called my mother.
“Hello?” She answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Mom. I need you to keep King for a couple of hours.”
“For a couple of hours? What do you have going on? I’m about to go get my hair done.”
“Reschedule it until tomorrow, Mom.”
“Reschedule it, Cash, are you crazy? You know I hate to reschedule my appointments.”
“Please, Mom. I really need you.”
“And I really need to get my hair done.”
“Damn, mama, you can’t even come through for me for a couple of hours. I know my daddy would’ve kept him.”
She sighed on the other end.
“Lord have mercy, alright, Cashmier. Bring him to me. I will just take him to the shop with me and let him lay in his car seat while she’s working on my roots.”
“Okay, fine. Thanks. I’m on my way.”
I hung up the phone and whipped through the streets to her.
