“Ezekiel Landry.” He shook her hand.
“Oh?” she said. “We do hugs here.” She pulled him in a hug, and I shook my head. Even Ezekiel appeared confused. But I understood her innocent intentions.
“How are the twins papa? How is … can I mention your?—?”
“She’s good. The love of her life died after I got signed.” I scratched the back of my neck. “Funny, my papa never asked for a dollar, and I never called himPapauntil his funeral. I’d give half my money to bring him back. Make her happy.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Ezekiel said.
“Mm-hm. That’s how things happen. Good people die. Dudes who don’t deserve air in their lungs … don’t.” I shrugged at the travesty.
“I don’t want your money, Montana.” Ezekiel sighed. “If you need proof, I got the bill.”
“Coulda fooled me. And nah, I got it.”
“No. No. It was a joke—your pop a couple bucks? That meant I’m proud of you, boy.And … maybe”—he shifted his stance—“I did need to get from Cali to NOLA. But I didn’t want money,money. You know what I mean? Just help with the Greyhound. Maybe a train ticket.” When I said nothing, he said, “I started working at the Dollar Tree.”
I stepped toward him. “You. Sued. Me.”
He thrust his hands out. “I needed to get your attention. Half of your family has burned bridges by asking you for money, Montana. I learned that when I asked around for your number. The other half? Loyal. Washington and I was never as close.”
“He knew you was abusive!”
He nodded. “I admit that. But I filed that lawsuit to get your attention. C’mon. Sit. Eat. On me.”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “Don’t want a damn thing from you.”
“Alright,” Zuri huffed. “This girl will be the bigger man. I’ll pay. Please tell us more about yourself.”
“I don’t think Big Country will survive.” Ezekiel winked at her.
She laughed. I didn’t even blink.
A little while later, we sat around a table of food.
Ezekiel pulled out a court document. Reminded me of some of Washington’s paperwork. I glared at it.
“Dropped my court hearing request just yesterday, Montana.The clerk said they mail all parties. But I’m glad you let me tell you in person before you got a piece of paper in the mail.”
I took the paper. Scanned it. Set it down.
Ezekiel sighed, sitting back. By now, neither of us had touched the spread. When he left, I’d get at it. Might eat the plastic to-go containers—call it extra NOLA seasoning. This place could throw down.
“Montana,” he said, “you were my Little Dude.”
He’d called me that?Mental note: rename Darius.
“Washington didn’t care about Fontainebleau State Park. He was too ‘fraid to paddle with us in the bayou.” He glanced at Zuri and smiled. “Not just gators and snakes. The boy read too much! Barely five and Wash muttered about microorga-smorshma in the water.”
“Microorganisms.” I rolled my eyes, then a smile cracked through. “Man, Wash was a trip.”
“That uppity-ass name. I said name the boy Tennessee.” He hummed a line from “Tennessee Whiskey.” “She got a state-naming fetish but gave our son that dry-ass name. Later, she has a kid named Tennessee. He still fights those fires?”
Really?“You know all about my family.”
“The twins are your brothers, Montana. You are my family.”
I rested my forearms on the table, fists clenched. Addressed him like Martinez and all the others at Guggenheim Management. “Whatchu wanna accomplish?”
