“Tell that nigga Black that Jakari is looking for him and that you never move on a territory without seeing who it belongs to and getting permission. Y’all niggas clean yourselves up and have a blessed night,” I said before Keith and I laughed our way back to my car.
On the ride back, we discussed finding a new plug because if it was some shit on the streets better than ours, there was no way we could compete. We needed some shit that wasn’t stepped on and would put this nigga Black out of business. I didn’t want shit to get deadly, and I hoped this nigga just simply didn’t know the rules around there. We were told that he was some out of town nigga, so I hoped it was an honest mistake. I hadn’t seen niggas serving on the corners in years, so I knew those country bastards didn’t know any better.
Keith and I set things up with a new connect in less than a week, and the quality was definitely hitting on what it was supposed to be. We got our customers back, and the streets had been quiet, so I assumed the new nigga in town got the message. I had the location and drop on them niggas, but I extended them grace to move on their own first. I chunked it up as them being from out of town and not knowing how shit worked in our area. Everybody fucked up sometimes, but as long as they got the message and shut shit down, we wouldn’t have a problem.
It had been weeks since the run in with the corner boys, and I could officially say that we were out of that drought. We were back feeding the hood, and money was flowing like never before. At this rate, I could get Harmoni her dream truck without blinking. As the thought crossed my mind, I made a mental note to do just that. I had to get my woman back by any means necessary. Over these past few weeks, the streets had me so consumed that I had stopped thinking of ways to fix shit with mygirl. When a nigga’s money was funny, he couldn’t focus on shit but getting his bag straight. I had been slackin’.
I stopped by my trap to drop Keith off some work because he was getting low on product. I had picked up the bread from him earlier, but I didn’t know he was running low, so I had to double back. When I made it back to the spot, both doors were wide open. The door that led to the house and the door that had the window we served from. I knew damn well Keith wasn’t rocking like that. His ass knew better, and I was about to get on him about that shit.
I walked through the front door that was wide open, and I immediately pulled my gun out. The place was ransacked, and the little product that was left had been taken. I walked toward the back of the house and saw Keith lying by the table in the kitchen. It looked like he was bleeding from his chest. Dropping my gun, I ran to where he lay. I took my shirt off and put pressure on his wound with it. I didn’t know how to check for a pulse or none of that shit, but what I did know was that Keith was either dead or unconscious. Either way, I needed to get him to the hospital.
I got him to my car, laid him across my backseat, and turned my hazard lights on. I did a hundred all the way to the hospital. While on my way, I reached into my glove box and grabbed my burner phone, which was for emergencies only. I called the only person I could think of at a time like this.
“Top Tier Styles, Harmoni speaking,” Harmoni answered her work phone.
“Please meet me at the hospital. I need you, Moni!” I said in a panic.
“The hospital? What’s going on, Jakari?” she said in a nervous tone.
“Keith has been shot, and he may be dead, man. I don’t fuckin’ know what happened, but I can’t lose my potna. He’s bleeding out fast. I’m doing a hunnit to Medical City now.
“Calm down. I’m on my way. I’m leaving the shop now, so I’ll be there in less than ten minutes,” she said before ending the call. Hearing her say that she was on her way, that was giving me hope. She knew how much my boy meant to me, and she didn’t choose to kick me while I was down.
My hands were sweaty, and my heart was racing. I couldn’t think straight. Keith had been my boy since fifth grade, and I wasn’t ready to accept him leaving.
It was a Saturday morning, and Rowdy had been texting me since nine o’clock talking about be ready by eleven. I didn’t even know where we were going, and he wouldn’t tell me no matter how many times I asked. All he said was dress nice but comfortable and stop asking questions. I laughed at my phone and got up to get myself together. We were really working towards getting to know one another although I had my appreciations. I owed it to myself to at least see what time the nigga was on.
I took a long hot shower, trying to wash my anxiety away since I was about to be in the presence of this fine ass chocolate man. When I got out to get dressed, I kept it simple — some wide leg linen pants, a fitted crop tank, and my white Nike runners. I pulled my hair up, let a few pieces fall around my face, andkept my jewelry light. I was finishing my edges when I heard three knocks at my door. Not a doorbell, not a text saying he was outside — three actual knocks like he had some sense. I remember times when Jakari would blow his damn horn for me to come out.
I took one last look in the mirror, grabbed my bag, and went to answer it.
When I opened the door, Rowdy was standing there holding a single stem rose, wearing a white tee that fit him right, some distressed designer jeans, and fresh all white Forces. A Cuban link sat on his neck and his watch caught the morning light. The nigga looked like money without being overly flashy.
He wasn’t dressed up, but he was clean, and the way he looked at me when that door swung open made me glad I took my time getting ready.
He held the rose out without saying a word at first. Just looked at me like I had done something to him by simply opening my door to him.
“You gon’ take it or you gon’ make me stand here looking stupid?” he finally said.
I laughed and took it from him. “You could never look stupid.”
“You know what I mean,” he said, and that little smirk he had told me he was dead serious.
I put the rose in some water real quick and grabbed my things. When I came back to the door, he was still standing on the porch, and when I stepped out and pulled it shut behind me, he reached past me and checked the knob to make sure it was locked. I looked up at him and he shrugged like it was nothing.
“Habit,” he said. “You’d always rather be safe than sorry.”
We walked to his all black Benz parked at the curb, and before I could even reach for the handle, he was already there opening it. He held it open and waited until I was fully seatedbefore he closed it. He didn’t slam it at all, he closed it easy, like he was being careful with something that mattered to him. Shit, okay then Rowdy. He was winning all my cool points.
I watched him through the windshield as he walked around to the driver’s side, and I had to check myself because I was already smiling and we hadn’t even left my block yet. It was just something about being near this mysterious, fine ass man.
He took me to this little soul food brunch spot downtown that I had never been to — tucked on a side street with maybe twelve tables inside and a line already forming at the door. It smelled like butter, syrup, and garlic all at once, the kind of place you only find out about because it’s an old family tradition to eat here. I asked him how he knew about it, and he said his grandmama used to bring him here when he was little and would come to town to visit. The way he said it, low and easy, told me that memory still lived somewhere soft in him.
“You still talk to her?” I asked. I said it that way because I didn’t know the proper way to ask if she was still living or not.
“Every Sunday,” he said. “She don’t play about that. It’s crazy that I’m here now, and she’s in Mississippi. It’s like we switched places. A nigga never thought I’d relocate to here.”
I smiled at my menu. Although he couldn’t believe it, I was glad that he did relocate.
