“Nigga… I know my wife’s number,” I told him. “Mind ya fuckin’ business.”
He ain’t flinch or get offended. He leaned his shoulder against the wall like he had all the time in the world.
“You ain’t the only one with business, man,” he said calmly. “I need the phone too.”
I raised my eyebrow. Most people ain’t talk back to me in here unless they wanted they ass beat.
“Get the fuck in line then,” I told him. “I ain’t done.”
He let out a short laugh under his breath. Then he walked right up to the phone, movin’ past me without askin’ or hesitatin’.
Before I could tell him to back the fuck up, he pulled some sharp lil’ tool out from under his waistband, popped the front panel of the phone open, and tapped a couple wires like he been fixin’ jail phones all his fuckin’ life. He ain’t study the shit or think about it. He ain’t even look worried about somebody seein’ him. He just flipped, tapped, slid somethin’ in place, then closed the panel like he worked here.
“Try it now,” he said casually while steppin’ back behind me.
I frowned but lifted the receiver anyway. I dialed Toni again, waitin’ for the bullshittin’ static. Instead, the automated voice came on and then the line clicked, and her voice came through clear like she was right beside me.
“Baby? Kay’Lo? You hear me now?”
My chest loosened as soon as I heard her voice. “Yeah, mama, I hear you. How you and my baby doin’?”
“I’m okay now that I hear you,” she said soft.
I talked to her for a while, lettin’ her know I loved her, and that I was holdin’ up as best as I could. Every word out her mouth made me hate this place more. I hung onto her voice like oxygen before I finally had to hang up.
When I turned around, the white boy was still standin’ there. I ain’t say shit. I brushed past him and headed back to my cell.
Later that evenin’, we was let out of our cells to move around for about an hour, and I stepped out tryna clear my head. I ain’t feel like talkin’ to nobody, but bein’ on the block was better than starin’ at concrete and losin’ my mind. Niggas was everywhere, playin’ cards, arguin’ about shit that didn’t matter, or walkin’ in circles like it made time move faster. I kept to myself while I moved through the crowd.
I wasn’t lookin’ for nobody, yet my eyes still fell on the white boy who fixed that phone like it was nothin’.
He was leaned on the wall with his shoulder pressed into chipped paint like he was chillin’ in a lounge and not a damn jail. His hair was wild, fallin’ in messy waves like he woke up and ain’t give a fuck. His whole upper body was tatted, ink crawlin’ across his skin in a way that made it hard to tell where one piece ended and the next started. When he shifted his jaw, the lights hit the silver open-face grill in his mouth. He looked crazy,dangerous, and too calm for somebody locked up… but for some reason I felt the nigga.
A dude walked up and dabbed him, and the way he returned it was smooth and relaxed, like he wasn’t pressed about shit. They talked low for a minute, and whatever was said had the dude grinnin’ before he walked off.
I wasn’t tryna give him props, but the way he fixed that phone earlier for me had stuck with me. He ain’t make it a big deal. He just handled it like he been fixin’ shit his whole life, and that alone made me walk over.
“Aye,” I said. “Good look for that phone shit.”
He tilted his head a lil’, his eyes half-lidded. “You were loud as hell about it,” he said, his voice calm and low. “I fixed it so you would stop stressing me out.”
I smirked. “Say… whatever nigga.”
He ain’t flinch at the word, or take it wrong. While we stood there, somebody else walked up behind him. They ain’t speak. Dude just stood there like he knew the drill.
White boy lifted his chin once, slid his hand in his sock, and pulled out a small bag of weed like it was nothin’. He took out some rolled-up papers he must’ve made from somethin’ in the unit, opened the bag, and dropped a small amount in the nigga hand. Then dude bounced quick after that.
I kept my eyes on the bag without meanin’ to. I had been locked up for weeks and ain’t smoked shit. And my nerves was crawlin’ for somethin’ to take the edge off.
The white dude caught me lookin’.
“You gon’ keep staring?” he asked, his eyes droppin’ to my face then back to the bag, “or you want this work?”
“I’on smoke everybody shit,” I told him.
“In here?” he said, liftin’ a brow. “You ain’t really in a position to be picky, bro.”
I sucked my teeth. “How much?”
