“For sure.”
“Already.”
They echoed each other, nodding.
“Yo, Proc, I heard old boy Braxton got a broken rib earlier at Hawk’s spot off the strip.”
“Your fuckin right he got a broken rib, and it pisses me off that it wasn’t four. He was the only nigga that I set up with these rich bitches that didn’t have my money when I checked in with him. Bitch ass nigga said he would get at me next week, so I one upped him and got with him today. Speaking of, I appreciate all of you niggas for turning over your funds to the safe without hassle. This shit only works if we all keep it one hunnit with each other.”
I looked around the room at everyone locked in. When I first started this service, I knew I couldn’t fuck all the rich bitches that came my way, so I recruited niggas who I could trustto pay me my cut. I never asked for much, not even half, because I wasn’t their pimp. My requirements were only one thousand off of each payday, and that should’ve been nothing to these niggas. I know for a fact I sent Sergio thirty bitches since I’ve known him. Cookie running her mouth to her rich friends had a lot of niggas rich now, but I didn't mind sharing. Shid, I had enough dick to fuck then all myself if I wanted to.
Once the meeting wrapped up, we headed toward the front to prepare for the seven o’clock opening. I was strolling down the hall with the rest of my top guards when Brenda came hustling down towards us, heels clicking fast against the floor.
“Hey, Proc, I was just coming to get you. There are two detectives up front looking for you.” I stopped mid stroll but signaled for the rest of them to continue.
“Looking for me for what?”
“They wouldn’t say, but I told them I’d check to see if you were back here. If you want, I can tell them you’re not, and you can sneak out of the back.”
“Nah, it’s cool. I’ll go and talk to them.”
I adjusted my jacket and walked toward the front like I didn’t have a worry in the world.
When I walked up to the bar area, two detectives were standing there with their hands in their pockets, posture stiff, like they wanted to intimidate me.
“Harrison Proctor?” They greeted me when I walked up.
“That’s me. What the hell do you want? I’m busy back there.”
“Listen, we are here because we wanted to know what you knew about a murder that happened at a gas station near the hood. Four people dead.”
“Alright, what does that have to do with me? This Vegas. People get shot every day. Kids, women, old people, shit Tupac. Y’all still haven’t found out who killed him, and that was over thirty years ago.”
I was talking shit to irritate their asses on purpose because the police never scared me. Me and my little brother done jumped some cops before and took their guns. The moment I realized they were just pussies with guns was the moment I realized I had nothing to fear.
“Proctor, one of the men who was shot dead today, is the suspect in the shooting of your son outside the courthouse yesterday. Isn’t it ironic that he was gunned down while leaving town?”
“Not ironic, but Karma if you ask me. Maybe you should have found him sooner.”
I slipped my hands into my pockets, calm as ever.
“Proctor, was this get back for your son? A confession now will save you some time in the long run.”
“I had nothing to do with that murder, and I was with a lady friend named Tania who is friends with my son’s wife staying with them for the week. I took her to one of my favorite restaurants, and we were there for hours before we both went home.”
“And what time did you leave there?”
“Shid, I don’t know, maybe around 4:00. I’m sure the people at Diane’s Soul Food can vouch for that. Go ask them, and my lady friend. I have nothing to hide.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“As sure as I am that water is wet nigga. Look, y’all boys already tried to get me on another murder that I didn’t do, nowy’all back because that didn’t stick. Damn, can a nigga at least get his dick wet a few times before y’all try to lock me back up again? I’m not like y’all. I like pussy and need it more than once a year.”
They shook their heads, before I walked off, unbothered on the outside, but I still wanted to smoke to release that negative ass vibe those pigs gave me.
I went to my office and pulled out a vacuum-sealed stash, busted it open, and rolled a blunt thick enough to quiet whatever noise was building in my chest. I stepped outside where the fleet of luxury cars was lined up, and I leaned against mine, lighting up and inhaling until the smoke filled my lungs. This was my first time smoking in a year because getting high in jail wasn’t a real kind of high. In jail, there was a ceiling on your buzz because nothing about being locked up feels carefree.
I was looking out towards the road, blowing smoke rings, when my phone buzzed with a call from my son.
