I dropped what I was doing to stop by Maleek and mama’s crib. He texted me while on the bus and said he was having an issue. I wasn’t sure what kind of issue but whatever it was would get handled.
Meeting him at the bus stop, he stood there with a huge lip and a knot on his eyebrow like he’d been in a fight. I pushedaway from my truck to him. He had his head down. That shit did something inside me. I was seeing red.
“Who the fuck did this shit?” I asked him.
“It’s nothing, bro.”
“Nah, it’s something because you hit my line.”
“The boy on the bus Jayshon did it” one of his friends said, pointing to a heavyset nigga looking out the window with his friends.
The bus tried pulling off, and I stopped that mothafucka, stepping out in front of it. I signaled for the doors to open back up and hopped my ass on it.
“Sir, you can’t get on here,” the driver said.
I ignored her.
Kids were touching on me, trying to ask for autographs and snapping pictures.
“Aye, get the fuck off the bus,” I told the boy who was now scrunched up in his seat, lump bobbing in his throat.
His face was swollen although he already looked like a fucking squirrel. Maleek put them paws on his ass. His eye was already closing shut. He was sucking up the blood inside his mouth, knots on both sides of his forehead.
That wasn’t good enough for me.
I saw his phone, snatched it off the seat and went through it. The first number I saw was ‘dad’. I called the number.
“What the hell you want, Jay? You bet not had to miss that fuckin’ bus,” he fussed.
“Aye, if you want your kid shit, come get it.” I ended the call and slipped the phone into my pocket.
“My phone!” he cried for it.
“Yo’ daddy can come get this shit back,” I let him know, turning around on the crowded ass bus that had a circled around me. I broke through and got off the bus.
The bus driver yelled for me to give back the phone.
Fuck them, too.
“Fuck you waiting on, get them kids home,” I told her, and she apprehensively closed the doors.
Maleek had gotten inside the truck, but I was posted because I wanted to see this lil’ mothafucka’s Pops. I’m getting my ones. Since the lil’ nigga was too young, his Pops can take these hits.
The phone went off in my pocket. I knew it was him.
“Hello. Hello,” he repeated.
“I ain’t got all day. If you want this mothafucka back. Come get it in blood. Yo’ son know where.” I ended the call.
Maleek sat in the truck, I stayed posted.
Minutes later, a Chevy Malibu bent the block on two wheels, almost passing us. He had to reverse that bitch. Almost jumped out with it still rolling.
He pushed his phone to his ear, and the phone rang in my pocket as he called it to see where it was. Once he noticed I had it, he sped walk with air on his chest. I was gone deflate it.
He looked familiar.
His son wobbled his ass out the car fiddling with his thumbs. I bet he didn’t have that energy with Maleek earlier. Bullying ass mothafuckin’ kids.
