I was about to give my boy everything he earned from that fight. Tomorrow, I was gonna go buy Simone ass something nice. Little did she know, her ass was about to be mine. No questions asked.
The knocking started at eight in the morning and didn’t stop. I was pissed off being woke up out my damn sleep.
I laid there for a full minute thinking whoever it was would get the hint and leave. They didn’t. The knocking just got louder and more frequent like the person on the other side of my door had nowhere else to be and all the time in the world to stand there and piss me off.
I already knew who it was before I even got up. Only one nigga was bold enough to stand there and do some bullshit like that. I pulled myself out of bed with every muscle in my body reminding me what Champ had put on me two nights ago.
My ribs were the worst of it — every time I moved wrong a sharp pain shot through my left side that made me catch my breath. My jaw was still swollen a little, the cut above my eye had scabbed over, and my knuckles were bruised from the work I’dput in on Champ’s body for five rounds. I felt every bit of twenty two years old and then some.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open and Gutta was standing there grinning like he’d won something.
“Why.” I said it flat.
“Good morning to you too my nigga.” He walked past me into the apartment without being invited like he had been doing his whole life and I pushed the door shut and stood there looking at him.
“It’s eight in the morning Gutta. And you bringing that shit to my door.”
“I know what time it is.”
“Then you know this is not a normal time to be at somebody crib dude!”
“I got something for you and I wasn’t gone wait all day to give it to you.” He held up the backpack and set it on my kitchen counter and unzipped it and he stepped back. “Open it.”
I looked at him and then looked at the bag and walked over, I looked inside.
Stacks of money. Neat, rubber banded, organized the way Gutta organized everything he touched.
“That’s thirty thousand dollars,” he said. “That’s all yo money back.”
I stepped back from the bag. “Where did this come from?”
“Does it matter?”
“Gutta. Come on mane. Answer the question.”
“Street.” He matched my tone exactly. “You went into that cage two nights ago with thirty thousand dollars of debt over your head and you fought like your life depended on it because it did. You put Champ on his ass and you got your forty thousand. You stood on yo word and you paid Tavarus what you owed him. Now, you got nothing left to show for any of it.” He pointed at the bag. “That’s yours. You fought too hard not to be able to enjoy your own winnings. All you need to know is that is the money you earned.”
“I’m not taking money from you.”
“You not taking it from me. I’m giving it to you. Different thing.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It really ain’t.” He zipped the bag back up and picked it up and held it out toward me. “Stop being lame nigga and take the bag.”
I looked at him standing there with his arm extended and that expression on his face that he got when he had already decided how something was going to go and was just waiting for everybody else to catch up. I had seen that expression my whole life. I knew what it meant. He wasn’t leaving without me taking this bag and arguing with Gutta was something that never ended the way I wanted it to.
I took the bag.
He smiled. Not the big overly dramatic smile he did when he was showing off. The real smile that said he really wanted me to have this shit. Small and genuine, the kind that showed only when something actually mattered to him.
I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a big ass hug and we held it for a second. This was my fuckin’ brother and this was the realest shit a nigga ever could have done. I had alreadycounted that money out and here he was, giving it all back to me. Me and Gutta didn’t need speeches. Never had.
When I stepped back he was already moving toward the door.
“Get dressed,” he said.
“For what?” I asked. This nigga never planned shit ahead of time, but always expected me to jump up.
