Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty and still nothing. I was starting to think maybe whoever it was had gotten spookedearlier. Until headlights turned onto the block. The same halo lights came creeping up slowly. I leaned forward slightly, watching through the cracked windshield. My hand slid down to the Glock resting on my lap. The car rolled halfway down the block before stopping. The driver’s side door never opened. Neither did the passenger side. They sat there just watching. That told me they weren’t normal people. Then they pulled off, circled the block, and came back.
They were looking for something or someone. The passenger window rolled down slightly, and a hand flicked something into the street. Then the window rolled back up and slowly pulled away. I waited a good five minutes before I hopped out and jogged to the spot. It was a half-smoked cigarette. That wasn’t what caught my attention. I bent down and picked it up. Three numbers were written on the cigarette. 239. My jaw tightened. I flicked the cigarette, jogged back to the Buick, and pulled off.
I was supposed to be home thinking. That’s what I told Adore I was doing. Had I been at my condo, I would’ve never ran across this shit. I needed to get with my crew as soon as possible. We were the target, and this shit had nothing to do with Adore. I sent a text and headed to our pool hall. The 239 Boyz ran a gambling house on the northside. Pool tables, card games, and dice in the back. Money be moving through that bitch all night. It was close to two in the morning when I rolled up on them.
“Fuck going on?” one of them asked.
“We got a fuckin’ problem. Black sedan with Florida tags. I thought they was after Adore, but I was sitting on their ass, and they flicked a cigarette out the window with 239 written on it.”
“Shit, fuck we waitin’ on? Let’s go get dem niggas,” another member said.
“Sit, I still don’t know who the fuck it is. I wanted to put the bug in y’all ear. Protect your families. I’mma get up with y’all tomorrow.”
I was halfway out the door when my phone started ringing. I glanced down at the screen to see one of the store managers.
“What?” I answered.
“Whodie!” The man shouted, his voice shaky over the screams in the background.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?”
“The west side store is on fire!”
My whole body went stiff. That was our biggest store.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m standing right here and looking at it! Flames coming out of the damn windows.”
Behind him, I heard the horns from the fire trucks. I ended the call and slid my phone back in my pocket.
“Wassup?” One of the boys asked.
“Somebody just torched the west side store.”
“Let’s ride,” one of the OG’s said.
When we pulled up, flames ripped through the front of the store while the smoke filled the night sky. Neighbors stood around watching like it was fucking entertainment. I stepped out slowly and scanned the street. The store manager ran up to me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I was locking up when somebody threw something through the window.”
“What kinda something?”
“A bottle of liquor. As soon as it hit the floor, the whole front of the store lit up. I had to run out the back.”
We stuck around until the fire department left. We weren’t allowed inside until they deemed it clear. Something caught my attention. A small matchbox withTell Adorewritten on it. I pulled my phone out and dialed her number. I knew she was asleep, but unlike her, I wasn’t holding this shit from her.
“What’s wrong?” Is the first thing she said. I never called her this time of night.
“The West side store burned down,” I said, trying to stay calm.
The line was silent at first, then I heard her shifting.
“Anybody hurt?” She asked coldly.
“Nah.”
