“Sir, I will need signatures on all of this. In front of a notary public.”
“Well, set that all up and then let me know when to come back in. I’m out.” I continued out of the room.
The news of all the money should have moved me more, but it was the thought of meeting the woman who birthed me one day that put a smile on my face. That sounds worth way more than thirty million dollars, especially for a man who never felt love from a parent ever before.
I often dreamed about my mama as a kid, wondering how she would’ve nurtured me had she been around and what parenting styles she would’ve had. I wondered if my mama was around, would I be a man who could kill a nigga at the drop of a dime with no remorse? I mean, I know bloodline goes a long way, but upbringing can take you even further. Just spending more time with my grandma than my brothers did is why I have a moral compass when it comes to women and children.
When I left the lawyer's office, my next destination was the Juice Town smoothie shop on Maine and Hollins. I wasn’t a smoothie drinking ass nigga, and the only reason I was going there was for my street business. Crew had sent me a name, Joey Medina, who happened to own a smoothie shop in The Bronx, two blocks from Lennox Ave. Joey was only in trouble with Crew because word around town was that he had been solicited for a hit on Crew a few weeks ago. Whoever reached out offered Joey a bag for Crew’s blood on the concrete, and since Crew was a family man now, he really didn’t take that shit lightly. His main concern was that they could pull some shit on him when his family is around, or worse, pull some shit on his family.
The biggest problem whoever hired Medina had was that Medina was about fifty-five years old now, so he wasn’t that young gun slinging mutha fucka he was back in the early 2000’s. Joey had a permanent limp in his walk from being stabbed in the calf muscle, and because of that, he put word on the streets for someone to do the job for him, and that’s how word got back to Crew.
When I walked into the smoothie shop, I smelled nothing but bananas, oranges, and shit while a blender went crazy in the back. At the front register, there was a basket of apples with a sign reading $1. I smacked my lips and grabbed the apple even though I didn’t agree with the price. People around New York jack up prices on shit just because they can.A dollar for one fuckin Apple is robbery with no gun.
“I’ll be right with you, sir.” I heard a voice call out from the back as I stood at the register, tearing into the apple. When the Latina woman came through the swinging door, she handed the smoothie in her hand to the white lady at the pickup counter, wiped her hands down her apron, and gave me her attention.
“Hello, what can I get you besides the apple?”
“Let me get an apple blueberry smoothie with a little protein powder. Double-blend if you can.”
“Of course.”
She replied, exhaling as she blew the tiny pieces of her dark brown hair falling into her face. Joey Medina had made plenty of paper, which attracted a beautiful wife, who I’m sure this is.
I remember when my father and his right hand were talking about how Joey opened this shop to cover up all the money he was making from hits. Anyone with sense would see that a big Italian man with tattoos over his neck wasn’t into making no fuckin smoothies. That overweight nigga probably never touched a smoothie in his life.
I could tell that his wife was tense by the way she held her shoulders up high and the steady shift of her neck from left to right. She was stopping after every tap on the register just to rub the back of her neck. Stress was always clear as day on women, and I often knew how to get them out of it. Mecca’s wife, Amelia, could never hide when she was stressed. She used to throw fits around the house, screaming so loud we could hear her even on the opposite side of the mansion. I always used to think that if a woman who had access to all that money could be unhappy, then that’s just how women are. Shit, before I even had some pussy, I told myself I didn’t want a woman around me every day. That’s why marriage is almost obsolete when it comes to me. That was the problem that Delilah and I had.
When the doorbell chimed behind me, I looked over my shoulder, and Allah had dropped Joey right into my lap. When I saw him, it was like the bells on a slot machine were going off, but I had to keep it cool. No sudden movements because I’m sure he had a piece on him.
Joey had his head down and walked straight to the back while I looked straight forward to his wife, hoping he didn’t notice it was me. I wasn’t a famous or known nigga around every hood like Crew and Hov, but the people in my game knew who I was.
“Your total is $9.47. With that, be cash or card?”
“Card,” I replied, and she turned over her shoulder.
“Joey.” She called his name, and he looked back at her.Fuck, I thought to myself.
“Did you pick up the sweetener?” She asked him, but he didn’t answer her, looking directly in my eyes. It was like the moment sat still for a few minutes, only it was seconds that went by before Joey took off running into the back, and my instincts told me to follow this nigga. If he was running, he didn’t have a gun on him.
I jumped the bar and shot through the back behind him, catching up to his sloop foot ass as soon as he hit the back alley behind the restaurant. I wasn’t here to kill the nigga just yet. I had to find out who it was that wanted Crew dead because that person is the head of the snake. If I shoot and kill Medina right now, the person who called the hit will just find someone else to do it for them.
“Stop, you dumb mutha fucka!”
I tripped him up and grabbed him around his collar while standing over his body.
“Alright, alright, man, please don’t kill me! I’ll give you whatever you want!”
“I need a name.”
“A name?”
“Yeah, a name and I’m impatient as a mutha fucka, so if I don’t get it. Your brain is going to be laid out on this concrete, looking like that shit your wife is blending up in that shop. Now who the fuck hired you to get after Crew?”
“Crew, Crew who?” He tried to play dumb, and I punched him in his stomach. He choked up for a few seconds, and I tried to let him catch his breath, but he didn’t do it fast enough, so I hit his ass again for wasting my time.
“Spit that shit out, old ass nigga!”
“Alright, alright. I got word that this nigga had $40,000 stashed away with his mother to take out Crew. His name is Marcus Leeland. He’s the prosecutor who was on his case that got him locked up some time ago.”
