“Oh! See, I knew it was you because of that chain!” They got hype like I was a celebrity or some shit. This kind of reaction to a little nigga knowing who I am is different. I never saw any shit like this before.
“You got a bunch of money now, don’t you? I bet you could buy us a whole new baseball and some bats. Ouu and gloves.”
One of them asked, and the other elbowed him in the stomach like he crossed a line.
“Yeah, little dude, I can buy you a baseball bat and a ball. But if I do that, y’all have to promise me that y’all won’t be playing on the side of the road. Go in the middle of the courtyard and play.”
“We try to play there, but the older dudes always run us off so they can play dice and smoke weed.”
“Well, I’ll handle that for you, but in the meantime, get off the side of the street and find something safer to do until we get this baseball shit lined up, alright?”
“Alright. Thank you, Amir,” one of them said, giving me a handshake.
When the little dudes ran off, I heard a whistle behind me, and it was Elijah coming down the pathway with a blunt to his lips, smoke floating in the air.
“Amir Quatar, what’s up, my people?”
“Shid, waiting on your slow ass talking to these little dudes that just ran off the block. So, you're part of the problem these little niggas were telling me about,”
“What problem, nigga?”
“Niggas smoking weed in the courtyard and doing dumb shit instead of letting the little niggas play baseball and other shit to keep them off the sidewalks and in the middle of the streets.”
“I’m not a part of any problems over here because I’m just visiting my mom. I don’t live over here. You know, I moved on up like The Jeffersons.”
“Yeah, I heard you got a new spot, congratulations.”
“Appreciate you. All I need now is a bitch to move in with me, and I’ll really be George Jefferson around this mutha fucka.”
I started the engine so we could pull off, and a question started to plague my mind. I saw Elijah getting at Jasmine, but I wondered if she had actually given him any play before. I wasn’t against a woman doing her thing if she’s single, but I was againstdealing with women who have smashed people too close to me or in my circle.
“So, what’s up with you and Crew’s sister, Jasmine?”
“Shit, nothing yet, but her ass is fine as fuck and she can get it.”
“Well, don’t you think it’s fucked up for you to be trying to get at his sister? Some people don’t play about their sisters,” I replied.
“Yeah, but I’m sure that Crew doesn’t give a fuck anymore. Her name has been floating around the city for years, so why should he care what she’s doing now?”
“What does that mean?”
“She got a small reputation around here for giving it up, and now that I have money, I’m sure I can be next. I've been wanting her for a while now.” He licked his lips like he was thinking about his next meal.
I couldn’t lie, hearing this nigga talk about Jas like that pissed me off. She was too damn pretty for a reputation, and I could tell she had more to her than just giving up sex. A woman like her needs to know her worth, so knucklehead ass niggas like Elijah didn’t think they could stand a chance. Just from seeing how pretty her pussy is last night, I knew only a certain caliber of nigga deserved it. Niggas that wouldn’t prey on her but wait on her because a pussy like that is a dime a dozen.
Elijah and I had to go and handle business because we knew there was a chance the shootout yesterday was directly linked to Trey and his murder. That wasn’t something I could ignore. Not when bullets had already flown once. So, my first stop was the house I found out was Trey and Troy’s mother’s.Oftentimes, in situations like this, it’s best to go directly to the source.
We drove all the way across town, the city changing the deeper we went. The buildings got older, the streets narrower, the sidewalks crowded with people who looked like they’d been standing in the same spots for years. When we finally pulled up, it was a row of brownstones in Brooklyn, all lined up shoulder to shoulder like they were holding each other up.
A lot of times, dudes get money and leave their moms in the hood while they move to spots where they know they are safe. Niggas fix up the inside of their mama’s house, throw in some new furniture, and fresh paint, trying to make it feel like an upgrade. But on the outside, they're still living in the same neighborhood, with the same problems, the same danger. It’s like throwing a bone to a dog and calling it a feast.
I found out about this place because one of Trey’s baby mamas went on Facebook talking recklessly about her mother-in-law for not getting her grandson. The video was still up on her page of her riding past the house, screaming out the window,
“Your son is dead, and you don’t even care to pick up the slack for TJ.”
On the video, her ass pulled over, hopped out, and walked right up to the stoop. The camera tilted, but still caught the house number clear as day.
Social media got folks thinking they're just venting, but in reality, they give up too much information on these apps, making it easy for a nigga like me to find who I’m looking for.
