I leaned back in my seat; eyes locked on the stoop where Trey’s baby mama had acted a fool at.
“That’s it right there,” I muttered.
Elijah followed my gaze, the smoke from his blunt drifting toward the windshield.
“Bet, let’s roll inside then.”
We got out of the car, knocked on the door, and waited until the locks clicked. The second it opened, we gave the person on the other side no time to ask who we were, because we blew past her, guns drawn, lifting them slightly as we cleared each room, making sure nobody was about to jump out and blow our fucking heads off for storming into their shit.
But as I said, dudes like Troy leave their family behind. They probably didn’t even have a gun in here to protect themselves against the troubles her children caused.
“What, what’s going on? Why the fuck are you here?” she stuttered.
“Where is your son?”
“My son is dead.”
“You know which son I’m talking about. The one that’s still alive. The one your son worked for.”
“Who, Troy? I don’t know. He doesn’t come around here much. I haven’t seen him since Trey’s funeral.”
“Well, if you don’t want him to have to attend more funerals, then you’ll tell me where the fuck I can find him.”
“Why are you looking for my son? You can’t possibly think I’m going to lead you to him and let you know where he is so you can hurt him.”
“Listen, nobody said we were going to hurt him. We just tired of looking for the nigga, and we thought we’d come straight to the source.”
“Yeah,” Elijah chimed in from behind me. “Let us know where the fuck he is. We are not here to play with you.”
I looked over my shoulder, signaling for him to shut the fuck up, but he didn’t. Elijah was one of those young dudes who loved having authority over people through fear. I was the same way, only I had a soft spot when it came to people who were weak or timid. Now niggas like her son, Trey, who tried to play hard, I killed with no remorse.
“Listen,” I said, lowering my voice.
“I know you love your son. But if you really love him, you’ll let me know where I can find him so that I can talk to him. I need to know if there’s beef in the streets with me or not.”
“I promise, I don’t know where Troy is or anything about his beefs. I’m fifty-seven years old, and I don’t have time for street nonsense.”
“Yeah, right, bitch. What kind of mother doesn’t know where her son lives?” Elijah continued talking shit, but I ignored him for the time being.
“Well, if that’s the case, then call him up and let me talk to him.”
“Okay, I will,” she said.
She grabbed her phone from the counter and dialed Troy’s number, putting it on speaker. The phone rang twice before he answered.
“Mama, I’ll send you the money tomorrow, alright?” he started talking before she could even say a word.
“It’s not about money, Troy. There are these men who rushed up in here looking for you, and he wants to talk to you.”
“What? I didn’t send any guy over there.”
“Yo,” I spoke up while she was still holding the phone. “This is Amir Quatar nigga.”
“What the fuck are you doing over there with my mama?” he snapped.
“Came here to talk to you. Make sure there’s no bad blood between you and the niggas I run with.”
“Why would there be bad blood between us?”
