Before I knew it, I grabbed that nigga by the collar of his shirt and shoved him up against the window while handling the wheel with the other hand.
“I work with you out of respect for Crew and Hov, but you still have to earn my respect, little nigga. Don’t think I won't hurt you and dump your body in a river for disrespecting me. You understand?”
“Yeah, man, I understand. Damn.”
“Alright then.”
I let his collar go. He pulled it down, adjusting his clothes where I’d wrinkled them up. I’m not sure if I would have problems with his ass again after this shit, but I still needed to talk to Crew about this nigga. He was getting more and more reckless, and I had a short fuse for reckless-ass niggas. I grew up around them, and being reckless only got them one thing: put in the fucking dirt. I’m too wise for this type of shit. I’ve been there and done that while this nigga is still learning lessons.
I dropped the nigga Elijah off back at the spot he’d copped and rolled through the city back to mine. I was hungry as shit and wasn’t big on fast food chains. We never got it when we were younger. We had cooks, maids, and people who made sure we ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day.
When I walked through the door, I chunked my keys on the table and pulled the guns from my waistband. Once I set them down within arm’s reach, I took a double-take, checking the locks. And I punched in the alarm code, listening for that beep that told me I was sealed in. Only after that did my shoulders loosen from the tense feeling I had coming in here.
I headed straight for the fridge and grabbed the rotisserie chicken I’d picked up from the deli earlier. It was already cold, but I didn’t care. I pulled it out of the fridge, chopped it quickly, and threw it on two slices of bread. I slathered on some mayonnaise, heavy, the way I liked it, and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
This wasn’t a fancy dinner, but it would do the job. Fill me up and hold me over until I can eat again after sundown.
Ramadan starts tomorrow so it's a new day, but I'm sure it will come with new bull shit.
Chapter 12
Maleka
The next day
“Shit,” I mumbled to myself, tripping over the raised concrete on my way to 27th Avenue. My mama really had me fucked up, using me as her own personal delivery girl for these pizzas. I get, Miss Thomas, got her foot cut off because of the fuckin gout, but damn, she can’t hop her ass over here and get it herself.
I really hated the fact that I had to do everything my mama asks me to, even when I’m tired as hell from my actual job, but she wasn’t making me pay bills, so respecting her house rules was my form of payment. My mama was sweet to everyone around the neighborhood, nice to my friends, but when it’s just her and me, she’s a pain in my left ass cheek. That’s why I've been looking for a nigga to come and save me from this shit. Shake Shack will forever have me listening to my mama, and I don’t know how much longer I can do this shit.I know for a fact that I won't be delivering any pizza on my birthday.
Once I delivered the pizza to Miss Thomas, I got the $30 she gave me, plus a tip, and put it into the fanny pack I was wearing. It was a fake-ass Prada fanny pack that I’d gotten offAvenue years ago. All my clothes were nice, but none of them cost much because I couldn’t afford the real shit. I carried Louis Vuitton and Prada bags to my job, knowing people knew they were fake. It would take me six months to earn enough money to buy something real, and even then, I would’ve had to starve myself for six months straight just to get it.
On my way home, I decided to stop by the bodega a couple of blocks away from my mama’s house. I had a mad craving for a soda because I was dehydrated as shit from this fuckin walk. I entered the store, going straight back to the cooler to get my drinks, and spotted my favorite bag of chips on the way to the counter. I knew I had to eat them in a hurry on my way home because my mama always had something slick to say about me eating junk food. She would often make me feel guilty about eating anything because I wasn’t a perfect size seven like she was back in her glory days.
I paid for the snacks with the extra $10 I had in my fanny pack and busted the chips open on my way back to my mama’s crib. I already had plans of lying out on my twin-sized bed stacked with pillows while watching my favorite past-time show, ICarly.
My soda was tucked under my left arm, while I snacked on my chips and scrolled my phone, wondering if I should text my boo or not. I didn’t want to seem too clingy because he’d said several times he didn’t like clingy ass females who required too much attention. Plus, my best friend Jas also advised me against it, saying men always want who doesn’t want them. It was just hard taking advice from a person who was beautiful with a cute shape who could get men regardless. Anytime we went out, it was always her getting the attention, and the only reason she didn’t get even more was that people were scared of her fine ass brother. I used to have the biggest crush in the world on Crewwhen we were younger. He never would give me any attention, though. I was far from his type back then, and I am just coming into my looks.
As I finished off the bag of chips, I turned it upside down into my mouth to catch the crumbs in the corner of the bag. That’s when I felt a strong pull at my waistband out of no where.
“What the fuck! Get off of me!” There was a man trying to pull my fanny pack off of me. I connected with his face, but my cheap ass fanny pack broke, and he snatched it off and ran in the opposite direction.
“Yo, bring my shit back! What the fuck!”
I chased him for as long as I could, but I wasn’t in shape worth shit, so I only lasted a block and a half before I decided to stop and watch to see what he looked like and had on.
From what I could see, he was a tall white dude with a mullet and a large tattoo on his neck. Shit, when I think about it, Jasmine said something similar to the same description of the dude who robbed and killed Trey. My hands were shaking so bad that it took me a minute to realize I had my phone in my hand the entire time. Before I even thought to call sorry ass NYPD, I thought to call my best friend to tell her what I think just happened.
“Hello?”
“Bitch, tell me why I just got robbed by 5th Ave.”
“Damn, what did they get?”
“My fuckin fanny pack with all my mama money in it. She's about to bug out.”
“Damn, I know she is. Did you see what he looked like? Are you going to call the police?”
“It’s pointless to call them about the robbery, but I think a murder will get them moving. Didn’t you say it was a tall white dude who robbed y’all and killed Trey? Friend, I think this may be the same dude who just robbed me. So you should come down here, and we can talk to them together. Maybe then they will go case the area and look at cameras and shit to see where this guy went.”
