Booda stepped in front of me, eyes roaming the area. “Stay behind me,” he said as we crossed the parking lot.
“Trust me, I wasn’t planning on wandering off.”
My car beeped when I unlocked it, and I slid into the driver’s seat while Booda settled in beside me. A few seconds later, streetlights streaked past the windows as I pulled out of the complex.
My hands tightened around the steering wheel while my mind replayed the sound of that gunshot over and over again. “What exactly are we going to the club for?” I finally asked.
“Information,” Booda replied. “Niggas respect us. They’ll tell us what we need to know about Rich.”
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the club. Music thumped so hard outside the building that it vibrated through the parking lot as I climbed out of the car.
Booda had me drop him off near the corner before I pulled into the lot. As far as most people knew, he was locked up for good, and we planned on keeping it that way for as long as possible. Confused people made mistakes. Besides, if Rich found out too early that Booda was back around, he’d move differently.
The second the guards spotted me walking toward the entrance, they both straightened immediately.
“Damn,” the dark-skinned one from last time said the second he saw me. “You good?”
“I need to speak with you, him, and whoever owns this place,” I replied calmly. “Somewhere private.”
The guards exchanged a quick look immediately, and the man with the lighter complexion asked, “What happened?”
“I’ll explain inside.”
He nodded quickly before pulling the velvet rope aside. “Come on.”
He led me into the club while the other guard spoke quietly into his earpiece behind us.
The inside was crowded wall to wall, and the smell of liquor, perfume, and weed hung heavily in the air. Colored lights flashed across sweaty bodies while women twerked and men stood around holding bottles and stacks of cash.
I barely looked at anybody as we moved through the crowd.
We passed the main floor and headed down a quieter hallway near the back of the club before the bouncer finally stopped outside a black door.
“Go ahead,” he said, pulling it open for me.
The second I stepped inside, I paused at the door and looked around. Dim light glowed against dark walls. Behind a small bar in the corner, expensive liquor lined floating shelves, and a black leather sectional wrapped around the room beneath framed pictures of rappers, athletes, and local street legends.
A pool table sat near the back beside a mounted television, and the smell of cigars and expensive cologne lingered deep in the furniture.
My eyes slowly moved across the room. I’d been here before. More than once. I could feel it.
The door opened a few moments later, and the guards stepped inside with a tall, light-brown-skinned man who looked to be in his early forties. A black designer button-down stretched across his broad frame beneath a fitted pair of slacks, and a gold watch flashed me every time his wrist moved. His beard was lined, diamond studs glimmered in both ears, and he carried himself with confidence that came from years of being respected.
The second his eyes landed on me, recognition lit them immediately.
“Koko,” he greeted.
“Marcellus,” I replied automatically, surprising myself.
His brows lifted in surprise. “Memory coming back?”
“Pieces.”
Marcellus nodded once before motioning toward the leather sectional. “Talk to me.”
I got straight to it as I took a seat. “I’m here to cash in a favor.”
“Anything for you,” Marcellus said, sitting across from me.
