2. Scott “Scotty” Chad MacLeod
A Short Time Earlier . . .
I was tired as hell, but Lashonda Winslow was on my line.
Today was a long day, and I didn’t feel like dealing with her today.
I knew that if I didn’t do it today, she would be in my face tomorrow with chaos.
I was a man that didn’t deal with unnecessary chaos, so I tried not to promote situations that encouraged it.
I sat in the driveway of the house that I paid for and just looked at it. I worked hard to get this house, only to turn around and hate the sight of it. Let me get in here so I can get the hell out.
I climbed out of my Suburban and trekked my way to the front door. I knocked before I put my key in the door because I didn’t want to walk into any fuck shit. “Lashonda! Where you at?”
There was a shuffling noise toward the living room.
I pulled my gun because you could never be too sure with the world today.
Just before I walked into the living room, she announced where she was.
When I turned the corner, I wasn’t surprised by what I saw.
She sat there next to some nigga, and both of their clothes were disheveled.
She glanced at me, then down at my gun. “Scotty, why the hell are you walkin’ in here with your gun out? Put that shit away,” she fussed.
“I’m exhausted. What do you need, Lashonda?” I asked as I put my gun away.
Her eyes rolled up toward the sky. “You act like I didn’t give birth to you. If I call, you should come running.”
A blank stare was all I had. She couldn’t be serious right now.
This was the woman who openly told me that she despised me because of who my father was.
My father was a man that I’d never met. She got caught up with a man that used her as a dare.
When she happily told him that she was pregnant with me, he told her to kill me, then got missing.
I literally didn’t know anything about this man except that we shared a last name and that he was a Scottish man. Apparently, that was where my skin tone and freckles derived from. My mother was a beautiful, chocolate woman with an ugly heart.
When I was fifteen, I got my own apartment by way of an older homeboy because I wanted so badly to be away from this woman. She didn’t give a fuck as long as she could still dig in my pockets when she wanted to. That was fine because the streets gave me money to throw away.
“Lashonda, you have less than a minute to tell me what you need, or I’m gone. I already told you that I’m exhausted. I had a long day.”
The dude that sat next to her glanced at me. The fear in his eyes made me snicker. There was no need for him to be scared. I wasn’t a crash dummy. I knew when to get active and when to chill. That was the difference between a crash dummy and a man.
She sucked her teeth. “I need some money. My rent is due.”
There was no fucking way that she just said that dumb shit to me. “Lashonda, are you on that shit? You got to be, because there is no way that you told me your rent was due when I bought this house with cash. There is no fucking rent.”
She had me fucked up. When I bought this house, it was originally for me.
Her ass got evicted from her apartment and needed somewhere to go.
Yeah, I didn’t like my mother, but I loved her.
There was no way I would let her be on the street.
In the same breath, there was no way I would live with her.
I allowed her to move in, and I moved out to another house that I bought.
When her eyes fell on the nigga next to her, I knew this was his idea. Two dummies on a couch. “Um, I have rent now because I refinanced—”
“Lashonda, I own this house. How can you refinance a house that is not yours? Try another lie.” This shit was stupid. She could have just said she wanted some money instead of manufacturing a stupid-ass lie.
“Well, damn! How about you just give me some fuckin’ money, Scotty, shit! All this back and forth,” she fussed.
How the fuck was she frustrated with me about my money? She lived in this house, bills free. I took care of all the damn bills. Literally, all she had to do was clean and buy groceries. Her car was paid for, courtesy of me as well.
“Yeah, nah. You have a job and no bills. Ask that nigga whose dick you were just on for some money. Y’all have a good day.” She could kiss my ass.
On my way out of the door, a vase flew past my head. My steps stopped. This was the shit that pissed me off. Some of those who saw me in a violent state asked where I got it from. All I had to do was introduce them to the woman behind me.
As early as four, most of what I remembered about my childhood was getting my ass whupped. It wasn’t until I was fourteen that she realized I was too big for that shit because I was able to restrain her.
Breathe, Scotty. Just breathe. It was quiet, and I knew she stood behind me, waiting for a reaction. Without turning around, I spoke. “Lashonda, I’m not going to bother turning around to even play with your ass tonight. The next time I come over here, that vase better be replaced. Good night.”
I walked out of the house. It was time for me to check the cameras in the house that she didn’t know were there. There were none in her bedroom. Something told me that she was really on that shit. If I confirmed, she would have to get the fuck out of my house.
A Few Days Later . . .
I got a call yesterday from Lo’ak Jordan, which was out of the blue. He was a cool dude who I had no issues with. We’d worked together a few times when I was deep in; we had the same connect. His mentor, Geo, and mine, Logan, were close.
I still had hands in the streets but nothing like I did in the past. An important lesson you learned in the streets was when to bow out gracefully.
Now I owned several auto body shops in my area that brought in money on the table and under.
I oversaw a few deals from time to time that flowed through my shops with my approval. The street shit would always be in me.
“Scotty, there’s some bitch out here talkin’ about she’s not going to pay the invoice for her body work.
That’s why I hate fucking with these janky insurance companies.
Instead of giving us the check to do the work, they give it to them.
Now she’s in here with a bust down and BBL but doesn’t have the money for her repairs. She’s spent the money,” Grady fussed.
I closed my eyes. Behind my desk, in my office, was where I liked to be.
It was known that Scotty McLeod owned SCM Customs & Body Shops.
What a lot of people didn’t know was who I actually was.
I kept myself in the backdrop. Most people who saw me thought I was just another auto technician or a manager of the shop.
They didn’t realize that I was SCM, because most didn’t know what that shit was even short for.
“Let me see the invoice,” I told Grady. After he handed it to me, I looked it over.
I needed to know the total so I could decide my turn-up level if she continued to act simple.
Seven thousand dollars. “Call Seth and send him to her house. If I give you the nod, let him know to move. I’ll be out there in a second. ”
Grady’s sinister smirk surfaced. He knew what it was if he had to call Seth. Nothing good came out of a call to Seth. Let us pray that she just paid the bill.
I wore street clothes today because I was just here to check our inventory, sales, and process payroll.
When I came back from where the office was, it was clear who Miss Jasonya Williams was.
She was a gorgeous, fuckable female, but the scowl that she wore told me she was a female that might be hard to like.
“How can I help you today, Miss Williams?”
Her eyes roamed my body, starting from my retro Jordans up to my head. They lingered on the crotch of my sweatpants unapologetically. That told me all I needed to know about her. A lady would never be so bold. The lust in her eyes was obvious.
It took her much longer to get herself together than it should have. “Um, I need to talk to the manager. Who are you?”
See, I wasn’t the person who liked stupid people. Based on her stupid-ass question, that was where she stood. “Ma’am, you requested the manager, and I came out to talk to you. One would deduce that I am the person that you requested. Now, again, how can I help you?”
“You don’t have to get a fuckin’ attitude. Now I want to talk to the owner of this fuckin’ shop. I want to talk to someone who has real authority. You’re a manager, so you probably got to call the owner to make any real decisions,” she quipped.
Seth’s chuckle could be heard behind me. He knew that shit would get real in a second if ol’ girl didn’t chill the hell out. I took a breath as I tried to ground myself. I extended my hand to her with greeting. “Hi, I’m Scott MacLeod, the owner. How can I help you?”
She looked down at my hand, then up at my face that wore a slight smile. There was skepticism in her stare. “You’re the owner?”
Too much time was being spent on her stupid-ass questions. “Miss Williams, I am the owner. In an effort to save time, how would you like to settle your invoice today?”
She sucked her teeth. “I’m not paying that shit. Why the fuck does it cost that much to bump out a few dints? Y’all niggas are trying to get me because I’m a female.”
My jaw ticked, eyes slit, and forehead creased.
Her words had me look down at the invoice again to make sure that I wasn’t tripping.
At the bottom of our invoices was a statement that told us what happened to cause the damage.
This shit said that she was hit on the passenger side of her vehicle.
They should have total loss this little ass Corolla, but that’s another subject.