Noles #3
Pierre parked, and we got out, followin' Juste through the side gate into the backyard.
"Check this nigga out with the pajama set and shit," Pierre said, snickerin as we sat at the table.
uste was in a full black silk pajama set , top and bottom.
Chiana definitely picked that out. I snorted out a laugh.
He kept pacin, talkin low and sharp into the phone.
Pierre pulled a blunt from behind his ear and lit it, and we both watched Juste walk back and forth like somebody daddy who just got bad news from the school.
Finally, he hung up and dropped the phone on the table with a loud clap, grabbed the blunt from Pierre's fingers, took a deep pull, and blew smoke straight up into the night sky.
Then he glared at me. "I told yo young ass long time ago," Juste growled, hands braced on the back of the chair as he leaned in, "don't up fie on a nigga if you not gon' kill him.
" His voice wasn't loud, but It was dangerous.
"The fuck you pullin' ya gun out on that man for?
" he asked, eyes narrowin'. "Noles, you aight, nigga?
We needa get you some help or somethin'?
Ya ass actin' like you got shot and lost your fuckin' mind.
" I knew he'd be pissed. I just didn't know he'd be this pissed.
My head was still buzzin' from the long-ass ride, from Enzi's comments, from my own paranoia.
I wasn't expectin' to be interrogated soon as I stepped in the yard.
"Man, Jus, you know exactly what type of time I'm on and been on since I woke up," I said, exhaling smoke.
"I tell ya ass what," he said, eyes sharp.
"Either ya ass find another type of time to get on or ya ass is out, baeeebbyy bra.
" I straightened up, heat crawlin' up my neck.
"Fuck you mean 'or I'm out'?" I snapped.
My voice was gettin' loud, and my face felt hot. This nigga was tryna pump on me now?
"I meant what I said," Juste replied, calm but lethal.
"Ya ass startin' to become a liability, Noles.
And you fuckin' up my money in the process.
Nigga, I got too many kids runnin' round here for you to be fuckin' up my money.
" Pierre grunted and nodded his head, agreein' without even lookin' at me.
The betrayal sat low in my stomach. "Forreal, nigga," Pierre added.
"Wasn't you sayin' somethin' 'bout your wife earlier?
How 'bout you focus on her? Boot her ass up with a baby or somethin'.
You out here pullin' pistols, nigga I'd be somewhere gettin' lost in the pussy if I was out all that time. " I waved him off and sucked my teeth.
"Put your time into makin' your home happy again," Juste said, flickin' ash off the blunt.
"You makin' my nerves badder than them damn kids.
" He reached under some papers and pulled out a black-and-white composition notebook, slidin' it toward me. The cover was worn, pages folded at the corners. I opened it to see names everywhere. Notes. Locations. Timelines. Pictures stapled. Cross-outs. Arrows. My daddy’s name crossed out. Abdul’s name crossed out.
Other names I thought they ain't even know about, crossed out.
People I forgot to suspect, listed and documented.
These niggas been diggin'. I felt my chest tighten.
"Don't feel bad now, pussy," Juste muttered, smirkin as he blew out smoke. "Just get ya shit together." I felt something sharper than anger Guilt And clarity. Because they were moving. They just wasn't moving like me.
But the part of me that crawled back from death?
That part didn't give a fuck about notebooks or slow work. That part wanted blood. And my brothers could feel it, every last one of them.
A part of me knew I had to fall back. Just a lil.
Get my head straight, because I'd been reckless as hell.
This notebook had to be enough for now. Even if it wasn't enough for the demon in my chest. I slid the notebook back across the table and nodded once.
a small, tight gesture of appreciation. "Ight," I muttered, exhaling smoke.
"I'll chill. I hear what you niggas sayin'.
" Juste watched me hard, like he was weighin every syllable, makin sure I wasn't just bullshittin'.
Then he leaned back, finally takin' a seat.
"What's that shit you was speakin' on earlier 'bout Ayida anyway?
" he asked, elbows on the table, blunt in hand.
I drew in a slow breath before answerin.
"You know she all spiritual and shit," I said, taking the blunt rubbin my thumb it before inhaling smoke from it.
"She see shit in a different way than we do.
But lately she been wakin' up out her sleep screamin, cryin, sweatin'.
Every night." The admission tasted bitter as hell in my mouth.
"Shit just fuckin' wit me," I said, leaning back in the chair, starin at the stars above Juste's yard.
"How much this shit really fuckin' wit her. "
I didn't go into detail. I passed the blunt to Pierre , as he shook his head.
"Yo ass ain't been spendin' enough time at home, that's what that is.
" I snorted, but I didn't argue. "Enjoy your marriage," Juste added, tappin the back of the chair.
"Nigga, you ain't even have time to do that before this shit kicked off. Level wit ya self."
The words hit somewhere deep, deeper than I wanted them to.
Because they were right. I'd been too wrapped up in vengeance, in shadows, in lookin' over my shoulder, to even breathe right with my wife.
I hadn't had a real night with her since I woke up.
Hadn't let myself be soft with her. Hadn't let myself sink into her arms the way I needed to.
And she was carryin' all of that pain alone.
"You right," I said finally, my voice low. "I got shit to fix."
Juste nodded once, satisfied. Pierre smirked like he'd been waiting for me to admit that shit all night.
I leaned back in the chair, rubbing the side of my head, eyes driftin toward the notebook on the table.
Names. Leads. Lies crossed out. Clues. Every stroke of a pen was proof they'd been workin behind my back, quietly and efficiently.
guessing I wasn't ready to know everything yet.
But the truth was sitting in my chest like a weight: I didn't trust nobody and The only person I trusted right now was laying in our bed alone.
the thought of her wakin up without me again made somethin inside me twist tight.
"Imma head out," I muttered, pushin up from the chair.
Pierre and Juste glanced at each other, but neither said anything. They knew where I was going. They knew who I was going home to. The anger in my chest eased. Just enough for me to breathe.