Hush Money & Hits

1. Pearce

PEARCE

Nostalgia flowed through my veins as I cruised through the Cliff Terrace Housing Projects.

It honestly felt odd when anyone referred to the housing development as Cliff Terrace because among my peers, it had been referred to as Terror Terrace my entire life.

I wasn’t born or raised in Terror Terrace, but I spent many days creating some unforgettable memories in the streets of one of the most notorious housing projects in Diamond Cove, North Carolina.

Outsiders only talked about the bad. They never whispered about the block parties and fun times that lasted for hours with not one fist fight or shooting.

They chose not to speak on teenaged boys carrying bags of groceries for elderly residents or keeping unattended kids out of the street.

They focused on the residents that were addicted to drugs, the illegal activities that transpired, and anything negative that would fuel the stereotypes of lower income neighborhoods and its’ residents.

There were plenty of people that didn’t understand my love for Terror Terrace while I was growing up.

As the one and only son of the infamous Kalim Moore, it seemed crazy and even a little phony that I preferred housing projects over hanging in the suburbs around rich, snooty kids all day.

My reasoning was simple. Terror Terrace had some of the finest females and most genuine down to earth people that I’d ever met.

The suburbs were full of stiff, judgmental, niggas that forgot they were niggas or the white kids that wanted the token black friend but would more than likely call me a nigger behind my back.

When I was linking with my people out in Terror Terrace, I never uttered Kalim’s name.

I didn’t use being his son to gain any kind of leverage.

Even as a teen, I was adamant about being my own man and earning my own respect.

You couldn’t be one of the biggest in the city and not have people know who your son was, however.

It just didn’t work like that. So, I was known even when I didn’t want to be.

I was twenty-nine years old and these days, my reason for being in Terror Terrace was a little bit different.

I came to a stop in front of my destination and texted Tasha to let her know I’d arrived.

I’d been with Tasha for a little over a year.

She was born and raised in Terror Terrace, and she didn’t move out until we’d been dating for ten months, and I asked her to move in with me.

I’d never been the guy that wanted to share my space with a woman but as I got older, the idea of cohabitating didn’t sound so bad.

Plus, I could finally see what the outsiders saw.

The newer generation was a lil’ more turnt and a lil’ more reckless making Terror Terrace live up to its’ name, and I wasn’t comfortable with my lady living there.

I’d even offered to get her a crib, so her mother could move in with her, but her mother was Terror Terrace through and through.

Maria had medical issues that led to her becoming addicted to prescription pain pills.

There really wasn’t any way to avoid that happening when they’d been prescribed to her monthly for three or four years.

When the doctor finally cut her supply, Maria’s withdrawals were so severe, that she danced with the devil and tried heroin.

Shooting up heroin didn’t make her health any better, and from the day I met Tasha, I could tell that her mother stressed the fuck out of her, but she loved her.

And I wasn’t judging either one of them.

When I met Tasha, she was driving a ten-year-old Mazda.

After we’d been together for a few months, I let her drive one of my cars whenever hers was giving her trouble.

I had been secretly planning to buy her a car when she got into a terrible accident that left her healing and going to physical therapy for three months.

Despite me offering to get her any car that she wanted, the PTSD from the accident had done a number on her, and she didn’t want to drive.

All I could do was respect it, but I told her when she was ready, we’d go get her something.

Tasha came out of her mother’s apartment with her jaw muscles flexing.

That was all I needed to see to know that the visit hadn’t gone well.

I had been with Tasha long enough to be used to the up and down relationship she shared with her mother.

Depending on how her mother acted or things she said during visits and conversations it could affect Tasha’s mood for hours.

I got out of my Ford F-150, rounded it, and opened the door for Tasha.

Despite her mood, she forced a small smile.

“Thank you, baby,” she mumbled.

Insensitive wasn’t a word that would accurately describe me, but I was dead ass contemplating not asking Tasha what was wrong.

Only because I knew the rabbit hole it could lead us down.

Sometimes, venting about Maria’s antics pissed Tasha off even more.

We’d only been riding for two minutes, however, before the silence became awkward as fuck.

“Talk to me,” I urged gently. Reaching over, I squeezed her thigh.

Tasha was 5’7 with rich, dark skin, and juicy lips that made me have impure thoughts almost anytime I looked at them.

She was a thick size ten when I met her, but she was currently teetering on a seven.

Stressing over her mother had my baby losing weight when she wasn’t even trying to.

Tasha pushed out a sigh. “Eleven days.” Those were the only two words she got out before her voice cracked.

“Exactly eleven days ago, I cleaned up vomit and other bodily fluids when my mother got dope sick. She was in such bad shape, I was ready to go get her some heroin, and she begged me not to. She said she was tired. For three days, me and my aunt alternated sitting with her while she went through withdrawals. And I go over there today, and she’s high as a fucking kite drooling and nodding off on the couch. ”

Taking my eyes off the road for a second, I glanced over at Tasha. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tasha sucked her teeth before releasing a sarcastic chuckle.

“Tell you for what? To have to come back and tell you never mind, she used again? That’s exactly what she did.

I knew better than to get my hopes up. I knew it.

” I could tell Tasha was pissed. “Is it so wrong for me to have one small ounce of hope that she would finally choose herself and then me and get it together?” from my peripheral, I saw Tasha staring at me like she needed answers.

“No, it’s not wrong, and you know that.” I gave her thigh another squeeze.

“I know I’ve said it before, and it’s not anything that you don’t already know but babe, your mother has to want to get clean.

I don’t even think it’s as simple as her wanting to get clean.

She has to have the desire and the willpower to get clean and stay clean.

I know you love her and care about her, but you’ll never get any peace if you keep trying to save someone that’s not ready to be saved. ”

“I know.” Tasha’s tone was solemn. Sometimes, I wondered why she wasn’t used to her mother’s addiction. It had been years, but I couldn’t expect her to process things a certain way just because that was what made sense to me.

“You want to make any stops before we go to the crib?”

“Um, I want to go to that new frozen yogurt spot. I could use something sweet. And I’ve been thinking…” her voice trailed off causing me to look over at her. “In a week no more than two, I’ll be ready.”

That comment made my brows hike. “Ready for what?”

“To go car shopping.”

“Word? What brought that decision on?”

Tasha shrugged. “Something just struck a chord with me while I was watching my mother nod off. I just never want to be helpless. I don’t want to let trauma or unfortunate circumstances stop me from living life to the best of my ability.

I’m not broke, so I don’t mind taking rideshares or riding with you, but I don’t want to let fear keep me from being independent. ”

With a curt nod, I switched lanes. “You know I got you.”

“How did I get so lucky?” Finally, a genuine smile was on her gorgeous face.

“I’m not sure, but God loves you for real to bless you with a man like me.”

“And you’re not cocky at all. I love it,” she laughed.

“I love you.” Since the car was idle at a red light, I leaned over, and she placed a kiss on my lips.

Just like that, her mood was better. Prayerfully, it would last longer than a day or two.

The next day on some real cliché shit, I sat in the back of an Italian restaurant with an old ass mob boss.

Well, shit, he had to be around sixty, but that was old as hell to me.

Kind of. I was eyeing Pauly like he was crazy.

He had to be if he thought the shit he just told me was going to fly.

After a brief stare off, I shook my head.

“I can’t help you.”

Pauly leaned forward never breaking eye contact. His white hair and wrinkled olive skin stood out amongst his dark, piercing eyes. “Are you not a contract killer?” his tone was low.

“Yes, I am, but I also have the right to be very selective with the jobs I take, and this one is crazy as fuck. I don’t know what’s going on in your life, but I know you’re mob.

Which means your son is protected. And you want my black ass to kill him?

Fuck no,” I stated adamantly. His ass had to be senile or some shit, but I wasn’t going to do his dirty work then turn around and have beef with the entire fucking mob.

I was far from pussy, but that was dumb as fuck.

“And you’re the son of Kalim Moore. Which means you’re protected as well. And if you’re as good as they say you are, no one will ever know that it was you.”