Chapter 14
***
I dumped Jinx’s body in the river and made sure it was weighted down enough to never be seen again. His heavy ass showed me I could still bench three hundred pounds easily.
When I got to my condo, I saw that Bria had my charger parked out front, and from what I could see there weren't any scratches on it. I walked past my car and up the stairs to my apartment.
When my music wasn't filling these hallways, it was almost too quiet in this building. It was the kind of calm that I wasn't used to because I grew up in a loud ass house full of sisters.
Once I unlocked and opened the door, the faint scent of Bria’s perfume hit me, even though she was fresh off a murder scene. I swear I love a bitch with a sweet ass smell.
“Yo, Bria, I’m here,” I called out, but there was no answer.
Just the sound of water running somewhere in the back.
I followed the sound all the way into my bedroom and saw steam creeping from under the door like smoke.
I set my keys on the nightstand next to my bed and then knocked on the door twice to let her know I had made it back here.
“Who’s there?” she asked, her voice small and shaking.
“It’s Crew. I’m back. Just letting you know it’s taken care of.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I started to step out, and she called after me.
“Crew?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you have some clothes that I can put on?”
“Yeah, I'll grab you something. Give me a second.”
I went to my bedroom and opened my closet.
Rows of black tees and designer sneakers lined the walls.
Everything inside was neat, folded, and color coordinated just how I liked my shit.
Half the clothes still had tags because for the most part, I walked around comfortable and not worried about dripping since I was the drip.
I grabbed one of my white muscle shirts and a pair of gym shorts from the drawer, then went and placed the clothes on the sink.
“Hey, your clothes are out here. When you are done in there, come in the kitchen.”
“Okay. Thank you,”
While she finished in the restroom, I went back into the kitchen and filled the sink with steaming hot water and poured in bleach with dish soap until the smell punched through the air. Steam lifted and fogged the microwave window above the counter, but that's how I knew it was just right.
Having to remove gun powder from my hands was almost a routine once a week thing thing with me, so I have the science down on how to do it.
“You wanted me to come in here?”
When, I looked up, she was standing in my kitchen wearing my shirt and shorts, with her damp hair sticking to her neck and the sides of her face.
Even with her eyes red and her skin pale, she still looked gorgeous as fuck.
She didn't need those fancy ass clothes, or her hair curled the way she wore it to be one of the prettiest bitches I've ever seen in my life. New York breeds some beautiful ass females, which is why I’ve had plenty in my day.
It was like a buffet up here. All I can eat.
“Yeah, come on in.” I signaled for her to walk closer.
“Okay, you sure you got everything handled back there?” she asked.
“Of course I did. We just have to do one more thing tonight, and you can officially put that shit behind you. Put your hands in here.” I motioned for her to come closer. When she did, I took her wrist gently, feeling her trembling, so I was sure to handle her with caution.
"What is this for?"
“To get the gun residue off you.”
She nodded, barely breathing, as she let me dip her hands into the hot water.
She winced at the heat but didn’t pull away because I’m sure she knew she needed this.
I grabbed a Scrub Daddy from under the sink and started cleaning her palms and the spaces between her fingers with precision and pressure.
She was jerking a little, her breath uneven.
I could tell that her mind was somewhere else entirely, caught between guilt and shock.
I’d seen that look before. It was that first-time killer look that she had.
I wanted to save her from herself, and to be honest, I'm not sure why.
I was only told to help her get rid of the body and away with murder, but for some reason, I cared how she felt now.
About where her mind would be for the next few days, even weeks.
“Do you have any kids, Bria?”
“No. Just a niece that I care about a lot,” she said, her voice cracking just slightly.
“Oh, I bet her ass is expensive. All of my nieces are always hitting me up for money. Shit, them, and their begging ass mamas too. They ask for the wildest shit, because they know I got it.”
“I'm sure they do. You and Hov wear your money so well that everyone around you probably knows you are rich.”
“How so?” I laughed.
“Well, for instance, your apartment is really nice. Very spacious and modern without doing too much.”
“You can say my shit is plain and empty, it’s alright. I’ve heard it from a few people before. I know I need more shit in here.”
“No, I’m not saying that at all. It’s still very nice, Crew. It seems like it suits you well.”
“I appreciate it. I rarely have visitors here, so it's good to hear. What side of town do you live on?”
“The Upper East Side. My place isn’t half as big as yours, however.”
“Still nice though, right?”
“Yeah, it's nice. Really nice. I worked really, really hard for it.”
She nodded, but her eyes were gone again, drifting off into a daze.
That’s how those murder demons first sneak up on you.
It’s during moments like this, when the guilt is still fresh, and the silence in between words feels too loud.
The echo of what you did then takes over, and eventually, what those voices start telling you, you believe.
“You alright?”
“Under the circumstances, I’m okay.” She nodded her head, but I knew that wasn’t the truth.
Once I was done with her hands, I told her to have a seat in the kitchen while I went into my front guest room because my heart was telling me to do something else for her.
This room looked like a completely different space inside, and I didn't let anyone in here, not even Hov on his pop-in visits, which came every so often. This was the place I'd created for peace. The one place I would come to make all the voices in my head go away. This room didn’t seem like it was anywhere I would be. It looked almost out of place in this plain ass apartment that I hadn’t put much work into.
This room, however, was set up from top to bottom, and each piece in here meant something; each piece brought me a feeling I couldn’t quite describe.
A woven rug I'd bought from a Black Arts festival years ago stretched across most of the floor; the colors were faded, but not the energy radiating from it. There was also a small, low table sitting up next to the covered window, and the only light in the room came from the salt lava lamps in each corner. The air was heavy with the scents of sage, tobacco, cedarwood, and the homemade eucalyptus candles my neighbor made for me. Of course, with all the burning and meditating I’d done in here, the room was heavy with a scent of smoke.
But it wasn't weed smoke, it was the kind that cleaned the air, the kind that kept my mind clear.
I first learned of this form of meditation from my neighbor, Ms. Diya, who stopped me in the hallway one day because she said I had a weighted spirit around me.
She asked me about my religion, and I told her I was Christian because at the time, that's all I ever knew to be. She pulled me inside her apartment and told me how she was from the Mohawk Tribe, and that she grew up with them until she was over eighteen. At that age, she said that she was young and reckless, ready to get out and explore the world that she hadn’t seen very much of.
She told me that on her 18th birthday, she packed her bags, left the reservation, and came to Brooklyn.
Here she got mixed up in inner city problems, getting into drugs, prostitution, and was even locked up for a couple of years.
She got her shit together eventually. Realized that the city life she thought she was missing out on was no good for her and wanted to get back to her roots.
However, the strict ass Mohawk tribe wouldn't allow her to return, so she decided to practice her beliefs on her own and bring herself inner peace alone.
That day inside her apartment, Ms. Diya made me kneel on the floor next to her, she lit a few pieces of sage, a bowl of cedar wood, and played a sound from her speakers that felt like it was invading my fuckin soul.
Once I got into it, that shit felt almost better inside than some of the best nuts I’ve had to date.
When I left her apartment that day, I was a firm believer in smudging and making spirits and bad thoughts leave my mind.
On my table, in front of me, sat a brass incense burner, still warm from the last session I had. There was a tray of smooth black stones that I kept to center my thoughts, and a wooden bowl of water sitting off to the side, which was my reminder to stay clear, focused, and balanced.
I grabbed the torch from the table and lit each candle, which, in my mind, served a different purpose.
There was one for Peace, one for strength, forgiveness, and silence.
This was a part of my life that no one, even my mother, knew about, but I was about to share it for the first time.
I hope Bria feels what I feel from it, and doesn’t make me regret letting her in.
I know for sure that if she pushes back on what I’m trying to teach her, then I will probably never open up about this shit again.