Chapter 11 #2
“Why are you looking for my son? You can’t possibly think I’m going to lead you to him and let you know where he is so you can hurt him.”
“Listen, nobody said we were going to hurt him. We just tired of looking for the nigga, and we thought we’d come straight to the source.”
“Yeah,” Elijah chimed in from behind me. “Let us know where the fuck he is. We are not here to play with you.”
I looked over my shoulder, signaling for him to shut the fuck up, but he didn’t.
Elijah was one of those young dudes who loved having authority over people through fear.
I was the same way, only I had a soft spot when it came to people who were weak or timid.
Now niggas like her son, Trey, who tried to play hard, I killed with no remorse.
“Listen,” I said, lowering my voice.
“I know you love your son. But if you really love him, you’ll let me know where I can find him so that I can talk to him. I need to know if there’s beef in the streets with me or not.”
“I promise, I don’t know where Troy is or anything about his beefs. I’m fifty-seven years old, and I don’t have time for street nonsense.”
“Yeah, right, bitch. What kind of mother doesn’t know where her son lives?” Elijah continued talking shit, but I ignored him for the time being.
“Well, if that’s the case, then call him up and let me talk to him.”
“Okay, I will,” she said.
She grabbed her phone from the counter and dialed Troy’s number, putting it on speaker. The phone rang twice before he answered.
“Mama, I’ll send you the money tomorrow, alright?” he started talking before she could even say a word.
“It’s not about money, Troy. There are these men who rushed up in here looking for you, and he wants to talk to you.”
“What? I didn’t send any guy over there.”
“Yo,” I spoke up while she was still holding the phone. “This is Amir Quatar nigga.”
“What the fuck are you doing over there with my mama?” he snapped.
“Came here to talk to you. Make sure there’s no bad blood between you and the niggas I run with.”
“Why would there be bad blood between us?”
“It may not be between us, but I know your little brother got killed at my homeboy’s little girl’s party, and we got shot at yesterday. So, we just wanted to check your pressure, see if you had any smoke with us because your baby brother died in our territory.”
He started to laugh, and I couldn’t tell if it was nervous or cocky.
“Man, if I had a problem with y’all, I’d bring it to your doorstep, nigga. Plus, wasn’t his sister fuckin with my brother?”
“Yeah, but she was in the car with us, too. So let me know something. I came straight to your mama's steps to see if there is pressure. I’m not going to hurt her; I just wanted to know if you were man enough to meet us in the field if there is smoke.”
“Nigga, you and your old opps are not on my radar. Shit, to be honest, I feel you have way bigger shit to worry about other than who shot up a car and didn’t hit anybody.”
“Yeah, like what nigga?”
“Starting with who killed your entire bloodline first, or is that not a priority because you bootlicking new niggas now?” He let out a laugh that I knew this time was a cocky one.
I saw where his brother got his smart mouth from.
I saw where he got his ideas about me, too.
There were little dudes on the street who idolized me because of who I was, and then there were ones like him who wanted to judge me for doing what the fuck I had to do to survive.
It was me versus them, but fuck ass niggas like them would never know the whole story to realize it.
“Listen up,” I said, my voice low. “I’m just asking you if there is war now, but don’t make it become one just by insulting me over the phone. Don’t play pussy and get fucked.”
“There ain’t no fucking war going on between us. My little brother was killed outside by a mugger. At least that’s what y’all say happened, right?”
I wanted to brag about popping his brother so bad in that moment, but I also didn’t want to incriminate myself and end up in jail for some shit I previously got away with.
“Whatever happened to that nigga happened. You have to ask his girl.”
“I’m not asking that big shit. I’m sure she's on the next dick smoking already anyway,” he replied, sending steam up my neck. This was the second nigga to try that shit.
“Man, listen,” I said, my voice turning cold.
“I’m here with your moms, and I could do some fucked up shit to her, but I’m not.
I want to show good faith by leaving her breathing.
So I’m going to take your word that there are no issues, because if there are real issues, I will find you. You understand?”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you nigga. But just to let you know, I’m the type of nigga that can only be found if I want to be. New York is a big city Quatar.”
“So is the ocean, but I can still go out and catch a fish if I want one,” I replied, hanging up the phone.
I could tell that nigga wasn’t the type to stand ten toes down for what he believed in. He wasn’t going to let me know if he had smoked with me or not, because that shit was too G. We will figure it out sooner or later, though.
“Now, can you boys please leave my house? There is nothing you should be worried about with Troy. He answered your questions and told you there are no issues,” his mama said nervously.
Elijah puffed up at her.
“Worried? Who the fuck worried about that nigga? Y’all are the ones who need to be worried about us. Dumb ass bitch!”
“Yo, chill out, man. Relax. You don’t need to buck up and press the old lady.”
“Old,” she sounded more offended by me calling her old than all the shit Elijah had said.
We walked out of the house and to my car, I started the engine, and pulled off. Elijah quickly pulled a blunt out to smoke it, and we rode in silence through traffic until we stopped at a light down the street.
“Yo, man. I have to ask you something?”
He talked as he exhaled his blunt.
“Why do you always have to undermine me when I’m talking my shit?”
“That was an old lady, and she wasn’t a real threat to us. We already rushed in her crib over her son’s shit. Talking to her crazy won’t make us look tougher nigga.”
“Well, say what you want, but remember I don’t work for anybody but Crew. You and I are on the same fuckin level around here.”
I looked over at him again, my jaw tightening.
“Little nigga, you don’t want to go there with me. I’m not here to be anybody’s boss. I just require respect around me. There’s no reason to sling your dick on an old lady who was scared with us just standing there.”
“Amir, that’s the difference between niggas like you and niggas like me. I have no sympathy for anybody these days. You should try it. Stop being tender dick for bitches.”
Before I knew it, I grabbed that nigga by the collar of his shirt and shoved him up against the window while handling the wheel with the other hand.
“I work with you out of respect for Crew and Hov, but you still have to earn my respect, little nigga. Don’t think I won't hurt you and dump your body in a river for disrespecting me. You understand?”
“Yeah, man, I understand. Damn.”
“Alright then.”
I let his collar go. He pulled it down, adjusting his clothes where I’d wrinkled them up.
I’m not sure if I would have problems with his ass again after this shit, but I still needed to talk to Crew about this nigga.
He was getting more and more reckless, and I had a short fuse for reckless-ass niggas.
I grew up around them, and being reckless only got them one thing: put in the fucking dirt.
I’m too wise for this type of shit. I’ve been there and done that while this nigga is still learning lessons.
I dropped the nigga Elijah off back at the spot he’d copped and rolled through the city back to mine. I was hungry as shit and wasn’t big on fast food chains. We never got it when we were younger. We had cooks, maids, and people who made sure we ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day.
When I walked through the door, I chunked my keys on the table and pulled the guns from my waistband.
Once I set them down within arm’s reach, I took a double-take, checking the locks.
And I punched in the alarm code, listening for that beep that told me I was sealed in.
Only after that did my shoulders loosen from the tense feeling I had coming in here.
I headed straight for the fridge and grabbed the rotisserie chicken I’d picked up from the deli earlier.
It was already cold, but I didn’t care. I pulled it out of the fridge, chopped it quickly, and threw it on two slices of bread.
I slathered on some mayonnaise, heavy, the way I liked it, and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
This wasn’t a fancy dinner, but it would do the job. Fill me up and hold me over until I can eat again after sundown.
Ramadan starts tomorrow so it's a new day, but I'm sure it will come with new bull shit.