5. Josias #3
“Just shut up so we can get them ready. I got something to do.” I peeled her hands from being wrapped around me and got back to picking an outfit for my baby girl.
For the next hour, we got the kids ready. Julianna went to day care, even though Tarin didn’t do shit all day, and JJ had nursery school.
“Thank you,” Tarin said sadly after I helped buckle the kids in the back of her Mercedes truck.
Shutting the doors of the vehicle so my kids couldn’t hear, I grabbed Tarin’s small wrist to pull her into me, pecking her hairline.
“I apologize for telling you to shut up and for calling her while in yo’ spot. I shouldn’t be speaking to you like that,” I admitted, hating that I did. I was just in my fucking feelings, and it was easier to blame somebody for your bullshit than to own up to it.
“Thank you.” She bobbed her head, a small smile peeking through her brown face.
“Enjoy ya day.” I released her and started off, knocking on the back-door window to wave to my kids once more before treading to my whip.
HOURS LATER . . .
“Nah, you can’t smoke in my fucking car,” Rakim spoke up as soon as I pulled out my silver case containing the blunts I’d rolled after leaving Tarin’s this morning.
“Why not?” I frowned.
“’Cause I don’t want my car having a foul ass smell, nigga. That shit is best for outside or the warehouse,” he schooled. “Shit, people can’t smoke in yo’ shit.”
“’Cause I got kids, Rah. Fuck I look like hauling my kids around in a smoked-out ass car?” I queried before we both chuckled.
At the moment, we were in his whip, parking around the corner from Godfrey Boxing Gym. I liked to kick it there at times, watch my brother Ayan train and fight when I had a lot on my mind. I didn’t watch TV, and I didn’t read books, so this was my only real getaway or entertainment aside from sex.
On my way in, Rakim called me to his car, saying he had some shit to tell me, and I was hoping he found out where my brother Zaire got that bullshit from.
On one end, I was sad, but on certain days, I found myself pissed with that nigga.
Zaire knew bad drugs like the rest of us, and the only logical explanation behind him ingesting that shit was because he’d done it purposely.
I knew my twin was struggling badly, and though we were identical and shared a lot of the same qualities, we coped differently to the shit we were going through.
The hardest drug I would fuck with was weed and would rather bury my frustration in some pussy or partying.
Zaire was too antisocial for the latter, and the former didn’t provide the decampment from his troubles that he craved.
Glancing out the window briefly, Rakim finally said, “Girl was at the bakery the other day saying she pregnant—”
“She a got damn lie.” I turned in my seat, watching Rakim chuckle subtly.
“Not by you, nigga. Calm down. Even though that’s more believable.” He ran a hand down his beard, keeping his head on a swivel as I did the same. “By Zaire.”
“She a got damn lie still.” I shook my head. “She just know we got bread and he can’t argue ’cause he dead.”
“Well, we don’t need him to argue anything because there are tests that can prove whether she on some bullshit or not. You know ’em well.”
“Fuck you.”
“She was surprised when I told her he passed, so I don’t even think that’s it. I can read, and her energy was authentic. Can’t say the same on the baby, but lil mama was shocked that Zaire was dead for sure.”
“She could be a good actress. These hos been looking to trap niggas for years. They got every emotion down pat.”
We sniggered in unison.
“Regardless, Jojo. We gon’ help her out until we get that DNA. If it ain’t our niece or nephew, she good as dead.” His eyes squinted. “You see that?”
“What?” I frowned, whipping my head around until I saw a black figure slip behind a van. “These niggas on bullshit in broad daylight.” I took my gun off my waist to check the magazine before shoving it back up into my heat.
“Look like he preparing to hit my side.” Rakim watched closely, his gun already in his hand and laying on his knee closest to me as he inconspicuously let his window down.
Like Rakim called it, the nigga jumped out, but before he could lift his gun to shoot, my brother hit him with the door, then pressed his body back into the seat to give me a clear shot. I lit old boy’s ass up as he staggered to the ground.
Rakim and I hopped out the car with the quickness, scouring the dirty street to be sure the nigga didn’t have no accomplices. Seeing it was clear, I waited as Rakim snatched the mask off the muthafucka laid in the street.
“You know him?” I queried, and Rakim shook his head, rising to his full height.
We exchanged confused expressions before scooping the nigga up and putting him in the trunk.
This was the hood, and while there were no cameras of any kind around these parts, it was unlikely anyone would go snitching. I was more worried about why some random nigga just tried to snipe me and my fucking brother.
As impromptu as this shit felt, I knew it really wasn’t.