2. Fontaine Jackson
Money let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, this nigga’s a scammer?”
We were in his office with a pile of documents spread across the desk between us. I’d just laid out how an investor, Bruno Conklin, had quietly signed part of the title away to a retail building to a shell company he owned.
“I mean—yeah,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Good thing you had me look into him. On the surface he looks clean, but this is his MO. He’s pulled the same shit in a few other states.”
Money’s jaw tightened as he glanced back at the paperwork.
“He comes in fast, starts talking about bringing in additional investors to help move the project forward,” I continued.
“But really, he just flipped thirty percent of the property to his own shell company. It gives him leverage to secure loans for other deals—none of which have shit to do with you.”
“How long this been going on? And what the fuck is he doing with my money?” Money asked.
“About six months,” I pointed at one of the documents.
“He already borrowed four hundred grand against the building. A quarter of it’s sitting in an offshore account, the rest he’s funneling into side deals.
The property’s been sitting vacant the whole time.
Those luxury salon suites were never happening. ”
“This motherfucker,” Money muttered, shaking his head. “He must really think I’m stupid.” He reached for his phone vibrating on the desk.
“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice softening instantly. “No, I didn’t forget we were going.”
I made a move to leave, but he lifted a hand to stop me.
“I swear I’m not working late, mama. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes. Mhm. Love you too.”
He hung up and looked back at me. “This woman wants to go look at baby furniture.”
I grinned. Cash wasted no time reversing his vasectomy after he and Jasmine got engaged, and a few months after the wedding she was pregnant.
“I don’t know why we can’t just order that shit online,” he grumbled.
“Because women like to see things in person,” I laughed. “And she probably wants to spend time with you. Y’all both work crazy hours.”
He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Let me go get my wife before she cusses me out too bad. These pregnancy hormones got her on one.” He stood and leaned across the table to dap me up. “Tell Slim to grab Bruno and bring him to the farmhouse tomorrow. I'll deal with him in the morning.”
I lifted my brows. Cash had stepped back from running the crew to focus on expanding the commercial real estate side of things. Outside of occasionally having to rough somebody up, he hadn’t gone to the farmhouse in over a year.
“You need me to come through?” I asked.
“Up to you,” he shrugged. “I’m not gonna kill him—still need his bitch ass to give me my money back.”
I left his office, slid into my truck, and connected the phone to Bluetooth to call Slim.
“‘Sup?” he answered on the second ring.
“Money wants you to snatch Bruno and bring him to the farmhouse tomorrow.”
“And do what? Just leave him?”
“You know that nigga has a few screws loose.”
Slim sighed. “This nigga,” I could practically hear him rolling his eyes through the phone. “Yeah, aight. What you getting into tonight?”
“Shit. I might roll past my sister real quick. Why?”
“Oh? Tell her I said what’s up.”
“I’m not telling her shit. Call her yourself.”
“You a hater,” he said, laughing. “I’ma holla at you after I finish handling some things.”
“Bet.”
Slim and my younger sister, Drea, hooked up a few years ago, and every now and then, they’d slipped back into each other’s world on some messy shit. But Drea wasn’t about to settle down with Slim or anyone else anytime soon—her commitment issues had commitment issues.
I sat in the parking lot for a minute debating whether I should actually go to her place. The more reasonable thing was to grab food, go home, and get some sleep. But I was already on autopilot by the time I finally backed out of the parking space.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the gym’s parking lot.
It’d become my routine over the past two years—sweating out my demons before my mind went to the place I’d been avoiding since Miami.
I used to workout sporadically, sometimes with Jelani or Slim.
Now, I was there religiously, five to six times a week for at least two hours.
It kept her face from showing up in my head, at least for a little while.
I’d beat the after-work rush, so it was quieter than usual for a weeknight. I grabbed the duffle bag from my trunk and headed in.
I went straight to the squat rack after a quick warmup on the treadmill. Today was a lower-body circuit—deadlifts and squats. I loaded the bar heavy enough so the only thing I could focus on was my form.
By the time I got to the heavy bag, my legs were jello, but I kept going.
The chain rattled overhead with each punch.
Jab. Cross. Sweat poured from everywhere.
My lungs burned as Jeezy rapped in my ears.
I kept hitting until my knuckles ached through the wraps and my shoulders burned so bad I could barely lift my hands above my chest.
When I finally stopped and looked around, the gym had nearly cleared out. It was just me and a few stragglers.
I sat on a bench to catch my breath and peel off the wraps.
It’d been two years of this and I still hadn’t figured out how to just…
let her go. Every time I thought I’d gotten to a place where I could breathe, something would remind me of her, like a scent, or a song.
It was exhausting carrying something that heavy and having nowhere to put it.
I headed for the showers. I stood under the hot water, letting it run over my neck and shoulders until the tightness started to ease. My body was done. That was always the point—get my body so tired there wasn’t room for anything else. No extra space for thoughts that had no business being there.
Especially not her.
I rubbed the newest tattoo on my chest. A small black cat. A kitten.
She was still there.
I considered calling Parker after leaving the gym. I still had that niggling feeling in the back of my mind, and I knew I’d be tempted to hack into the Agency’s servers to see where Nairobi was the second I got home. If working out wouldn’t do it, maybe some pussy would.
Parker was pretty as hell—sable brown skin, doe-shaped eyes, and a banging body.
We’d met a few months ago and I made it clear that I wasn’t looking for a relationship.
She’d said she was fine with that, but lately it felt like she wanted more.
That was a dub. I kept things light on purpose.
We only hooked up at her place, did chill dinners, nothing too serious.
She was a personal assistant, which checked out when I looked her up.
I told her I had my own IT consulting firm, which technically wasn’t a lie.
Traffic on 285 was light, so I had some time to clear my head.
My phone vibrated in the center console, and Parker’s name lit up on the display.
I stared at it for a second before letting it ring out.
Two minutes later, the screen lit up again with her name.
I sighed and tapped the button on the steering wheel to answer.
“Yo.”
“Hey, what are you up to?”
“I’m out.”
“Out for work or out for…?”
“Why would I be working after 7:00 p.m.?” I asked. “I work in IT, shorty. No life-or-death emergencies over here.”
Her soft giggle filled the truck. “I don’t know. Maybe a server is down or something?”
I rolled my eyes as I changed lanes. “Nah, nothing like that. Look, I’ll hit you up later, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, a little hesitant. “Don’t forget.”
“Mhm.” I hummed, ending the call.
Lil Baby filled the truck again, and I tossed around the idea of Parker for a minute.
It’d be easy—go over there, get out of my head for a few hours, and leave.
But calling my phone back-to-back after I didn’t pick up and the “where are you” texts were getting tired.
If I went over there tonight, I’d be rewarding that.
I passed her exit and headed towards Drea’s instead.
I was grateful to see her car in the driveway when I pulled up. The door opened as I walked up the walkway.
“You must be bored,” Drea said, leaning against the frame.
I grinned as I stepped inside. “I can’t want to check on my favorite sister and nephew?”
“Your only sister,” she corrected, playfully mushing my forehead. “Gunnar! Your big-headed uncle is here!” she hollered and closed the door behind me.
The house looked like a small tornado had run through it.
Gunnar’s sneakers and book bag were kicked off in the middle of the hallway, LEGO bricks and action figures were scattered across the living room floor next to a pile of unfolded laundry on the couch.
A sippy cup sat on the TV stand just ‘cause. My condo was the complete opposite. I couldn’t go to bed with a single dish in the sink. Everything had its place, always had.
A loud thud came from above, followed by the rapid patter of small feet racing down the stairs.
“Uncle ‘Taine!” Gunnar shouted as he launched his small frame off the last step and straight into me like a bat out of hell.
I laughed and scooped him into a bear hug. “What’s up, big man?”
“Did you come over for pizza night?” he asked eagerly as I put him down.
“Pizza night?” I said, shooting Drea a teasing glare. “Your stingy mama ain’t tell me about that.”
Drea rolled her eyes as she walked toward the kitchen. “Now how could I tell you if I ain’t know your a-s-s was coming over here? Plus, you can demolish a whole pie by yourself. You not about to be eating me and my baby out of house and home.”
Gunnar took my hand and tugged me towards the kitchen. “I don’t mind sharing with you, Uncle,” he whispered.
“That’s why you my dog,” I winked at him. “What kind of pizza we talking about?”
The smell of melted cheese hit me as we reached the kitchen, making my stomach growl.
“Pepperoni and extra cheese!” he yipped, dropping my hand and darting toward the breakfast nook tucked in the corner of the kitchen.
Drea opened the fridge and took out a jug of freshly made fruit punch and a can of Diet Coke for herself.
“Oh? You made fruit punch?” I quipped, grabbing paper plates off the counter. “You expecting company?”
“Your nephew asked for it, and I was in a good mood,” she shrugged. I put the plates on top of the pizza boxes and set them on the table.
“Pizza! Pizza!” Gunnar cheered, his face lighting up as his mother opened one of the boxes.
The five-year-old was a carbon copy of me and Drea—proof that the Jackson genes were strong as hell.
We all shared the same high yellow complexion and hazel eyes, though mine and Gunnar’s leaned more green and Drea’s had amber flecks.
Drea tucked a napkin into his shirt like a bib, even though it was inevitable he was about to make a mess.
He tipped the box open and grabbed a slice bigger than both his hands, the grease dripping onto the table before he took a bite.
“Lord, this child,” Drea groaned, shaking her head. She took the slice from him and placed it on his plate. “Gunny, please act like you have some home training.”
I chuckled as I grabbed a slice and loaded my plate with wings.
Gunnar updated me with everything going on at school and made me promise to go to his soccer game the following week.
After dinner, I played a few rounds of video games with him before Drea dragged him upstairs for bed around nine.
I flipped through the channels idly and scrolled through my phone until she came back downstairs.
“So what’s up with you?” she asked, handing me a beer as she settled on the large sectional beside me.
I shrugged, using the bottle opener on my keychain to pop the top. “Shit. I thought Slim would’ve hit me back by now,” I said, glancing at my watch. It was after 10 p.m.
A sly smile spread across my sister’s face. “How is Carmelo?” she asked, dragging his name out.
I side-eyed her and took a long sip of my beer. “I’m not y’all’s middleman. I don’t know why y’all won’t call each other.”
She raised an eyebrow. “The same way you won’t call Nairobi?”
I brought the bottle to my lips again, trying to ignore the dull ache creeping back into my chest.
Drea swirled her wine in her glass. “That’s what I thought.”
“Whatever,” I scoffed. “It’s not the same thing, and you know it.”
“If you say so,” she sang.
My sister, like Nairobi, knew exactly how to get under my skin without even trying.
“I’ve moved on,” I replied coolly. “It’s been two years, and I got other shit to worry about.”
“Brother, you don’t even like that new girl for real. What’s her name? Peyton?”
“Parker.”
“Right,” she waved a dismissive hand. “You and I both know she’s just a placeholder till your real girl gets her shit together and comes around.”
“So, who’s your placeholder for Slim?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.
She smiled again. “Carmelo is… Carmelo. He’s fun, but I can’t seriously be with a man like that with a kid. You know that.”
Despite what she said, I could hear the conflict in her voice. Drea loved the benefits of the life we were tied to but stayed on the sidelines to keep Gunnar away from it all.
This wasn’t always the case. My nephew’s sperm donor was a low-level runner that used to work out of one of our stash houses.
I never approved because he was an arrogant motherfucker, but Drea thought she knew better.
He put hands on her in places no one could see, and she kept it from me, knowing how I’d react.
The last time was when she was pregnant with Gunnar.
Cash and Slim talked me out of lighting that nigga up—said I needed to play it smart.
So, I did. He got arrested, and while he was locked up, I told my sister to take out a million dollar life insurance policy on him.
Three months after his release, his brakes conveniently failed on the interstate, and he hit an eighteen-wheeler head on.
The insurance payout put Gunnar in private school and covered her cosmetology license. Now she had her own hair salon with plans to expand and wasn’t struggling as a single mother.
I looked at her. “You’ve done good, D.”
Her expression softened. “And I’m gonna keep doing right by him.” She paused. “That’s why Slim is just…” she shook her head, the corner of her mouth turning up. “He gets it. We’re good. We just like fucking with you.”
I shook my head and let her have it.