Chapter 8
“The count is off.”
Heavy was hoping that when he answered Cole’s call, he’d be greeted in another manner.
Stealing from him was a sure sign of disrespect, and an even surer sign to get cut the fuck off.
The count being off was on him, though. Partially.
He should’ve listened to his gut the week prior, when he stopped by Tish’s crib, but had ignored it.
“By how much?” Heavy asked, though it didn’t matter.
He didn’t care if it was ten dollars. If you owed him ten, he wasn’t accepting or settling for nine. It didn’t matter who you were.
“Three bands,” Cole shared.
Exhaling, Heavy quickly did the math in his head. The missing money wasn’t just random; it was linked to the pills Tish had been pushing through the club. Why she thought it was a good idea to try to play him, Heavy would never know, but he was about to find out.
Truthfully, he wasn’t even really mad about the money. It was the principle. The sneaky shit. The possibility of people around him getting too comfortable and thinking he was an easy lick.
“You ain’t count it before she left?” Heavy calmly asked.
“Nah, and that’s on me. I fucked up. She was rushing, saying she had to get to work. So, I let it slide,” Cole explained.
Heavy wasn’t trying to hear all that. The first rule was to count the money right then and there, once it was collected. He knew Cole knew that, so he didn’t understand why they were even having this conversation.
“Don’t let shit slide when it comes to my paper,” Heavy advised. “Until you get it, that bread is coming from your pockets.”
Three bands technically weren’t shit, given how much money they were bringing in, but it still needed to be accounted for.
“Yeah, I already know,” Cole answered. “I got you.”
Heavy ended the call on his burner phone and rubbed his temples.
This was the part of the game he didn’t miss and was slowly but surely about to get away from.
Letting Cole figure out the money situation was one task off his to-do list. The other was figuring out who the fuck Tish thought she could try to finesse.
Heavy hoped like hell she wasn’t on any shiesty shit and this was all a big misunderstanding.
Heavy wasn’t waiting another few hours or days for some answers.
Tish was about to let him know something tonight.
Pulling up to Facade, he parked right out front, dapped up the valet, and slid him some cash.
Even on a weekday, there were a good number of vehicles in the parking lot.
The owners, Ramzi and Greyson, had expanded the building from just a club to a strip club years ago, and it had been the hottest spot since.
Adjusting the navy-blue beanie covering his locs, Heavy approached the entrance.
“What’s good, Heavy?” one of the bouncers greeted, stepping aside.
He chucked his head upward. “What’s up.”
The bass from All There thumped through the speakers as he made his way down the dark hallway.
Heavy’s eyes adjusted to the weed smoke clouding the air of the red-hued scene.
He glimpsed around, taking a mental note of the exit doors and faces that may have stood out.
Though he’d been there on more than a few occasions, he could never be too safe.
The snowman had the floors covered in bills, while men and women alike tossed money in the air and in the string of dancers’ bottoms, making their asses clap.
Facade attracted all types. Rich, street niggas.
Street niggas who weren’t quite rich but still wanted to have a good time.
Tricks who spent their weekly earnings. Women with their own bags, covering a month or two of bills for their favorite performers.
Athletes paying tuition. Scammers scheming, hoping to make a come-up.
Dancers with soft smiles and hard lives hidden behind barely there clothing and false lashes.
Heavy used to be amongst the crowd, littering the ground with his hard-earned funds without a second thought. He loved a hustler. A real get-it-out-the-mud type of mothafucka, and that’s what initially attracted him to Tish. She still had it in her all these years, as he spotted her.
She stood near one of the larger sections, wrapped in a silver rhinestone thong and bra set that barely covered her large breasts.
Her long hair flowed down her back in loose waves while she laughed at something one of the older men at the table said.
Money sat scattered across the section around half-empty bottles and ashtrays.
One nigga had his hand resting low on her hip while she entertained them all effortlessly, smiling like she truly cared about whatever game he was spitting.
Tish listened, though, and looked good while doing so.
Too good. Heavy understood why niggas spent money on her.
She had one of those faces men got attached to fast; soft features mixed with a body that made discipline an afterthought.
He’d fallen victim once, and that’s why he was here in the first place.
Seeing her still dancing didn’t bother him.
Tish had always handled her business. Even when they were messing around before he got locked up and since he’d been home.
She never carried herself like one of those women waiting around for a nigga to save her.
She got money before Heavy ever approached her, and he respected that.
What he didn’t respect was whatever the fuck she and her brother had going on inside her house.
As if she knew his eyes were on her, Tish glanced to her right, spotting him.
Shocked by his presence, she excused herself from the table without Heavy having to motion for her.
One of the men grabbed her wrist, trying to stop her from leaving, but she laughed him off and whispered something in his ear, which made him let go with a grin.
Heavy didn’t wait around for her to reach him.
He turned and headed down the hallway leading to the private rooms near the back, where the music was at the perfect volume to hold a conversation without having to talk loudly.
A bouncer gave Heavy access to one of the rooms once he saw Tish strutting behind him.
It was small and intimate, with a silver pole in the middle and purple lights illuminating beneath a black leather booth-style couch. He took a seat, though he had no plans to stay long. Tish entered with a smile, unaware that this wasn’t a friendly visit by far.
“Well damn,” she teased, running her fingers through his locs. “Look who finally came to see me.”
Heavy let his eyes roam her oiled body, stopping at the diamond dangling from her belly. They ventured between her thighs where he’d spent plenty of days and nights in between.
“Yeah,” he muttered, focusing on her face. “You wanna tell me why that is?”
Tish frowned, not liking his tone or line of questioning. “Tell you why you’re here?”
Heavy nodded, and she shrugged.
“My first guess was to see me, but clearly, that’s not the reason. Is something wrong?”
“Yeah. You were short,” Heavy plainly said.
Her brows pulled together instantly. “Short on what?”
“The money Cole picked up from you earlier.” Heavy folded his arms over his chest. “Three bands are missing.”
Tish blinked hard like she knew she had heard him wrong. “Missing?”
“I’m not about to keep repeating myself.”
She laughed once out of disbelief and shook her head. “Heavy, there can’t be money missing.”
“So, you calling me a liar?” he asked, head cocked.
“No, I’m telling you I gave him everything.” Her tone slightly sharpened. “You think I’m stealing from you?”
“Somebody is, and unless you can tell me where that money or those pills for it are, you cut off.”
Tish’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious right now? I would never steal from you. Someone is lying.”
“And I ain’t here to make you a believer, but you got your brother staying with you, right? He was at the crib when I slid through the other night.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “Yeah, but... but Maino wouldn’t—”
“Don’t ever get comfortable thinking what a nigga won’t do. You know better than that,” Heavy scolded.
Tish did. She’d been in the game too long to put anything past anyone. Even her own brother.
“So you think my brother is stealing from you, and now you’re about to stop what I have going on over three bands?”
“It ain’t about the money, Tish,” Heavy instantly replied, nostrils flaring. “For real, I don’t even need you pushing shit through here anymore. It’s the principle. If the count is off once, it’ll be off again.”
The money Tish was bringing in weekly from Facade was nice, but he could make up for it elsewhere. What she was pushing before, compared to now, was some bullshit. Her money had more than tripled, allowing her to stack, spend, and invest as she saw fit. If he cut her off, it’d be setting her back.
Tish briefly looked away as her jaw flexed. She couldn’t believe him. “You really came to my job, trying to check me. That’s crazy.”
“Nah, what’s crazy is me giving you a chance to clean shit up before I do. Ain’t gon’ be no talking if I find out that nigga getting over on me and you were in on it.”
“Wow,” she muttered, folding her arms across her chest. “So, this is how you move with me? After everything?”
Heavy exhaled heavily through his nose. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Try to make this personal.” He leaned back against the booth. “You know how I move when it comes to business.”
“And you know how I move when it comes to you,” Tish quickly shot back. “That’s why this shit has me looking at you sideways.”
Heavy’s expression softened, but not enough for her liking. Tish thought that because she had held him down before, during, and after prison, he would handle her differently. He’d never take that from her, but loyalty didn’t stop him from checking weird shit when it presented itself.