Chapter 2 #2
“Yes. As in clink, clink nigga. Don’t drop the soap. Behind bars. Criminal activity. Incarceration. How many ways can–”
“For what?”
Pushing out a stream of air, she tilted her head.
“You one nosy ass nigga.”
I didn’t give a damn about her annoyance. She had information, and I needed answers. I wouldn’t step foot off the porch until I had them.
“For what, Saga?” I gritted.
“Boosting.”
Chuckling, I ran a hand down my face. My heart softened. The frustration I was beginning to feel quickly turned to remorse.
“This fucking girl.”
Saga’s son stirred in her arms. Sully’s words looped in my head.
“She’ll probably call before nine. She only calls once a day. She hasn’t called today. You want to wait out here until s–”
“Nah.”
I had no interest in talking to Hyphen over a recorded line. The next time I spoke to Hyphen, she’d have her insufferable ass in my face.
I reached into my pocket and removed five hundred-dollar bills. I slid them through the small cut in the screen door as I made a mental reminder to purchase a new screen in the near future.
“Appreciate you for looking out.”
Hesitantly, she accepted the money.
“What’s this for?”
“For him,” I told her, nodding toward her son.
As she allowed my words to sink in, I took the steps down the porch.
“Thank you!” She yelled behind me.
I made my way down Hyphen’s walkway and out of her small gate. When I hopped in my ride, there was only one thing on my mind: setting my baby free.
I made a right at the end of Shady Grove, Hyphen’s street. A left on Ford followed, then another right on Lincoln when my breath got caught in my chest. I lifted my hand and pressed it against the horn.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
A fourth.
My father’s mechanic shop sat empty with a for sale sign in the small patch of grass just on the perimeter of the building.
I cut it bi-weekly, refusing to let nature grow taller than the candles, stuffed animals, images, and posters pinned to the memorial pole that Dooley had created for my parents.
The brown block of wood brought me so much peace and pain simultaneously. I’d never get my mother back. I’d never get my father back. But, somehow, the memorial my hood had created made it feel like I was passing them every fucking day.
I released the breath that had lodged itself in my chest and made two more lefts before making a right into my driveway. Emerging from my whip took very little effort. I didn’t shut off the engine. Instead, I grabbed my stick and walked up to my front door.
762498.
I punched in the code on the newly installed lock system that saved me many nights when I wasn’t sure where the hell my keys were. They were on a separate ring from my car keys and often found themselves in dark places.
The AC was blasting. I pushed through my home with urgency, stopping just short of my bedroom.
820942.
I pressed each button carefully and was granted access to my room. I dug through the clothes that were strategically placed in my closet. Sliding them out of the way revealed a floor safe that my grandfather had installed.
The home I inherited from my family wasn’t one I would’ve chosen for myself. However, it held far too many memories to let go of. It was a family treasure. Through renovations I’d managed myself, it had become my treasure. Slowly, I was beginning to appreciate every nook and cranny.
The open safe revealed my life’s savings.
There was one stash for emergencies. There was another stash, a much larger one, for gaining possession of the shop my father had worked so hard to maintain.
He was five years into his lease-to-own journey after renting the same shop from a previous owner for ten years.
At the time of his death, there was still a balance on the agreement between him and the owner of the property.
I fought my way through the court to take ownership of the lease and finish the payments he was making.
I didn’t succeed. The money my father had put into his shop had all gone to waste.
The day the judge ruled in favor of the owner, I vowed to snatch the shop from under him. Cash.
No lease.
No loan.
No lenders.
That shop was my way out of the streets. And, every soul near knew it would be mine one day. So, collectively, they made a conscious effort to drive the property value down with every intention of helping me rebuild what they were destroying. Aside from the grass, the place was in horrible shape.
The price continued to drop month after month.
It wouldn’t be long before it was mine. I could smell the motor oil on my fresh white tee.
Getting my hands dirty came naturally. Doing it legally hadn’t.
It was time to turn a new leaf. It was time to pivot.
I could feel the change happening inside of me, a little more each day.
I kissed the skin of my teeth as I removed five racks from my savings. It would put me behind at least a month, but with any luck, there would be a six-thousand-dollar price decrease on the garage over the next sixty days, giving me a chance to recover what I was about to lose.