Chapter 17 #2
The bathroom shit that she’d sent pictures of was a bunch of basketball themed shit for a boy, but a little ass boy. At my crib it was just a solid-colored shower curtain, the soap dish, dispenser, and toothbrush holder. That was more than enough to me.
“It is not!” she exclaimed. “He likes basketball, so I thought that stuff was cute.”
“AP is fifteen, baby, not five. Just rock with the shit that’s in there. He’ll be aight.”
“Yeah, no. I don’t like water all over the floors and stuff, so he needs more than a shower curtain. Maybe I’ll just do blue and an accent color.”
“Yeah, that sounds straight to me,” I replied and she sucked her teeth.
“You don’t even care.”
“It’s bathroom shit, baby.” I laughed. “What you want me to say besides what I said?”
“Nothing.”
I grinned at her quick reply. “You got an attitude?”
“No.”
“You lyin’.” I laughed. “I like the shit you sent, Jru, and I think the blue shit will be straight. Maybe put gray with it,” I suggested.
“Yes, that will be perfect!” she excitedly replied. “See, you’re good at this.”
“You spoiled as fuck, Jruelle.” I shook my head and noticed that we were pulling up to our destination. “I gotta go handle this shit though, baby. I’ll hit you when I’m on the way back to the city.”
“Oh, you left town?”
“I ain’t far. I had to do some shit with Zig and Deek. Greg there and…”
“No, I know, you just didn’t tell me you were leaving Atlyn City,” she said. “But, okay, just be safe and call me when you’re on the way back.”
“I got you, love.”
We disconnected the call, and I pocketed my phone before reaching beside the seat for my gun. I usually rode with the shit in my lap, but since we were traveling away from the city, I tucked it just in case.
After securing my gun on my hip, I climbed out of the car followed by Zig and Deek who followed closely behind me toward the bar. I’d put the two of them up on game about what happened with the accountant, so we were coming to personally address the shit.
“Ay, you whipped nigga.” Zig said before pulling the door open.
“Fuck you, bruh.” I chuckled entering before him.
There were two men seated at the bar with a beer in front of them, looking at the news that was playing on the single flat screen T.V. hanging in front of them. Brent, one of the twins that owned the bar, was at the far end with his back toward us.
Zig and I headed in that direction, both of us easing onto a barstool while we left Deek to tend to the men at the bar. It took a minute for Brent to realize we were there, but when he did, he jumped a little, but it didn’t take long for him to relax once realization set in.
“Don, Zig, what are the two of you doing here?” he asked as he dried one of the glasses with a white towel before placing it on the top of the stack.
“Came to holla at you. Where ya brother?”
“In the office.” He pointed. “You want me to go get him?”
“Naw, Zig got it.” I answered, tossing my head toward the door. He nodded and slid off the stool then headed to the back.
Brent finally noticed that Deek was there too after he let the two patrons out and locked the door behind them so we didn’t have to worry about being interrupted.
When he finally looked back at me fear danced around in his eyes, rightfully so.
He knew I only came out this way if there was a problem.
Even when Vado was in charge, I told them that if they had to deal with anyone other than Zig, it was a problem.
“What’s going on, Don? What’s this about?”
“We gon’ get to that when ya other half get in here.” I smirked. “Po’ a nigga a drink or somethin’,” I suggested. “What kind of fuckin’ service is this?”
“Naw for real.” Deek laughed. “Let me get a double shot of D’usse on the rocks.”
“Two, but I don’t want no ice.”
With shaky hands, he put two glasses in front of us, filling Deek’s with ice, before he poured the liquor in. The nigga was shaking so bad he spilled some of the alcohol on the counter. I reached for a napkin to clean the shit up before grabbing my glass and taking a drink.
“Fuck you so nervous for? Don’t you do this all the fuckin’ time?”
“I-I j-what’s g-going on?” he stammered. “W-why’d you send the customers away?”
Before I could answer his question, Zig was surfacing with Brent’s twin brother, Brad. He shoved him in the direction where Brent was then rounded the bar, sliding onto the stool between Deek and me.
He had a folder in his hand that he tossed on the counter in front of us before asking, “damn, y’all niggas ain’t get me shit to drink?”
“We ain’t know what yo’ ass wanted.” Deek chuckled.
“What y’all drinkin’? You coulda got me that.”
“D’usse.” I answered and he turned his nose up. He didn’t fuck with brown liquor like that. “Exactly.”
“Let me get a double shot of Don straight up.” Brent’s trembling ass went to pour his drink. “Nigga you got Parkinson’s or some shit? Fuck you shakin’ like that for?”
“Scared.” Deek snickered.
Brent slid Zig’s drink to him at the same time I grabbed the folder and began to sift through it.
It had the initials BJC written on the tab at the top.
Inside were all of the invoices that Demetri had showed me as well as some other paperwork.
He also had a small bag filled with money that he’d placed on the counter as well.
“This it?”
“Yeah,” Zig answered as he shook his head.
I zipped it then slid it in Deek’s direction before turning to face Brent and Brad.
“Fellas, it’s been a lil’ minute since I had to actually come out here and show my face.”
“R-right.” Brad gulped. “I-is there a problem?”
“Oh, fa show.” I nodded, taking another sip of my drink. “I count like…” I grabbed the folder to glance over it even though I didn’t need to. I knew exactly how much money they owed me, but I fucked with the dramatic effect shit. “Two hundred thousand problems.”
“D-Don…” Brad immediately began to stammer.
“Who you workin’ with?”
“N-nobody.”
“Oh, BJC is somebody.” I pointed to the folder. “And you gon’ fuckin’ tell me or you gon’ die. Shit is that simple.”
“Don…”
I pulled my gun from my side and placed it on the counter in front of me.
“Don ain’t the name I wanna hear, my nigga. Tell me who the fuck BJC is or I’m gon’ start shootin’.”
“L-look, w-we were just d-doing w-what we were told to do.” Brent said as he looked between his brother and me. “W-we were told t-that we needed to double the orders and s-send money to that account.”
“Told by who, Brent? Because yo’ ass works for me, and at the time, Vado. I know he didn’t tell you to do this shit.”
“A woman,” he answered. “She came in here and—”
“Brent, stop.” Brad roared. “You can’t!”
“You want to die?” He barked at his brother.
“No, but I don’t want Ann and the girls to die either!” he countered. “Or your wife and kids.”
Over the back and forth, I grabbed the neck of the nearby beer bottle one of the customers had left, then bashed Brent across the head with it since he was the closest. After it shattered, I held his head down with the ragged end of the bottle on the side of his neck.
“I see I came in and went about shit all wrong. I didn’t come in here for negotiations or to give you a mothafuckin’ choice. I came in here to get a fuckin’ name and my bread.”
“Okay, look,” Brad held his hands up, looking scared shitless. “W-we don’t know who she was…”
“She?” my brows lifted. “It was a woman?”
“Yes. She came in here with directions from Vado for us to double liquor orders and deposit money to this account once a month.” His shaky hands opened the folder and he pointed to the account information. “She had all of Vado’s contact information to prove that she knew him and it wasn’t a scam.”
“You heard Vado himself say to do the shit?” I asked the question I already knew the answer to. No way he knew about this shit and had no documentation of the business.
“N-no,” he stammered. “We just figured that he’d told her to come to us—”
“Brent, how long y’all been workin’ for us?” I frowned.
“I know, but—”
“Naw, nigga, ain’t no mothafuckin’ buts!” I snapped. “You been workin’ for Vado a long ass fuckin’ time and he ain’t ever sent some bitch to handle business, and that all of a sudden changed?”
“She had all of his info, man,” he replied in a pleading tone. “You gotta understand.”
“I don’t have to understand shit,” I released Brent’s bitch ass. “And I ain’t ‘bout to either. Y’all niggas better find out who the bitch you been sendin’ my mothafuckin’ money to is and have the shit back to me in a week or it’s gon’ be some mothafuckin’ issues.”
“A week? That’s not possible, Don.”
“Then you better hope a miracle happens because if I don’t get every red cent of my bread in seven days you gon’ die,” I pointed to Brad using the barrel of my gun then turned to Brent. “You gon’ die, and every fuckin’ body else in relation to you.”
“Don, come on man.” Brent cried. “Please don’t do this. She has our addresses, knows who our children are. She will kill us.”
“Naw, I’m gon’ kill yo’ ass if I don’t get what the fuck I just asked for.” I warned, tucking my gun back in place. “I don’t know who the bitch is, but you know I ain’t bullshittin’. Have my bread and a name in exactly five days, or it’s over.”
“F-five days.” Brent repeated. “You just said a week.”
“Business days only, mothafucka,” I smirked before turning to leave.
I was done talking and I was dead serious.
Brent and Brad had been working for Vado for a long time, but they were working for me now and would be the first example I’d set for the rest of these niggas if they didn’t have my money and a name in the next five days.