Jules #2
That was the part that bothered me. Not because she thought she mattered.
Because part of me knew she wasn't completely wrong.
This wasn't just about money. It wasn't just about testimony.
It was about ego and unfinished business.
I wanted to look her in the face and decide how it ended.
I didn't let situations dictate me. I dictated them.
Or at least I tried. "Don't confuse confrontation with care," I said.
She leaned closer. "You always got something slick to say. But you ain't never been honest about why you left."
"I left because it was wrong."
She laughed under her breath. "You left because you got caught."
The air between us shifted. "I left because I chose my family," I corrected.
"After you played house with me."
I didn't respond to that. I remembered it all too well.
The hotel rooms. The late-night calls. The ego boost. The distraction.
I remembered how easy it was to separate parts of myself.
Husband here. Side nigga there. Father somewhere in between.
I convinced myself it wasn't connected. Until it was, and everything collided.
That thought pressed against the back of my skull, and I pushed it down quick.
Not here. Not in this hotel bar with its dim lighting and soft jazz playing like nothing in the world ever went wrong.
Not next to a woman who thrived off tension and unfinished business.
Some things you don't let mix. I moved, pulling out my wallet, laying a fifty-dollar bill on the bar.
"I’m gone, hit me when you decide on a number.
or not." I said. My voice stayed level. No threat. No softness either.
"You'll call me before I call you," she said, getting up from the bar, walking away.
She didn't look back. I watched her reflection in the mirror behind the bar until it disappeared around the corner.
The bartender slid the fifty toward himself without a word.
Ice melted in the empty glass in front of me, thin liquor left diluted at the bottom.
I didn't touch it. The bar felt smaller after she left.
Like the air got heavier instead of lighter.
I slowly adjusted my cuffs, smoothed my shirt, and controlled my breathing.
You don't let a room know you thinking. You don't let a room know you hit.
That's something prison drilled into me.
Inside those walls, weakness got tested.
The reaction got exploited. Grief smelled like blood in water.
So you learned to swallow it. Digest it.
Let it sit like concrete in your stomach until it hardened.
I pushed off the stool and walked toward the exit. The carpet muffled my steps. The hallway lighting was too warm and artificial. Glass doors slid open without resistance, and humid night air hit my face. I inhaled once, slow. Exhaled.
The parking lot sat dim and wide. My car alone near the back, black paint reflecting faint security lights.
I unlocked it, got in, shut the door. I sat in silence for a minute listening to myself breathe.
I rested my hands on the steering wheel again.
Same grip as earlier. Same pressure. My phone sat in the cup holder.
Screen black. I had a few missed calls, but before I could look through them, a call from Juste was coming through again.
I let it ring half a second longer than necessary.
"Whoaaaa," I said, answering the phone.
"Be at Velvet in 10 minutes." His voice came through quick. No greeting. No explanation.
"Bet." I ended the call. When Juste used that tone, it wasn't casual.
I pulled out of the parking spot and headed in the direction of Velvet.
Streetlights flickered over the windshield.
Traffic light. Thin. The bass in the car stayed low, background noise more than music.
My mind wasn't on lyrics anyway. It drifted back to Jade for a second.
Then Nia. Then back to business. I pushed the personal shit down.
One thing at a time. That's how you survive.
When I pulled up, I didn't waste time getting inside.
The security nodded as I passed. Inside, Velvet smelled like smoke, cologne, and liquor soaked into wood.
Familiar. Contained. Juste was standing at the bar with a blunt hanging from his lip and a glass in his hand.
Pierre and Noles sat at the bar lookin at Enzi who was pacing the floor. Enzi looked wild in the eyes.
"You gotta call your uncle, man. That's all it is to it." Juste said, looking at Enzi.
"Call my uncle? I can't do that. Hell nawl," Enzi said, continuing to pace the floor. His shoes squeaked against the tile every few steps. Back and forth. Back and forth.
"Why the fuck ya can't?" Pierre said, frowning.
"Have you met Abdul? He gon kill my ass." He snapped at Pierre.
"Wassam?" I said, looking between all of them.
"Pussy got his shit took and now he in a panic," Noles said without looking up from his drink.
I walked up to the bar. "Fuck you talking bout got his shit took?" I said.
"Nigga quit pacing in the floor and shit you making me nerves bad," Noles added.
"Haitians swapped out his bag at the airport in Florida, and he didn't realize it until after he landed in Houston," Juste explained.
I leaned against the bar. "Shit, boy. He must've took a loss loss the way he pacing." I said.
"Loss ain’t even the word," Enzi said, stopping in the middle of the floor. He looked like he was sweating through his shirt.
"How much?" I asked.
He hesitated. "Enough to make Abdul stop smiling at family dinners," Pierre muttered. That told me enough.
"Man hit the weed and chill out. We gon help you get your shit back, but you gotta let yo uncle know what's goin on. I’m in business with him, I can't cross him out." Juste said with his arm outstretched.
"We is?" Noles questioned, looking at Juste. Juste shot him a bird without turning his head.
I didn't smile. I watched Enzi instead. His hands shaking slightly. Eyes moving too fast. I knew that feeling. The weight of a mistake that got bigger the longer you let it breathe. "You check cameras?" I asked.
"Airport footage? Man, that shit federal," Enzi replied.
"Not airport. Before that. Who packed it? Who saw it. Who knew you was traveling."
He blinked. "Just my crew."
"Your crew sloppy," Pierre said.
"Shut the fuck up," Enzi snapped.
I held up a hand. "Stop talking emotional," I said. "Emotion don't solve shit."
He stopped pacing. The room felt tight. Smoke hanging low.
Music from the front barely reaching the back-office area.
"He gon skin my ass alive," Enzi said, fishing his phone out of his pocket.
His fingers weren't steady. That told me more than his mouth ever could.
He dialed a number and put it on speaker, letting it ring before leaning up against the bar like he could brace himself for what was coming.
The air in the back of Velvet felt tight.
Smoke hanging low. Music from the main floor muffled behind thick walls.
No windows. Just brick, liquor bottles, and men pretending not to be nervous.
The phone clicked. Abdul answered. They started speaking to one another in a different language.
Fast. Sharp. I didn't understand the words, but the tone didn’t need translation.
It wasn't long before Abdul was screaming to the top of his lungs, making the speaker on the phone blare.
The sound echoed off the walls. He wouldn't let Enzi get a word in.
Just yelling. Rage layered with authority.
Noles snickered under his breath, watching the facial expressions flash across Enzi's face.
Pierre shook his head slow. Abdul's voice carried weight.
Not just anger. Ownership. "Og chill, before you have a heart attack.
" Juste's voice cut in, stepping closer to the phone.
"We gon help get ya shit back. Just chill. "
"Enzi, you involved my business partner?" Abdul's voice boomed through the phone before he started raging again in a different language.
Enzi swallowed. "Shit, it's what you was gon do anyway unc," Enzi responded, cutting him off.
"You don't know what the fuck I was gon do, Enzi," he yelled. "I’m hanging up now before I have a damn heart attack. Juste I'll call ya." The line went dead. Silence sat heavy for a second after. You could feel the Pressure in the air.
"Look like ima be around in the swamp for a lil while. Can I stay with one of y’all?" Enzi said, leaning up against the bar like he was already moving in.
"Hell Nawl," we all said at the same time.
He blinked. "Damn fuck y’all too."
I grabbed the blunt from Juste's hand and took one pull.
Slow. Let the smoke sit in my lungs before exhaling toward the ceiling.
Smoke curled up, hit the dim lights, flattened out like it ain't know where to go.
The back room at Velvet always felt like that.
No windows. No air moving. Just brick, liquor, and men breathing too heavy.
"So you gon tell us what the fuck you lost or nah?
" I questioned, watching Enzi instead of the smoke.
He threw back a drink and looked around at us before gripping the counter like it might steady him. "Passports, documents, and Diamonds," he breathed out. His words hung in the air.
"Nigga what?" Noles said, looking at him, dumbfounded.
"You mean to tell me you gave them grimy mutha fuckas a way to bring more of their ass over here, information, and Diamond?" Pierre questioned. "You green as hell for that shit Enzi. Your uncle ain't gon let you move shit else after this."
"Pierre, you think a nigga tryna hear that bullshit?" Enzi snapped.
"God damn Enzi. No way we getting all that shit back," Juste muttered, staring hard at Enzi like he was measuring what kind of liability he just inherited.