Chapter 6
EXODUS
“She straight?” Asked Zeke when I made it back across the field over to the courtyard where Meech’s repast was being held.
Shaking my head, I stood beside him, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
‘She’ was Meech’s little sister. Sereia.
She wasn’t okay. Had just gotten into a fight.
Damn near beat the life out that bitch. If it weren’t for me scooping her lil’ ass up, she for sure would have.
That wasn’t why she wasn’t okay and wouldn’t be for a minute.
It was Meech’s death and some more shit.
Pain weighed heavy on her. Very heavy. So heavy that when I grabbed her hands a minute ago, to pray for her, I felt the shit hit me.
There was a lot of pain inside of her. Sensed it before we grabbed hands.
Sensing it was why I decided to pray for her in the first place.
I didn’t hold hands with people. Didn’t really go to Big G about them neither.
But today I felt compelled to. Was told to.
I wasn’t the cleanest nigga. I did dirt.
Sinned like crazy. But I was connected. The holy spirit fucked with me heavy.
So… I prayed for her. Talked to Big G about her.
But the prayer didn’t end there. When I walked away, on my way back to the yard, I kept praying.
The pain I felt come up off her ran deeper than just the grief of losing her brother.
The fight was just the beginning, for real.
She was going to get worse. Angrier. Colder.
More vicious. Reckless too. She’d been hitting the bottle.
Something told me she wasn’t on that type of time before Meech.
She didn’t seem like the other bitches in The Woods.
When we pulled up on her that night, she was in the crib.
In pajamas. Literal pajamas. A set. Bitches that drunk heavy, got high, and ran around the hood didn’t move like that.
Shit, if she was one of them, she wouldn’t have been in the crib at all.
“Mannn,” Zeke said, shaking his head, looking in the same direction as me. “Shorty gon’ be fucked up out here. You know all they had was each other. Just imagine, bro.”
“She gon’ be straight,” I responded, eyes centered on the group of young niggas heading for the courtyard. Taking my hands out of my pocket, I crossed my arms across my chest.
I let what Zeke said digest a little. I had a soft spot in my heart for baby girl for some reason.
I didn’t give too much of a fuck about a lot of people.
If you didn’t have Christ blood flowing through your veins, or if you wasn’t my bitch, I didn't give a fuck about what you had going on for real. Felt like it might’ve been guilt a lil bit, low key.
Had I stopped Zeke before it got to this point, her brother wouldn’t be dead.
Low key, I felt a little responsible. Aside from that, whenever I was in her presence, I felt the sadness coming up off her.
Being in the slums, around so much poverty and heartache, feeling what other people felt came easy.
Theirs was easy to ignore. However, it was different with her.
Couldn’t ignore it. Like I said though, could’ve been that guilt.
Even that was odd. I didn’t have a heart when it came to shit for real.
Guilt wasn’t something I felt. Not unless it pertained to my Sweet Lady. Honestly.
“Keep an eye on her,” I said, steady watching the group of young niggas.
“I’m already on it,” Zeke said, stepping forward a little, hands stuffed into his pocket, eyes laser focused on that group.
The closer they got to the courtyard, the easier it was for me to see their eyes.
And as expected, their eyes were on us just as tough as ours were on them.
One of them, little nigga with a long scar across his face, chucked his chin.
Neither of us returned the gesture. He looked over at one of his niggas, pinched the bridge of his nose and looked back at us.
“Y’all ready?” Kiss asked.
“Fa sho,” Zeke mumbled.
I uncrossed my arms and walked off, ahead of them. Kiss walked on the right side of me, Zeke to the left.
“What up doe?” spoke the nigga with the scar.
“What’s good, nigga?” Zeke said before spitting the other way. “Y’all boys good?”
“Hell yeah,” Scarface said, eyeing me. “Crazy as hell I’m seein’ y’all here, low key. Shit, I been wanting to get up with Big Dawg for a min—”
“Hell naw,” Zeke interrupted. “We chillin.”
“Won’t take but a couple minutes,” he pressed, steady watching me.
Brushing my hand over the top of my head, I said, “Fuck you want nigga?”
He glanced over his shoulder at his boys, laughed a little, shook his head and said, “Can we chop it up in private?”
“Bout as private as it’s gon’ get,” Kiss said.
He shrugged his right shoulder. “Fuck it. I got a money proposition for you.”
I snorted. “You got a money proposition for… me?”
“Yeah,” he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dusty gray joggers.
“I got a cousin in Kingston. He tryin’ to get some shit moved but,” he paused and sucked his teeth.
“He havin’ a lil’ issue. I heard you was the nigga to get up with if something needed to be moved from point A to point B. Feel me?”
“You heard, huh?” Zeke said with a snort.
Scarface looked from Zeke, to Kiss, and then finally at me. “I mean… I said I wanted to talk in private.”
I didn’t do business with niggas I didn’t know.
I for damn sure didn’t fuck with niggas in The Woods when it came to making pape.
I ran a tight ship. A very tight ship. The business relationships I had were relationships I’d had since I got into the transportation business.
It was a line of work not a lot of people knew about.
You had to be working with me directly to know anything about what I had going on.
The fact that he knew a little something didn’t sit right with me.
We’d been under the radar. Out of the way.
Shit was and had always been smooth sailing when it came to moving shit.
That’s what we did.
Moved shit.
A lot of shit.
Drugs. Guns. Hell… people.
We were in the freight business. If you had the right amount of money, we had a method of transport that would get what you needed where it needed to be.
I wasn’t necessarily hearing what Scarface was talking about. Again, I didn’t just fuck with anybody. All money wasn’t good money. There were no shorts. I was eating good. Money didn’t excite or move me. Niggas needed to do more than that to get in with me.
“Not interested,” I said before walking off.
He followed. Walked alongside me, explaining why his cousin was legit and how we could make a lot of money together. I let him walk. I let him talk. Right up until I got across the field to the parking lot.
“You like your life, nigga?” Zeke asked. “We smooth. He said he ain’t interested. Move around.”
Scarface sucked his teeth. I locked eyes with him and smirked.
Smiled, really. His eyebrows shot up and he drew back.
“Aight, aight. No disrespect Big Dawg. I just… shit.. thought we could get money together. Feel me? Zeke, bro, you already know I don’t mean no disrespect.
It’s all love this way.” He held his hands up. “On granny.”
“Niggas hungry though,” he continued. “Ribs touchin, for real. We just tryin’ to eat and—“
“This look like a soup kitchen, bruh?” Zeke asked. Sucking his teeth, he continued. “You got your answer. Move around. Last time.”
He held his hands up again. Averted his eyes between me, Kiss and Zeke.
“Aight. I hear you bro. Look… I’m Tre’. My cousin…
Jay—Jayceon… a real money getting nigga.
Name hold a lil’ weight. Y’all might know about him.
He bout his business. Just experiencing a couple hiccups.
I’m right here, all day, every day. You have a change of heart, Big Dawg, get up with me. ”
He walked away. We watched him for a couple of seconds and eventually got into the whip. As soon as we did, Kiss and I exchanged looked. Zeke, from the backseat, gripped the headrests and moved up, to be positioned in between us.
“Jayceon,” Zeke said. “Out in Kingston. That’s the third time, brodie.”
I nodded and shifted my eyes to the rearview mirror, watching Scarface and his boys as they walked off. “I’m hip.”
“How we movin’?” Kiss asked. A second later, the sound of a lighter flickering off told me he’d sparked fire to a blunt.
“We not,” I told him, steady watching dawg and his niggas as they made their way back over to the courtyard. “Not yet.”
Looking away from the rearview mirror, I pushed the start button, starting the engine.
“Dumb ass nigga just out here droppin’ names,” Zeke said, sitting back against the seat. “Don’t know what type of time we on.”
“‘Xactly,” Kiss added.
I didn’t say anything. Drove off with a lot to think about.
“I can’t leave,” I said, talking to Jada. “Relax. You can chill for a couple of days, Jada.”
She pouted. “But, I miss you. I’m bored and—can I just come over there?”
I shook my head, resting against the back of the couch, arm crossed over my chest, watching The Bernie Mac show with moms. “You already know the answer to that question.”
Jada didn’t come around. Not because there was an issue or anything like that but because I was very intentional about the energy I allowed in my mom’s crib.
Which was why I wasn’t fucking with no white ass nursing companies out here.
Fuck that. Didn’t want no pasty ass white bitch moving around the crib, passing judgement and shit on us.
I wanted someone from around the way. Someone with skin and roots that closely resembled ours.
The home health companies out in Wildermere didn’t employ black people.
All of that equal opportunity employer shit didn’t fly out here. They didn’t give a fuck.