67. Four
Four
"You shouldn't be out of bed," Uncle Bradon said. I looked from my window to see him wipe his hand over his mouth. He was worried, more than likely a little stressed too. "If Nadine finds out that I snuck you out of the hospital, she's going to snap."
"You scared of Nadine?” I asked him.
"I ain't scared of Nadine."
"Sounds like it to me," Hood said from the back seat. "Every few minutes her name comes up."
"Mind your business, Hood," Unc replied. He glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. "You're here for a reason, not to talk shit."
"I'm here for two reasons. To make sure this dumb ass doesn’t fuck himself up more and to talk shit." He stopped talking, then laughed. "Make it three. To report back all the crazy shit y'all do. It's a bet going on."
"What kind of bet?" I asked. "And, with who?"
"Krude started it."
"Of course he did," I replied.
"And it’s for who does the crazier shit. You or your wife," he finished. "Majority of the money is on you." I turned to look at him. "I got money on your wife though. She's been quiet for too long. Has too much pent-up rage and shit. I know crazy when I see crazy, and your wife?"
"She ain't the crazy one between the two of us," I told him.
"Agreed," he said, nodding, then pointed at me. "You're the crazy one. Corinthians is psychotic."
"As long as you know," I said, then turned around.
There was no reason to correct him or attempt to correct him because he was right.
I dealt with my anger by fighting; it was my outlet, which kept me partially sane.
But Cori? She was carrying her pain. Eventually she was going to explode, and when she did, I had to be the person there to protect her and bring her back down to safety.
"Four, is this address?" Unc asked.
I leaned forward, checked the address, and then nodded. "Yeah, this is it," I told him. I had every address memorized. This was the fourth name on the list.
Unc parked the car, and we all got out. The neighborhood was nice, a populated mix of folks.
Very much gentrification at its finest, but one thing about these neighborhoods that most didn't realize is no matter how pretty they tried to make them, this was still the hood.
The old folks that lived here from the jump knew when shit was going to pop off, so seeing our black asses get out of the car and us not belonging put them on alert.
"Hey baby," an elderly lady called from her porch.
We stopped walking and turned to face her.
She looked to be in her eighties. She was dressed in a house coat, tall socks, slippers and had those old school pink rollers in her hair.
Her eyes were a funky shade of brown and blue; more than likely, she had glaucoma or cataracts, but they were alert.
She'd seen some shit in her day. "We need to get these kids in the house? "
"I don't plan on it spilling into the street, but as a precaution, yeah," I answered her.
She stared at me for a few moments before nodding. "You ain't that nigga friend, are you?"
"No, ma'am," I denied. "Not even close."
"Didn't think so," she replied, then pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her housecoat and took one out. "You look familiar; who are your people?" She looked around me to Unc. "Besides that nigga over there. That your daddy?"
"Uncle," I answered. "And I doubt you know my people."
"You'd be surprised by who I know." She put her cigarette in her mouth, lit it, then dropped it and her pack back into her pocket. After she took a pull, she blew out the smoke. "What's your name, son?"
"Four."
"That's your nickname; what's on your birth certificate?"
"Uri." We stared at each other before I sighed. "Uri Strong."
"Cassandra Roosevelt," she said, then put her hand out for me to shake.
"Grandma to a million damn kids and none of them blood.
" She let my hand go and stepped back. "Go on in there and kill that nigga. Me and the kids going to go to the basement and have us a little party. Don’t start shooting ‘til you hear my music. "
I watched as she left me standing there and called the kids into the house. They didn't argue or fuss; they just dropped whatever they were playing with and ran into the house.
"You ain't worried about her snitching?" Unc asked.
"Nah," I answered with a chuckle. Something about Ms. Cassandra told me she was solid. She just wanted to know my name. She probably had a mental Rolodex of all the killers that have stepped foot on this block. "She's solid."
"How do you know?"
I turned around and walked towards the house. I patted Unc on the shoulder as I passed him. "The eyes never lie, Unc. That lady solid as fuck." I made a mental note to give her name to Nine to make sure she never went without.
I stood on the porch and waited. When Michael Jackson started playing, I looked over at Hood. "Would I be pushing it if I kicked the door in?" I asked him. I knew the extent of my injuries and already knew the answer.
"You trying to be back under the knife before your woman is done doing whatever she's doing?" He lifted his brow and questioned me. "Because if so, go right ahead. If not, shoot that bitch down."
"This is a safe neighborhood, or so it looks like. I bet the doors open," Unc said. I tested his theory only to come up empty. It was locked. "Oh, my bad," he laughed.
"You been hanging out with Krude, haven't you?" I asked, and he shrugged.
"Man, move; it's too fucking hot out here. Y'all can't sweat and shit, but I can." Hood stepped around me, knocked, then stepped back.
A few seconds later, I heard the locks be disengaged, and the door slowly opened. A teenage girl dressed in short-ass shorts and a sports bra answered the door.
"Can I help you?" she asked. Her eyes were low and red. She was high as fuck and had to lean against the door for support. She licked her dry lips and smirked. "You looking for Buckee?"
"Yeah,” I answered. "He here?"
She shook her head; her long braids swayed side to side. "He went to pick up his daddy from the airport," she said, stepping back. "He told me y'all was coming, though, and to let y'all in."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." She stumbled away from the door. "Come on." She dropped down on the couch.
"We can wait in the car youngin'," I said, shaking my head. I looked back at my uncle and Hood; they were shaking their heads. Wasn't no way we were walking in that house. She was young, dressed in barely anything and high as hell. I wasn’t walking in there.
"Nooo," she moaned and tried to stand. "Buckee said his guest had to come in." She lazily tried to push herself up from the couch but couldn't. "Ima good girl. I'll make it worth it."
"Nah," I sighed and stepped back. "Chill there, li'l mama. We ain't leaving like that. Just going to the store right fast."
I closed the door before she could say anything else, and we walked down the steps. Instead of walking back to the car, I went next door and knocked on Ms. Cassandra's door.
"That was quick," Ms. Cassandra said after she answered. She looked over at the house and then back to me. Her eyes swept over me from head to toe before settling on my eyes. "You ain't one of them nasty niggas, I see."
"Never," I replied. "Is that what you were trying to figure out earlier? What kind of nigga I am?"
"Only folks that come and go from that house are broken or breaking," she answered. "You ain't either. So, what you doing over there?"
"Looking for the nigga that lives there." I looked over at the house, then back at Ms. Cassandra. "He took part in some shit regarding my girl. I’m here to make it right."
"Good," she said with a nod. "I watched him for a while. Him and his daddy. Both give me a bad vibe. I can keep the kids away from them for the most part, but it's always one or two they get their hooks on."
"The girl in there..."
"Missy. Just turned 18 yesterday so ain't shit I can do now," she said, shaking her head.
"I got her little sister with me all the time though. I can’t stand how Arnold looks at her.
" Arnold was Buckee's real name. "He said his brother plays for the Kings and can get her tickets to a Queens game.
She loved them, ladies. I keep telling her he can't do shit, but you know how kids are. "
"She here?"
"Back there mad now," she answered with a laugh. "Why?"
I called Hood over. "Ms. Cassandra, this is Aceyn Bowlin; he's the team doctor for the Kings and Queens and also the fiancé of Legacy Glover," I introduced them. "Go get baby girl. If she is a true fan, then she knows who he is."
"Hold on," she said, then walked away.
"What's going on?" Hood asked once she was gone. I gave him a quick breakdown of what was told to me, and Hood nodded. Ms. Cassandra came back with a little girl no older than twelve behind her. She was tall, skinny, and her demeanor reminded me of every basketball player I knew.
"Lacey, do you know who this is?” Ms. Cassandra asked her.
"Yes, ma'am, that’s Aceyn Bowlin, Legacy Glovers' fiancée," she answered, looking around. "Is Legacy here?" Her eyes held so much hope at possibly seeing Legacy.
"Nah," Hood said. Lacey's shoulders dropped in disappointment.
"Ms. Cassandra said you're a good kid and love ball. That nigga next door said he would take you to a game?"
"Yeah, but Ms. Cassandra said not to talk to him," she answered. "My sister is over there all the time. She said if I get something from Buckee, I gotta pay it back."
"Buckee ain't about to be a problem," I said, shaking my head. "But the next Queens game y'all will be in a suite watching it. The tickets will be in Ms. Cassandra's name, so you ain't gotta worry about nothing."
"What I gotta do to pay you back?" she skeptically asked. "I ain't like my sisters. I don’t like folks touching me."
"Nothing," I told her. "Except stay your ass away from niggas like Buckee. You do that, and you'll see any home Queens game there is in person."
"Deal!" She excitedly said.