4. Global “Dice” Jamerson
Global “Dice” Jamerson
Today, I was at the gun range. Once I clipped the target paper in place, I got in the zone. I pressed the toggle switch and watched the outline glide downrange until it hit the mark I wanted.
“Yeh sure ya can handle dat thang?” A big, country-ass white guy asked me to my left.
“Watch and see,” I replied.
“Will do.” He shot back, placing his weapon of choice on his station and stepping back. I don’t know if this muthafucka was watching or not because once he saw my melons, his eyes were a little stuck.
I chuckled to myself, adjusted my safety glasses, and pulled my earmuffs over my ears, drowning out some of the shots cracking around me. Today, I was playing with an AR-15, and this baby was loaded with thirty rounds ready to fly.
I planted my feet, tucked the stock against my shoulder, and leaned into my stance. Once I had my target lined up in the scope, I squeezed the trigger.
CRACK!
The rifle kicked against my shoulder as the bullet punched through the paper target. A hot casing ejected from the side of the rifle and bounced across the concrete floor.
I squeezed again.
CRACK! CRACK!
Two more casings bounced across the floor.
The power behind this muthafucka was something serious, but this wasn’t shit I couldn’t handle.
My aim? Baby, that bitch was a beast.
I was done with playtime and started giving the sheet straight headshots, putting on a show. I couldn’t see dude because I was pretty sure he was bugged out right now. I quickly removed the magazine like a woman on a mission and inserted another one before letting that mug sing.
I pressed the toggle again to bring what was left of my sheet back up.
There was no need to remove my paper and take it home like some sort of souvenir that stage had long gone.
I knew who it was, and not on no cocky shit, but my ass could honestly be a trained assassin.
When I turned around and removed my gear, I was met with an audience of people, all staring in awe.
“HOTDAMMIT!” one person yelled.
“Whewww. Whatadamn show you put on, gal,” the countryman with the thick accent said while clapping.
The others just stood there, wide-eyed, surely thinking I worked for the government.
I smirked.
“You sooooo badass, Dice,” Maggie said, the white woman working the front desk when I checked in. She knew exactly how I could make a sheet split in half.
“You already know,” I said with a wink and a smile.
If I didn’t trust anything else, I trusted my ability to hit my mark every time.
Training, like I was about to play a black plus-size John Wick, was the only thing that kept the demons asleep. The highway and the sounds of a shell would lock the weight on my shoulders away.
“Can you do that again?” A black boy who looked like he was in his twenties asked.
“Maybe next time.”
As much as I wanted to bask in the moment, I didn’t have time. I had to get a move on it and make it back to the cabin to finish making the new mask for the upcoming heist.
I never liked wearing a repeat. I usually make several different versions and burn the ones we didn’t use, leaving no trail.
We have seen the news flash across the television too many times to count.
I’m sure they were looking for us to make a slip-up, but thank God those days are over.
We were a little rusty when we started this journey, but after extensive training, we slowly became a force to be reckoned with.
Once I left here, I was going to scoop up Coca and my son, so we could slide by Pop Pop’s before I headed out.
Ipulled my red Jeep Wrangler into Pop Pop’s driveway. The old man was on the porch having one of his damn card games, and I already knew his old-ass friends were about to spend the afternoon trying to make passes at me.
“We not ‘bout to be here long.”
“I know that’s the fuck right,” Coca agreed.
We loved the fellas to death, but they could be a bit much, and Larry June was a handful all by himself.
“Come on, Mama’s Baby. You look a mess.”
I shot Coca a look while taking a wet wipe to clean Revv’s face and chubby fingers. This boy looks identical to his father. I really had to figure something out because I was starting to really feel bad, but I had to protect myself.
“Listen, boo, I’m not about to hear all that damn whining when I can stop it with these cheese puffs,” Coca said, climbing out of the Jeep. “Hunni, The Problem be having problems, fa’real.”
I rolled my eyes and swished my ass toward the brick house.
“Bring dat ass.”
“You tryna be funny, but don’t get me excited.”
“Ugh! Will you stop?”
“Nope.”
“Just come on. I gotta get on the road.”
“Ugh... back to the wilderness.”
“Coca, I promise I’ma give you guys a break after this job.”
He paused for a second before shutting the Jeep door.
“Hunni, I can’t wait, ‘cause I done packed some of me and The Problem’s things. Soon as y’all finish knocking over that bank, we gone disappear for a little while.”
I smiled. Coca always acted dramatic before a job, but I knew it came from a place of love. Every time we geared up for a heist, he’d joke his way through the anxiety like laughing could keep bullets from finding us.
“I’m sure you have, but this job should be quick, and you can get a break.”
“Damn, you just couldn’t pick a regular job.”
He rolled his eyes.
“What’s the thrill in that? But I’m serious, we gonna take a break.”
“You said that last time.” He pointed a finger at me.
“Now, if we ain’t here when you get back, some white man driving an eighteen-wheeler got us tied up in the truck bed.
Nine outta ten, he’ll be wearing one of them checkered shirts, chewing tobacco, around six feet tall, and weighing over three hundred pounds. ”
He stopped, thinking.
“Wait... come to think of it, it might be a skinny white man with black-rimmed glasses.”
I laughed.
“Yo’ ass watch too much TV.”
“Chile, boo, this comes from a man on TikTok. He teaches us ‘How to Spot a Killer.’"
“Seriously?”
“Yup!” Coca said, popping the P. “Sis, I refuse to be somebody’s documentary.”
I shook my head.
“Coca, what do you see when you look at me?” I asked, waiting for his answer.
He studied me from head to toe.
“Hmmm... a bougie diva.”
“I hate to break it to you, but the class not working.”
Coca laughed.
“I know exactly who you are. You the one about to risk her life again, and I’m the one stuck praying you bring yo’ hardheaded ass back home.”
For a split second, our eyes met.
“I will,” I said softly.
He nodded once, satisfied enough to let it go.
“Good. Now let’s go see what Pop Pop and them old fools over there got going on.”
Coca could joke through almost anything, but I knew him well enough to hear the fear hiding behind every punchline.
The men on the porch turned their heads as soon as they heard us going back and forth.
Pop Pop followed their gaze, trying his best to see who it was.
If he would just pull his glasses down that sat on top of his head, he could see.
Let him tell it, they cramped his swag, as if over-squeezing his lids together was gonna work. Once he heard our voices, he spoke up.
“Well, hell... would you looka there. It’s Hips and Hoola Hoop. I know damn well my grandson betta be wit’ y’all.”
See? This was exactly what I was talking about; he had yet to spot Revv.
Revv was doing his best to hide behind my thick thighs, hoping Pop Pop wouldn’t spot him just yet, so they could play a quick game of hide and seek. My poor baby was terrible at hiding because he giggled the whole time.”
“Where’s Pop Pop’s grandbaby?” Pop Pop sang.
Revv just laughed louder, moving from one leg to the other.
“Where he at? Where he at?” Pop Pop continued to sing, pretending like he couldn’t find Revv.
“If you would put on yo’ glasses, you’d see him from way over there, Larry June,” Coca laughed.
“Here we go,” I muttered.
I shook my head because I already knew what Coca was doing, and it was definitely about to work. We hadn’t even made it to the porch, and those two were already getting started.
“Hol’ up, Hips. Let me put my damn bifocals on ‘cause I thought a confused negro said something.”
Pop Pop pulled his glasses down while Coca sucked his teeth.
“Coreal?"
“Yes, sir?”
“Ah-ha! Exactly!” Pop Pop yelled while slapping the card table like he’d just solved the greatest mystery known to man. “Y’all hear that?” he said while looking around at everyone.
“Hear what?” Coca asked, already feeding the old man more ammunition. He loved getting under this man’s skin for some reason. I believe this was their love language.
“A nigga. A boy. A man. A male. A case of mistaken identity.”
The old man chuckled, and Coca shook his head.
“I love you, grandson, I really do. But I ain’t the only blind muthafucka around this bitch.” He hooked a finger under his glasses and peered over the rims. “You so worried ‘bout my damn eyesight you forgot yo’ own damn gender. Last I checked, every mirror still got you looking like a boy.”
“Whatever, ol’ man. What you got to drink? I need a shot before you work my nerves.”
“I second that,” I agreed.
“Ahh, hell no. Y’all bet not touch my good shit. I think I got some Everclear in there. Go grab that.”
EVERCLEAR? Ain’t nobody want no Everclear.
Before Coca or I could fire back, one of the men I’d never seen before opened his mouth.
“Larry June, I ain’t know you had a faggot for a grandson.”
“Shiiid,” I muttered and dropped my head.
Yup. This fella had to be new.
“Let me tell you som—”
Coca was ready to explode, but Pop Pop silenced him with nothing more than a raise of his hand.
Before anybody could blink, a switchblade was pressed against the man’s throat.
Nobody moved.
This was Larry June’s specialty, and no one budged. No one dared not grab him or the man with a death wish. It was known around town; my grandfather would give you a permanent scar.
I scooped Revv into my arms and took a step back. Coca just stood there with one hand on his hip, and a smirk spread across his face.