5. Ritz “Radar” Monroe
Ritz “Radar” Monroe
Today was supposed to be my day off from the casino, and honestly, I needed the break from the lights, fake ass smiles, and suits.
Some days, I was stressed the hell out just by hearing "Mr. Monroe" every five damn minutes.
Today, I just wanted to throw on something comfortable and kick it with the homies for a while.
The best way for me to decompress was to get as far away from Monroe's as possible. My estate always did the trick.
The penthouse was nice—three bedrooms, all the luxury a man could ask for—but it was built for convenience.
My estate was built for living. Six bedrooms, each with its own ensuite, gave everybody their own space whenever family or the homies stayed over.
Out back, an infinity pool stretched toward the lake, with a tennis court off to the side and a private dock waiting on the water.
Downstairs, a full media room, a temperature-controlled wine cellar, and a cigar lounge made it easy to entertain without ever leaving home.
Walking into my state-of-the-art kitchen always settled something in me.
Dark wood cabinetry, stacked stone, exposed beams, black steel, and rich leather furniture gave the house a masculine warmth the penthouse could never match.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the lake instead of the city skyline, and for the first time all week, I could hear something besides slot machines, ringing phones, and people wanting something from me.
No neighbors peeking over fences. No elevators.
No valet. Just peace, security, and enough space for anybody thinking about trespassing to rethink that decision before they ever reach my front door.
The only folks that really knew where I rest my head were my family and close homies, and I didn’t use that close word loosely.
Here is where I played my music as loud as I wanted to, smoked cigars without the issues of a damn sprinkler coming out of the ceiling, wetting my ass up.
No females other than family have ever made it to the gate, let alone the front door.
I didn’t play that shit. Here is where I would raise my kids and holler for my wife.
Well, that just depends because I might get to Vegas and love it, who knows.
I had to be there for at least a year, getting things up and going.
I was too hands-on to fly back to Magnolia Valley, leaving my new baby, who had taken years to get off the ground.
I’m sure I was going to have to step on a few toes and rub a few elbows.
Here in Magnolia Valley, Monroe’s Casino thrived on its own, but in Vegas, it would have to compete.
However, Vegas was the city of the gamblers.
I spent my days looking at different games we would offer over the others. It was good; some of the homies were plugged in in different rooms because I would need all hands on deck to make Vegas run smoothly.
Hearing my stomach growl, I knew it was time for me to step because my ass was getting hungry, and although everything was fancy in this muthafucka, it wasn’t shit in here worth eating.
Thanks to the homie, Honor, he made sure someone from his company, Maids of Honor, had the house spotless.
I was gonna have to tell dude they need to start having add-ons or something, a nigga fridge dry as hell.
My phone rang.
Speak of the devil.
“Wassup?"
“Can’t call it.”
“Nigga, yo’ ass need to get them maids to start stocking refrigerators and shit. Ain’t a damn thing over here.”
Honor laughed.
“Yureni cooked. But if yuh stubborn ass would hire a damn chef, yuh wouldn’t be starving every time yuh decide fi visit yuh own man cave."
I chuckled.
“Visit my mancave?” I questioned.
“Yup. Yuh never deh inna Denim Creek. Dem house nuh cheap, star... but mi bwoy rich-rich. Him have casino money. Yuh buy di place just fi come shower and sleep.”
I laughed, shaking my head.
The homes in Denim Creek were massive. Honor lived on the other side of the lake, but with the size of the properties and all the land between us, you couldn’t see his house from mine, and he couldn’t see mine from his.
“Nigga you know I don’t like folks in my shit. This my sanctuary.”
“Mi know. So, what yuh up to?” Honor asked.
“Getting ready to swing by Oats and fuck off with them.”
“Oh, hell... wear a bulletproof vest.”
“Look who talkin’ yo’ ass need a helmet fuckin’ with Burna and Block’s asses.”
Honor busted out laughing because he knew I was telling the truth. Them too was a mess, and Burna was a straight head case.
“Mi tell yuh duck when bullets fly, okay?”
“Nigga, that shit ain’t funny. I ain’t got time for Oats and his bullshit.”
“Mi just sayin’.”
I was sure if I could see him, he said that with a shrug.
“But check it, I’m ‘bout to slide. My stomach startin’ to touch my damn back. Tell Yureni I said wassup. Y’all already got the code to the door, and the security guard knows to let you in. Put somethin’ in the refrigerator, bruh.”
Honor sucked his teeth.
“Nigga, go find yuh own damn wife. Mi no work fa yuh bwoy. Mi maid do.”
I couldn’t even reply because this fool hung up the damn phone.
Dude was crazy for real, but he was solid. We knew each other from Golden Shores; we weren’t close until we got older, but we went to school together, and there was no beef—only mutual respect.
It was nice outside, and I felt like getting fresh.
After a hot shower, I threw on a pair of Who Decides War Embroidered Liberty jeans, an all-white Wooster V-neck T-shirt, and finished the fit with some red Christian Louboutins.
Whether I was sitting in a boardroom or standing on the block, one thing was guaranteed—I was gon’ have my shit on.
A diamond stud in my ear, my Cuban link watch, and a few rings later, I gave myself one last look in the mirror before heading downstairs.
There was no driver today, thank God. Honestly, I hated some of the rich perks, but they were necessary when traveling to handle business. I preferred to push my own shit. I walked into the garage and looked over the lineup of cars for a second before my eyes landed on the white G-Wagon.
Yeah... that was definitely the vibe for today.
The red interior complemented the hell out of my fit.
I grabbed the keys off the hook, hit the remote, and smiled as the headlights flashed back at me.
The engine purred to life the moment I pushed the start button.
I backed out of the garage, rolled through the gates of the estate, threw a head nod up at Jerry at the gate, and headed toward the city, ready to see what kind of bullshit the homies had waiting on me.
It didn't take me long to pull into Oats' neighborhood. The gated community was lined with million-dollar homes, each one sitting on enough land that you could damn near forget you had neighbors, and Oats liked to think he didn’t, but they could still see each other wave, so they were there, but he didn’t give two shits about these folks.
Manicured lawns, custom stonework, oversized driveways, and luxury rides parked out front let you know everybody over this way had touched some money.
Oats’ house definitely stood out. He didn’t care about an HOA or the cops, for that matter. He’d hire top lawyers just to find loopholes in the community guidelines so he could mess with them people.
Looking up, I just shook my head. This fool had both garage doors rolled up with old-school music knocking so hard the bass rattled the damn windows. Smoke from the grill drifted through the air while a domino table, coolers, and lawn chairs had turned his driveway into a whole block party.
I parked behind a row of luxury cars, climbed out of the white G-Wagon, adjusted the pistol resting against my waist, and glanced down at my Apex watch.
Yeah...I already knew I wasn’t staying under nobody’s garage all damn day. I wanted to get out, catch a vibe, and enjoy my day off.
As soon as I walked up, the homies started dapping me up.
“Not muthafuckin’ Radar here,” one of the unknown young bulls stepped in to dap me up again.
“Damn, it’s gon’ snow. Look who decided to leave the casino,” Tre said while pulling me in for a dap and bro-hug.
“I could say the same yo’ ass always on vacation,” I said.
“Man, Lani ain’t letting a nigga breathe fo’ long. She takes the destination wedding business shit to heart. But shawty be making her bread, so I can’t speak on it, gotta support you feel me?”
“You already know I feel that. Loaf first, slice later,” I said, letting him know that getting to the bag and stacking up was always the mission. Playtime could come when you were comfortable.
Tre was good peeps. He was a little younger than us, but he was about his business.
Once he locked in and leveled up, he invested in his wife’s business.
It took off, and she wasn’t on no slime shit.
Shawty put his ass to work, and he left the street to thrive with her.
I could respect it. Bronco’s dumb ass needed to take notes.
“When you gon’ need us?” he said, speaking about the service they provided.
“No damn time soon,” I shot back.
He just laughed, but I was serious as hell.
“Let me make my rounds. I will holla at you, bruh,” I said, and we dapped up one more time before I kept it moving.
“Aight.”
Walking farther up the driveway, I spotted a few more of the little runners Oats trusted enough to know this house existed.
Oats wasn't a nigga you crossed twice. His name carried enough weight that most people knew to mind their business, keep their mouths shut, and never mention what they saw around him.
Still, just like me, Oats wasn't stupid.
This wasn't his real spot. Only a handful of us—including me—knew where he disappeared whenever he wanted a break from the bullshit.
“'Bout damn time, Radar!” Gwop hollered.
“Hell yeah... It’s on today. This nigga finally left the money machine,” Wallie added.
“Y’all niggas wild.”