5. Ritz “Radar” Monroe #2
Gwop and Wallie had been damn near attached at the hip since diapers.
First cousins by blood, brothers by choice.
We all grew up wearing out the courts at Golden Shores before life rerouted us down the same road—the streets.
Somewhere between chasing hoop dreams and chasing money, the four of us became problems people learned not to play with.
Funny how four broke-ass youngins from the projects ended up touching millions before we were old enough to legally rent a damn car.
“The hell I miss?” Oats asked, coming around the corner with a black apron hanging halfway around his neck like he forgot he even had the damn thing on.
I looked his ass up and down.
“I know yo’ ass ain’t the one on the grill.”
“Fuck you, Radar. I got this,” Oats said, lying through every tooth in his mouth.
I’d bet Monroe’s Casino Oats wasn’t cooking a damn thing. Nine times outta ten, his uncle was somewhere in that house seasoning meat, checking temperatures, and making sure nothing burned while Oats stood outside acting like Bobby Flay.
“Dawg... where Unk at? Hope he know you out here cappin’ like a bitch.”
The yard broke into laughter.
Oats lifted the apron like he was proving a point.
The designer fit he displayed? Yeah,... this nigga wasn’t flipping, patting or turning over a damn thing. Knowing Oats, he probably changed clothes just to throw that apron on.
We all liked looking good, but Oats? That nigga treated a grease stain like the shit could have him hemmed up if it was submitted into evidence. I remember our days running the streets, fam shot a nigga in a packed club just for stepping on his new J’s.
“Man, look at this dude,” Wallie groaned, shaking his head and pointing at Oats.
“Hater don’t look good on you, my guy,” Oats told Wallie, and he waved him off.
“Fuck allat, when Unk gon’ finish cooking?” Gwop said, climbing out the lawn chair while rubbing his stomach. “I’m damn near starving.”
“Bitch, yo’ big ass been starving since breakfast,” Wallie fussed.
“Bruh, fuck you. We been out here since one. It’s pushing four. What Unk doing in there? Pluckin’ the shit fo’ he put it on the grill?” Gwop asked Oats.
“Why don’t you waddle yo’ Glorilla-meets-Zoe-looking ass in there and ask?” Oats snapped.
Gwop shot Oats a look so intense you’d think he was about to swing. The rest of us couldn’t hold it in because, truth be told... That nigga really did favor Zoe.
Gwop kissed his teeth. “Laugh now. Soon as this food hit, don’t ask me bout doing shit.”
“I wasn’t gon’ ask yo’ fat ass anyway,” Wallie lied.
“Hold with the fat jokes, you ain’t far behind me,” Gwop said.
“Nigga, I’m big bone like Flintstone, fuck witcha heard,” Wallie clapped back.
Before another argument could get rolling, Oats clapped his hands together, cause these two could go all day.
I hated when all them were at Monroe’s together.
I never got shit done. I don’t know how they ran they businesses together.
It was just as bad as watching Block and Burna, but unlike those two, these fools were on gunplay when shit popped off.
“Look, both of you niggas big as hell, so you muthafuckas can kill the Teletubby jokes. But listen, we gon’ eat first, then we hittin’ Naturals.”
Oats made it known, and I just looked at him because he knew exactly what he was doing, pushing Naturals on me on my day off.
Club Naturals was a popular strip club here in Magnolia Valley.
They were known for only hiring naturally curved women.
I respect the twist in the industry because they would hire all sizes.
I hated when folks thought a man was only attracted to flat stomachs and silicone asses.
“Ahh, hell yeah,” Gwop said, already grinning and rubbing his hands together like Birdman.
“Damn right,” Oats said. “Food first... titties after.”
Wallie rubbed his hands together. “Now that’s a schedule I can get behind.”
I smirked, and we walked toward the house, hoping Unk was about done.
Lawd knows I wasn’t feeling the strip club, but I was with the crew tonight.
I just had to keep my fingers crossed that a bum nigga didn’t push up with no bull tonight.
One of us was enough, but the four of us together were like The Unhinged Avengers.
I felt my phone vibrate. Pulling it from my pocket, I saw Tom’s name flash across the screen.
Tom: I have some info.
I frowned.
Me: What you got?
Tom: Sending it to your email now.
I had Tom looking into a few different things for me, so I didn’t know what this was about. I just hoped Vegas wasn’t on no bullshit.
Me: Checking now.
As soon as I hit send, I opened the email.
At first, it wasn't registering because what the hell Tom’s ass had me looking at?
I blinked.
Read it again.
Then I zoomed in on one of the pictures.
“...Ain't no damn way,” I muttered to myself, but Oats caught it.
“Radar.”
Gwop’s voice barely reached me. I was too busy staring at my phone, reading the same damn information like it was magically gon’ change.
“Aww shit. I’m guessin’ plates to go. This nigga got that look in his eyes,” Gwop muttered.
“Bruh.”
Oats was no longer next to Wallie. He was now standing in front of me, while I stood like a stoned statue. I didn’t respond; hell, I couldn’t. The aroma from the grill…completely gone.
This shit Tom sent better be inaccurate like a muthafucka.
“You good?” Oats pressed, trying to figure out what’s the move. Hell, hungry or not, these niggas would go starving for weeks to make sure the crew was straight.
“I’m good.”
“Ahhhh, hell, naw Oats. Ask that nigga again,” Wallie said, knowing how to play me when I got like this.
“Monroe?”
Oats only called me Monroe when he felt like I needed to hand it to him straight.
“I’m good.”
“Nah,” Gwop said, shaking his head. “Something happened.”
“What is it, Radar?”
I looked back down at the screen one last time.
I read that damn email again.
Then again.
Ain’t no way...
There had to be something I was missing. My phone lit up in my hand.
Tom: You get it?
I didn’t text back; there was no need to. I would get my answers from the source.
They say you go looking, you will find more than your ass bargained for! That was a fact.
I hated feeling like I should have known I was way too observant for this shit, but I was also way too busy to stop and think past the patterns.
I locked my phone and slid it back into my pocket.
I could feel Ritz slowly taking a backseat while Radar started creeping to the front.
Somebody was playing with me...
And I didn't like that shit.
“We rollin’ out?” Oats asked.
I looked over at him.
“Nah.”
My voice came out calm, but my mind was already somewhere else.
“Let’s put something on our stomachs first.”
“You sure?” he asked.
I gave him a single nod, but Oats didn’t move.
He just studied my face. Out of everybody standing in that yard, he knew me the best. He knew I wasn’t hungry. He knew I wasn’t alright. But he also knew when not to ask another damn question, unlike the other two.
“Somebody betta tell me some. Bullets, no bullets? What’s the wave, Radar?” Wallie fussed.
“Listen, I’m not opposed to eatin’ first but dammit. I hate when y’all do that secretive shit,” Gwop made known.
“No need to worry. Let’s eat.”
I started toward the house, and they followed me closely. I was still trying to shake the feeling sitting in my chest.
“So strippers, no strippers?”
Gwop was still trying to figure out where we go from here. He never could take my silence.
“Y’all go have fun. I gotta check something out.”
“Muthafucka, we gotta check some shit out. Fuck dem hoes.”
Oats had already made up his mind. Wherever I was headed, he was coming too.
“Listen, how ‘bout we let tonight rock out, then tomorrow see what the hell got this fool ready to say fuck the move. Shit, if it was that urgent, we wouldn’t still be standing here.”
Wallie wasn’t wrong. I’d let tonight play out, but come tomorrow, I was getting answers... even if I had to do some drastic-ass pressin’… like pulling up to every fuckin address connected.
For once...The nigga wasn't talking out his ass.
If that email had required urgent movement, Tom would've said so. The shit I was looking at had been sitting there long enough for him to find it. Twenty-four more hours wasn't gon' change a damn thing.
Tom must have had to move outside of the state. That was the only reason this information didn’t land when he started his search.
“I'll deal with it tomorrow,” I stated firmly, and no one pressed my final decision.
“Bet money on it,” Oats said, walking off to round up these damn folks.
He knew tomorrow...Somebody was gon' answer my gotdamn questions.
I was going to need a few more days off. I was gettin’ answers before the noise returned.