7. Ritz “Radar” Monroe
Ritz “Radar” Monroe
The GPS broke the silence inside the SUV.
“Your destination is coming up on the right.”
I was on autopilot, and for once, my homie respected that.
When the Royce rolled into the driveway, a red Jeep Wrangler sat parked out front.
“Shawty rolling like that, or you think it's a nigga's?” Oats asked.
“Ion know, but we 'bout to see,” I said, pulling my sunglasses off and putting them in their case.
I didn't know what awaited me on the other side of that door, but I wanted to be ready for whatever.
I knew she had some bread—or whoever she was fucking had it—judging by how she gambled and what she wore at the casino.
Whether that Jeep belonged to her or some nigga inside didn't make me a damn bit of difference.
He could sit there and listen or get the fuck out.
I came for answers, and I wasn't leaving until somebody gave me some.
“You damn right we 'bout to see,” Oats muttered, killing the engine.
This dude.
Oats wasn't about to let me make this trip alone, even though he knew I could handle my own.
I didn't need the crew, but he wasn't hearing that shit.
The nigga showed up at my house bright and early like I needed a damn babysitter.
I didn't even have the energy to argue with him.
I went through my morning routine, handled a few business calls, checked in with the casino manager, and got dressed.
By the time I came back downstairs, this fool had made himself at home, but that wasn't anything new.
All night, I stared at the information Tom had sent, trying to make sense of it.
Two years.
Charlottesville, Virginia.
UVA Health University Medical Center... Labor and Delivery.
No wonder it took his ass so long to track her down. She'd gone out of state and completely off-grid.
“We gettin’ out?
I didn’t answer. I opened the door and stepped out, and Oats followed.
Walking toward the cabin, I took in the scenery. The place was nice. I’d thought about buying something in the mountains before, but I knew I wouldn’t use it enough. It’d just become another damn bill. Hell, I could already hear Bronco claiming the place like I’d bought it for him.
“What we doin’? Knockin’ or kickin’ the muthafucka in?”
“Nigga, what?”
“Well, yo’ ass ain’t said shit. I don’t know what’s behind this damn door.
You just done went mute, ain’t give a hint or nuffin’.
We all know when you get quiet, it’s some bullshit.
” We continued to walk up while he ranted.
“Wanna know something, the crew wanted to nickname you Radio back in the day, but I couldn’t let you rock out like that. ”
“Oats, shut the hell up.”
“I’m just sayin’.”
He just shrugged while I pressed the doorbell.
A few seconds later, the door swung open.
My eyes immediately narrowed.
I took one step back and glanced at the black address numbers mounted on the stone porch column.
619.
Right numbers. So why the hell...
Standing in front of me was clearly a gay ass skinny dude with the same doe-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, long natural lashes, and a complexion damn near identical to hers.
This had to be a family member…
Dude looked between me and Oats before his attention settled right back on me.
He looked... nervous.
What the hell was he nervous for?
“My nigga why you lookin’ nervous and shit? Ain’t ya’ll posed to be all Skittles and Starbursts bout shit?”
This fool.
“Excuse me, but, ummm... who you?”
“Who you?” Oats looked him up and down, trying to figure shit out in his fucked up head.
“You know me?” I asked.
“Nope.”
Bullshit.
He knew exactly who I was.
His face gave him away before his mouth ever opened.
“Look, you. Is this Ginger Creek Road or what? It’s too damn hot out this bitch for you to be playing and shit,” Oats fussed.
“I meannnn... who wants to know?” he sassed, planting a hand on his hip.
I ignored the attitude.
Instead, I watched him.
His shoulders had stiffened the moment he opened the door. His voice climbed an octave and dragged out every other word, but it wasn’t because he was gay.
He was surprised, judging by the way he kept looking at me.
Not Oats…me.
It was me who held his scared but wavering attention.
Every few seconds, his eyes drifted back in my direction like he couldn’t believe I was standing on his porch.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
This nigga knew exactly who I was.
I didn’t say shit else, and Oats was with all the bullshit. Dude just didn’t know I was saving his life right now by just bulldozing the hell in.
“Hol’up. Hol’up.”
The dude wasn't no damn pushover because before I knew it, this fruity ass nigga had a Glock trained on us. The gun must've been by the door because it damn sure wasn't in his hand when he first opened it.
I smirked.
He had heart.
“Would you look at here, Radar,” Oats teased, lifting his tool. “I was praying fo' some action.”
I knew his pistol was coming out the minute we bulldozed our way inside. What I didn't expect was for the gay guy to pull one too.
“Y'all gotta go.”
“Look, I don't know yo' name, and I hate guessing what damn pronoun y'all like to be called only for your ass to get mad because I called what the hell I saw.
But you gon' need to put that down. Although you being brave, this nigga right here trigger-happy and protective.
Thank God he ain't killed your ass for pulling, 'cause I would've rode all this way for nothing.”
His stance was solid, but his arm had just enough shake to tell me he wasn't looking for a gunfight.
He was only protecting himself, and letting a shot ring out was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Look, Rit—”
He started before cutting himself off. You could see the exact moment he mentally cursed himself.
“So, like I thought... you know exactly who I am, so lower yo’ weapon. We not trying to hurt you.”
“Fuck a hurt. More like kill if he don’t tuck that shit back where the hell he found it.”
Oats mugged like he was utterly disgusted that he had to use the word tuck, wondering where the gun had even appeared.
I just shook my head.
We’d both lay his ass down if it came to that, but this fool didn’t ask questions.
It was action and reaction with him. Me?
I needed a second to process my next move.
Oats saw what the hell he wanted to see.
I observed everything. He hated my approach, and I for damn sure hated his, but both had their place depending on the situation. However, this wasn’t one of them.
I was about to reason with him one more time when a noise echoed from deeper inside the cabin. Without taking his eyes off us, the dude reached up and placed the Glock on a nearby shelf.
At the same time, Oats shifted his strap from the guy to the hallway.
“Coca... Coca... Coca...”
A whiny little voice echoed through the cabin as padded feet hurried down the hallway.
“What the fuck is that?” Oats asked, completely unaware that this was one of the main reasons we were standing in this cabin.
The dude mugged Oats.
“Put that away.”
“Absolutely the fuck not, Twister. If you hiding kids in this muthafucka you gon be one dead bitch today.”
I stood there like I was at a damn gender reveal.
“In here, Revv!” the dude yelled.
Revv?
The little feet got closer.
My mind started running through everything Tom had uncovered on Ms. Global Jamerson.
No questions had really been asked that night.
I was man enough to admit what could’ve happened. Neither one of us asked about a partner. Neither one of us asked about protection. Hell... neither one of us asked much of anything. We were just two people trying to escape for one night.
“Coca, me want juice.”
The tiny voice grew closer. When the owner of the voice came around the corner, my eyes landed on a baby boy...
Nah, a nigga had to take a seat.
He looked at me...
Then back at who I now assumed was Coca.
At that point, I couldn’t have cared less what the hell his name was.
“Bruh... what the hell going on?” Oats asked.
I couldn’t answer.
My eyes stayed locked on the little boy.
“Nigga, you ain't told me shit.”
“No, no... bad word,” Revv corrected.
“Oh... my bad, playa.” Oats rubbed the back of his neck. “But, uh... Radar, you ain’t said nothin’ ‘bout no baby. Nigga when yo’ as.. I meant behind have a child? This little mini you gotta be like one going on two.”
“Ouuu... what’s that?”
I glanced over and realized Oats still had his pistol in his hand.
He hurried and tucked it behind his back.
“Hell... I mean, heck. My fault. I might as well say… Unk, sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Revv answered in that tiny voice.
“You must have got that sorry-ish BS from yo’ mama’s side. We gon’ work on it.”
This nigga was crazy.
But Oats, being Oats. He had more to say. “Listen, please don’t tell me we came up here to take a blood test cause I’ma tell yo’ black moon the freaking results right now… 99.9999999% yo’ backside the pappy. That lil nigga nephew all day long.”
He was just making up words now, trying not to cuss.
I was quiet, and Coca looked like he didn’t know whether to grab the juice or grab the child, while I processed what I was looking at.
Everything grew silent then...
“Coca, my daddy,” Revv pointed over at me.
Man...that was it.
My ass wanted to slide down the damn wall like a chick, all dramatic and shit.
“Let's go get your juice,” Coca said, trying to redirect him.
Revv wasn't thinking about no damn juice once his little brain finally stopped to think and scan my face. He was tough because he walked right over to me.
Then he lifted his little arms. Like, no blood test was needed; he saw it, and I needed to get on board.
For the first time in a long time...I was nervous, but I picked him up.
Hell, I wasn't even this nervous the day our father walked out and left me to play daddy to the kids he and my mama created.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Coca standing there, visibly uncomfortable.
Oats looked like he'd already figured the shit out but was waiting on somebody to say it out loud.
“My daddy.”
My little dude wrapped his arms around my neck.
Mine…because this was all me, and the world didn’t know it yet. But this just changed drastically.
I had to blink a few times, feeling like life just dealt me a trump card. A human who had the power to bring my big ass to my knees.
“Yeah, little man, it’s daddy.” There was no point in me questioning this shit. He was just a baby version of me.
He just smiled and laid his head on my shoulders.
“Aye, helicopter no, this dude don’t got you wrapped around his finger already. No more marker tabs paying for you. You might as well hand nephew the checkbook.
“Man, you talmbout some helicopter. Negro, I rather you cuss.”
Coca laughed.
“Nigga shut yo’ backwards hips up, I'm new to this ish.”
Coca sucked his teeth.
And before anyone could throw out something else, the doorknob turned, and Oats' hand went to his back.
“Coca, whose car outside? I told you, no damn company around my child.”
She fussed while grabbing a bag, but still hadn't looked up.
“Stand down,” I told Oats.
Hell, this was already too many surprises for one day.
My voice stopped her rant mid-sentence.
The words came out somewhere between soft and firm, but I knew my eyes carried the cold my voice didn't. They would've been colder if it weren't for the little body in my arms. The only thing keeping the giant in me chained down was the little boy who had no idea he was holding him still.
“Wassup, G-Baby?”
“Hey, Mommy.” Revv smiled before pointing at me. “Look… my Daddy.”
He said it like his whole little world had finally fallen into place.
If somebody had offered me a bet, I would've lost every damn dollar. I would've sworn Revv would've been squirming to get down so he could run to his mama.
Instead, he laid his head right back on my shoulder.
That surprised both of us.
“Nah, nephew. Yo' lil hips ‘posed to say bad word. Got me out here sounding like a goofy.”
Revv burst into laughter, pulling one out of Coca, too.
Global didn't.
She just stood there... watching.
“Brorilla, go get the juice. We gon' need it.”
Coca rolled his eyes but headed toward the kitchen anyway.
“Come here, G-Baby.” I kept my eyes on Global. “Looks like we got a lot to talk about.”