Chapter 4 #6
He was average height with broad shoulders and tan skin. I couldn’t tell if the nigga was Puerto Rican or Hispanic.
“Rashad.” I got the manager’s attention, and he was at my side anxiously.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get me my access to the system surveillance,” I ordered in a low tone.
“Right here, sir.” Rashad handed me a tablet with everything already up.
While walking through my place, I identified that nothing appeared to be missing.
Not even anything of value, like the artwork or crystal vases that had been picked out.
All the while, I watched the surveillance play back as well.
I saw the mothafuckas run up in here. There were three of them.
The last man that entered was taller than the rest.
Something about his posture and how he moved said law enforcement to me.
Then this mothafucka stopped directly in front of the camera, giving it a taunting wave.
Something about that shit seemed familiar, leaving me curious as fuck.
I started doing the homework in my head, trying to figure out who the fuck I possibly could have pissed off.
Nothing really rang a bell. These dudes were in my spot for over five minutes, straight ransacking my shit, and nobody heard nothing?
After doing a complete search, which took me about forty-five minutes, I concluded that nothing of value had been swiped.
By the time I got back downstairs with the cops, most of them had cleared out.
The detective I spoke with not long ago remained behind.
Coming down the stairs, I scoped out the rest of my spot, looking for signs of anything else missing.
Some of my personal documents had been sifted through, and that got me thinking that whoever was here was looking for something particular.
Frowning, I gave Rashad the tablet back and approached the detective.
“Nothing of value is missing. I’m getting ready to sell this place anyway, so… thank you for stopping by. But I don’t have any further concerns here,” I assured him.
He studied me from head to toe, and I gave him a straight face.
“Alright. Call us if you do notice anything missing.”
“Will do.” I bobbed my head as he moved toward the door to go.
Following him to the foot of the hallway, I made sure he and his team exited before turning back to Rashad.
“So tell me what happened.” I got in his face, and he cowered back while feigning confusion, his shaken orbs met mine.
“What you talking—”
“Don’t play with me, Rashad. Play with ya bitch’s pussy. What the fuck happened to my place?” I demanded, and his eyes fell on the ground. “Eyes up, my nigga.” I scolded him, turning so that I was a few feet in front of him.
“Some dude came in. He was armed and wanted me to deliver a message. He let me live. I didn’t agree to anything—”
“What did he say?” I asked, emphasizing each word slowly.
“He said you had unfinished business,” Rashad conveyed.
For some reason, that mothafucka Chevy was keeping company with came to mind. Kemper Evans. Suddenly, I needed to know everything about this nigga. I’d been slipping because everything else going on was a distraction, but a nigga was focused now. Bobbing my head, I took a glance around.
“Get this shit packed up. You can keep the furniture. I want to put it up for lease. I’ll get my girl to handle the paperwork and send some movers over for everything. Thanks for telling me what I needed to know.” I slapped his shoulder and spun on my heel to go.
Heading straight for the compound, I arrived within thirty minutes.
The first thing I did was start investigating this mothafucka.
After a blunt and a drink, a nigga was in his zone, skimming through everything I could find on him.
My search was coming up dry against the system, and I stood.
Taking a moment to stretch, I paced in front of the desk after lighting a cigar to ease my mind.
Smoking Cubans made a nigga feel like a boss.
They also helped me think and gave me clarity.
There was something about this nigga that was nagging at me. I decided to check his birth records and find out more about his parents. That always told a story. You could hide who you were in this world, but a lot of the time, it wasn’t as easy to conceal who you were related to.
Scrolling a copy of his birth certificate, I paused when I got to the father’s signature, and everything stopped.
I was high, so it could have been that, but a nigga was shook by what was displayed.
The father listed was Aldus Williams. My hand trembled and my heard damn near froze inside my chest. I hadn’t heard or thought about my father in a long time.
What the fuck was going on? Was this nigga my brother?
Tossing back the bottle of D’Usse, I took a guzzle.
Using my free hand, I shut the system down and snatched my jacket off the back of the chair at the station.
I was lit, but I got in my car and started that bitch with murder on my mind.