Chapter 4
four
After showering, he trudged his body back into the room, finding the cellphone and wallet from the unexpected guest still on the dresser.
He dressed in his signature summer fit – fresh white tee out the pack, navy blue Dickies, flag hanging out the left side, and Chuck Taylors.
Then he grabbed the things off the dresser like he had plans of bumping into her again, along with everything else he needed for the day.
Double checking his gun and clip, Cairo headed out of the house.
Duffle bag secured, house secured, he started the ninety-minute ride ahead of him.
Since then, he’d had a flag and a gun. By the time his grandmother came to get him, he was too deep into the gang life.
She agreed to ignore his street-running, and he agreed not to bring gang shit to her steps.
A promise he kept ‘til this day. The small house she left him hadn’t seen a lick of action in the last ten years, and he vowed to keep it that way.
Well, outside of crazy ass Reshia. The small house served as his haven.
Cairo drummed his fingers against the steering wheel of the sports car, weaving in and out of lanes, wracking his brain about what was missing from this beat to make it marketable.
He’d sold a couple beats. The money came and went just as quickly.
If he was going to use this as his escape, he needed to finish this and stack enough to have some weight in the game he was getting his feet wet in.
The drive up the coast had come to an end as he crept to the gate.
Cairo’s dark orbs took in the massive estate.
No noticeable security, a few cameras and from this side of the wrought-ironed gate, about five luxury cars.
When the pack was handed to him with directions, he didn’t have the particulars.
Rubbing his hands together, Cairo reached out of his window and hit the buzzer.
The longest ten seconds passed before a gruff, “fuck you want?” came through the speaker.
“C4,” he announced before the gate buzzed open. Cairo nodded to himself and pushed his car through the gate up the minimal hill and parked on the far end of the luxury cars lined up like it was a video shoot.
Women clad in bikinis pranced around. A few men with large chains hanging around their necks, blunts hanging out their mouths, no signs of guns tucked in their pants.
Players, niggas from Andres Bay, playing gangsta.
Cairo grabbed his duffle bag and headed toward the open front door.
He left his car running, the beat still playing; this wasn’t going to be a long transaction.
He’d peep the scene and determine if robbing whoever owned this spot would be worth the risk.
Once he made it through the foyer, he followed the giggles of women, prideful cheers of men with nothing better to do, and some trash ass rapper playing throughout the space. Once his Chuck Taylors hit the white concrete leading to the infinity pool, he knew exactly who this work was for.
Ray da Don. Outside of the Husten Boys, Trap Playas, and RowdyRedd, Ray da Don was the least threatening of the group of gangsta rappers that emerged.
Especially with a star like Jay Lucci settling into his solo career.
Ray was more like an industry plant. Some nerdy ass kid they found down in The Bay; gave him millions of dollars and some made up street cred.
He was climbing up the charts with whack ass music and beats to accompany it.
“Ay yo,” Ray shouted, spotting C4. “What’s good my, nigga? You got that shit?”
Cairo attempted to school his expressions. Too much attention already. Ray was the type of fake to call his name first if the cops came. He was preparing to exit the chaos before a baritone took his attention from the tattooed clown attempting to get out of the pool.
“That muhfucka ain’t paying, I am,” the man spoke from behind Cairo.
He turned, finding a man mid-forties, bald, stocky with a scowl on his face. Once Cairo made eye contact with the man, he turned and roamed into an undisclosed part of the house and motioned Cairo to drop the duffle bag on the pool table.
The man grumbled as he watched the mixture of party favors fall out of the bag onto the green felt. “Muhfuckin’ record label got me babysitting this dumb ass nigga. Paying for fuckin’ drugs to keep him making this bullshit ass music.”
Cairo didn’t say anything. This play was going to put him up about three grand after his cut.
“Renting this house so this lame ass nigga can front,” the man continued.
Still Cairo didn’t speak, he watched the disgruntled man punch in a code and pull out a stack of money from a wall safe that was stacked with money, guns, and jewelry.
Jackpot. He figured by six o’clock tomorrow, everyone would be passed out.
Him, Nate, and Tiny could slide in and out without too much of a fight.
“You rap?” the man posed. “I need some real talent to manage.”
“Nah,” Cairo answered coolly.
The man studied him for a long while. “You gon’ die in that shit if you don’t find an out. How long you been down with the set?”
Cairo offered the man a cool expression. “Long enough to know you asking me too many fuckin’ questions.”
The man held his hands up. “Didn’t mean no harm. But you know how that shit ends. Dead or prison. Life and talent wasted.”
“Nigga, I don’t need nobody preaching to me,” Cairo semi-snapped. “Give me my money so I can bounce.”
“Aight,” the man conceded, pushing the money across the pool table. Then he placed his card on top of the stack. “Fahaad Simons. When you ready to make an exit, call me.”
Cairo packed up his money and the card and made his exit. Throwing the duffle in the trunk, he got back in the car and sped off. Out the gate and away from the mansion, he answered Nate’s call.
“We hitting it or not?” Nate posed, cutting to the chase.
“Nah, I’ll find something else,” he shared, slowing down to a stop sign he blew through earlier.
He looked over his right shoulder at the suited man throwing a suitcase into the back of his luxury car.
Cellphone pressed to his ear unaware that eminent danger lurked close.
The mansion had the same set up as the last but no gate. Easy.
“Fuck, man,” Nate blew.”
A small smirk slightly formed over Cairo’s lips. “Nigga, we up.”
“On the set?”
“On the set, nigga,” Cairo shared, pulling off from the stop sign. “I’ll hit you when I get back.”
“Bet.”
The call ended and Cairo took the slow drive back into Los Oceania. Primarily to see what direction the car service was taking his target. Down the coast to the international airport for an overseas flight. There wouldn’t be anything left in the house for the mark to return to.
Back in the city, he made his drop, got his cut, and went home to sleep until his growling stomach landed him back at Loco’s Tacos. Instead of going through the drive thru like he normally would, he parked and patiently waited in the line moving slower than usual.
“Came back to see me, C4?” the same annoying voice from the night before grasped for his attention, but his gaze was fixed on the visibly flustered woman standing behind the register like she was a fish out of water.
Cairo kissed his teeth, waving the woman off and stepping up in line. The weight of her cellphone and wallet in his pocket reminded him that for now, they had unfinished business.
Without looking up, the curly-headed beauty rambled off the greeting from the cue card. “Welcome to Loco’s Taco, would you like our queso taco special today?”
“Nah,” he started reading her name tag as if he hadn’t already gone through her wallet. “Kamilla, what else you recommend?”
The call of her name lifted those full eyes to him. It was obvious in the way she took him in that she didn’t expect to see him again. Once she shook off whatever was happening inside of her head, she shrugged. “I don’t know; I’ve only had the chicken and beef tacos. They were cool.”
Cairo buzzed. She was less frazzled than she was the day before. “It’s two-thirty, you ain’t ate?”
“No time,” Kamilla replied softly. “I’ve kinda been messing up all day.”
“C4, come over here. She don’t know what she doing. I don’t even know who hired her. Matter of fact, go take a break, Kamry,” the woman blew, shooing her away.
Kamilla lowly rolled her eyes and took her opportunity to get away from both of them. “Gladly.”
Cairo swayed his head. “Two number fours. Strawberry spritz, extra napkins without your fucking number.”
The woman smacked her lips. “I don’t know why you playing like you don’t want me.”
“I don’t want shit the homies passed around,” Cairo quipped back, peeling off a twenty from his knot of cash.
“Damn, you’re not even going to tip?’ she huffed.
“You get on my fucking nerves, I’m not rewarding that,” he responded before walking away to find an empty table to sit at.
About five minutes passed before Kamilla and the bag of food appeared in his line of sight.
“I’m surprised you found your way here,” he spoke, retrieving the bag of food from her.
“Dropped off,” Kamilla replied, looking around to make sure her coworker wasn’t ear hustling. “You got my phone?”
Cairo lifted a bushy brow. “Why you whispering?”
“QaMeesha is nosey,” was all Kamilla offered without getting into detail.
Cairo slowly nodded. “Yeah. Wallet too. Sit with me and eat and I’ll give it to you.”
“Do you get off with this held in possession thing?” Kamilla asked, her face slightly frowned.
Cairo swayed his head. “Just want to make sure you eat. Is that a crime?”
“Why?”
“So you don’t pass out again,” he spoke, motioning for her to sit. “Bet you haven’t ate all day.”
Kamilla looked around again before sitting on the other side of the table. “Been busy.”
The truth was that the little bit of groceries her aunt got the night before had been eaten by Martez by the time Kamilla woke up. Up until now, QaMeesha had refused her a break. Past hungry, her feet burned from the hours of work.
Cairo sat with a good view of all the exits and her. “Where you from, Kamilla?”
“Does it matter?” she asked, reaching in the bag for chicken taco.
“We friends right?” Cairo posed.
“We aren’t friends. If we were, I’d know your name,” Kamilla replied. “‘Cause C4 ain’t it.”
“Christano the Fourth could really be my name,” he toyed, hoping to earn a smile. Instead, she offered him an eye roll.
“Imagine a name like that dripped in blue. Doubt it,” Kamilla quipped, before taking a bite of the taco.
“You right. That shit lame as hell. Cairo,” he offered. “So, we friends now?”
“No,” Kamilla replied. “Apparently, they say that you’re out of your mind. And I’m inclined to believe them.”
“I don’t know nobody by the name of ‘they’. Don’t listen to that shit,” he retorted. “You could be the opp.”
“Like a CK? I look like I gangbang?”
“You don’t look like you cuss for real,” Cairo answered. “Got that good girl shit about you. Which is why I’m trying to figure how you landed here.”
Kamilla skipped the heavy details and shook her hair out of her face. “I’m from Greenwood.”
“Oh, that tracks.”
“That means?”
“You a good girl. Might got to rethink this friend thing,” Cairo said with a quick, silly smirk that if she’d blinked, she would’ve missed.
“Nothing new I guess,” Kamilla muttered.
“That means?” he parroted.
She shrugged. “I don’t have any friends, so it wouldn’t matter.”
Instead of settling his growling stomach, he found himself staring, not wanting to miss a smile, or quick glance of her eyes.
“My break is almost up; can I get my phone and wallet?” she asked, wiping her hands off.
He conceded, retrieving her things from his pocket and handing them over.
A faint smile appeared but was pained. “Thanks… I didn’t say that last night.”
“Don’t mention it. You need a ride after your shift?”
Kamilla shook her head. “I can find my way. Wouldn’t want to make your girlfriend jealous.”
Cairo scoffed. “Don’t nobody want that girl, and she don’t get the hint, even if a nigga dogs her out.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Kamilla dug the twenty she had in her wallet out and put it under his cup. “We’re even, now.”
Before Cairo could protest, she was on her way to clock back in and finish her shift.
He palmed the top of his head and groaned, watching her walk away. “What you doin’, nigga?”
Choosing to distract himself, he took his food back to the car and called Nate. Nate answered the phone on the third ring, lungs full of smoke. “‘Bout time, nigga.”
“Fuck is up with you?”
Nate inhaled and then exhaled – both long and dramatic. “Dania’s pregnant.”
“Ah shit. You happy or…”
“My happiness don’t mean shit if she talking about getting rid of it ‘cause we can’t afford no baby,” Nate admitted. “Why am I getting attached to something if it ain’t going to happen?”
“You want it?”
“That’s my seed, nigga,” Nate replied.
“Aight, then tell her that. She don’t want your passive bullshit. Give her the real. We got a mark, y’all will be cool. Tell her to chill,” Cairo offered.
“Yeah, I hear you. What you getting into?”
Cairo’s attention refocused on Martez and a handful of CK’s getting out of a car and moving toward the ordering window.
Cairo’s hand instinctively went to his gun.
He toyed with the thought of lighting him up right here, but that would result in flipping the city on its head.
He’d done it more times to count. Cairo was the Azul Heart they called when the message needed to be delivered without room for misunderstanding.
A cool demeanor always led to an explosive temper.
He watched how clearly uncomfortable Kamilla was with his presence.
The expression over her face was enough to make him settle in his seat and sit there until she got off.
Where this need to protect her came from, he didn’t know, but he knew he couldn’t shake it.
Couldn’t make himself treat her like he’d done any other woman in the hood.
“You hear me, nigga?” Nate questioned.
“Yeah, I hear you. I’m chilling until we get up later. Handle your family shit,” Cairo spoke before hanging up.
While QaMeesha hung out the window eating up the attention, Kamilla shied away from it. Avoidant eyes, an expression that read if she could disappear, she would. Right up his alley. Not in the mix. The longer he stared, the more it was evident that his plans were about to go up in smoke.