Chapter 16
sixteen
“You seem cool,” Nate commented, peering over at Cairo who leaned on the hood of his car.
Cairo sat in the dark, at the end of the block watching the small group of dumbasses Tiny put together to run through the house, dressed like they would if they were going on a heist. He pulled in a deep breath and grunted.
The mango on his knit keeping him cool like every second since the initial encounter.
“To be honest…I’m disappointed but I knew he’d take the bait,” Cairo stated. “One text and the nigga jumps at the opportunity. I can’t put that nigga down. It’s a weakness. A fuckin’ Achilles heel.”
It was the residuals of trauma Cairo held that drove him to extend unnecessary grace to Tiny.
Deep down, he knew that he’d come to regret his decision, but right now it seemed right.
Whether or not Tiny was walking into a death trap, he couldn’t determine; what he knew was that he had to be five steps ahead of the program.
When he pulled himself away from the house, Cairo made it a point to drive through the city. Every light had cameras. If it came down to it, he wanted a time stamp.
“I thought you was bullshitting when you told me to send that text,” Nate spoke up.
Dania getting sick when she did led to the perfect alibi for the two.
“You know I don’t bullshit. I knew those niggas been itching to out think me, whole time I give them the ideas, the motion, and without me, there’s no protection. They’re going up the coast for gold bricks and coming back in chains,” Cairo huffed.
“You know for sure?” Nate posed.
“If not tonight, eventually. It’s only going to be a matter of time before that nigga or someone on his staff realizes he got got.
I saw those bricks. Each one of them are marked.
There’s only two groups of people who have access to that type of shit.
The LeFleur Mafia, and the Feds. We might be some ruthless niggas, but we ain’t shit for Syrenna and the LeFleur’s.
We ain’t shit for the Feds neither. Money – we can wash that shit.
Drugs, I can move that. Gold bricks? Hell no,” Cairo muttered, watching the unmarked van take off down the street.
“Well, that’s one way to get rid of a nigga,” Nate blew.
“I knew from the moment he saw it, he was going after it. The nigga is greedy and that shit is going to land him in prison or with a bullet through is skull. Maybe fuckin’ both,” Cairo replied.
Silence grew between the two. Both with their own weight. Both with the same goal.
“We got to get the fuck up out of here,” the pair spoke into the night.
Cairo nodded. “Ironically enough, K cranked up the battery in my back without even knowing.”
“You really in it, huh?” Nate asked, observing how in the matter of days, Cairo was evolving into what would be the best version of himself. “You know what that means, for real.”
Offering his friend a half nod, Cairo inwardly groaned. “Yeah, the shit keeps me up. The memories, the screams. The end of it all.”
“Listen, KP meant a lot to the hood, on Azul. He was the first nigga we saw that wanted more than this. He looked out for us, gave us game. But you…he saw that light in you and put you on to something more than this. I say the shit is kismet that you got his daughter in your bed waiting on you.”
Cairo scoffed in amusement at the thought. “Kismet, huh?”
“Destined, all that shit. Mark my words. Whatever happens, good or bad, it’s going to be you two forever. I hope I’m alive to fuckin’ see it,” Nate spoke.
“Stay close, nigga, we getting out of here. On Azul, we out of here.”
“What’s the move?” Nate asked. His loyalty to Cairo would have him jumping off of a cliff without knowing how to fly. But some way, somehow, he knew he would.
Cairo dug into his pocket and pulled out the card Fahaad Simons gave him.
He hadn’t left the house without it. Subconsciously, he always knew what his way out was.
It came in the form of tapping his fingers on the worn mattress the nights when his parents fought to distract his mind.
It was the rhymes and melodies he felt from the ground that created frequencies through his body.
It was the first drum machine KP handed him and dared him to make a beat with.
It was in him, running through his veins and nothing could take it from him. But the time was coming where he had to use what he had to elevate himself into the life he’d been seeing in Kamilla’s eyes. It was time to step.
“Fahaad Simmons…he’s a manager with a client that needs some real motion. Not that industry plant shit,” Cairo informed, showing Nate the card.
With the snap of the fingers, Nate attempted to jog his memory. “Oh, that nigga that used to be around Jesipi. Nigga lost his touch after he died, been trying to claw his way back, too.”
Cairo’s bushy brows fused. “How you know that?”
“Dania loves that celebrity gossip shit. You know she’s nosey,” Nate replied. “Call him.”
“I will in the morning. Nigga’s it’s-”
“Ay, C4…call him. Don’t nobody know you how I do. I get it. Stepping out is fuckin’ scary. But you either going to be that nigga,” Nate preached, pointing up the street in the direction the unmarked van disappeared in and then back to Cairo. “Or him. And nigga you been him. So be, him.”
Cairo ran his hand over his overgrown facial hair and obliged. Dialing the number on the card, he pressed the phone to his ear and waited for the trill to be replaced by a voice. It lent him the voicemail and Nate’s directive glare.
Straightening his spine, Cairo cleared his throat and proceeded to talk. “Yeah, this C4… You want that nigga to sound real, bring him through.”
He hung up and looked at Nate. Pride that only someone who went through the battle with you shone on Nate’s face. “In the meantime, rest. You about to be worldwide.”
The pair sat at the end of the block for another hour or so before Nate’s phone chimed with the update.
“Gahdamn it, nigga, you right again,” Nate spoke with a silent jeer. “That security system got his ass.”
Cairo bobbed his head and started down the street. “Aight. Send them niggas to the hills.”
No one who rode with Tiny was making it back to any block of L.O. let alone making it to see another day. Once he reached the side of the house, a few wires were tampered with, and the rest was done. A small kitchen fire would have the house in a pile of ashes by the morning.
Back in the small house, Cairo laid on the couch forcing his ears to listen to the sound of Kamilla’s breathing while his mind played the tortuous clips of her father’s last breaths. The blood-stained tees, the screech of tires. The shouts and screams. Pure pandemonium.
He clenched his eyes shut, trying to will his mind to anything else.
As if his internal chaos had beckoned her peace to him.
Kamilla snuffled out the room, down the short hall and stopped at the foot of the couch.
With her hair stuffed in a bonnet, the blanket wrapped around her, and sleep still resting in her eyes,
Cairo repositioned himself, granting her the access she silently sought to be held. He needed it, too. Settling on top of him with the blanket covering their bodies, Kamilla nuzzled her herself into his hold.
“Go to sleep. I can hear you thinking,” she mumbled. “Whatever it is doesn’t get to keep you up anymore.”
He sighed, letting his body relax underneath her. Wrapped in his arms, he remembered what Nate said hours ago. Whatever would happen, this would always be his resting place. She was brought to him and he’d keep her for as long as he was allowed.