Chapter 8
B y t h e t i m e I pulled up to my second dealership, the place was already jumpin’.
People was walkin’ ‘round the lot, pointin’ at cars and askin’ questions like they really had money to spend.
A couple of my sales guys worked the floor, usin’ their pitches.
The moment I walked through the door, everybody straightened up, catchin’ the shift in energy.
“’Sup, boss?”
“Afternoon, Mr. Jones.”
“Hey, boss man.”
I nodded at each of them as I walked through, eyes automatically scannin’ the showroom. That was just how I moved—always checkin’ everything: the cars, the floor, the people. I peeped the little details most muthafuckas woulda missed. Today, everything looked the way it was supposed to.
Kev caught my eye from across the floor and motioned for me to come to his office. The look on his face already told me I probably was not gon’ like what he had to say. I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. “So, what happened again?”
Kev leaned back in his chair and rubbed his jaw. “So that influencer nigga… the one who was supposed to bring the Tesla back after the test run? He still ain’t show up.”
I folded my arms, tuggin’ on my beard. “It’s been how many days?”
“Three.”
I inhaled slowly through my nose and looked at him. “He playin’ wit’ the wrong nigga.”
Kev nodded. “I’m already knowin’.”
“Find out where this nigga at and deal wit’ it.”
“Say less.” Kev nodded, then frowned slightly. “Wait… how that weddin’ plannin’ shit goin’?”
I shrugged. “Ny’s meetin’ wit’ the planner now. I don’t really care for it. You know how I feel ‘bout the shit.”
Kev laughed. “Yeah. You want a pastor, hot wings, and a fuckin’ DJ, nigga. Ny wants the works, huh?”
I shook my head. “Shut the fuck up.”
We went over some numbers after that and talked through a shipment of cars that was due to come in.
Once we finished, I left the dealership and headed back outside.
Wock’s baby mama’s crib was like twenty minutes away.
When I pulled up, this nigga was standin’ outside puffin’ on a blunt like it was his last one.
Rollin’ down the passenger window, I hollered, “What’s the word, nigga?”
He walked over, dapped me up, and leaned against the door. “The nigga Kurtis that owes you bread from the gun shipment. This nigga on social media flexin’ wit’ bands and shit.”
I clenched my jaw. “Oh, word?”
“I know where one of his lil’ bitches stay. He laid up over there right now. Peep her story.” He handed me his phone so I could see.
I nodded once, watchin’ it. “Aight. Let’s go.”
Wock hopped in and I peeled away from the curb.
The whole ride over, we chopped it up ‘bout other business. Still, the situation kept circlin’ back in my head.
I ain’t really handle shit like this personally no more, since my life had grown past the street shit.
Wock usually took care of it. But some situations needed a personal reminder of who the fuck I was.
Yeah, I was a family man now. Still, don’t ever play wit’ my bread.
Wock and I pulled up to a brick apartment buildin’ and instantly I peeped Kurtis standin’ in the alley smokin’ a blunt and runnin’ his fuckin’ mouth on the phone. “There this nigga go,” I muttered, reachin’ under my seat to grab my Glock before hoppin’ out wit’ Wock behind me.
The moment this nigga Kurtis saw me, his ass froze like a bitch. “Aw shit… Knuck, I was just…”
“Nah,” I cut him off. “Don’t lie. Don’t say nothin’ stupid. You know why I’m here.”
He swallowed hard. “I… I had the money, man. I just…”
“You just what?” I asked, steppin’ closer, jaw flexin’. “You wanted to stunt wit’ my shit?” Before he could answer, I cracked him across the face wit’ the gun. He dropped to one knee immediately, blood runnin’ from his nose.
“You must got a death wish, nigga,” Wock said, spittin’ on the ground while keepin’ lookout.
I pressed the barrel of my gun against Kurtis’s forehead and he started shakin’.
“I’m fuckin’ sorry, man. I-I-I fucked up.
I swear, I ain’t mean no disrespect!” He reached in his pockets and started pullin’ out crumpled bills wit’ shaky hands.
“Here, man. It’s-it’s-it’s… it’s all I got right now. I’ll get the rest. I swear.”
I took the money and handed it to Wock, who started countin’. I chucked to myself ‘cause this nigga Kurtis looked like he was ‘bout to shit himself. Wock finished and slapped the stack into my hand. “It’s three racks.”
I stepped back and lowered the gun. “You got one week to come up wit’ the other eleven.”
Kurtis nodded fast. “Y-Y-Yes, sir. I gotchu.”
“If you don’t,” I said calmly, “your peoples gon’ find you locked in a trunk somewhere, wonderin’ where you fucked up.”
Wock and I walked back toward my truck, then I dropped him off at his whip. As I pulled away from his baby mama’s spot, my phone buzzed in the console. I glanced down at the screen.
I hit the speaker. “What’s up, Ma? You good?”
Her warm voice came through immediately. “Hey, Keon, baby. I just wanted to check on you. Ny told me earlier that you two were handling wedding planning things today.”
“Yeah, she’s meetin’ wit’ the lady now.”
She sighed heavily. “She’s alone? Why aren’t you with her?”
“I’m on my way to meet her now.”
“Look, let me just say something real quick. I know you love my daughter. I see it in the way you take care of her and my grandbaby. But you gotta be more present with all this.”
Gripping the steering wheel, my jaw flexed as I said, “Wit’ all due respect, Ma, let me do me for my family. I’ma always show up for them. Ain’t no way ‘round that.”
“Alright, I pray not. Look, I won’t keep you. Just remember to take care of each other.”
“Always.”
We hung up, and I tossed the phone back in the console while I looked for parkin’ near the brunch spot. Then, I cut the music, climbed out my truck and made my way down the street to go meet Nyomi.