Chapter 27
YOUNG MONEY
I killed the engine and checked my Rolex–the Presidential, all gold, diamonds around the bezel catching the afternoon sun. My Cartier bracelet clinked against the watch as I reached for my phone, the diamond-encrusted chain around my neck heavy and cold against my chest.
Tip was already at the door when I stepped out, his massive frame blocking the entrance like a human wall. “What up, bro?” he said, dapping me up.
“Coolin’.” I nodded, walked past him inside.
The smell hit me first: aftershave, hair products, that clean barbershop scent. This was mine. Legitimate business on paper and a money-laundering operation behind the scenes.
“Money muthafuckin’ Madden!” Walter–an older nigga from my hood whom I made the manager–called from the second chair, clippers in hand, working on some young kid’s fade. “Didn’t know you was comin’ through today.”
“Just checkin’ on my investment.” I smiled. He knew what that meant.
I walked past the barber chairs–all six occupied, customers getting lined up, kids waiting with their mothers, the TV playing ESPN–and headed to the back office. Check was already there, sitting behind the desk with a duffle bag at his feet.
“Right on time.”
“Always am.” I closed the door and locked it. “How much?”
“Forty-two thousand from the week. Barbershop did fifteen legit, the rest came through the usual channels.” Check unzipped the bag, revealing stacks of bills rubber-banded and organized. “Westside dropped their cut yesterday, and Southside came through this mornin’. Everybody’s on schedule.”
I picked up one of the stacks, thumbing through the crisp hundreds. “Any problems?”
“Nah, it’s been a smooth week. Hassan’s crew moved that new product faster than expected. Niggas are already askin’ for more.”
“Tell him he gets what I give him when I give it to him.” I dropped the stack back in the bag. “I don’t care how fast he’s movin’. He waits his turn like everybody else.”
“Already told him that.”
“And?”
“And he understood after Tip reminded him what happened to the last muthafucka who got impatient.” Check’s smile was cold.
I nodded, satisfied. My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw the notification from my security system.
The cameras at my house in Hollis Heights–the two-bedroom, two-bathroom spot I’d bought a year ago in one of the nicest Black neighborhoods in the city–showed my landscaping crew finishing up the lawn.
“You good?” Check asked, watching me.
“Yeah.” I pocketed the phone and zipped up the duffle. “Just thinking about how far we’ve come. Remember when we was sellin’ weed out your mama’s basement? Countin’ out twenties in front of Papi’s store, hopin’ we’d make enough bread to re-up?”
“And now we’re pullin’ in hella money in a week.” He shook his head. “Crazy.”
“Not crazy. Strategic.” I lifted the bag, feeling its weight. “I chose this barbershop because it lets me wash money, collect payments, and keep my fist on the hood–the perfect front for staying in control.”
I walked to the window and looked out at the street.
“Every muthafucka who comes through that door knows this is my spot. They see the Lexus parked outside, they see me walkin’ in wearin’ fifty thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry, and they remember who’s startin’ to run this city.”
“It’s a beautiful thing, bro.”
My phone buzzed, and I saw Solei’s name light up the screen.
I smiled, texting back one-handed, counting money.
I went to dap Check up. “I’m out, bro.” Outside, I loaded the duffle bag into the trunk of the Lexus.
A couple of young niggas on bikes slowed down to stare at the car, their eyes wide with admiration and hunger.
I remembered that look. I’d worn it myself once.
Now I was thirty-one and a big dawg in East Hollis.
“Y’all stay in school,” I called out, and they nodded quickly before pedaling away. I slid behind the wheel, the leather seats conforming to my body. As I pulled away from the curb, my phone buzzed again from an unknown number. I answered anyway. “Yeah?”
“Well, hello,” A woman’s voice boomed through with attitude.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“It’s Renee.”
Renee was one of the bitches I’d fucked on a drunk night a few months back when Solei and I were going through some shit. “Oh, aight. What’s good?”
“That dick. I been tryin’ to see you again. When are you free?”
“I don’t know. I’ll hit you up. This is a new number?”
“Yeah. Use it, Money.”
“I gotchu.” I chuckled, ending the call, then shoved the phone in my pocket.
By the time I got to the spot, it was almost nine at night.
I opened the front door, and the first thing I heard was Junior’s laughter.
He was five years old, all energy and noise, running around the living room in his Spider-Man pajamas when his ass should’ve been in bed.
“Pop!” He launched himself at me, and I caught him, lifting him up as I walked towards the kitchen.
“What’s good, little man?”
“Ma said you was workin’. Are you done now?”
I smiled, ruffling his curls. “Somethin’ like that.”
Solei appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, still in her work clothes–a black pencil skirt, white blouse, heels that made her legs look incredible. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, a few strands loose around her face. She looked beautiful but tired as hell. “You’re late,” she huffed.
“I texted you.”
“Dinner’s cold now."
I set Junior down. “Go finish watchin’ cartoons. Mommy will come get you in the bed in a few.”
“But I wanna…”
“Junior.” He pouted but obeyed, dragging his feet as he disappeared down the hall.
Solei crossed her arms. “Where were you?”
“You know where I was. The barbershop.”
“All day? Money, don’t lie to me.”
“I was gettin’ money, Solei. That’s all you need to know.”
She shook her head, her jaw tight. “When is this shit gonna end, Montana? It’s been seven years since we’ve been together. Seven! You said you would stop.”
“When I got enough money. Why the fuck do we keep havin’ the same conversation?”
“Money, I’m tired. Between my clients, Junior, and worrying about you, I’m exhausted. I don’t even have time for myself.”
“Then quit your job,” I told her, shuffling towards the kitchen, looking through the pots on the stove. Solei had made smothered pork chops, rice, and Cajun green beans. I was starving like a muthafucka, too.
“Quit being a lawyer? I would never just…”
“Then just deal with it. I got us.”
“With what? Drug money?” Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper as she walked into the kitchen. “What happened to opening up legit businesses? I know the barbershop is just a front, Money. What happened with going legit?”
“Shit takes time, Soul.”
Solei turned away, her hands shaking. “I can’t keep doing this, Money. I can’t keep waiting for you. I can’t keep lying to myself.” I moved toward her, reaching for her, but she stepped back. “Don't.”
“I just need more time, Soul.”
“Damn it, Money! I’m pregnant!”
My blood went cold. “What?”
She was crying now, tears streaming down her face. She wrapped her arms around herself, her whole body trembling. “I found out this morning. I’ve been trying to tell you all day, but I figured I would wait until you got home. And now it’s late and I just…”
She broke down completely, sobbing, and I moved to her, pulling her into my arms. “Aye. Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.” Her voice was muffled against my chest. “We can’t bring another child into this world, Montana. You’re out there risking your life every day. And we don’t even have an extra bedroom. I don’t know. I just can’t…”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“How?”
“I’ll stop bullshittin’ and see about more businesses. I will, baby. I got us.” I pulled back, cupping her face, forcing her to look at me. “You want me to stop? I’ll stop. Just… don’t think about killin’ my baby, Soul. I can’t handle that. I fuckin’ love you. You know that, right?"
“I know, but love isn’t enough, Money. Love doesn’t keep us safe. Love doesn’t…”
The front door exploded inward. The sound of wood splintering, metal crashing, and voices shouting was deafening. “Police! Get on the fucking ground! Get on the ground now!”
Everything happened at once. Solei screamed and ran towards the living room where Junior was. I ran upstairs to put the bag of money in the ceiling of the guest bedroom. By the time I ran back into the hallway, cops in tactical gear had their guns drawn, faces hidden behind masks.
“Hands where I can see them!”
I raised my hands slowly. “Aight! Aight!” One of them grabbed me, slamming me face-first into the wall. My cheek hit that muthafucka hard enough to make my vision blur.
“Money!” I heard Solei scream my name.
“Ma’am, stay back!”
“Get off me! That’s my fuckin’ husband!”
“Pop!” Junior’s little voice, high and terrified, cut through everything.
I tried to turn my head, but the cop had my face pressed against the wall. His knee was in my back, and his hands yanked my arms behind me; the cuffs bit into my wrists. “Montana Madden, you’re under arrest for possession with intent to distribute, conspiracy to distribute controlled substances…”
I stopped listening. They started dragging me toward the door, and I dug my heels in, twisting against their grip.
All I could hear was Junior crying. All I could see was Solei’s face–terrified, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched her stomach.
Fuck. She was pregnant again, and I’d fucked up.
“Wait a fuckin’ minute!”
“Sir, stop resisting!”
“Soul!” I shouted loud enough to cut through the chaos. “Listen to me!”
She was holding Junior now, both of them crying, both of them shaking. “Money…”
“Listen!” I locked eyes with her, my voice sharp and commanding even with my hands cuffed behind my back. “You know what to do, baby. Remember? Do what you gotta do!”
“I can’t…”
“Yes, you can!” I yanked against the cops’ grip, making them stumble. “I need you!”
“Sir, you need to…”
“Shut the fuck up!” I snarled at the cop, then turned back to Solei. “Soul, you listenin’?! Baby!”