18. Shaun
EIGHTEEN
shaun
A WEEK LATER . . .
I stared at the television absentmindedly while inhaling on the blunt I held between my fingers.
I felt like a shell of myself because I didn’t have Daylin, and I wasn’t staying at my own place out of fear of Rakim popping up or some shit since I went against his warning by showing up at Daylin’s warehouse.
I couldn’t be sure if he was looking for a nigga or not, but I wasn’t gonna be foolish and wait for him to show up in my bedroom with a 9mm pressed to my forehead.
It was difficult being unable to make moves and get money like I was used to, but I needed the shit I’d done to die down or something before I freely walked the streets.
I didn’t know much about Rakim or why he had enough pull to be in my fucking hotel room without me knowing or be privy to my flight information.
I’d had the homie Morris ask around about the nigga, but most people only knew what I did—that Rakim Godfrey was a disgraced boxer who’d caught a murder charge and now owned a bread distribution company and a boxing gym. None of that shit told me how he was moving like a muthafuckin’ CIA agent.
The front door of the raggedy ass apartment came open, and my homie Morris stepped inside. I hated having to stay with any-fucking-body, but it was what it was.
“Aye, somebody here for you.” He put his back to the closed door.
His words made me sit upright and use every muscle in my body to keep from leaping across this tired ass living room to choke him out.
Ashing my blunt and waving the smoke I’d blown out, I questioned, “Why the fuck you telling muthafuckas where I am!”
“I ain’t tell nobody shit, Shaun. Relax, nigga. Some old head walked up on me while I was outside shooting dice and said he needed to speak with you and he knew you was up in my fucking apartment.” Morris’s brows furrowed as he sized me up like I was the dummy.
“Where they at?”
“Down the hall.”
“You said an old head?” I inquired, and Morris nodded to confirm. Pulling my heat onto my lap and removing the safety, I said, “Let him in.”
Morris opened the door, looked out, and waved for whomever this random nigga was. I was skittish as shit, hoping like hell this wasn’t some nigga sent by Rakim to murk me.
Was I stupid for letting the nigga in? Maybe so. But I would be thinking about the shit all week if I didn’t. Not to mention both Morris and I were strapped, so it was unlikely that whoever this nigga was would make it out alive in a two against one situation.
Suddenly, Morris widened the door and stepped back, allowing probably the biggest nigga I’d ever seen to enter.
Instantly, I felt as if my gun wouldn’t be enough.
I darted my eyes to Morris’s hip to see his piece locked and hopefully fully loaded.
We’d need every bullet in both of our guns to even make this big muthafucka stumble.
“What’s good?” the large nigga greeted as Morris shut the door. He watched my homie closely as if Morris could take him on himself.
“What’s good?” I rose to my feet. “Who you?”
“Nate,” the man replied shortly, making me frown in confusion.
“Aight, Nate. Who the fuck are you? How you know me, and how the fuck you find me? Quit with all this mysterious shit,” I fussed, taking him in and wondering why he looked somewhat familiar.
“I found you because ya boy here ain’t too bright. I spotted him and followed him from the store. If you gon’ hide somewhere, next time maybe don’t include him.” Nate rocked his head toward Morris, who sucked his teeth at him. “My son knows where you at too.”
“Yo’ son?” I was even more befuddled now. “Fuck is yo’ son, man?” At this point, I was becoming impatient and aggravated.
“Rakim, but I think you may have had an inkling already,” he replied, and I could feel the way my eyes mushroomed at that revelation.
That was why this giant ass nigga looked familiar. Rakim was his twin, only not as stocky or tall. Rakim was tall as fuck, but his father? Otherworldly.
“Oh shit!” Morris’s brows rose to his hairline as he put a fist to his mouth. “You Big Bully, the boxer!”
I inspected Nate again before recognition set in. He was a boxer well before my time, but I recalled him being mentioned among my father and uncles whenever a boxing match aired. Now the shit was all coming together—Rakim had followed in his father’s footsteps.
“Aight, and what you doing here? Like, what the fuck is the purpose of this visit, my nigga?” I felt antsy.
None of what Nate was saying made sense, and the only thing that kept circling my mind was the fact that Rakim knew my location. Of course, his stalking ass did.
“Can we get some privacy?” Nate watched me intently, non-verbally requesting for Morris’s absence.
“What?” Morris caught on. “This my spot!”
“Aye, just five minutes.” I pleaded with Morris, watching the way his mouth balled up in annoyance.
“Five fucking minutes, nigga!” Morris slipped past Nate but not without sizing the nigga up and then slipped out, being sure to slam the door.
“So if ya son know where I’m at, why he not here too? Sent you to kill me?” I tried to laugh it off as if I weren’t the least bit spooked.
“He ain’t here ’cause he know you ain’t on his level,” he replied.
Sucking my teeth, I waved him off. “Is that what he thinks?”
“Let’s be real and honest here, youngblood.
You are nowhere near on my son’s level in anything in life.
I’m not some little bitch you’re trying to fuck or impress, so stop with the facade, Shaun.
If you were comparable to Rah, he wouldn’t be putting dick to your girl while you plant yo’ ass on that sullied couch for days on end feeling depressed.
You also wouldn’t be hiding from him. The fact that you didn’t do too well at concealing yourself is neither here nor there,” Nate spoke candidly, making me feel like a bitch.
“Okay, so.” I shrugged, having no rebuttal.
“Don’t fret though. That’s the purpose of my visit. I want to assist you in either killing Rakim or taking over his um, empire so to speak.”
That definitely got my attention.
“Ho-how would I do that?” I sat down, finally feeling comfortable enough to.
“I don’t know shit about yo’ son, but like you said, he and I operate on different scales.
I don’t even know where that nigga gets his coffee from or if he even drinks coffee, so I damn sure ain’t got the resources to take him out. ”
Only reason I caught him out at the club that one night was because I got lucky when I spotted the muthafucka he’d sent to threaten me. And even then, I didn’t know Rakim was the one I had the issue with.
Nate remained near the door.
“That’s where I come in.” He pointed to his chest. “You have two options. I can give you his precise location, then you pull up and kill him. Or, I can front you some bread for you to start building your own shit to eventually pull the rug from up under him.”
“So he’s a dealer?” I asked to be sure.
“He is.” Nate bobbed his head curtly.
So that kind of explained how the nigga was so well connected in an underground sense.
Glancing off briefly, I regained eye contact with Nate, then said, “I want the money.”
Even with Nate’s help and Rakim’s exact location, killing the nigga wouldn’t be an easy feat. I could easily walk into the room and be subdued, but with a good amount of bread, I could at the least take Rakim out financially or skip town and start up my own shit elsewhere.
“Then it’s settled. I suggest you start by trying to bribe some of the people who work with or for my son,” he said.
“Okay, like who?”
“I’m already giving you the money, nigga.
I can’t do every fucking thing. Plus, Rakim doesn’t tell me much of anything.
All I know is he is involved in illegal drugs.
As far as what he does or who works for or doesn’t work for him, I’m none the wiser.
We aren’t exactly close.” He looked into the distance for a minute as if he was in deep thought, so I remained silent until I saw him return to the present.
Standing, since Nate had gripped the door handle to exit, I asked, “Why? Why you doing this shit to ya own son?”
Nate paused, looking down a bit as if trying to find a way to explain this shit to me.
Looking into my eyes, he said, “I just never really cared for Rakim. He was always very disrespectful, even as a young boy. He fumbled my boxing legacy over a bitch, and now he’s just getting too big for his britches, poisoning the minds of his brothers.
Rakim is like a cancer I should’ve cut out a long time ago. ”
I bobbed my head slowly, not understanding fully but enough to see there was some tension or rivalry between father and son. I thanked God my father wasn’t like this, but better Rakim than me.
“Last thing, um, you think there is any chance for me and Daylin? Like, is the shit she got with that nigga real or some type of fucking trauma bond?”
Nate laughed, shaking his head at me while expelling a displeased breath.
“You young muthafuckas will always lose chasing these women. Once y’all learn to use them bitches for what they carry between their legs and to continue your legacy—boys only—life will be much greater, trust me.”
“You right.” I nodded, though deep down I still yearned for Daylin no matter how much I thought about how foully she did a nigga.
Without another word, Nate exited, and Morris came in almost at the same time.
“Fuck was his old ass on?” Morris spat, obviously not a fan of Nate.
“Said he gonna help me get to this money more than I have been.” I smirked, and Morris let his glare dissipate.
“Shit, that means you gon’ help ya boy out, right?” He took up residence on the couch beside me.
“You already know.” I slapped hands with him. I might throw Morris a few bands, but if I couldn’t make shit shake in LA, I was skating on his ass with maybe Daylin in tow.
* * *
DAYS LATER . . .