5. Warren ‘Wolf’ Bennett
WARREN ‘WOLF’ BENNETT
It was a little after five in the evening, and I was leaving my shop.
Business was good for me today. Really fuckin good.
Football season just kicked off, and around this time, it was always good for business.
I loved this time of the year. Around this time, that’s usually when the rookies get a shot of that NFL money, and because I was the most talked about jeweler in all of South Florida, they would typically pull up on me, spending with me.
With the amount of jewelry that we pushed out today, my content and marketing team were super busy.
If it wasn’t for this business, I swear to God that social media would never see me.
That’s never really been my thing. Prior to opening my business, I never had a personal social media page.
I’ve always been the kind of nigga where you just had to catch me when you caught me.
I wasn’t in the streets, but I’ve always moved like a certified street nigga.
Meaning, I was never going to check in anywhere, post on social media where I was headed, or just give a bunch of random strangers a play-by-play of my life.
See, when you’re running a business, social media is what was going to put money in your pocket, so I had no choice but to hire people for content, and marketing.
My business page had well over three million followers.
If you scroll down my page, you’ll see all the rappers, ball players, and just anyone with some money that’s supported my business over the years.
I pushed so much shit out today, and my content team were behind the scenes, capturing videos of the hard work, and the sales.
A few posts have already been uploaded for the day too.
Now that the workday was over, I was headed to Range Rover.
I had an ongoing problem with the air suspension, so my car had been with them for an entire week.
They hit me this afternoon, letting me know that it was ready, so now I was en route to drop this loaner off that they’d given me, so that I could get back in my own whip.
I pushed a beautiful black-on-black Range Rover Sport SV.
That bitch was so fuckin pretty, sitting on twenty- three inch rims. My tint on the whip was illegal because of how dark it was.
It just depends on the officer that sees me pushing the whip because there are times that some let me get away with it, then there are times when I’ll get pulled over, and handed a fat ass ticket.
With the kind of money that I made, plus niggas in Miami knowing who I was, I liked to remain discreet, even if that meant driving around with dark tints.
I drove with my left hand, bobbing my head to the music that was playing.
I liked old school rap, so I liked to blast that whenever I was in the car.
Master P was one of my favorite rappers, so I drove down Biscayne Boulevard blasting Mr. Ice Cream Man.
This song was my mood for the rest of the day.
I wasn’t moving the kind of shit that P was talking about in the song, but I damn sure moved enough diamonds today.
I played this song so much that I was able to drive and rap it bar for bar.
In the middle of the rap session that I was having, the music stopped.
It stopped because my phone started ringing.
My phone was connected to the Bluetooth.
I saw my mom’s name appear on the screen.
I haven’t spoken to her since this morning.
Today was her and my dad’s wedding anniversary.
They were celebrating 35 years of marriage.
Together for a little over 37 but married for 35.
I hit her this morning to wish her a happy anniversary. I was shocked to see that she was calling. I thought that she would be out somewhere, sitting at a five-star steakhouse with my pops, ordering caviar and shit.
I went ahead and answered the facetime call for her.
I had an expectation of what her background was going to look like.
I thought she would be facetiming me with a big smile on her face, showing me views of the restaurant that she was in.
Instead, I could tell that she was home right now.
She looked to be sitting outside, under the gazebo.
“What’s up, Emaye? What you doing?” I asked her.
Emaye is what my brothers and I call our mother.
Having an Ethiopian mother meant that there were certain parts of her culture that became mine, and my brothers.
Emaye was one of them. It was an Amharic term for mother.
For as long as I can remember, that’s what I would call her.
Every blue moon, I may switch up and call her ma, but it was Emaye all day.
“Hi son. I was just calling. I didn’t want anything. How was your day?” she asked me.
“Where pops at?” I answered her question with a question. I wasn’t trying to answer none of the shit that she just asked me.
I wanted to know where her husband was, and why the fuck he had my mama sitting outside in their backyard on their wedding anniversary.
My question made her sigh. She sighed, and the sadness in her eyes that you could tell she had been trying to hide from me over the facetime call was now evident. I was driving, but every few seconds, I looked down, so that I could get a better look of her face.
“I’m not sure where he is. He left out earlier, telling me that he was going golfing,” she said, and that shit infuriated me.
So much so that as I was stopped at the red light, I picked the phone up, getting a better look at her.
My mama was so fuckin beautiful man. Her inside was just as beautiful, and pure as her outside.
Literally, the kindest, soft-hearted person that I’ve ever met before in my life.
She had the kind of beauty where you would look at her, and wonder if she used to model back in the day. Her face card was lethal.
She had that beautiful brown skin that always held this glow to it, even with the shit that she was constantly putting up with from my pops.
Long, wavy hair that was hanging down right now.
I had the same long, wavy hair as hers. She’d given the hair to me, and all my brothers, but I was the only one that held onto my hair all these years.
She was a tall woman. She stood 6 foot even. Slim too. All my life, I’ve known her to keep a clean diet, always very mindful of what she would put into her body, and it showed in the way she was aging. 55 years old, yet she could pass for a woman that was in her 30’s.
“That nigga left out on your wedding anniversary to go golfing? Ay, let me ask you something. You saw him this morning?” I wanted to know. She looked me in my eyes and nodded her head yes.
“Did he tell you happy anniversary?” I wanted to know.
“He didn’t. I think he forgot,” she said.
“Man, hold on. I’m about to call that nigga. Fuck he got going on?” I spat.
“Son, please. Just leave it alone,” she went on to say, and I looked at her like she was crazy.
“Emaye, what you mean? You gave this nigga 35 fuckin years of marriage. 35 years that his ass didn’t even deserve.
Four sons. All the shit he’s put you through over the years, and he didn’t wake you up this morning, telling you happy anniversary and didn’t shower you with gifts?
He should be kissing your feet! Look to the right of you, man.
Look to your left. That nigga not there.
I’m about to call him. I’ll call you right back,” I spat, hanging the phone up, not giving her time to respond back to me.
The light turned green, but I was able to still maneuver around, find his contact, and I immediately hit him up.
The phone rang about eight times before it went to voicemail.
I dialed that nigga again. I sat here, driving, calling him like a pest, trying to get him to pick the phone up.
Probably ten calls in, I was able to get him to answer the phone.
When he answered, he picked up on the very last ring.
“Wolf, what the fuck you got going on man? If I didn’t answer the first few times, don’t that mean that I’m busy?” he barked.
“Ay, where you at?” I got right to the point.
“I’m your daddy or it’s the other way around? Fuck is you questioning me about my whereabouts nigga?” he shot, giving me the same energy that I was giving him.
“What’s today?” I asked, not bothering to answer that slick ass shit that he just asked me.
“Don’t call my phone with no fuckin Q&A. You just sat here and blew my phone up like it’s an emergency. Ima ask you again, what the fuck is going on? Is my wife okay? Are you and your brothers okay? Nigga, what?” he spat.
“It actually is a fuckin emergency. Thirty- five years ago today, my mama stood in a church, in front of God, where she handed over the rest of her fuckin life to you. That’s the emergency.
You got her sitting in the background, all alone on ya’ll wedding anniversary, while you’re out doing whatever the fuck you want to do.
She told me that you didn’t even wish her a happy anniversary this morning, which means that you forgot.
Whatever pussy you laying in, just remember that you got a wife at home—”
“I get that you’re upset, but watch that shit nigga,” he cut me off to say.
“Or what? I hope you don’t think that I gotta respect you.
You don’t give me shit to respect. What kind of example you supposed to be for me and my brothers, man?
Don’t you think that shit getting old? You’ll be sixty years old in two years, and you still running around here like a young nigga in their twenties.
She gave you all these fuckin years of her life, bruh.
I wish she would have been left you!” I was livid.
I knew he was laid up with a bitch. That’s why he wouldn’t answer the phone at first.
“What me and my wife got going on doesn’t concern you. Stay out of me, and your mama business!” he roared.