Fabe
Cash lay in tight stacks on the stainless table in front of me.
Rubber bands snapped as Quay counted money and secured them into neat bundles.
Marlo stood beside him with a bench-top heat sealer, sliding vacuum bags of cocaine closed one by one.
He pressed each seam until the plastic fused together tightly, then labeled the corner with a Sharpie by weight, purity, and destination.
A space heater quietly ran against the back wall of the garage. I kept two digital scales on the workbench, and I wore nitrile gloves that I changed every few packs. My pistol rode high on my hip. Another piece sat under the bench within reach.
Though the garage was where we bagged my product, the house wasn’t what people pictured when they heard the word “trap house”.
I didn’t have corner boys posted up outside or fiends lined up at the door.
I didn’t sell to addicts, only clients who came to me for large quantities.
My minimum was half a key. Anything less, you wasn’t my customer.
So, though I called it my spot, it was really a townhouse in Hyde Park, in the kind of neighborhood where people jogged in the morning.
Obama’s crib wasn’t even a mile away. No one would guess I was in there bagging up dope or stashing money.
And that was the point. It was inconspicuous.
I blended in with the doctors and professors living amongst me.
I always kept the headcount down at my spot.
It was always only me, Quay, and Marlo. I didn’t allow the rest of my crew to hang out.
Extra bodies meant extra mouths, extra phones, and extra fingerprints.
That’s how spots get aired out or robbed.
A tight crew was easier to move and shut down, and if the law ever kicked it in, fewer names ended up on the paperwork.
We had four more bricks to weigh, seal, and log before we shut everything down for the night.
My phone started to vibrate on the bench. Rah’s name lit the screen.
I let it ring once and answered. “Yo.”
“You ain’t gon’ believe who popped up at Aaliyah’s spot on Christmas.”
“Who?”
“Solae,” he griped, making my eyes buck. “She came to the crib while I was with Felicia.”
I stared at the cash pyramid, feeling my rage building. “On Christmas Day?”
“Yeah. I handled it, though,” he bragged. I could hear his smirk through the line. “I told Aaliyah, Solae was bitter and been under her ever since. She believed me.”
His laugh scraped down my spine. Aaliyah was loving and always trying to see the best in people. I hated how easy it was for him to ruin that. I hated more that I knew exactly what he was doing and couldn’t say a word.
Still, although I would never snitch on my brother, I didn’t have to stomach his bullshit.
“Aye, bro, let me call you back.” And I hung up before he could respond.
Quay glanced up, read the frustration on my face, and went back to his ledger. Marlo zipped the duffel and slid it across the table.
I breathed through the disgust. I wanted Aaliyah to see the truth. But he fed her lies sweet enough to believe.
If I didn’t have feelings for her, I would have shrugged and got back to work without a second thought. Instead, I felt guilty, because I knew the map while Aaliyah was driving blind.