Chapter 2
TWO
I know this chick.
But from where?
Fuck!
Through the thick glass window separating our six service bays and lifts, I can see clearly into our reception and waiting area.
I know her. The little honey grinning in my brother Tre’s face and sliding into the reception chair looks too damn familiar, not in a good way.
I’ve fucked her before. I don’t remember when or where but we fo’ sure fucked.
Shit!
I don’t need this type of problem at my damn place of business. Hell, I don’t need it at all. I got a girl, a thick, fine, smart as shit, beautiful ass woman who stays on my mind all the damn time and ol’ girl out front ain’t her.
“Fuck,” I utter as I close the hood of Shuga’s Infiniti. Although her ride is only three years old and still under warranty, Shuga only trusts me and Tre with it. As she always says, “No one is going to take care of me better than my sons.”
Shuga means that shit too. If she needs anything moved, she calls my older brother Ace.
He has a moving company with a fleet of trucks that move people from state to state.
He used to deliver to Canada and Mexico, but after drugs ended up on one of his trucks coming back from Mexico two years ago, he killed all international routes.
My baby bruh, Quintus, got Ace out of that shit though.
He’s the lawyer and he also got Shuga out of her fucked up marriage with our bitch ass father Asali.
My other brother Deuce owns a nightclub.
Shuga doesn’t go out but she relies on Deuce when she needs things for family holidays.
He hooks her up with the vendors he uses at Deuce’s.
Her tune up and oil change are complete, so I wave over one of my mechanics, Black.
“It’s ready?” he asks.
“Yeah. Take it and don’t let her tip you either.”
“I’ll try but you know I can’t tell Miss Shuga no,” he says and I just shake my damn head.
“You do know she’s five foot nothing and don’t weigh shit, right?”
“Can you tell her no?” he counters.
“Ay. Man, get the fuck on,” I scoff.
He shakes his head then walks over to the large, sliding drawer metal cabinet and pulls out too many seat and floor protectors. He knows not to get any oil or dirt in Shuga’s ride.
Black is straight though. He’s been working for us since Tre and I bought and took over Bako Repairs from Asali seven years ago.
Each of us brothers have our own shit. For me, it’s fixing cars.
I’ve been doing it since I could hold a ratchet and I spent most of my teenage years in this shop.
So when Asali said he was retiring, I knew I had to finally get out of the streets and own this.
I was thirty and too fucking old to still be doing dumb shit.
Tre is good with the book shit—inventory, human resources, and budgeting.
He handled all of that shit for Asali. When I offered to buy the shop, Tre went in with me.
I’m the majority owner but we work well together.
He will never admit it but I think the real reason he took over with me was to watch me and make sure I stayed out of the streets. Me and my brothers are no angels. Even Quintus, the lawyer, got into some trouble when we were growing up, but Deuce and I gave Shuga the biggest migraines.
Before moving to Brunswick Meadows, we grew up in the D-Ville Projects, so it was only natural that we gravitated toward DP and the gang life.
Shit, when I joined, I was secretly selling weed with one of the founders, Kassir.
While it will always be from the cradle to the casket with my DP brothers, I’m not in it like I used to be.
Hell, we have all grown the fuck up. My boy Kassir is married now and has a family and I have my business.
My affiliation is really limited to the annual block party and sponsoring and supporting our streetball team, the Ballerz.
All that other wild and street shit, I outgrew and really let it go the day I bought Bako Repairs.
As soon as Black pulls out of the bay, Lucky, another of my mechanics, grabs one of the seven job ticket holders from the work-wall by the door.
They all hang in order of service needed.
A silver Avalanche needing a radiator is next.
While he gets the truck, I walk inside to see what’s up with and if I do, in fact, know the female inside.
Through the door, I make an immediate right turn down the hall toward the office, bypassing the front desk for now.
Before walking into the office, I wash my hands.
Tre is at his desk, pecking loud as hell on his laptop.
As good as he is with this bookkeeping shit, the nigga can’t type for shit.
His big ass uses two fucking fingers and pounds them like a damn fool.
“Did you see the new receptionist?” he asks without looking up.
“Yeah and I think I know her.”
He stops typing then looks up. “From where?” he asks.
“Shit. I wish I knew but I’m pretty sure I fucked her. If I did, she can’t work here.”
“Nigga, she’s hired. Today is her first day. I can’t just fire her like that. That’s a whole HR nightmare I don’t want to have to handle.”
“Why the fuck not? I don’t need that shit here at the shop. If we fucked, she’s gone.”
“Bruh, you slang dick all over the city. How the hell I’m supposed to know who you do or don’t fuck if yo’ ass can’t even remember?”
“I used to do that. Kyrah killed that behavior,” I say, referring to my girl.
“Well, she might not remember you anyway,” he counters.
“Yeah, pretend like that shit’s true,” I scoff as I take a bottle of Energized Sports from the fridge then sit behind my desk. Any woman I’ve fucked remembers a nigga and that’s a bet.
“We can’t fire her. Having Shuga here trying to fill in these last two weeks was too fucking much. I swear she gave everybody discounts and shit. We lost too much money and temps cost a grip.”
He’s telling the truth though. Shuga offered to help us out after our last receptionist quit and we agreed.
I appreciate her for stepping in but her heart is bigger than our need to make money and she was definitely discounting our tickets.
She can’t come back. But is having a woman I potentially fucked here better?
“What’s ol’ girl’s name?” I ask, hoping that might help me remember.
“Matika,” he says, then lifts some paper on his desk. “Matika Perry.”
“Matika,” I repeat but that still doesn’t help. “Fuck,” I grit. “I can’t call it. I don’t remember that name.”
“Then take yo’ ass out there and see, but I’m serious. She’s staying, whether you fucked or not. She’s leaving today at five. This was just a quick orientation today. Her first full day is tomorrow and she’s opening with you.”
Tre and I take turns opening and closing to keep the hours fair. Since Saturdays are our busiest days, we open at seven and I open all Saturdays. He does Mondays because I hate fucking Mondays. The rest of the days we plan week to week.
“I don’t need this shit,” I utter, then stand.
I’m already trying to convince Kyrah to be mine on some real shit, not just fucking.
After two years of being friends with benefits, I’m over it.
In my eyes, we passed friends a few months in and I’m trying to lock her in with me.
She’s everything I want and need in a lady and I know she feels the same.
She’s just guarded as fuck. Her ex-husband fucked her over bad and she’s guarding her heart when I just want her to give it to me.
Having Matika working here isn’t going to help my plight.
Shaking my head, I leave the office and walk toward the reception desk. She’s standing behind it, wiping the counter. When she spots me, she stops and lifts her head. Her little smile spreads.
Although I still don’t recognize her, she most definitely remembers me.
Damn…we fucked.
Playing the shit off, I extend my hand for a shake and say, “I’m Shiro Bako, the other owner. You can call me Shiro.”
Her big ass smile somehow gets even bigger, then she starts blinking fast. “I know you, Shiro, and you know me.”
Muthafuck!
“Do I know you?” I ask.
“Don’t tell me you forgot me? Really? I think I’m pretty unforgettable,” she says.
“My bad but I don’t remember you. That’s a good thing too because you work here now and I don’t do shit with anyone who works for me.”
“Oh,” she says and her smile drops fast as fuck.
“Yeah, I’m serious. Business, auto repairs, and cars. That’s all we will have in common here. If you can’t fuck with that, you can pack up yo’ stuff and go now. I’ll pay you for today and tomorrow if you do.”
“Damn…I mean, wow. It’s like that?”
“Absolutely like that. I don’t play when it comes to my business. So what you gon’ do?” I ask and she sighs loud as hell, almost disappointedly, like she really thought something would happen with us. I quickly ask, “Did you know this was my shop?”
“No. No. How would I know that? I didn’t even know your last name,” she rushes out but I don’t know if I believe her.
Diamond Falls is small as shit and damn near everybody knows the Bako brothers.
The five of us stand out. “I need this job,” she adds in an almost whisper and damn, I feel a little bad.
“If you can dead any thoughts of what we may have done, you can stay,” I say and she nods.
I get straight to business. “We open at seven, so you need to be here at six-thirty to start the coffee, both big pots. The guys are going to drink half of it though, so be prepared to make more as soon as the pots are empty. We are busy on Saturdays, so it’ll be nonstop.
Wear some jeans and kicks; this is an auto shop,” I say and she nods as I speak.
“I’ll be here at six-fifteen.”
“Six-thirty is straight,” I tell her then head back out to the bays. I’m not trying to spend any more time with her than needed.
Since it’s Friday and Kyrah spends Friday nights with her homegirls, I typically either work a little later on Fridays or stop by Deuce’s.
With ol’ girl here, I’m going to just dip tonight and chill at Deuce’s.
After checking the open tickets, I leave my coveralls on the hook behind our office door, say bye to Tre, and leave.
Black will close tonight since I’m not staying.
As soon as I hop into my Silverado, I fire up and smoke my blunt during my ride.
The shop is right in the heart of the city and my townhouse is fifteen minutes away in the Brunswick Meadows neighborhood.
But since I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m hungry as fuck, I don’t drive straight to my place.
I make a detour toward my childhood home to see if Shuga cooked.
Not only did she cook but she threw down.
As soon as I walk into the house, I smell the Maafe and fried chicken.
She likes to cook the peanut stew during winter and fall.
It was one of our favorite Nigerian stews growing up.
She just remixed it and always serves it with rice and fried chicken for us.
Although Asali is Nigerian born, Shuga is African American and cooks dishes that honor both cultures, more now that she’s divorced Asali.
“Did you wash your hands?” she asks as soon as I lift the lid on the pot.
“Damn, Shuga. I’m just looking.”
“Keep your dirty hands off my pots. I got it,” she says from behind me before slapping my arm. “Wash your hands and I’ll fix you a plate. I have just enough left for you.”
“Who emptied that big ass pot?” I ask as I step toward the sink.
“Your brother, Deuce, earlier for lunch and he took some with him. Then Black when he brought my truck.”
“That’s what took that nigga so long? He was in here grubbing?”
“Leave Black alone. I don’t mind feeding him. I always cook too much anyway. I swear I still cook like I have five growing boys in the house. You want some cornbread with yours?”
“I want whatever you cooked,” I admit.
“Well, where’s Kyrah? Oh wait. I forgot it’s Friday night. She’s with Mireya and the girls,” she says with a smirk.
“Yeah. She’s over there.”
After placing a heaping plate of food in front of me at the island, she asks, “When are you two going to stop playing around and get serious? It’s been too damn long.”
“It ain’t me,” I admit. It damn sure ain’t me.
“Then handle your business, son,” she says, then grins.
“If you stay out of it, I will,” I tease.
“You think my cooking is free? Well, it’s not. Each plate is served with love and advice.”
“I’ll pay then, so you can keep yo’ advice.”
“Well, it doesn’t work like that,” she says before sucking her teeth.
She turns and steps into the pantry. After pulling out a stack of to-go containers, she places them on the other side of the island.
She’s no doubt about to fill them for my other brothers or my nephews.
While she unstacks the containers, she gets back to me.
“You are my baby,” she begins and I lift my head.
“My knee baby and I know you. I swear I know you boys better than you know yourselves.”
“I think that’s what you believe.”
As she moves the pot to the counter, she says, “It’s what I know.
Every strand of gray hair in this 'fro indicates my wisdom. I know what I know and you love Kyrah and she loves you.” I nod in total agreement because I love the hell out of Kyrah.
“Then stop playing games and saying you are just friends.”
“I’m not playing no games. Kyrah’s it for me. I know what it is with her. The just friends stuff is all her; I’m just going along with it.”
“It’s on you too if you go along with it.” As she fills the second container, she asks, “You know what I did last night?”
“Shit. Paint.”
“Well, yeah I painted, but before that I ate a bowl of cookies and cream ice cream,” she says, then stares at me for something but I don’t have a clue what.
As if reading my confusion, she quickly says, “Cookies and cream, not butter pecan.” It clicks.
Almost every night, she and Asali would eat a bowl of butter pecan ice cream.
I really don’t remember her buying any other ice cream.
We all actually like butter pecan. “Well, I like butter pecan but I love cookies and cream. Trust me when I say if you love someone or something, don’t give up on it.
Go after it, grab it, and hell, eat it,” she says and my mind goes somewhere it shouldn’t with Shuga in the room.
“Shiro,” she says, appalled like she’s reading my thoughts.
“Focus, please. I don’t even want to imagine what you’re thinking right now. I swear!”
“Then stop talking about eating cookies and cream,” I counter and she rolls her eyes.