10. Riot St. James #3
“You could have kept that to yourself, love. With the conversation that we had last night, anywhere in that conversation did I tell you that you were going to have to walk around with your pussy, and titties out? I know the role that you played with Gold, so that’s what I’m going to allow you to do here.
Don’t worry. Nobody is in a rush to see your little ass body.
Come on. I’m counting up. You can help me finish doing this.
I gotta do a couple of pickups, and drop offs, and I’ll let you slide with me, just so you can get a feel of how this shit works,” he said to me.
I wanted to make a comment so bad on the shit that he said about him not wanting to see my little ass body, but I kept it to myself. I was trying to teach myself that everything didn’t always warrant a comeback.
I took a seat down at the table, where the money was, and Dolo came over, taking a seat next to me.
He moved a pile of money my way, so that I could count it.
From what I could tell, he was just like Gold when it came to counting money.
Gold didn’t believe in money counters. Gold would have us count that shit with our bare hands, and from the looks of things, Dolo was doing the same thing.
He had about three phones sitting on the table, and each of them were face down.
Because he had on a black tee, I could see both sleeves of tattoos that he had.
I hated that I found myself stealing glances at him, but the Prada prescription glasses that he wore looked so good on him.
It wasn’t often that you would see a thugged out nigga having to wear glasses.
You could tell that he really needed his glasses too because each time that I’ve ran into him, he’s always had them on.
“What you did all day?” Dolo asked me, after we’ve been sitting in silence for about ten minutes.
We would count the money and put it in rubber bands each time that we got to ten thousand.
“I’m court ordered to take anger management classes, so I’ve been calling around trying to find a class.
A lot of them were booked. I was able to find one, so I’m going out there tomorrow morning, so that I can meet with the instructor,” I shared with him, and that’s when he took his eyes off the money that was in his hands, and he put them on me.
“I heard about that shit that happened with you and ol’ girl at the club. Every time I hear the story, I feel like I get a different version though. What’s your version? What really happened that night? Did you already know her prior to that incident?” he asked, firing off question after question.
I usually didn’t like talking about that incident.
When I’m forced to speak on it, it takes me back to that night.
That night changed my life, taking away a whole year from me.
To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I would have reacted differently if I knew that this would have been the outcome, and that’s the sad part.
I probably wouldn’t have beat her ass to the extent that I did, but I would have still laid hands on that hoe.
“I didn’t know her. I never saw that girl before a day in my life.
I don’t do the whole club thing anyway. I just make money, and I’m in the house.
I don’t club, drink, partake in drugs, none of that shit.
I went out because my cousins begged me to go out with them.
My cousins never saw me when I slipped out of the section to go use the restroom.
That’s our rule when we go out. We don’t let each other wander off alone.
When I got to the restroom, it was a little line.
I waited patiently, minding my own business.
It was two girls in front of me, and they were talking amongst themselves.
A stall opened, and all I did was tell the bitch that she could go.
I didn’t say it rudely or anything. Next thing I knew, she started calling me all kinds of bitches and hoes, telling me to wait, and I just snapped.
Because of the extent of the damages, she pressed charges on me, and that’s why I had to do that year in jail,” I told him the truth.
My story never changed. That’s literally what all happened that night.
“That’s the longest you ever spent in jail?” he asked me.
“Yeah. The times that I went before, I was a minor. Runaway charges, and just other petty stuff. I got locked up a couple of times after I turned eighteen, but for simple stuff too, so I always bonded out,” I said, finishing with another stack, so I placed rubberbands on it, and I grabbed more money, so that I could count it up.
“When you just recently went in, what was that shit like? You had bitches fuckin with you in there, or it was cool?” he wanted to know.
“It had it’s days. Nothing about that shit was cool though.
I made a couple of associates along the way, and I do think that it made the experience a little better, and made the time go by faster, but it’s not a place I’ll ever brag about going.
I don’t ever want to go back. I feel like jail changed me.
Sometimes I don’t even recognize my own self,” I was surprised that I was getting this deep with him because that’s something that I never really did.
I didn’t let people in like that. I bottled up my emotions, and that played it’s part in why I was always so angry, and I was quick to snap.
“You just became mean as fuck, or you always been this way?” he wanted to know.
“What gave you the impression that I’m mean as fuck? I’m quiet, and I stick to myself. I don’t feel like that makes me mean,” I defended myself.
“I’m fuckin with you. I don’t got a problem with the way you act.
I move the same way. I’m uptight until I really get to know a person.
I don’t even let people into my personal space until I’ve known them for a little while, and I become comfortable with them.
This shit that I’m doing with you, this is new for me.
I know where you live at though, so if you flake me and do some back door snake shit, I know where to pull up and find your lil’ ass,” he threw in, and I didn’t respond back to that.
I kept quiet, as I continued counting the money.
“So, what else you do during the day when you’re not looking for anger management classes?” he asked, sparking up another conversation a few minutes later.
“A couple of times out of the week, I take this self-defense program. It’s super early in the morning though.
Like five in the morning. We’re learning how to shoot, and stuff.
I already know how to shoot a gun, but while I was locked up, my cousin signed me up for the class, telling me that she thought it would be good for me,” I shared with him.
“Uzi’s class?” he asked, cutting his eyes at me, looking at me for a second, as he waited for me to respond.
“Yeah. You know her?” I asked.
“Yeah. She married to my cousin, Loco. Uzi cool. I fuck with her for creating that course. Got all these women in Miami dying over some bullshit, and a lot of that could be avoided if they had a gun on them and knew how to operate that motha fucka. How the class going? You made friends, and shit yet?” he asked me, and I looked at him like he was crazy because of the last part that he said.
“Friends? What is this? Elementary school? No, I didn’t make friends. I go there, and I participate in the class, stick to myself, and I get the fuck on. I’m not there to bond with them bitches,” I corrected him, and he laughed, while shaking his head.
“Besides your cousins, you have any friends?” he wanted to know.
“Why you asking me all these questions? You asking me all this shit, and I don’t know anything about you!” I snapped.
“Because you not asking me shit. Feel free to throw a motha fuckin question out there whenever you feel like it. Answer what I just asked you though. What friends do you have, aside from your cousins?” he pried.
“Why? So, you can see if you’ve fucked them before?” I hated that I even let that slip out because now it was going to look like I was checking for him, and I cared who he was sticking his dick inside.
I know that’s the impression that he got too because he started smiling.
“Nah. I actually just want to know,” he responded, and I felt like he was lying, but I prepared myself to answer it anyways.
“My best friend’s name is Demetria. That’s the only friend that I have,” I told him.
“You good. I never fucked a Demetria,” was his response, and I rolled my eyes at that.
“What’s Dolo short for?” I went ahead and asked a question now. There were things that I wanted to ask him, so I figured that I would go ahead, and start.
“My daddy nicknamed me that shit when I was a little boy. It’s really solo because he said I was the type of kid to always be alone, but he threw a D in it to make that shit sound gangsta. It ain’t short for nothing. Just a nickname that everybody calls me,” he said, and I nodded.
“What’s your real name then?” I wanted to know.
“You asking police ass questions, love,” he said.
“You know my name, my address, my cousins, and my best friend. Every fuckin question that you’ve asked me has been police as fuck,” I shot, and while counting up the money, he laughed, shook his head, and then stuck a rubber band on the bills that he finished.
He leaned back in his chair, and I could feel his eyes on me, watching me as I was counting my last stack of bills.
“My real name Dominique,” he told me, and I’m not sure why, but I felt myself trying to smile at the revelation of that.
I kept the smile to myself though. Didn’t want this nigga to think that I was intrigued. I liked the name Dominique. I found it to be very attractive that he had a unisex name.
“You have siblings?” I followed up with another question.