Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
CASSIUS “CASH” CLAY WILLIAMS
A s the food drive wrapped up, pride consumed me.
There was nothing better than helping those in need and giving back to my community.
When I was a youngin, my pops made sure we thrived—not just survived.
Even with us living in the hood, Pops made sure we had everything we wanted and needed.
In fact, he stayed in the hood for the cheaper rent so he could spoil his family with the things that really mattered.
After he died, that put me and Mama in survival mode.
She’d never had to work a day in her life until his ended, so she had to get a job waitressing that didn’t really pay too much.
At first, the hood showed up for her and made sure she made good money in tips, but like always, that effort and care died down with time.
There was always someone else losing a family member, and when they did, that was who the care shifted to.
Watching Mama go without so I could eat made me get in the streets early at thirteen.
I felt like it was my responsibility to be the man of the house and help pay the bills.
As much as Mama hated the thought of me selling drugs, she knew there was nothing she could do or say to make me stop, so she ignored it.
When I would drop off stacks of cash to help pay the bills, she asked no questions—just told me to be safe. To be smart.
Seventeen years later, I wasn’t just a young hoodlum selling nickel and dime bags.
I was a supplier making more money than I could spend.
Mama was taken care of better than she ever had been before, and for Pops, I planned to take care of her for the rest of our lives.
She was the sweetest and most solid woman in the world, and she deserved this and more.
She was the reason I had a food distribution company and did food drives for the hood.
Seeing your mama lose weight to keep you fed was traumatizing for a nigga like me.
We went from eating sugar sandwiches and spaghetti for weeks straight to me being able to fly her to whatever country she wanted to have dinner.
I knew there were other parents and guardians struggling to feed their families, and it was an honor for me to help provide.
Mrs. Patty’s eyes misted over as her bony hand covered mine. She was a seventy year old firecracker who lived alone since her husband died a decade ago. Every quarter when I did these food drives, she came through and made sure she stocked up and showed her appreciation.
“Your daddy would be so proud of you, Cassius.”
Cassius.
Only the elders called me by my government name.
Everyone else called me Cash. Pops was a big fan of boxing, and he named me after the incomparable Muhammad Ali.
That love for boxing had been imbedded within me too.
For a while, I thought I’d try to become a professional boxer after having so much success in the underground fighting world.
But eventually, the discipline of it made me retire.
Now, I only fought when I needed to punish or teach a nigga a lesson.
“I ’preciate that, Mrs. Patty.”
“Now you keep up the good work, and don’t let nothing distract you from your purpose. I saw the way them girls were all up on you. A woman can be a man’s greatest influence or distraction. You’re single and in your prime. Stay focused, and don’t attach yourself to the wrong woman. You hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am. I won’t.”
I didn’t feel the need to share it with her, but Pops had already put me up on game.
I might not have had him long, but Pops had filled me with enough wisdom and anecdotes to carry me for the rest of my life.
I’d never been the kind of man who lacked discipline and self-respect, so pussy would never be my downfall.
I talked to a few more people as my crew shut everything down. I knew there was a chance a few last minute stragglers would come through, so we always kept a few boxes and baskets out to be safe.
“Ayo, Cash.”
At the sound of Rhakeem’s voice, I headed toward the last table that was set up.
Rhakeem was my right hand man and best friend since the sandbox.
Our fathers were best friends, and we were too.
When Pops died, Rhakeem’s father was the only one that checked in and made sure we were straight consistently, but he had his own household to provide for, so there was only so much he could do.
Mama wouldn’t always take his money, but she always sent me down to their house to eat when she didn’t have the money or time to make food .
“Wassup?” I replied.
“Dre called and said they’re about to pull up. You want us to break this last table down?”
“Yeah, that’s cool,” I agreed, already starting to pull a couple of baskets off the table.
As much as I enjoyed having the food drives, they were draining, especially in the summertime.
Most times it always turned into a block party.
A few men would bring their grills, and I paid them to give out plates piled with grilled meats and vegetables.
We always had a DJ and a little play area set up for the kids too.
“He mention him having my money?” I continued.
Rhakeem shook his head. “He didn’t say either way.”
My teeth gritted and I released a long sigh. I was irritated enough having to chase down this small debt. It was about the principle though. If I let this youngin get away with not paying me, others who owed more would think the same too.
I heard loud music blasting before the sound of tires on gravel.
I looked back and saw Dre’s truck. He and Michael hopped out with empty hands, and all I could do was chuckle to try and release some of my frustration, because I knew these motherfuckas weren’t about to come and tell me they still didn’t have my money.
“Boss man,” Dre greeted, pulling his dreads up into a bun. He immediately got to work helping while Michael stepped in front of me and spoke for them both.
“Before you get mad, you gotta hear this shit.” My head bobbed once for him to continue as I crossed my arms and tilted my head.
“So we finally track lil homie down at this party a few blocks down. We’re about to put belt to ass, literally, since he’s so fucking young.
Before I can take my shit off, I hear a rack being slid back. ”
Now . . . my interest was piqued. Holding my hand up, I kept him from continuing. “Someone pulled a gun on you?”
Michael chuckled. “Yeah, but this is the funny part. When I look up, it’s a yellow tiny ass pistol.
Apparently the girl was his cousin, but she came out to save him.
She also offered to pay his debt, but she was working or some shit and didn’t have the money on her, so I told her she had to pay tomorrow. ”
Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I exhaled what I needed to be a calming breath. Seeing as Tyreek had been dodging my team for the past month, it was time for me to handle this shit personally. He nor his cousin would be leaving tomorrow without paying me my fucking money.
“Send me his number,” I said. “I’ma set up the meeting myself.”
“Aight, cool. And after you see his cousin, I’m curious to know what you think. She’s pretty as fuck and?—”
“You talking ’bout the lil chick that pulled on us?” Dre confirmed.
“Somebody pulled on y’all?” Rhakeem questioned.
“I wouldn’t have let her get away with it but she pretty as hell,” Michael said. “She got the prettiest eyes and lips. Damn.” He licked his lips and rubbed his stomach, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ain’t no woman fine enough to risk losing your life. You let a woman distract you with her looks long enough to put a bullet in you. You better be glad she didn’t,” I scolded after my laughter died down.
“I felt like she wasn’t going to pull that trigger,” was what Michael said, but Dre shook his head and said . . .
“Nah, I got the opposite vibe. I feel like she really would’ve pulled that shit.
Maybe not to try and kill us but to keep us from hurting Tyreek.
She was pretty as fuck but she got a little roughness to her.
Plus, as loud as her slap to the back of his head was, I know them hands got a little power in ’em. ”
We continued to talk and break down the last table before closing the truck and heading out. I hated ending the day without my money, but otherwise, today had been a successful day. Now, I was ready to check in on Mama before going home to chill for the rest of the day.