2. Knox “Joker” Hudson
Knox “Joker” Hudson
A week later
“ A re you sure you’re going to be there?” Monica asked me from the doorway of my bathroom.
I squeezed the Colgate toothpaste onto my toothbrush and replied, “Didn’t I say I was?” and placed the toothbrush into my mouth and powered it on.
“I’m just making sure because I told everyone that you’ll be there.” Monica closed the gap between us and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Were you still going to give me that money to get my hair done today?”
“It’s on the nightstand.”
“Thank you, babe,” she said and released me. “Five o’clock, Joker. Please don’t be late.”
“Mhmm,” I said, mumbling, and continued to brush my teeth. Once I was done, I gargled and washed my face.
Monica and I have been fucking around for the last four months. She wasn’t my shawty or anything, but her delusional ass acted like she was. Today, they were having a barbeque at her parents’ crib, and she wanted me to swing by there. At first, I was hesitant ’bout it ’cause I didn’t want her to get the wrong impression.
Monica was cool and all, but that attitude of hers is what irked my fucking nerves. The bitch acted as if everyone else was beneath her all ’cause her family came from a lil money. Shawty was bad. She had the Instagram baddie shape. Always kept her hair done in a nice wig. Not once since I’ve been talking to her had I seen her real hair. Everything about her is fake.
We weren’t compatible. She was fun for the moment, but not anything that I’d give my last name to. Meeting her family wasn’t significant to me. I’m certain that she probably told everyone that she was fucking with me and they thought she was lying. She probably only wanted me there to prove that she’s bouncing on this dick every chance she gets.
Stepping into my walk-in closet, my eyes roamed my color-coordinated closet. Everything was in its place. My jewelry was inside one of those glass cases one would see at the jewelry store. My shoes were lined up on their own wall, looking as if one had walked into a designer shoe store. I grabbed a pair of black slacks and this white, short-sleeved button-down shirt.
Getting dressed, I swiped my piece off the nightstand and slipped it into my waistline. I never left the house without my gun. Enemies were always lurking, and I had to stay on my toes. Exiting my bedroom, I trekked down the white marble hallway to the elevator that was straight ahead of me and stepped on.
The elevator dinged in the lobby, and I got off, passing a few people as I headed to the exit of my building. “I got your truck nice and ready for you,” Mason, one of the valet men, said as I stepped out the door. He grabbed my keys off the hook and tossed ’em to me.
“’Preciate it, lil dude,” I replied and dug into my pocket for the wad of cash that was in there. Peeling off a couple hundreds, I handed them over to him. His brown eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Thanks, Joker.”
“You’re welcome. Make sure to bring me that report card once you get that shit too. I got a hundred for every A you got on there.”
Mason stood back with a huge grin plastered on his face. Dude was in the eleventh grade. He got a job at my building, valeting at the beginning of the year. Every time he was here, he made sure to take my truck alongside the building and wash it up real good for me. Despite me being heavy in the streets, I did everything in my power to keep our little boys out of ’em. They’d never be a product if I had anything to do with it. Then there were some, who were already heavy in ’em, working for me that couldn’t be saved.
Pressing the unlock button on my key fob with my thumb, I observed as the lights flickered on my burgundy Lamborghini Urus. I opened the driver’s door and climbed inside, resting my back against the butter seats.
Growing up, being a kid who had little to nothing, I always wanted a car with butter seats. I felt like that was luxury, especially after getting into my uncle Mel’s Mercedes one time when he came by the house. Mel ran the streets back in the day. He taught me how to hustle and the laws of attraction. Anything I wanted out of life, I spoke it into existence. There wasn’t a thing out there that I couldn’t have. Nothing.
Once the police killed Mel when I was seventeen, the streets began to dry up and fiends were searching for their next hit everywhere. I took the reins, contacted Mel’s old connects, and went from there. Of course, the mufuckas made me show ’em that I could hold my own, but once they found out that I wasn’t the one to be fucked with, they didn’t hesitate to give me product.
Joker rang bells in the streets. Every nigga knew my name—most of ’em feared me—and every bitch wanted to fuck me. I haven’t come across not one female that I was willing to trade in my player jersey for. None of ’em was worth it. Monica knew what it was. She may have acted dizzy as fuck, but she knew there were other females out there I was fucking with. She hadn’t run into any ’cause I wasn’t sloppy as fuck, but they were there.
Pulling away from the curb, I headed toward my warehouse on US 231. To some, it was just a warehouse that had some of the top football equipment you can find in Alabama, but behind those concrete walls was some of the best weed and cocaine to ever touch foot in Montgomery.
Rocks cracked underneath the tires as I pulled into the parking lot, stopping in my spot by the front entrance. There were a couple other cars parked. A silver sedan and a black Tahoe. The Tahoe belonged to my best friend, Dough, who was also my main man. That nigga had my back ever since I was a teenager and didn’t know him from a can of paint. He used to hang ’round the block, using gambling as his way to hustle. That’s how he got the name Dough ’cause he loved money. Dough would bet on video games, card games, even shoot dice.
One day, a few niggas called themselves hemming me up against my car after I just picked up some ends. Dough saw what was going on and came over with his pistol. Let’s just say, we were the only ones to walk away that mufucka alive. He helped me get rid of the bodies and we chopped it up the remainder of the night. He told me ’bout how his mama was a single mom, struggling to get by to take care of him and his eight siblings. I put him on to the drug game and he’d been running with me ever since.
Opening the door, my Chelsea boots touched the ground. My nose scrunched at the scent of dog shit mere inches from my feet. There has been this stray pitbull running ’round these parts that Dough couldn’t seem to stop feeding after I told his ass not to. Shutting the door, I strolled up to the warehouse entrance and firmly pressed my thumb against the keypad. The green line moved up and down, collecting my thumbprint. The door buzzed, and I turned the knob, pushing it in.
“Damn, nigga. It took you long enough,” Dough spoke soon as I walked through the door. He stood over by a stack of boxes with a clipboard in his hand.
Dough was a big nigga. He stood ’bout six two, weighing two eighty, pure muscle. Whenever he wasn’t placing fear in niggas’ hearts in the streets, he was in the gym lifting weights as if his life depended on it.
Handing the clipboard off to Charles, he completely faced me and asked, “What took you so long anyway?”
“Monica,” was the only thing that escaped my lips.
“Should’ve known. She still hounding your ass ’bout a baby?”
My eyes turned to slits. “I wouldn’t nut in that bitch if she was the last woman on earth and I needed to save mankind. She can dead that shit.”
Dough chuckled, but I was serious as a heart attack. Monica wasn’t the motherly type. I’d seen that shit firsthand. The way she interacted with children who weren’t hers and acted as if they were carrying a deadly disease every time they were near her, she only wanted that child for attachment. I told her ass hell no when she first came to me with that bullshit a couple months ago.
“I don’t see why you keep her around.”
“The ho head magical like Lucky Charms. Where these niggas at? Let’s get this shit over with. I got shit to do.”
“They in the back.” He nodded toward the double doors, and we sauntered in that direction.
I followed Dough down the hallway and into the kitchen. He stepped in front of the walk-in freezer, gripped the handle of it, and yanked it open. Inside, sitting on top of milk crates, were Justin and Alex, a couple young niggas that worked for me. Ice dangled from Justin’s ears as he hugged himself in hopes to keep warm. Alex’s teeth chattered so hard, I could hear it from where I stood.
“I’m disappointed in y’all. Bring ’em out.”
Dough stepped inside the freezer and snatched both of their asses up by the arms. Spinning on my heels, I went over and removed the apron off the hook by the door and slipped it on. Dough shoved ’em toward the barstools in front of the stove and said, “Sit.” They stood there, glaring at me. Dough roughly gripped ’em by the shoulders and shoved ’em down on the stools.
“Ever since I was a teenager, I couldn’t stand the police,” I said as I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs, milk, and cheese. With everything snug in my forearm, I shut the refrigerator and stepped in front of the stainless-steel stove. Placing my items on the counter, I turned and grabbed the frying pan off the hook and a whisk. “The police killed my uncle Mel,” I continued and cracked a couple eggs into the frying pan. “Mel was like a father to me, especially since I didn’t have mine in my life ’cause he decided he wanted to be a deadbeat.” Gathering the salt, pepper, and onion powder, I sprinkled them into the eggs. “Ever since then, I couldn’t stand being in the same room with ’em. Imagine my surprise when I got the call telling me that y’all two were hauled off by MPD.” My eyes locked with Justin’s. He sat there, holding his ground, not batting an eye. On the other hand, Alex’s entire body shook as he bounced his leg, a sure indication that he was terrified.
Turning on the eye, I poured some milk into the eggs and sprinkled a handful of shredded cheese in ’em. “What was that all about?”
“It was nothing,” Justin quickly answered.
“You sure ’bout that?” I whipped the eggs up with the whisk then plated ’em. I yanked one of the biggest knives out the drawer and flipped it to where I saw my reflection in it.
“Just gon’ tell him,” Alex suggested.
“Tell me what?” I glared at Justin over the knife.
Justin looked me dead in the eyes and replied, “They picked us up, asking a few questions ’bout you. I ain’t tell them nothing.”
“What about you?” I looked over at Alex. Tears filled his eyes.
“That nigga handed ’em over the spot on Rosa Parks,” Justin answered for him. Dough slipped his phone out his pocket and his fingertips went across the screen. My eyes drifted back to Alex.
“I-I just told ’em something to let me go. They were threatening me with jail time.”
“You’re scared of jail? Nigga, you should be fucking scared of me. Do you not know what happens to mufuckas who talk too much?” He lifted from the stool, and Dough shoved him back down by the shoulder with one hand. Palming the back of his head, he pushed his face down against the counter and held his mouth open by the jaw.
“Please! Please!”
Using a set of prongs, I clamped his tongue, yanked it out his mouth as far as it would go, and sliced that bitch off as if it was a piece of steak.
“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!”
Blood squirted from his mouth and hit me on the cheek. Grabbing my small blow torch, I burned the remainder of his tongue to close it off. Alex’s head dropped straight to the counter, and Justin sat there with his eyes wide as saucers.
Placing Alex’s tongue on the counter, I sliced it into fine pieces and tossed it into another frying pan. I seasoned it with onion salt, garlic salt, and Cajun seasoning. The shit sizzled, and Justin frowned.
I sautéed the fuck out that tongue and plated it with the eggs. Picking up the plate, I set a fork on it and placed it in front of Justin. “Eat up, nigga.” Alex was one of Justin’s soldiers, so he was responsible for his actions.
“I’m not eating that shit.” I picked the knife back up and blood dripped from the blade. “A’ight.” He quickly changed his mind. Justin picked up the fork with a piece of the tongue on it and brought it up to his nose. He took a sniff and dabbed the tip of his tongue against it. His face scrunched as he eased it off the fork in between his teeth. The corner of my mouth quirked, watching him slowly chew and then swallow.
My phone chimed, and I removed it from my pocket. Sliding to answer, I placed it to my ear and said, “Yeah?”
“Can you stop by the store and grab a case of water? I forgot it,” Monica asked.
“A’ight,” I said and ended the call. “Make sure you clean that whole plate too, nigga,” I told Justin. Removing the apron from around my neck, I wiped the blood from my face and said, “Once he’s done, make that nigga clean this shit up.”
“What ’bout him?” Dough asked, nodding toward Alex.
“He’ll come back to eventually.”
Trekking out the kitchen, I headed for the exit. Hitting the fob on my truck, I climbed in and pulled out of the parking lot. Since I was going to a barbeque, I planned on going back to the house to change clothes. On my way to the house, I stopped by Publix for that case of water.
The parking lot was packed. I found a space toward the back. Getting out, I locked my doors as I strolled toward the entrance. “I’m telling you, Stacy, he’s no good,” a woman dressed in a yellow maxi dress said as she passed me. She had one grocery bag in her hand, letting me know that she went in there for something specific and stuck to that shit.
“Hey, how are you?” the woman behind the customer service counter asked as soon as I stepped through the doors. I hit her with a head nod and kept sauntering.
The water aisle wasn’t far from the entrance. I picked up a case of Publix water and went toward the cash registers. They ass wasn’t too good for no Publix water. They better take that shit and drink it or I’d politely shove the case down their fucking throats.
I don’t know what was going on today, but every line was long as shit, even the self-checkout. This the exact reason why whenever I grocery shopped, I made sure to come early in the morning or ordered shit for pickup. Mufuckas will have you in here all day, fucking with them.
I stopped at a line and held my water, waiting for my turn. There were three other people standing in front of me. “Got damn, what is she doing? Buying up the whole store?” the guy in front of me mumbled. If he was talking like that, he had to have been standing here for a while. I lifted my foot to walk off to another register when I saw her. It was the waitress we had at The Lotus a week ago. I felt bad for shawty with how Monica was treating her all over a spill of water. I tried to tell her it wasn’t necessary to go bothering that girl’s manager with that bullshit, but she did it anyway. Right after we left the restaurant, I took Monica’s ass home. She was mad as fuck too. What she did was uncalled for. If shawty was in there waitressing, she was hustling to put food on the table and keep the lights on. That was someone trying, and when I saw someone trying their best, I respected that shit.
Shawty stood there in this baby blue two-piece pants set. Her curly, chocolate-brown hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, and she had some curly pieces left out on both sides by her ears. She swiped her card and stood there with her thumbnail tucked between her teeth.
“It was declined,” the cashier said.
Her brows furrowed. “No. That can’t be right. It was just loaded this morning. Let me try again,” she replied and swiped her card again.
“It still isn’t working. What are you using?”
“My EBT card,” she responded lowly, but I was still able to hear her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. The system is down right now. Do you have another form of payment?”
She looked at the price on the screen and said, “No. I’ll just get the pack of beef, the noodles, and tomato sauce.”
“You got to be fucking kidding me,” the guy in front of me said. Gripping him by the collar of his shirt, I yanked him out of line. He stumbled over his feet and dropped his bananas to the floor.
“Why don’t you go check out elsewhere since you’re so fucking impatient,” I suggested.
“How ’bout I whup yo’ ass for putting your hands on me?” He dropped the rest of his items to the floor and balled his hands into fists, lifting ’em in the air right in front of his face.
Resting the water on one shoulder, I politely lifted my shirt in the front where my pistol was tucked. His hands immediately dropped, and he said, “You got it, big dawg.”
“That’s what the fuck I thought.” Turning my attention back to the situation at hand, I spoke, “I’ll pay for it. Add this water on there too,” I said and stepped through the empty aisle next to the one we were on.
Her chestnut-brown eyes bored up at me. She was a good five three, looking like a kid standing in front of me. Her complexion was like warm honey and flawless. Not a drop of makeup in sight. “No. I can’t ask you to do that,” she finally spoke.
“If my mama was here, she’d kick my ass if I didn’t offer you a hand. I’m getting it. End of discussion.” I stepped around her and told the cashier, “Scan this water.”
“I’ll type in the code.”
The bag boy began placing her groceries into the cart. I pulled my wallet out my pocket and grabbed my Amex card, swiped it, and put it back.
“Do you need help with your groceries today?” the guy asked her, and she shook her head.
“Thanks, but I got it.” Gripping the handle of the buggy, she pushed it toward the exit with me directly behind her. She stopped in front of the store and turned to me. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I would’ve gone to another store tomorrow and got everything else I needed.”
“It’s cool.”
Her eyes searched my face, and she said, “I think I remember you… from a week ago, right? You came into Lotus?”
“Yeah, that was me.” I couldn’t keep my eyes off her then, and I damn sure couldn’t keep ’em off her now. Shawty’s beauty was a breath of fresh air. She has this natural beauty. All the women were starting to look alike these days. They wore the same hairstyles with those big ass baby hairs, that they needed to be calling grown hairs, and the same outfits. It was getting exhausting, which was why women didn’t tend to hold my attention for that long.
“I thought I recognized you.”
“I got somewhere to be. Put yo’ number in my phone.”
“How’s your girlfriend?”
I chuckled ’cause I knew damn well she didn’t give a fuck ’bout how Monica’s ass was doing. “That’s not my girlfriend.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she replied and pushed her cart out into the parking lot.
“Guess that’s a no on the number, huh?”
She hit me with the deuces and kept walking. Shaking my head, I went over to my truck and placed the water in the trunk. Soon as I shut the door, my phone chimed.
Dough: We got another problem.