35. Rico #3
We all disconnect, and I place my phone back in the cupholder.
“Now who the fuck is that?” Snow snaps, turning on the car.
“Ay. I need you as chill as possible. My nigga from my old unit, that’s his lady. She like YT, with Patience’s height.”
Snow smiles before she can help herself, before changing the gear to Drive and easing onto the road.
“Aight, bae. Slowly, press on the gas. It’s a straight shot. Our car can go faster than theirs. They doing ninety, we gonna do a hunnid. And when we see them, I’ma open the sunroof.”
Snow nods her head, and begins pressing on the gas. My poor baby is shaking like a leaf with both hands at ten and two, but she controls the wheel even as we push to seventy, then eighty.
“I can’t believe it’s just no other cars on the highway. It’s not even midnight,” Snow rants.
“Yeah,” I agree, taking off my tuxedo jacket and bow tie. “But then again, it don’t need to be no other casualties with your non-driving ass.”
She revs the engine more, getting up to ninety as she pinches her eyebrows at me. YT did good, wanting her bridal party to all wear ponytails. Snow’s ginger ponytail rests on her shoulder like a snake, and I can’t wait to grip it when we’re both coming down from adrenaline.
“Aight, so. Um… okay. I’ma, uh, shoot them. And then you’re gonna swerve out the way. But you gotta be careful not to overcorrect, Snow. It’ll be a lil’ jerk, not a full turn. I’ma be hanging out the roof, so you gotta be mindful–”
“Got it. Whip this shit. Don’t kill my man. Fuck, honestly, baby… I’ma need a blunt after this. Do you feel like–”
“No. You don’t need shit after this but a hot bath and my dick. And yo fuckin’ license.” I tap my finger on her temple, mad she even bringing some shit up like that, but we see the red lights from them niggas come up in the distance, so I lock in. “Aight. Make me proud, Lady Luney.”
She presses on the gas more while I open the sunroof.
I should have been up there, but it’s better to get all this shit down as quickly as possible.
Snow and I both know she is not, nor will she ever be a gangsta bitch like Haze.
And truth be told, I don’t want her to be.
She make it sound good in her raps fasho, but I like that she has always been far removed from the shit we’ve been in, by her own choice.
She’s never played tough, and not because she isn’t, but because Snow has always known her place and acted accordingly.
Another reason why those Jackson brothers gotta see me. This shit getting old. It’s time to just let bygones be bygones and move on.
After my get back, of course.
The wind whips me as I grip the gun and stand on the middle console. It’s easy enough to set the bipod of the m250 onto the roof of the car, and once I get a good footing, I lean forward, close one eye, and aim for the car in front of us.
Fire blooms in my shoulders from the recoil of this monster gun, but I don’t let up on the trigger as bullet after bullet rains into the SUV.
The wind swallows my wail as my shoulder knocks out of its socket, but I still don’t stop.
Gaining on them, I can see the windows are shot out, and then I tilt down slightly, aiming at the tires before coming back up to shoot into the car.
The car swerves and veers to the right before rolling into a ditch.
Snow’s coming up fast, and my side digs into the car as I hold onto the gun with all my fucking might.
My shoulder is screaming, and I actually feel tears forming when I’m thrown to the other side of the roof as Snow corrects herself.
Thankfully, I don’t have to tell her to slow down.
I look behind us and see smoke rising from the other car.
As soon as our shit stops, I drop the m250 into the seat. “Be careful not to touch the barrel, but move that out the way.”
I glance down, and when it’s clear, I drop myself, crying out like a bitch and pulling my right arm to my body as I try to catch my breath in the backseat.
“What’s wrong?! What happened?!” Snow turns on the overhead light, but she still can’t see shit.
“My shoulder… can you, like, shit! Can you pop it back in?”
She’s out of the car without responding. Next thing I know, the back passenger door is thrown open and she’s easing me out.
“This is gonna hurt–”
“SHIT! SNOW!” To her credit, she doesn’t count, nor does she let me brace myself, but it’s back in and I can function until we’re back in the city.
Still, I keep it cradled to me as I whip us back to the other car. Just as we pull up, a Bronco pulls next to us, and Ingrid hops down from the driver side.
Her smile is unhinged as she brandishes her glock. She skips down into the ditch, and Snow and I hear two shots before she comes back up.
She twirls all the way to Snow and holds out her hand. “Ingrid. It’s so very nice to meet you. I really admire your work.”
I snort, rolling my eyes as I pull out my phone to text Asa that we’re good.
“Thank you–”
“She ain’t talking about your music, Snow. She talking about my eye.” I pocket my phone and try to move my shoulder, but it’s already tightening up.
Snow’s eyes expand before she grins down at Ingrid. “It’s some of my best.”
Ingrid giggles, before turning to me.
“Clean up is coming. You two can go. I’ll also reroute traffic back so it’s not a ghost town. Be good, Rico!”
I salute Ingrid, then get Snow safely back in the whip.
Since I know niggas ain’t on our shit no more, I take my time disassembling the m250, pack it up, and place it in the trunk.
Ingrid honks once, letting me know she’ll have clean up look for any casings I dropped.
I salute her again, and by the time I get back into the driver’s seat, Snow’s sound asleep, hugging herself to the door.
I take a second to calm my breathing. When I move my shoulder again, it’s still tight, and I know I’ll probably be in a sling for a little while. I guess I’ll take a break before I’m back on my bully.
With my right hand curled around her thigh, I turn on the car and ease us back onto the road. Even Fredo’s quiet as my mind begins to work, because ghost or hallucination, both apparitions know his nigga is flaw.
I’m done playing with this nigga. And once I’m back one hunnid, he gon’ know it.
It’s not too many people still at Saint Cecilia Catholic Church after the five o’clock morning Mass lets out. I count seven exactly, still in the pews, saying their Hail Mary’s and repenting before they go out into the world to sin again.
Fiorella Jackson sits on the right side, toward the back. One row ahead of me. Her head is bent down and I can faintly hear her praying to God, asking Him to keep her wayward kids safe.
Ma stopped believing in God after we were born. Probably for the same reason she stopped wanting to live. Still, I wouldn’t feel right killing Mrs. Jackson in the House of God. I’ll just have to lure her outside first.
“It’s very hard to sneak up on a mother, dear Richard.
Once we have kids, our hearing becomes super sonic.
” Her voice is still soft, even in its projection.
Soft, patient, and kind, like I remembered it.
We haven’t crossed paths often. Not nearly as often for me to feel something about killing her.
But I would be lying if I said she deserved it.
Unless you believe in being guilty by association.
I stand, and take the long way, walking down my pew to walk down hers, before taking a seat.
She smiles at me, taking my hand and squeezing it.
Gianna is a tanned version of her, and the way Fiorella’s nursing scrubs cling to her thick frame, I see why her late husband decided to steal her away and bring her over to our neck of the woods.
“I haven’t seen you in years, Richard. How are you?”
“How you know I’m Richard and not Frederick?” I smirk.
She mirrors my smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I would know my son anywhere. Besides, I think it’ll be, what, six years, almost seven, that my son isn’t able to come to Mass with me anymore?”
“Your son? So you and Fred were close then?”
She tsks, squeezing my hands in hers. “If you’re asking if I knew he and Gio were close, then yes, I did. A mother always knows, Richard. I’m sure even dear Ayani knew her Frederick liked the company of boys as well as girls.”
Her thumbs caress the tops of my hands as her eyes peer into mine. There’s a sort of peace in them, and not knowing if it’s from the morning Mass or if she knows why I’m visiting her bothers me.
And then I decide, I’m not gonna murk this nigga’s mom. Mars’s grandmother, or Nonna, I’m sure she’ll go by.
Snow is making me too soft.
“And you’re okay with it? With Gio?” I ask, leaning back into the pew. Might as well get comfortable if I’m deviating from my plan.
Fiorella’s lips twitch. “God made us in His image, and though we’re not perfect and have a sinful nature, He loves us anyway.
Who am I to think I’m better than God and pass judgment on anyone, let alone my children?
All I want is for them to be happy. They’re finally safe, but none of them are happy. ”
“I heard Catholics are never happy.”
Fiorella huffs are quiet laughter. “That may be true. But a mother can dream.”
She stands and holds out her hand to me like she could help me up, and even though it’s absurd, I let her.
I’m starting to think part of the reason Fredo stayed with Slime was because of this woman.
We all tried to collect mothers, but there were so few to go around.
Reem’s mother Trina took years to be okay after her youngest son Angelo was killed.
And our grandmothers were hardbody. They loved us, but sweet words, they didn’t have.
But maybe all this is freedom from the bullshit tyranny she was under. When muthafuckas are trying to survive, it’s no time for sweet words and comfort. Fiorella was probably the same as our mother figures, back when her kids needed it the most.