37. Rico
Rico
I was never an insurgent in my time in MARSOC. My objective was always to blend in, gather intel, and neutralize if absolutely necessary.
The most action I ever saw was always in the city, as Luney. Whether it was with my niggas, or that one time I led the First Nations into a war with the Italians that probably led Cochise Beverly to meet his new fiancée.
And when I’m in the field in my city, as Luney, there's no real need for the skills the Marines teach you.
I already had all the skills I needed to exceed in whatever situation I found myself in, thanks to G-Pops taking Nutty under his wing, and his incessant need to include his day ones in his shenanigans.
Nothing, however. Nothing in the thirty-two years I’ve experienced, heard, or seen, could prepare me for Snow to have three seizures back to back in the backseat of my whip.
I freeze. Immediately. My mind blanks. She falls over, onto her side, and seizes.
Then she seizes again. Longer this time. Her legs kick at me, but I can barely feel it. All my senses dull as my gaze sharpens. Almost as if to torture me further.
My hands curl into my fingernails and dig into the meat of my palms. She stops, and then seizes again. This one is the shortest. It’s over in fifteen seconds. Then Snow moans, and I blink, and I can move again.
I’m out of my whip immediately, running around the back to open the other side, and gently pull her out. She’s lethargic. Breathing, but unconscious. I put her into the front and strap her in, then lean the seat as far back as it can go.
Ten seconds later, I’m in the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition. Backing out, I whip this shit like my name is Nutty, and don’t stop until I’m at West Kenton Memorial. The farthest hospital from where we are, but the best hospital in the county.
It takes me twenty minutes to get across the city, but it’s worth it. I know it is. Because something is wrong with my Snow, and I don’t have time to be murking niggas telling me they don’t know what the fuck it is that’s making her have three seizures back to back.
I pull all the way up to the Emergency Room sliding doors, and barely remember to turn off my car before snatching the keys out the ignition. With calmness I don’t feel, I unstrap Snow and pull her into my arms, and take big steps into the ER.
“She ain’t woke up. She had three seizures.” My voice sounds different as I blurt out words walking up to the reception. I’ve seen the nurse before. She’s been to one of Patience’s parties.
Recognition flashes in her face as she nods and picks up her phone.
“Ay.”
She freezes, and locks eyes with me.
“It’s nothing to find you outside of here if muthafuckas hear Wynter Snow is in the hospital.”
She swallows, before whispering whatever code they have for a discreet patient, then leads me toward the hallway where a gurney and more nurses are waiting.
As soon as I place her down, I fish out my phone to call Patience, but Pooh’s name lights up my screen.
I send his ass to voicemail twice, but he keeps calling, so I answer.
“What–”
“Mama’s gone. She’s gone. No encuentro a mamá y no sé qué hacer.”
“What?” My voice is different again. Smaller. Cracking. I slide down the wall until I’m sitting, everything boneless except my hand holding my phone to my ear.
“I came to take her a la Bingo, y las ventanas… shot out. Mars está asustado y llorando, y no sé qué hacer, hijo…”
Pooh doesn’t get rattled. His voice doesn’t crack, his language doesn’t waiver. He doesn’t call Nan mama. And he’d never let Mars wail like he is in the background if he could help it.
Calm down, Rick.
I shoot out my hand to slap Fredo away. This ain’t the fucking time to be calm. This ain’t the time to think rationally. Not when you getting it from all sides. Not when your back is to the wall.
Now is the time to completely show yo fuckin’ ass so muthafuckas know you ain’t the one. Now is the time to show everyone who got you fucked up, including God Himself, that I can and will take it there if need be.
“We’re taking her to CT.”
I shift my gaze from the floor to the nurse standing in front of me. She nods when I find the strength to hold up a shaky finger, asking her for a second.
“Take Mars to the Woods. I’ll handle it. I promise I will, Pop.”
There’s no need for a reply. Getting vertical, I clench my phone and give the nurse my full attention.
“She’s in CT, and has a private room upstairs. We have some paperwork–”
“She Wynter Snow. A lot of this shit you can find on the internet. Been sober from drugs and alcohol about sixteen months; Heroin, coke, and weed. She be getting migraines and shit, probably since her car accident a few years ago. Her sister is her emergency contact and a nurse here; Autumn Shaw. But you call me with any updates, even if she sneeze in her sleep.” I snatch the clipboard from her and put down my number, then take out my money knot and clip two hundreds to the paper and hand it back to her.
She nods, pocketing the money, and scurries off to wherever, while I make my way outside.
My thumbs are heavy as I dial Set. I’m not even in the car yet before he answers.
“Waddup Luney–”
“Hug yo family tight tonight, because if my granny got even a chin hair out of place I’m runnin’ through yo shit like the Tasmanian Devil, bitch ass nigga.”
Security is coming out, but I’m already peeling out the roundabout and parking in the handicap spot.
The line is quiet, but I know he ain’t hang up.
“You got everybody fooled like you this upstanding nigga, and you not. I had you pegged since I was twelve. Couldn’t even do yo dirty work yaself, had to sic Slime on me by telling him about Mars, and now you done got Nan in some shit–”
“I didn’t tell Slime about Mars. That was Autumn.”
My face crumbles. I can feel Fredo’s glare on the side of my face, begging me to calm down. To see reason. To give her excuses. But I’m stuck. And the fire in my chest and pressure in my head just keeps growing.
“You really hate my ass,” he chuckles angrily. “But I’ll stall you out now, ‘cause you got bigger problems.”
I click in his nigga’s face and dial Haze so fucking quick, I accidentally call Snow at first.
“Rico,” she breathes when the line clicks over. “I’m on my way–”
“You told Slime about Mars?”
The line goes quiet.
My patience snaps, and my vision turns red.
“YOU ARE ONE SELFISH ASS BITCH brO. You not even dizzy, because you KNOW, Autumn! You know the type of niggas we is. You’ve seen it. Seen it with your own two, how we all get down. And you let hurt feelings get you into some shit you can’t get out of.”
“Now I ain’t let–”
“THIS NIGGA GOT NAN! HE TRIED TO KILL ME AND YOUR SISTER AFTER REEM’S WEDDING! TRIED TO RUN US OFF THE ROAD! YOU DID THAT AUTUMN!”
My voice echoes, indicating I’m on speaker now, but I don’t give a fuck. Let them hear.
“You know the difference between you and Snow, Autumn? Your love is conditional. You fuck with someone as long as you think you’re useful to them, and then discard them like trash.
You do it to every person in your life, and muthafuckas grin and bear it because you come by it honestly.
You just like your mother, and that bitch did a real number on you.
On both y’all. But Snow? Snow’s love is unconditional.
Even if you hurt her, she don’t ever stop loving you, even if you stop loving her.
She keeps they secrets still, she still looks out for them.
And that’s why you hate her. Because even though she became the family fuck up, she’s still a better person than you’ll ever be.
“You knew exactly what the fuck you was doing, telling him about Mars before I could… and now he’s got my Nan. If something happens to either of them, and I can’t save them… I will handle you myself. And I mean that.”
She chokes a sob out, but her sobs don’t move me. Not anymore. Not ever again.
My phone pings and I hang up. My vision is blurry from unshed tears, and when I blink, one escapes down my cheek.
But I can read the unknown number. An address. One of the old traps, one of the few houses in the city old enough to still have a basement.
Unknown
2934 Jute Street
from a nigga that’s not upstanding
I have to laugh at this nigga. I have to laugh at everything. Shit is so fucking funny right now. My life. These niggas. Haze.
Everything is funny. So I gotta be hilarious.
Even though we’re beefing right now, I thank God for hundred-round drums. I keep one in whatever whip I have, just in case. It’s been years since I’ve needed it, but I still do it.
This cuts off minutes, maybe even hours I’d waste thinking about how I can get my hands on some shit, before finally breaking into Storyville and Reem’s secret armory he keeps there.
Next to my drum, underneath my spare tire, is a bulletproof vest. It’s got dust on the packaging, since I’ve never worn one. But I ain’t got time. Snow needs me, just as much as Nan does.
I strap on the vest and put my hoodie back on, before closing the trunk. The house is across the street and a few doors down, but there’s no one outside tonight. Not even niggas to guard the door.
Amateurs. Slime calls himself tryna bring these new niggas up, put money in they pockets since Reem moved the Birch Babies away from moving weight. Hire them as his personal security, personal errand boys, help promote this image of him giving back to the community that raised him.
There’s a reason that nigga could never be head of Foe Dub, even if he was head of the Birch Babies. The little things he misses, turn into big things, and then he got a whole kerfuffle and don’t know what the fuck to do.
Truly too big for his britches. Just like me, Slime's moral compass was Fred. His back up, always there to guide him when he was missing something. Briefly, I wonder who watches his back as he navigates politics, but as I stroll up to the house holding Nan, I push the thought away.
Nigga prolly won’t even make it to elections next year.