37. Rico #2
The sound the safety makes when I turn it off is the last thing I hear before my ears begin to ring. Almost as if they know it’s about to be some shit.
I don’t slow as I walk up to the front door, aim at the lock, and press the trigger slightly.
Ten rounds go into the door, before I kick it open. It’s four niggas in the front room, ready for me.
I sink three into the chest of the first dude, as one shot hits my vest.
A head shot to the second. A bullet grazes my arm.
My aim is off, but I keep my finger on the automatic trigger, and five go into the third nigga.
I never stop walking. And the fourth nigga shoots me point blank in my gut. The movement makes the side of my gun break bone when I knock it into his face.
He drops instantly, and I sink three in his head because while his weak ass bullet didn’t pierce the vest, that shit still hurts like a muthafucka.
The basement entrance is on the side of the house, so I take a left into the kitchen and go out of that door to the driveway. Slowly, I descend, my gun lowered until I see more than just two pairs of feet.
Nan is sitting in a chair. Only her feet are tied to the legs of it; her hands are free enough for her to be smoking a cigarette as she meets my gaze. Her face stays neutral, while her eyes light up, but not with relief, which has me thinking all isn’t what I think.
There’s a nigga standing beside her though, and he has a gun pointed at her head.
“Take another–”
I sink one into his forehead, not giving a fuck about negotiating.
Nan doesn’t flinch, opting to twist her mouth instead. “That wasn’t necessary, Ricky. Corbin wasn’t going to hurt me.”
I make it to her, placing my piece on the ground and fishing out my knife from my ankle sheath.
“These niggas snatched you out my crib and you just chillin’,” I rant, making quick work of the rope on her ankles.
“Give me a second to finish my cigarette. These bones are old.” She blows a plume of smoke away from us.
She doesn’t even look frazzled. Pooh is prolly pulling on the hair he cut months ago. Mars definitely will need therapy.
Tears won’t fall from my eyes, but my nose begins to run.
I lean forward, going from the balls of my feet to my knees, and lay my head on Nan’s lap. My arms band around her legs and the legs of the old chair, keeping me where I am.
Nan spent most of her time keeping Ma alive. We were never distant, but Fred and I were basically left on our own, unless one of the adults in our lives decided to impart wisdom on us.
Still, she’s my grandmother. The only grandparent I know. And despite all her faults, she is the glue that holds the rest of us together.
“Oh, Ricky,” she tsks, her weathered hand finding my head. “I know exactly how I’m going to leave this earth, and it was never going to be at the hands of boys who don’t know their mouth from their ass.”
The tears leave then, soaking the stupid pants she has six pairs of. Turquoise, with daisies printed on them. She would do the same with us, as kids. If we liked a pair of shoes or a shirt, she’d buy multiple, so that if one messes up, we’d have another ready.
“I can’t lose you just yet,” I whisper in Spanish. She was adamant about us knowing, even Ty-Ty. Until we were fluent enough for her liking, it was all she spoke.
“Estoy siempre contigo, carino,” she mutters, rubbing my ear like I’m five again. (I’m always with you, sweetheart.)
I nod again, willing myself to believe the words.
“Come on, Ricky. Let’s go see about Mars.”
As soon as we cross into the Hundred Acre Wood, Pooh falls to his knees in front of Nan. He clings to her, worse than I did, and I find myself gawking like I’m watching someone pull flowers out of their pussy.
Maybe if I hadn’t knocked him out, I would have seen him cry like this at Ma’s funeral, but as it stands, Pooh has never been this inconsolable in public. In front of me.
“You and your son are so dramatic,” Nan huffs, though she rubs him soothingly like she did me. “Give me some credit, Winslow. I wasn’t even tied up when Rick got me.”
“Shut the fuck up, Ma,” he sputters, making her smile.
“Where Mars?”
“I, uh put him to sleep.”
My head snaps toward the hall, where a woman stands, holding onto the doorway. She’s looks too comfortable to not live here, but Pooh doesn’t keep any honeybees in the Hundred Acre Wood. And he wouldn’t want to lose his head having any whores around my nephew.
Even if she’s not a honeybee, she’s beautiful. Short, chocolate, and thick, with big ass eyes that don’t drop the more I stare at her.
In fact, she smiles, and walks over to me. Nah, not walk. She saunters over, and the closer she gets, the more I see why and how Pooh got her, and why she allowed a nigga like him to be able to do so.
“Hi, Rico. I’m Pilar.” She holds out a dainty hand, and I take it.
Her eyes slide to the holes in my hoodie, and I’m sure if it weren’t for the botox she got, her forehead would be wrinkled.
“I got a vest on,” I murmur, taking off my hoodie. Two sharp aches form on different parts of my torso from the movement.
“Let’s go to the sitting room and debrief. Come on, baby.”
Pooh stands, and lets Pilar guide him to the sitting room. Nan and I share a glance, and she rolls her eyes before following them.
“No es Ayani, pero está bien. Supongo,” she shrugs. (She’s no Ayani, but she’s okay. I guess.)
I cough to cover up my snort.
Welts cover where I was hit, but none of the bullets pierced the vest. I change into a fresh tee and take some aspirin before I lay eyes on Mars.
The Hundred Acre Wood is just as ostentatious as it’s always been. But the walls are lighter. The artwork, still from Black artists, but not as depressing as it used to be. And the smell of jasmine and freesia hug my nostrils.
This nigga is in love with a woman who isn’t Ma.
I’m more conflicted about it than I thought I would be.
“I gotta go. Snow’s sick, and I need to see about her.”
Nan’s eyes balloon, and she goes to stand, but Pooh stops her.
“Ain’t shit you need to do but be here for your family. I was at the hospital when Pooh called, and we had just got there. When I know more, I’ll update y’all, but do me a favor and stay here.”
“Do you know who tried to get at you?” Pooh asks, taking one of Pilar’s hands.
I wrench my gaze away from the gesture and nod. Should I be honest? If I tell Pooh, he’d handle it. It’s the after. The looks, the questions, talking about Fredo and his choices when he isn’t here to answer nor defend himself.
But we’re passed that, right? My crib is shot up, and my nephew is traumatized.
“You know, uh, Fiorella Jackson? She was the Italian woman Stick married. They got like three kids. The two boys are Foe Dub. Fred, uh, hung with the oldest one.”
“They were fucking,” Nan whispers loudly. Pooh’s head snaps to her, while Pilar’s eyes balloon as she focuses on the Persian rug in front of her.
“Well, yeah. They were together. But, uh, they also shared… a girlfriend.”
“Damn,” Pilar mutters. Pooh snaps his head back to her, burning a hole on the side of her face with his glare.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“Their girlfriend was Mars’s green ass mama,” Nan adds, curling her lip.
“Yes. Thank you, Nan. So anyway, Slime was also upset when I pulled up to the city with the son of his dead boyfriend that he had no idea about. And uh, we been kinda going back and forth. I thought I could handle it, but I’ll admit, the nigga is… escalating.”
“Escalating?! He snatched up my fuckin’ mama! Who is this nigga, hijo? And don’t say no fuckin’ set name. I know you know that nigga’s government.”
For the first time in my life, I feel like this nigga is reprimanding me and I actually… am receptive to it.