Chapter 2 #2
Jogging up the concrete stairs that led to the porch, I spoke because I’d been raised up right. I stood near the little Cuppacios and took in the scenery. It was too open out here, so I wouldn’t be participating, but I’d watch their backs and kick shit.
Italian’s young ass talked shit as he rolled all the right numbers, making everyone empty their fucking pockets.
“This nigga be cheating so bad,” the one whom he’d been having the conversation about Yo Gotti with said as he shook his head and stood.
“On foe ’nem! I ain’t gotta cheat. Just admit this nigga is the truth. Y’all may as well give it up unless y’all want to play for that costume-ass jewelry.”
Italian pointed to a bystander, who was wearing a thin diamond chain. It wasn’t the best quality of diamonds, but it was worth gambling for, depending on who you were.
“Shit, leggo!” He squatted, accepting Italian’s challenge.
“Ro!”
My neck cracked when I turned as if the woman had been calling my name.
There was a thick, pretty, peanut butter-hued beauty standing on the porch of a cream-colored house that was in better condition than the rest of the row houses.
Not by much, but enough to show whoever lived there cared enough to make it look presentable as best they could.
With her hand on her hip, she ran her free one through her short, blunt bob as she waited for a response from whoever Ro was.
“Roooo!”
She was in scrubs with the bottoms slightly discolored due to excessive washing, and her top had Tweety Bird all over it.
I could see the stress lines in the crease of her eyes, even though she didn’t look too much older than my sister, Tuscany.
She was fine as fuck with her slim waist and slick curves, and she had the face to match, but her looks weren’t what had me fixated on her.
There was a familiarity about her. I knew it was because I’d seen the same look on my sister’s and my mama’s faces.
She was a black woman who was tired and trying to make do with what life had given her, yet it still wasn’t enough.
Her eyes were fixated on the group around me. I did a quick sweep of the porch to see who she was talking to as the guys simply ignored her.
“Aye!” Italian shook the dice in his fist. “Tell dat nigga, Ro, his fine-ass sister on her good bullshit again.”
One of the little Cuppacios kicked off the wall and opened the door. The smell of bleach, Windex, and Pine-Sol spilled onto the porch. From where I stood, I could see a couch, a TV, and a gaming system, but the space was sparse, although it was clean.
“Aye, Ro… Your sis want you,” he called into the house before letting the door close.
Ro’s sister continued to stand on her porch, leaning on the railing, which made her hips spread even more. With the way she was squinting and tapping her Crocs against the concrete, she was most definitely on good bullshit.
Seconds later, the door opened, and a tall, lanky dude who looked exactly like Ms. Peanut Butter over there appeared.
He pulled at his sweats and groaned. When a girl walked from behind him in a little-ass dress that showed her ass cheeks as she walked by, I chuckled.
I remembered those days. The shit used to drive Tuscany crazy, and when my mama finally got her right mind, she used to be pissed too.
It was a blessing that five boys had made it into adulthood without any pregnancies.
“Fuck!” he complained out loud.
As the girl switched down the porch steps, his sister glared at her, turning her lip up in disapproval. He looked over at me, paused, and then jutted his chin. I returned the gesture.
“You still breaking niggas, I see,” he said to Italian, like his sister wasn’t ready to tear his ass open.
“You know it.”
“Aye! You got another job coming up soon?” he asked low enough for only Italian’s ears since everyone else were in side conversations.
“Yeah… I think so. I’ma talk to my people, and then I’ma hit you up.”
Visual relief expelled from his chest. “’Preciate that.”
Ro left the porch without saying anything else and jogged toward his sister. I watched as she talked her shit, in which all he did was rub his hand down his waves and then pull her into his side, leading her into the house.
“His sister is so fucking fine! My brother said she been fine since they was kids. He also said her ass been stuck up since then too. I think she gay,” the nigga, who was playing for his chain, gossiped.
“She gay cuz she not paying yo’ young ass no mind?” Italian retorted.
“Nah, she’s gay cuz she ain’t giving no nigga out here no play. She been in the hood her whole life and can’t nobody say they fucked.”
“That just means she’s selective about who she fuck with,” one of Italian’s friend’s spoke up. I didn’t think he was a Cuppacio, but he may as well have been. “Don’t nobody want no ran-through-ass girl.”
“Shit, speak for yourself. As a matter fact, Porsha can bring her good pussy ass right the fuck back when I’m done with this game.”
“Nigga, Ro just slutted the bitch out. Give the pussy some time to cool down!” Italian clowned.
“Hell nawl! I ain’t no fuckin’ mechanic. Her pussy maintenance ain’t got shit to do with me.”
I shook my head because these young niggas were wild. I didn’t judge since my brothers and I had taken plenty of bitches down together.
“And why you always giving Ro jobs and shit?” the same nigga complained. “We like money too. That nigga don’t need it… He be slanging.”
“Gossiping don’t look good on a hard leg. It’s the reason I don’t offer you shit. Plus, you ain’t got no fuckin’ license, nigga.” Italian rolled the dice, ending the game. “Now, come clean, chatty-patty-ass bitch.”
Italian reached up and snatched the chain off ole boy’s neck, not giving him a chance to remove it himself. The whole porch roared in laughter, while I shook my head for the umpteenth time.
Face red with embarrassment, the youngin’ held up the middle finger. “Fuck y’all. Aye, Porsha! Bring yo’ hot pussy ass back here.”
He ran off the porch in the direction the girl Ro had just come out of the house with. It then dawned on me why Ro’s sister looked so familiar. I’d seen Ro at the engagement party. He was one of the valet tenants. I nodded at the fact that he was at least trying to get some money out here.
Italian held the chain up to inspect it. “Come on. I’m done here, big cuz. And we need a ride.” He grinned at me.
“Lemme find out dat’s why you called me, youngin’. Come on.”
It was three of them in total who followed me off the porch. Italian got in the passenger and the other two sat against a door in the back.
“Bust this right,” Italian instructed as he counted the earnings crumbled up in his lap. “I’m ’bout to pawn this shit right here, and then we going to the mall.”
“I’ll take y’all ass to da pawn shop, but den I’m droppin’ you off to yo’ car. Dis ain’t fuckin’ Lyft.”
“Shit, I can do you one even better. You can take us to the pawn shop, and we can catch a ride from there…” He grinned mischievously.
I knew a car thief when I saw one, and I knew that’s what Italian was insinuating. My car-stealing days were behind me, but if the situation called for it, I’d do what the fuck I had to do to get around too.
“Aye, Gal… You know if Bella ’nem got them shoes that came out?” Italian asked with a raise of his neck.
“Nigga, ion know. That’s yo’ fuckin’ cousin,” Gal replied, all calm and shit.
“Yeah, but you watch her every fuckin’ move, so I thought you knew. That’s my bad.” Italian smirked. “I’ll just call Pearla. This their shoe money.”
The other little Cuppacio snickered. “You just tryna buy some shit for Mahzeyah, but you’n wanna look like a trick.”
“I ain’t no trick. But if I’m gone buy my cousins some shoes, why would I leave their friend out? I’ma nice guy.” Italian grinned with a shrug.
“Who Mahzeyah?” I asked.
“She a year older than him, and her daddy is that nigga, Millionaire. That man is filthy rich, and he doesn’t play about his daughter. Plus, if you tryna get her attention away from Flexer, you gotta buy more than a hundred-and-fifty-dollar pair of shoes.”
The boys laughed at Italian’s expense.
“Flexer? Da rapper?” I asked, my tone curious. If Italian was trying to bag a rapper’s girl, they weren’t lying.
“Man, fuck y’all! Ion give a fuck ’bout that nigga. It ain’t even like that with Mahzeyah and me.”
“But you like her?” I asked.
“It’s beyond like, that nigga love her.”
Everyone laughed at Gal, and even Italian grinned.
“She pretty. She spoiled. She soft. She smell good. She different. I fuck with her, but ion wanna touch her. One day, I’ma be larger than life.
I wanna fuck all the model bitches and shit first. I gotta get all that outta my system, and then I’ma go at her.
I know if I get her right now, I ain’t going to do right, so I’d rather just be cool with her,” Italian said with some sound reason.
“Yeah. Dat’s da best thang you can do. If it’s meant to be, it will.
Don’t drag her into some shit when you know you ain’t gone do right by her.
Plus, y’all young as fuck. But if she fuckin’ with a rapper, by da time you get yo’ shit together, she either gone be madly in love with da nigga or severely damaged from da nigga. You gonna be ready for dat?”
Italian folded his money into one big stack while letting my words linger. He looked up at me and smirked. “If we take it there, I’ma want everything that Mahzeyah gone come with. I’m patient.”
“Yeah, and you see what that patient shit got Grind… Barely hangin’ on to life ’fore he could even bag his dream girl. Got Pearla walkin’ around this bitch, not even acting or looking the same. Time don’t wait for nobody,” Gal murmured.