Chapter 2
“E, I just saw ya momma. Every time I try to talk to her, she runs from me. I’m getting sick of this shit now.
All this running shit. And where the fuck you been, nigga?
Ain’t see your ass since the other day when you pointed that bitch ass gun in my face.
Should’ve slapped yo ass since you big and bad.
Anyway, tell yo mama to stop doing that shit.
It’s pissing me off.” Ernest Moore’s voice was laced with confusion and delusion.
He’d called his son in the past, always getting the voicemail because Erys didn’t have the heart to block him.
Afterall, his blood ran through his veins and it wasn’t like Ernest hadn’t tried to be a father or get his mother back in his good graces.
Erys was young and didn’t fuck with the idea of his father pimping his mother out or having her associated with a life that was a direct danger to her wellbeing.
That was then and apparently, that’s where his seventy-six year olds fathers’ mind was too.
They hadn’t seen each other since Erys was seventeen, jacking cars, armed robbery, and participating in shootouts as a Trae Way Gangsta from the west side.
An intense moment between father and son that shared blood and eerie similarities.
Erys looked at the phone screen, staring at the end of the voicemail and still…
shook. As fearless of a man he was, something about his father sounding like that rattled his core.
Being back in Waynesville, knowing he sounded like that rattled his core.
However tonight, he didn’t have the time to get to the bottom of it or let the last piece he had of the people who’d made him tug at the tenderness he buried underneath the hardness of his exterior.
One foot in front of the other, he maneuvered out of the Cashmere Lakes home to the awaiting blacked-out Ram TRX. Trae Way shit through and through. Out the window, his name was being shouted with glee.
“Muhfuckin’ Crazy Trae from the westside!” Tone, a Trae Way Gangsta from the east side shouted out.
Erys hadn’t smiled in the last fifteen years.
There wasn’t shit to smile about. He spotted the friend he’d met in his time in and out of juvenile detention centers, on and off the streets until the judge sent Erys away to Fort Wraith to teach him a lesson.
A fifteen year lesson that didn’t make him any less angry – just frigid.
A nod was tossed in Tone’s direction before Erys climbed inside the lifted truck. The two shared a Trae Way handshake and Tone continued. “Can’t believe you back, nigga. Like I’m looking at a ghost or something.”
“Nah, ain’t no ghost. It’s me. What I can’t believe is that you roped me into moving back here.
I swear your nephew better be worth a damn.
I could be on an island enjoying retirement,” Erys’ tone came out in a low rumble.
One Tone was used to, Erys had always sounded like he was ready to wreak havoc in any shape or form.
Barely talked to most people but was fully about action.
“You’re the one who said he could be something,” Tone replied.
“I told you that shit to get you off my line,” Erys shared. “Who booked this nigga anyway?”
“Wild Flame. The new Midnight,” Tone added.
“Where the fuck Midnight go?” Erys asked. His ear hadn’t been to the streets because he never intended on being back here.
Tone kissed his grill covered teeth. “You don’t listen to shit I say?”
Erys looked up from his phone to the street to get a mental pinpoint of where they were headed. “Nigga, you call to talk for hours and I listen to the shit that matters. And sometimes, don’t none of that shit matter.”
Tone swayed his head in laughter. “All these years, you the same nonchalant nigga. Anyway, my nephew has grown. The nigga got a future and you got a charismatic way of gettin’ niggas to listen. Might be borderline psychotic but it’s effective.”
Erys turned to look at the side of Tone’s face before turning his attention back to his phone. “And who am I supposed to make listen?”
“I need to get him into MB’s space. But you need to know the product you selling before you do that.”
“You a muhfucka,” Erys blew. “If that nigga can’t rap his way out of a paper bag, I’ma leave you and that nigga in the wild spark.”
“Wild Flame,” Tone corrected.
“Whatever the fuck it is,” Erys muttered.
“I’m driving,” Tone stated matter-of-factly as if Erys had been that out of touch with reality the entire time he was on assignment.
“What the fuck does that mean to me?” Erys asked. “I have JoyRide. You think I was that out of touch?”
“Was?” Tone toyed. “Nah. Not completely.”
“Anyway back to … what’s the nigga’s name?”
“YN3Dub.” Tone spoke proudly and Erys’ face frowned instantly. “Young Nigga Three Way.”
“Man, let me out right fucking now,” Erys quipped. “I’m not wasting my time with no gotdamn Young Nigga Three Way.”
“His street name is 3Dub,” Tone defended in laughter.
“I don’t give a damn what his street name is.
Don’t worry about it. Let me out, I’m not doing this shit with you.
I haven’t had solid sleep in a bed worth a damn in fifteen years and you got me out here for this bullshit.
Nigga, I should shoot you.” Erys was draped in seriousness while Tone laughed harder.
“YN3Dub got to be the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard and you want him in front of MB with that? Hell nah.”
“Just hear him out and do your manager shit.”
“And while this Young Nigga Dumbass is getting on my nerves, you’re doing what?”
Tone smiled a whole diamond-encrusted smile. “I’m your money man. Got to wash all this shit somehow.”
Erys groaned and sunk into his seat. “You know, you always get me into some bullshit. From ten until thirty-five, you ain’t tired of this shit? You don’t wanna leave the streets and go be a internet pastor or something?”
“Hold on, man. You got sent to Fort Wraith and my ass got sent to prison for the last shit you got me into,” Tone said in a matter-of-fact cadence.
“Nigga hit my momma. I’ll go to hell about my mama in life and in death,” Erys stated.
“Heard.”
“And I would’ve taken prison over that.”
Tone chuckled. “ Being a soldier on the streets and in the military ain’t no different.”
Erys didn’t respond. Fort Wraith was presented as where the country’s best went to defend, protect, and serve.
Fort Wraith was where killers were sent to become lethal mercenaries.
Erys had a body count stained on his hands that turned him into a machine.
Souls haunted his sleep and danced on his conscience when he was awake.
It’d been six months since his contract was up and he still didn’t feel normal. Still had no idea what normal was.
When they arrived to the club, Erys’ body went into overdrive. Not because of the half – if not fully – naked women, it was the amount of gangstas and civilians in one space. Too many bodies, too many untrained shooters and not enough exits.
“You want a drink?” Tone asked as they took a seat. Knowing his friend, Tone placed them in a position to see the stage and the handful of exits.
“Water. In a bottle unopened.” Erys stated, as Tone waved over a half-naked waitress. “What time this nigga go on?”
“Soon enough. Until then, enjoy. You uptight and shit. You need some pussy on your lap. Matter of fact-” Tone said, waving a handful of strippers over.
“Nigga, I’ll kill you,” Erys muttered.
“Nah, you won’t. You tried once, remember? I’m the only nigga in the world that ain’t scared of you ‘cause you out of your mind,” Tone shared.
The strippers pranced over, ready to provide a lap dance for the men.
The music, the red lights, the smoke covering the floor of the center stage stole his attention.
Through the fog, the glimmer of clear platform heels, reflection of the red, pleather thong-backed body suit captivated him.
He’d been in more strip clubs to count. Never to relax or enjoy paying for pleasure – but to kill.
He was the man to hold people captive. He clenched his jaw, watching the show she put on.
The effortless spins, the incorporation of her dance and tricks on and around the pole.
It wasn’t the show, though. Or the outfit that only allowed the patrons view of her perfectly-sized ass with the heart birthmark on the upper left cheek.
It was her eyes. They were full of fury.
Most men would’ve called it passion that allured them to the pout of her lips while they daydreamed of the possibilities of the fantasy becoming reality.
For Erys, her presence was telling. She didn’t belong here.
“Yeah, shake that ass for Sweet Lick Ernie!” Erys heard that weathered voice over the music.
The cadence halted his study of the woman on stage with the ones, five, tens and twenties floating around her.
His eyes darted from the lady in red to his father in a sequined red suit, posted up in a corner booth throwing dollars at the few strippers dancing on the table before him.
Before Erys could get control of himself, he was on his feet and in stride over to his father.
“What the fuck you doing, Ernest?” Erys questioned with a growl, peering down at his father.
The eyes that looked back at him were foreign, as if they didn’t recognize him.
It wasn’t until his father let a smirk form over his lips.
“Who the fuck you callin’ Ernest? I’m still your daddy, nigga.
Don’t give a fuck how many muscles you got.
Either you throwing money at these bitches or getting the fuck on. ”
“You need to be getting’ the fuck on,” Erys replied. There had always been something about his father in spaces that he occupied that triggered him more than he was willing to share. More than he had shared.
“I’m not going nowhere. My Remedy is on stage,” Mr. Ernie replied, shooing him away.