by Brick
“Not at all, nephew,” PT said with a smug look, watching the women who moved in and out of the corner store. “Damn, that ass!” he exclaimed. He turned to me. “You going in? Get me an ice cream and a drink.”
“Stop watching ass and maybe you could do what you do,” I said in humor.
Though he wasn’t my blood, it still felt like it. PT had been my first contact after I landed in Atlanta, and he always kept my business affairs in line here.
“I’m too old. Been in this heat too long. Treat an old man right, son,” he drawled.
“I got you. Relax in the ride and keep watching. I’ll make sure to get you a big plate and to ask for Alize to sit on your lap,” I joked.
I hopped out. I slipped on my stunners, tilted my hat low, and slid my hands in the pockets of my slacks while I walked toward the store. All of ATL was alive and buzzing with life. I nodded at the young girls, who giggled and soaked up my looks. I licked my lips, then smiled at the ones my age whose eyes told me they wanted to fuck. After holding the door open for the girls to walk through, I gave my respects to the elders with a nod, then strolled around the store.
Bought two bottled waters, a forty, several quarter bags of chips and Cheetos, and a stick of gum. I spoke in code to the owner about the latest shipment of marijuana coming in, and then I walked out. The heat had me taking my hat off and running a hand over the waves on my head. I kept my eyes on the horizon and noticed that the person in the modest ride was getting out. She leaned against the car, fanning herself, then started jumping around. I realized she was running from a bug, and it made me laugh. The girl looked familiar to me, but I brushed it off when a shorty with a phat booty and a sexy gaze walked past me.
Girly appeared exotic, as other dudes would label her looks, but I knew she had the traits of a black girl with Latino ancestry. This chick was definitely a new face, I noted as she walked into the store. I walked back to my ride, handed PT his share of the food, then leaned against my ride and crossed my ankles. Popping Cheetos in my mouth, I examined my surroundings, paying close attention to the two new faces in the area.
“Those the two you talking about, right?” I asked PT on the low.
PT leaned to his right and waved his bag around. “Goddamn. It followed me in here,” he yelled, putting on a show and living up to the “crazy old man” moniker people had labeled him with. “Yup.”
I laughed and gave a nod. “All right.”
Miss Cutie with the booty and the sultry eyes came out at that moment. She gazed across the lot, used the tip of her tongue to pull the straw in her drink into her mouth, then locked eyes on me. The way her lush lips parted in a grin, revealing only a little of her pearly whites, had my dick knocking on a hundred. However, the thinker that I was wouldn’t allow me to fall for her ploy. I mean, unless I was going to get some good pussy and head out of the deal before tossing her out of my hood, but that was neither here nor there.
I kept my gaze on her as I popped chips in my mouth and chewed slowly, with a smirk. Chicks walked around, yakking it up, while brothers spoke about how thick the chicks were, especially Miss Latina. Though I kept my gaze on her, a team of young brothers in oversize white shirts and pants chilling around their ankles overtook my line of vision. And just like that, once they moved, she was gone.
There was something about the girl that had piqued my interest. My cell going off let me know that it was time to go back to my complex to check on my weed distribution and other illegal distributions I had going on.
“A’ight, old man. Let’s go get your plate and get Alize to make it clap for you one good time. You know she’ll do it too. It makes her laugh.” I paused. “Remember that mixed-looking chick,” I added before I hopped back in my ride and pulled off.
PT took a deep swig of water, then opened the window and poured some of his forty out. “Yuh, I will. What about that awkward-looking young girl at the car?”
“Watch her too. They could be scoping, or they could be some college kids trying to feel themselves. Either way, you know what to do.”
Minutes later, we pulled up to my complex and then hopped out of the ride. PT shook my hand and stumbled toward the complex. I didn’t follow him. As he went toward the courtyard, I headed toward the apartment building I occupied, giving a nod to Alize when I passed her.
“Hey, pretty young thang. Come give ya unc a hug, and get me a big plate of that barbecue, gal. Mi fin see how yuh work da grill!” PT yelled as the doors closed behind me.
I knew everyone in the complex, some by name, others by face only. Weed filled my lungs, and I knew niggas were getting blazed. Music thumped, babies cried, and kids ran past me as I went to the farthest end of the complex. PT had reassured me the cops were chill, so the next thing I had to worry about, outside of the new faces in my zone, was collecting my money, counting it, and working on my bullets.
* * *
I sat, hours later, in my apartment, going over figures and checking on the regions my products were traveling to. I liked to make sure no region was oversaturated with my products. Shango gave me the rundown on how the drop had gone with our client. I laughed when he told me about how he had almost shot a rat that ran past his feet as he was coming in from outside. I made a note to get a better cleanup crew in this cesspool.
“Laughing at my pain ain’t cool, fam,” Shango grumbled.
He kicked a chair in front of my desk, then put down the tablet he held in his hands. On the flat screen, I checked out the image before me of the whole hood.
“Oh, that shit is funny. Best believe it, patna. But the new faces . . . I couldn’t see the other one’s face that well, but her locks are distinctive. But the sexy Latina? Damn. She is banging. Has a body shaped like a Coke bottle. Looking at her, I already know she’s trouble,” I shared with Shango.
Shango gave a deep laugh, then stretched his long legs out on my desk while he watched the flat screen. “Then you need to stay clear, like your old man schooled us to do. The yoni can trick a nigga when he least expects it. He may think he got control, but the way that baby works, you will find yourself with a polluted mind, caught up, with your hands in the air and your money gone.”
Popping a toothpick in my mouth to chew on, I gave a hearty chuckle. “You added that last crap to that phrase.”
“Maybe,” Shango said with a smirk.
I gave a nod, understanding what my boy was actually trying to say. My pops had really said, “Son, woman is the creation, the giver, the nurturer, and the truth, but if you fuck with her, she can be your pain, poison, or your death.”
Guessed that was why, with every lady I got with, I made for damn sure that I had the antivenom to that ass.
“Still pissed at you and Oya not working, huh?” I mused, then laughed at his scowl. “You messed that up, man. Your loss. Like I told you, should have left that alone and stuck with Alize. She compliments you, and you know it.”
My boy gave me a look of death. I loved messing with the homie. Dude kept thinking with his dick, so being locked down to one female wouldn’t happen anytime soon with him. He loved women too much. It was lucky for me and my team that the women on it didn’t hate each other and didn’t have that chicken-head mentality when it came to a brotha who they all knew just was not the settling down type of cat.
I laughed aloud, then glanced at the papers my right-hand gave me. “So this is a bunch of surveillance and blurry-ass pictures. What did the Scandinavians say about getting got? What else do you have, man?”
Shango gave me an amused grin. He swung his legs off my desk, then brushed a hand over his shirt. “I have plenty. I’m not your bodyguard and right-hand man for no reason. We have a little present. Check it out.”
He headed to my bathroom, banged a fist on the door, then opened it. A bound and gagged body fell forward to the floor with a harsh thud. The man had gray duct tape over his mouth. He was sweating. His graying hair and a missing eye stood out to me. I chuckled in amusement.
“Oh, so we leaving bodies and shit in my bathroom now?” I joked, then stood.
“Pretty much, sir,” Shango chuckled, getting in line with his role. “Allow me to introduce you to old man Chandler. The Scandinavians will be back later to pick him up. They want their own time with him for the drama that went down, but for now we get to squeeze a little juice outta the old rat.”
The old man struggled and wiggled on the floor before me. I took two strides and dropped into a crouch to look the old pirate-looking cat in the eye.
“Ah yeah?” I rubbed my hands together, then gave a broad smile, with my toothpick in the corner of my mouth. “’Sup, old man Chandler? You and me are about to know each other very well.”
I reached out to squeeze the old man’s chin, then tilted it up toward me.
I made my introduction clearly. “You can call me BK. I know you’re wondering why you’re here, so let me help you out. You dicked around and let others take what was mine. So, my friend, who has it, and where the fuck is it?”
Rolling the toothpick around in my mouth, I assessed this nigga. I gave a slight laugh before all emotion drained from my face. Our eyes locked in a silent challenge. I wasn’t the type of guy to get off on hurting others, but when pushed, I could make a nigga wish he was dead. I let my silence speak for me from that moment on.
It took time for people to understand how cold I could be when I was pushed to the limit or when I was fucked with. Chandler may have thought his time was running out, but what he didn’t know was that we had all the time in the world. He was going to tell me everything I needed to know—by choice or by force.
Chapter 8
Auto
“This is Auto’s Body and Collision.”
I answered my phone with caution because I didn’t know the number calling. Anyone who called me on that particular line was business. All that business was illegal. So for an unknown number to call me meant either the Feds were watching or someone was trying to set me up. Either way, I answered with trepidation. I could have ignored the call, but with all that was going on, I needed to be sure that whoever was calling didn’t have my shit.
A mangled voice on the other end came through the line. “Auto,” he uttered, then coughed like he was being strangled. “Th-this is Chandler. I . . . I need your help, man.”
“Help with what? Your trucks giving you issues? I told you, you should have let me give you all new engines, but you’re too cheap for your own good.”
“This ain’t about no fucking engines, man,” he roared at me.
I could tell he was in a compromising position from the way his voice croaked. If I didn’t know, I would assume he was in pain. My hand gripped the cell tighter. I could feel the muscles in my stomach coil, then release. Anger was riding me like a two-dollar whore. The fact that the motherfucker had the nerve to call me like all was well between the two of us made me want to kill him faster than planned.
“Well, what can I do you for? I’m not coming all the way back out to Vegas for some water pumps, though. You’re going to have to get one of the locals—”
“Nigga, I ain’t in Vegas no more. I’m in Atlanta,” he screamed. “These niggas you stole that truck from done got me. I’m too old for this shit, boy. Give the man back his stuff.”
I sat back in my chair and stared ahead at the busy auto shop floor before me. We hadn’t brought in any new merchandise since the fiasco in Vegas. We were trying to lay low, see if the Vikings or the person who was missing his merchandise would come looking for us.
“Chandler, what the hell you talking about, man? I don’t know nothing about no truck, or whatever the hell else you talking about. You getting senile on me?”
I hit the button underneath my desk. Red lights started flashing around the shop. Seymore was lying underneath a car. I watched as he used his hands to push the Craftman Creeper with the metal frame he was lying on. He quickly pushed himself over to his wheelchair. Used his upper-body strength to drag his feet behind him until he was in his chair. Dunkin and Jackknife, two other team members, ushered customers out of the shop, while Seymore ordered the rest of the crew to start locking the place up. The garage doors of the shop came down. Felt like I was in Fort Knox with the way shit was being shut down.
“Auto, stop playing with my life, nigga. Please,” Chandler begged. “They’re going to kill me, man.”
Any other time, hearing the old man babble and cry like he wished for death instead of the pain he was in would have gotten to me. Chandler had been with us for a long time. He was close to old man Law too. That was one of the reasons I’d started doing business with him. But he’d betrayed my trust and my loyalty, and he had put the lives of my crew and our livelihood in jeopardy. I wanted to feel something for him, but with the way my stance on loyalty was set up, I couldn’t. Once a snake, always a snake.
The phone beeped, then vibrated. I pulled it away from my ear, then hit the speaker button. There was a text from the same number. I clicked the icon and watched as Chandler’s bloodied face and body took over my screen. He had only one eye to begin with. The patch that had covered the one made of glass was missing. Looked as if his glass eye had been taken out. He was naked. His pale body was bloody and covered with blisters and cuts. The nails on his left hand had been ripped from the beds of his fingers. His lips were swollen.
He kept begging, “Please, Auto. Please, man. Just tell him where his product is, or they going to kill me.”
“Well, shit, Chandler. Just what the fuck you done gone and got yourself into, man?” I asked as I stood.
My voice held no emotion. I had detached myself from the situation so I could be sure my family was safe. I grabbed my personal cell and sent texts to Lelo, Stitch, and Reagan, telling them to abort the mission to Vegas. Good thing they hadn’t gone the night before, as planned. Did the same to Code and told her to bring the newbie back. If somebody had gone to Vegas to get Chandler, then that meant the Vikings would be right behind them and would be showing up in Atlanta. We needed to make sure our home turf was covered.
The old man yelled at me, “Jesus Christ, Auto. Please don’t leave me hanging like this, man. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, a’ight? I needed the money Mouse was offering me, man. I needed it. I didn’t know shit about those bullets, I swear to the Most High.”
I kept silent. So, he had sold us out for a few extra dollars and in return had got fucked up the ass with no lube because the Vikings had involved him in some shit that was bigger than him.
“Chandler, look, man, I don’t know anything about no bullets. I don’t deal in no underhanded shit. I don’t know anybody named Mouse. All I do, all we do over here, is fix cars, man. I don’t know what you done gone and got yourself into, but don’t involve me and my family. Don’t do that. You send anybody this way just to get heat off your ass, then what’s being done to you will be nothing once I’m done. You understand me, old man? Don’t do it. I will kill you and not think twice about that shit.”
“Auto,” he yelled. “Aww, shit. Ah, no, man. Nooo!”
In all my life, I’d never heard a man scream like Chandler did at that moment. Even with the juvie hall rapes, when young males took another’s manhood, I hadn’t heard a scream, a yelp of pain, like what I heard from Chandler.
I chuckled. “You just reminded me why I don’t go against the grain. Good luck, Chandler.”
I was just about to hang up when another voice came on the line. “Auto, is it?”
My spine stiffened. “Who the fuck wants to know?”
“I want to know only one thing, a’ight? Do you have my merchandise?”
I made note of the fact he had a drawl when he spoke. It was Southern, but it wasn’t ATL Southern.
“I see Chandler ain’t the only one hard of hearing,” I muttered.
“Is that yes or no? You get only one time to make a wrong a right.”
I frowned, then licked my lips as I loaded a clip into my gun, then pressed the barrel down into my desk.
“I really wish I could help you, my dude. I really do. Unfortunately, all I specialize in is the grease monkey business. But if I hear anything, I’ll send you a pigeon message or some shit,” I said.
“You sure you want to do this? Play this game? Run with the pack? A measly autoworker like yourself should just stick to what he knows.”
I grunted at his slight insult. I took it for what it was, though. He was a man without his product, trying to shake his trees to see how many snakes fell out. But he didn’t know who he was talking to. All my life I’d been adapting. My specialty was taking on whatever environment was around me. It was a nature versus nurture kind of thing. Everything that I was and all my knowledge had been determined by my experience.
“You must be shapeless, formless, like water. When you pour water in a cup, it becomes the cup. When you pour water in a bottle, it becomes the bottle. When you pour water in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Water can drip, and it can crash. Become like water, my friend.”
“Bruce Lee,” the man on the other end of the line said to me, informing me that he knew where my words had come from. “If you’re a fan of his, then you know that mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them.”
A dangerous smile curved my lips. “Mistakes? I never make mistakes, like stealing another man’s shit. You want to talk about mistakes, you talk to Chandler. You talk to those Vikings he was blabbering about. I didn’t make any mistakes.”
Feeling like I’d already said too much, I hung up the phone. I pulled my holster strap on, then slid my guns into the holders before pulling the top of my jumper on. I snatched open the door to my office and signaled for Seymore to keep the place locked down.
“Keep this shit on lock until I get back or send word otherwise. If some shit goes down, you know what to do,” I told him.
He nodded, shotgun lying across his lap. “You want me to call in backup?”
I stopped, then thought about it for a second. “I don’t know. I need to ride through the hood and see what I can find out.”