The three of them looked at one another. It was a voice that neither of them recognized, no matter how hard they thought about it. And it was a voice that clearly did not belong to Byron.
“Who this?” Jackson asked.
“This Ryan,” the voice said. “This Jackson? This is Byron’s brother, nigga.”
At that moment, Ayana, Tramar, and Jackson could hardly blink. They looked at one another, almost frozen. They wished that they could be somewhere on the other side of the world, like Brazil or Tanzania or somewhere that nobody in Chicago could even think of. This was the moment they feared, especially Jackson, as his name was caught up with Byron more than Tramar’s, even though Tramar’s family had been kidnapped and held hostage.
“What the fuck you want, nigga?” Jackson asked, not wanting to have a full- blown conversation. Before he could get a response, he held the phone away from his body for a brief moment. “You don’t think he with the police, and they try’na track us or somethin’, do you?”
Ayana and Tramar looked at one another. Neither of them could answer that question. Once Jackson saw he was not going to get an answer, he held the phone out between the three of them and put the call with Byron’s brother on speakerphone. “Nigga, I know you hear me talkin’ to you bitch ass,” Ryan said, clearly sounding full of anger and rage. “Jackson, and Tramar, if he there with you, I know y’all niggas killed my brother and shit. I saw the job y’all did over at my grandma’s house on Holston. Good work, I gotta say. But Juan and Knight filled me in on the foul shit y’all niggas did. I hope y’all don’t think y’all can hide from me and the fuckin’ police and shit. I seen y’all's sorry asses on the news and shit, niggas. Y’all prolly the most wanted niggas in the Midwest right now.”
“Nigga, fuck you and your brother,” Jackson said. “That nigga was nothin’ but a thief and a fuckin’ con artist and shit. You just mad that he finally got what was comin’ to him.”
“Yeah, fuck him!” Tramar said, not being able to contain himself anymore. “That nigga took shit too fuckin’ far when he fucked with my family and shit. He lucky killin’ his ass was all we did. I shoulda tortured his ass the way he did my family and shit. Fuck him and fuck you.”
“Nigga, listen to me and stop runnin’ your mouth like you some little bitch or somethin’,” Ryan said. “I’mma have niggas out lookin’ for y’all asses. And we not gon’ stop until I find you, best believe that. And, if we don’t find you, we gon’ figure out where both y’all’s families are. Take one of mine, and I’mma take one of yours.”
Tramar thought of his son, Quan. He grabbed the phone out of Jackson’s hand and yelled into it. “Nigga, fuck with my family again and see what happen!”
Tramar then noticed that Ryan had hung up the phone. “Fuck!” he said, the word slipping out of his mouth almost as if he were yelling. He lifted his balled fist up to his mouth as he realized what had just happened. Everything changed.
Jackson and Ayana looked at one another. They both were well aware that Tramar would now be in a different mood. Ayana herself was not only confused, but afraid. Being honest, or keeping it real, while also being supportive had proven to be a real juggling act for her. She started to feel as if she was balancing the world on her shoulders.
“Tramar, man,” Jackson said, knowing that his voice wouldn’t necessarily be wanted at the moment, “we gotta get rid of that car. Man, we gotta get rid of Byron’s Bugatti.”
“Yeah,” Ayana said, walking toward Tramar. “We gon’ have to get rid of that car, baby.”
“I know, I know,” Tramar said, calming down. “I can’t fuckin’ believe this shit. We gon’ have to head back to Chicago so we can handle this shit. Man, I can’t handle nothin’ else happenin’ to my family like that again. It’s already bad enough that I wasn’t able to save them right away when it was happenin’. I can only imagine what my daddy over there, wherever he is, is thinkin’. He raised a fuckin’ nigga that robbed banks and killed somebody. Can’t even fuckin’ get away from the state and shit without this shit happenin’. How he find Byron’s body so quick?”
“I don’t know, man,” Jackson said. “I mean, he said he was his brother so maybe they real tight and hang out all the time. I don’t know. But you already know what that mean.”
“What what mean?” Tramar asked.
“You know that the police gon’ be lookin’ for Byron’s Bugatti now that they know the nigga dead and shit,” Jackson explained. “It’s only a matter of time before we get pulled over in that thing, and they know exactly who the fuck we are. Man, I don’t even want my fuckin’ fingerprints in that shit because you know what that means.” Jackson ignored Tramar’s silence. “You know that mean that they gon’ be able to connect us to Byron’s murder. Then they really gon’ be lookin’ for our asses, and we killed that nigga in a nice white neighborhood and shit.”
“Nigga, I know,” Tramar said. He breathed heavily through his nose. “I know, I know, I know.”
“What y’all thinkin’ about doin’ so we can get rid of that car?” Ayana asked.
After a few moments of silence, Tramar came up with a possible solution. “Shit,” he said, “what we can do is just leave the shit on a street somewhere. Or, I got a betta fuckin’ idea.” He smiled, nodding his head. “We can do some real nigga shit and set some otha niggas up on bein’ stupid and shit.”
“What you mean, baby?” Ayana asked, trying to connect the dots on this idea. They didn’t even know anybody in Omaha to set up in any way to begin with, so she was a bit confused.
“I mean,” Tramar said, moving his hands, “what we can do is leave the keys in it, some old dumb white people shit, and leave the car downtown or somewhere, I don’t give a fuck. Then, just let some nigga steal it or somethin’.”
Jackson nodded his head, liking this idea. “That shit could work, man,” he said. “You know how niggas be actin’ too sometimes, at least in Chicago they act that way. They be walkin’ by nice cars and shit, parked on the street and stoppin’ and lookin’ at the shit like they ain’t never seen it before.”
“Exactly,” Tramar said. “And once they do, which you know they will, especially if we park it in a hood part or some shit, at night and shit, too, they gon’ see the keys on the seat or somewhere and think that somebody left that shit like that. You know they gon’ steal it and at least go on a joy ride.”
“And if whoever steal it get pulled over, they on a real joy ride,” Ayana said, then giggled.
“Then they could be the one they blame for Byron gettin’ a bullet in his head or some shit,” Jackson said, nodding his head. “Okay, okay. Let’s do that shit then. Plain and simple. All we gotta do is look around and make sure ain’t no cameras lookin’ down our necks and shit.”
“Exactly,” Tramar said. He then shook his head. “But, fuck, how the fuck we gon’ get on another car and shit without havin’ to run up on some nigga or some shit like that?”
“Fuck,” Jackson said, looking toward the staircase to the main level of the house. “When Durrell’s company leave, we can ask him. I mean, I know the nigga on house arrest and shit, but he might know what we can do or know some niggas around here in Omaha that he can hook us up with.”
“Fuck,” Tramar said. “You know I already don’t really like dealin’ with people that I don’t know, especially not no niggas. Plus, you want us to do that shit in some place we ain’t even from. Nigga, I don’t know about that shit.”
“What other choice we got?” Jackson asked, starting to get a little irritated. “I mean, nigga think about this shit. I know you ain’t try’na be scared and shit half the time, but you be actin’ like we got choices and shit. I mean, you really think that we can just up and go down to the fuckin’ bus station or some shit like that? Nigga, is you trippin’? I don’t like dealin’ with people I don’t know either, and especially not no niggas. But look at where we are right now.” Jackson turned side to side and looked at both sides of the basement. “Ain’t l
ike we really can do shit else. We in a buddy of mine’s basement. At least he was a real enough nigga to hook us up with this and help us out when a lotta otha niggas prolly wouldn’t have even answered the phone and shit. I guess you be forgettin’ and shit that we wanted bank robbers and you a wanted murderer.”
“Nigga, I ain’t no murderer!” Tramar said. Within the blink of an eye, Tramar pushed Jackson hard enough that he stumbled a couple of steps back.
Quickly, Jackson regained his balance and came back to where he’d been standing. “Nigga, what the fuck is your problem?” Jackson asked.
Without hesitation, Ayana stepped between the two best friends. She could see that both of them were getting a little aggressive, and the two of them not being able to work together was something they didn’t need at this time. There was too much at stake. “Stop it, stop it!” Ayana said. “Come on, y’all. We ain’t got time for this shit. Tramar, I’m with Jackson on this.”
Tramar looked at his woman, a little surprised by her statement. “Oh, you are?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Ayana answered, confidently. “Baby, think about it. We gotta get the fuck outta here and somebody is gon’ have to help us. Can’t you see that? Somebody is gon’ have to help us. So, yeah, we gon’ be at somebody else’s mercy so we can at least get movin’ again. You heard what that nigga on the phone said, Byron’s brother. We gotta get back to Chicago ASAP. And we ain’t got the time to be try’na get to know people here in Omaha and shit.”
Tramar nodded his head, realizing that he needed to calm down. “All right, all right,” he said. “My bad. So, you know when that nigga’s company is leavin’ so we can talk to him or what?”
Jackson lifted his phone up and said, “I’ll text him right now and see what he say.”
The three of them sat back down onto the couch as Jackson waited for Durrell to respond. “Man, this shit is so fucked up,” Tramar said. “If that nigga do something to my family. We gotta stop his ass.”
Ayana looked at the duress in Tramar’s face. She almost wanted to cry. She couldn’t begin to imagine what his mind was going through. She then looked at Jackson. While he didn’t have nearly as much family as Tramar, he too was worried. Not being in Chicago to be around to protect their families was taking a toll on these two young men.
“It’s gon’ be okay,” Ayana said, knowing that she wasn’t truly confident in her own words. “It’s gon’ be okay. So, when was y’all actually try’na head back to Chicago.”
“As soon as we get the keys to another car,” Jackson answered. “The more I think about it, the more I know that Durrell prolly do got a friend or some nigga around here who can hook us up with somethin’. I just wanna make sure that we can get something with tinted windows.”
“See, I just don’t know,” Tramar said. “I mean, who the fuck is just gon’ have a extra car sittin’ around that they’ll let a few wanted people use to drive all the way from fuckin’ Omaha, Nebraska to Chicago? I mean, really? Who the fuck gon’ have that shit and have it just when we need it?”
Ayana looked down. Hearing Tramar use the word few really struck a nerve with her. She realized that as much as she would like to be innocent, as she didn’t actually do anything at either bank, she was guilty. Not only was she an accomplice, but she was also helping to hide a criminal. While she couldn’t remember the specific name of the criminal charge, she was more than sure that she’d seen it on television. There were plenty of black women that came before her who walked miles in her shoes. She used to have indifferent feelings toward them, telling herself that she’d never be in such a situation. However, strangely enough, this situation was somewhat comfortable, especially compared to living under her mother’s roof. There was a strange sense of freedom she’d never felt before. Beyond this, she wondered how long the money they had left over from the robberies in Indiana would last. They still needed to count it to be sure.
Jackson held his phone up. “He responded,” he said. “He said he’ll be down here in five minutes, and that his company is about to leave.”
“Okay,” Tramar said, looking down at the floor.
The next several minutes were somewhat quiet. Even though Tramar had calmed down, there was still tension in the air. Ayana sat between Tramar and Jackson and could feel their body heat on both sides of her own. They both had different views on things, but the same common goal: to get away from Chicago and avoid going to prison.
Durrell came stomping down the steps shortly after they heard the front door close. “Damn, y’all alright down here?” he asked, seeing that everyone in the room was not in the best of spirits.
Tramar, Jackson, and Ayana stood up and faced Durrell. “Naw, man,” Jackson said. “We gon’ have to get our hands on another car and shit, you feel me?” he said. “We was gon’ ask you if you can help us out.”
“Another car?” Durrell asked. “Why the fuck y’all niggas need another car for? I saw y’all pulled up in that Bugatti and shit, lookin’ cold as a mothafucka.”
“Yeah, but that ain’t our shit,” Tramar said. “That’s this nigga’s shit and now we gotta get rid of it.”
“Yeah,” Jackson said. “It’s only a matter of time and shit before they gon’ be lookin’ for that car. We gotta hurry up and get rid of it and get…”
“Back on our way,” Tramar said, cutting off Jackson. “We just don’t wanna finish the rest of our journey in the same shit we started it in. And now we know that they gon’ be lookin’ for that car, and the shit is easy to find.
All three of them remembered how they’d told Durrell they were going one direction on the map when in reality they were going in another completely.
“Bet,” Durrell said. “You know they gon’ see a couple niggas in that car and know it’s y’all niggas if they put that shit on the news. Damn, y’all in a tight spot. I can only think of one person who might have another car that they’d let y’all use and shit for somethin’ like that, but she don’t like dealin’ with people she don’t know, either. Omaha real small, especially compared to Chicago, and you really gotta be careful who you fuck around with here ‘cause there just ain’t as many people.”
“Yeah, I feel you on that, Durrell,” Jackson said. “But, man, you feel like you can hit her up and see what she got to say. Nigga, tell her that we can pay her and shit for the car. We can make it worth her while and that she can report the shit stolen or somethin’. They ain’t gon’ never know that it was us who stole the shit no way, especially not here in Omaha. I mean, I don’t even know if the law and shit know that we even in fuckin’ Omaha.”
“Y’all niggas been payin’ cash since you left Chicago, ain’t you?” Durrell asked.
“Hell yeah,” Tramar said. “So, man. You think you can hit her up and see what she say. The sooner we can get goin’, the betta.”
Durrell nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He scrolled through his contacts as he spoke. “Yeah, let me see if she answer her phone,” he said. “We actually used to mess around a little bit and shit, but we just friends now and on some coo shit and stuff. She got with some new nigga, and we never even brought the shit up.”
“What’s this chick’s name?” Jackson asked. “What she like?”
Durrell looked up at Jackson and chuckled. “She’s…” he answered, his voice trailing. “She’s something, all right. Just wait till you see her.”
Tramar and Jackson looked at one another and smiled. Tramar then looked at Ayana, who was quickly becoming skeptical of this entire situation. “What you mean wait until we see her?” Ayana asked.
“I really can’t describe it, but hold up,” Durrell said. He tapped his friend’s name in his contacts then held the phone up to the side of his head. A few seconds later, she answered. “Wassup, it’s me,” he said. “It’s Durrell.”
Ayana, Tramar, and Jackson stood there as they heard the mumbled voice of a female on the other end.
“Look,” Durrell said, looking around the room, “I go
t a couple coo niggas I know who need a little help. They wanna know if you got a car they can use to head back out of Omaha and shit. They got caught up in some shit and…”
Durrell’s words were cut off by the chick’s talking. From the sounds of it, she was getting kind of loud.
“Would you calm down?” Durrell asked, smiling and shaking his head. “Damn, calm down. On the real, though, they some cool niggas and shit. I put that on everything, even my dead great-grandmother’s grave and shit. You not gon’ have no problems. They even said that you can report the shit stolen in a few days or some shit.”
The chick talked for several seconds. Durrell looked at the three of them and nodded his head, letting them know that they were getting somewhere. He then focused back on the phone call. “Okay, okay,” he said. “But you know I can’t come with them right now because….”
Durrell was cut off again with her loud voice.
“That’s what I was about to say,” Durrell said. “You know I beat that nigga’s ass too bad a couple times around the corner and shit that now they got me on house arrest. And them white people downtown said that if I fuck up again, they gon’ throw my ass in prison and shit for some years. All over some dumb shit. So I ain’t gon’ be able to come with them. But they said they can pay you whatever you need.” A few seconds passed. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Okay, I’ll tell them and yeah, they’ll be coo with that.” Just as Durrell was about to hang up, he heard his friend say something on the other end. “Wassup? Naw, when I get a chance. You know I’mma come back and chill with you. Just wait till I’m off house arrest. Come over here? I mean, when I get the place straightened up and stuff, you know you can come chill. Just gimme a minute, and I’mma hit you up and stuff. Don’t think I forgot about you or nothin’.”
Durrell ended the phone call and shook his head. Again, Tramar and Jackson looked at one another. They were really starting to wonder about this chick. Even though they couldn’t hear the exact words through the phone, she sounded loud and possibly over-the-top ghetto.
When It All Falls Down 4 - It Just Ain't Over Yet: A Chicago Hood Drama (A Hustler's Lady) Page 6