Country Boy 3

by Blake Karrington

  “Put dem guns away, son,” Scar said not moving a muscle.

  “What?”

  “I said…put dem fuckin’ guns away,” he repeated.

  After they gave no further protest, and put their guns away, Bumpy shoved hard, pushing Scar away from him. He then tucked away his own pistol. Still Scar didn’t make any crazy moves in his direction. He knew that him putting his gun away was only a gesture that said, ‘fuck it’. He didn’t give a damn about dying.

  “Calm down, Bumpy,” Scar said, trying to ease the confrontation.

  “I am calm, Scar. If I wasn’t, we would be dead now.”

  Bumpy’s words burned, but Scar gave no reply, instead he asked again.

  “So you got everything set for us to go back down south, and you trust these niggas right?”

  Bumpy didn’t answer right away. His mind drifted back to a few nights ago, when he’d reunited with an old friend.

  “Knock,Knock..Knock.”

  “Didn’t I tell you that I was coming, whoever your crazy ass is,” Bumpy screamed then snatched the door open.

  He was about to continue raising hell, but froze when he looked down at the small man with the unusually long dreadlocks. After a moment, recognition began to sink in.

  “Sweet mother of Jesus. Is that you Baby Ras? Is that—”

  “It’s me mun,” Baby Rasta cut him off.

  “Let me in da door mun. Why you dissing Baby mun? Invite him in.”

  “Come on in baby , you know I would never dis you. Come in,” he said again, then stepped to the side, letting him pass.

  After shutting the door, Bumpy turned and asked.

  “What on earth could have forced you to leave your kingdom over in Kingston?”

  “To come to the city that never sleeps, perhaps.”

  “Aah, it can’t possibly be money. Last I heard you were about to be the second drug-lord to ever make the Forbes 100 list, mun.”

  With everything that Baby Rasta had done for him in the past, there was no way he could or would deny helping him.

  “What do you need me to do, Ras?”

  Baby Rasta looked around the dingy basement before responding. “First thing we need to do is move everything out of here?”

  “Then I need you to deliver this bom-ba-clot to the wicked one, mun.”

  “Okay, but why do we have to move everything out of here, Rasta?”

  Rasta looked at his old friend, then spoke in a murderous tone.

  “Because tis where Scar is gonna blood-clot die!!! Make sure the bitchie boy is here.”

  “Damn OG, you must be high on that dog food again,” Scar said, snapping Bumpy back to the present.

  “So this is what I want you to tell them country niggas of yours. Let them know I'm not coming down south, but they can come up my way and I will knock 1k off each brick. If everything goes good after the first couple of times, then we will come their way. Right now, the Carolina's is hot for me, so I can't take no chances. What city you say they out of?”

  “Fayetteville, Scar,” Bumpy repeated.

  “Yeah, Fayetteville,” he turned towards his crew and continued. “Now, I best be going,” he said, then turned his back to the OG.

  Scar and Albino Mike walked back to the car and continued their conversation.

  “That old muthafucka still got sum’em left in his black ass, son. You betta believe it son. Just because a nigga fall victim to his own product, don’t mean they don’t still got that killer mentally.

  “Shit, fuck dat nigga, Scar. What’s up wit dis down south shit, son? A nigga tryin’ to get paid kid, word up.

  “Don't worry. We will be there soon enough, son.”

  “Word.”

  “Word up son, just as soon as we take care of dis business, we out,” he continued.

  “You and Squeeze get fifty joints packaged up and ready to go.”

  “How we travelling son?”

  “American express nigga, that’s the only way to travel,” Scar said.

  “Now get tha fuck outta here, son. As soon as we take these country niggas for their money, we heading to their city to sell our dope.”

  Albino Mike smiled, “you a genius nigga, a straight fucking genius. Do you need any help wit anything B?”

  “Nah just meet me back here with the mob day after tomorrow, and be ready to take over the dirty south:

  “I stay ready, son.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “When it Rainz , it Pours, but the Sun Will Always Shine Again”

  Q was so focused on what he had to do. He knew the way he had left Tee that night wasn't right. Even though he was mad as hell, he knew he was wrong for putting his hands on her and insinuating that she was a bad mother who was out fucking around. He was hoping that enough time had passed to heal those wounds.

  He wanted to have a heart to heart and put their relationship in perspective. He was also excited to see his son who he hadn't seen in nearly a month. The last time they were together, he had to go by Tee's mother's house, because he wasn't ready to confront Tee. So much was running through his mind, he never noticed the cream colored Bentley parked at the far end of the parking lot.

  He was even more surprised to see Lauren, Tee’s longtime friend from college standing out front.”

  “What’s up? Lauren, right?”

  “That’s correct, and you’re Quentel?”

  “Nah, ma. You had it right the first time we met, Country Boy.”

  “Oh. I see, well hi Country Boy.”

  Q was about to continue the conversation when he noticed a tall dude walking from Tee’s work station, holding his son Gerard.

  “What da fuck?” he mumbled, then turned and walked towards them.

  “OHHHHHHHH Shit!” Lauren whispered to herself

  “What da hell you doing playboy?”

  “Do I know you?” Jamal asked him in a mellow tone.

  Before Q could answer, Lil Gerard started screaming “Daddy! Daddy!” while reaching out to him.

  “Aah, aah, aah,” Jamal said and turned him away from Q. He started back in the direction of Tee’s workstation; a move that nearly cost him his life.

  He felt Q’s power and strength immediately when he was snatched back around by his left shoulder.

  “Whoa,” he said.

  “Whoa, my black ass nigga. Put my son down or I’ll kill you right where you stand.”

  Jamal quickly let Lil Gerard slide down his right side until his tiny feet touched the floor.

  “Go to your mother, Gerard,” Q told him, his eyes never leaving Jamal’s.

  After his son raced away, Q spoke. “Now, I’m going to ask you one more time, playboy. Who tha fuck are you?” He pulled out one of his gold plated Colts, making his point even more understood.

  “I’m Ja ...Jamal.”

  “Ja who?”

  “Quentel!!!” Tee screamed from the opened doorway leading to her workstation.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m getting ready to kill this nigga, if he ever even think about putting his fucking hands on my son again.

  “Put that gun away, Quentel. Jamal was only playing with Gerard.”

  “Who is this nigga, Tee?”

  “He’s my friend, Quentel.”

  “Your friend. What type of friend are you talking bout Tee?”

  “Since when do I have to explain who my friends are, Quentel? You have friends, as a matter a fact, you have a wife. And you made it perfectly clear the last time we seen each other what you think about me.”

  “Oh...that’s what this is all about.”

  Tee said nothing, but her expression was all the answer Q needed.

  “So this the new nigga huh? You know what Tee? You’re right, do your thing Ma. I hope it’s worth it.”

  “Worth what, Quentel?”

  “A friend for life.”

  Even though he spoke the words from his mouth, everyone inside the salon could see that as rugged as he was known to be in
the streets, a major chink had just been put in his armor. He turned back to Jamal and placed the barrel of his pistol towards his face.

  “Touch my son, and I promise you nothing less than a certified killing.”

  “Quentel,” Tee said again.

  “Shut da fuck up, Tee. I just washed my hands completely of your ass. You dead to me.” He turned and walked straight out the door.

  “What was that all about Tee?” Jamal asked.

  “Nothing...just nothing.”

  “Wha da you mean nothing Tashonda? I was only playing around with Lil Gerard when this thugged out nigga comes running in here claiming to be his father.”

  “He is his father. And he is not just some thug.” Tee said defending Q’s character.

  “I can’t tell. He did come up in here waving a damn gun in my face.”

  “I… I know Jamal, but you have to understand. You basically refused to give him his son,” she continued, “and to be fair, he didn’t know who you were, Jamal.”

  “What you’re saying is true, Tashonda, but it still doesn’t make it right.”

  “I know it doesn’t, and I’m sorry that it happened. Trust me, it will never happen...”

  “You damn right, it won’t happen again. Let me call my boys,” he said, grabbing his cell phone.

  “No Jamal… no please… don’t do that.”

  “Why not, Tashonda? And why are you trying to protect him?”

  I’m not trying to protect him. I’m trying to save your life! Tee wanted to tell him, but kept the thought to herself.

  “I’m not protecting anyone Jamal. It’s just that there has been enough drama for one day. Now come on, let's just forget this ever happened.”

  “Alright that’s cool for now,” Jamal said in a tone that Tee was not so sure she trusted.”

  “Are you sure you ok, Tashonda?” Jamal asked.

  “Everything is fine Jamal, I just need a minute alone.”

  “I understand, we will give you some time to get yourself together. Come on, Gerard.” Jamal said.

  “Jamal wait. I don’t think that’s a good idea, at least not yet.”

  Before Jamal could protest, she grabbed her son’s hand, taking him with her to her office.

  Jamal started walking towards the front door, then changed his mind and went back to Tee's office.

  “Wait…wait a minute Tashonda. Maybe you shouldn't be here alone with that guy still on the loose. I think we need to call the police and maybe get a restraining order.

  Tee wasn’t hearing any of it.

  “Jamal, please, stay out of this. It doesn’t concern you.”

  “How can you sit here and defend a man… well I don’t even consider him a man, one who comes up in here waving a gun like some street thug and tells you to your face he wants nothing to do with you ever again. Please explain that to me Tashonda.”

  “Jamal, it would be useless because you and I both know that you have already made your own assumption of who and what Quentel is.”

  “You’re damn right I have, and I say he’s nothing but street trash.”

  “And I say that you are wrong about him.”

  “Still defending him, huh? Well I wish you would have let us settle our differences like men.

  “You just don’t get it, do you Jamal?”

  “Get what Tashonda?”

  “Get the fact that I just saved your life.”

  “Saved my life? Please, if he didn't have that gun in his hand—” he stopped himself mid-sentence. “Look Tashonda, I have a game tonight. Are you still coming?” He asked, as if not caring about what they were just talking about.

  “No, I don't think—”

  Jamal didn’t give Tee time to finish. He turned and stormed out the door.

  Tee didn’t bother trying to stop him.

  __________

  Van laid in their large king sized bed alone. It was another sleepless night. She hadn’t slept with her soul-mate in over five weeks. Q had chosen to spend his nights with a dog.

  “A damn dog,” she said loud enough to disturb Bear Jr. who was sleeping soundly beside her.

  He immediately sprang to his feet as if searching the semi-dark room for intruders. Confused, he looked over at Van and gave a low whine.

  “I’m not talking to you, Bear Jr. It’s okay, go back to sleep,” she said, rubbing his massive head.

  She smiled when Bear Jr. jumped off the bed and walked over to the entrance of their bedroom, made a few small circles. Then he laid down, and went to sleep. He was so much like his father, that it was almost scary.

  Her mind turned back to Q. She knew there was something different and Q had confirmed her thoughts when he’d told her his intentions.

  “Are you sure this is the way you want to do this, Quentel?” She asked him, unable to hide her nervousness.

  “How do you know he will come?”

  “He will, best believe.”

  “I mean, he can, you know, have people waiting on you and —”

  “He can, but it won't matter,” he cut her off.

  “How do you know that, Quentel?”

  “I know Van, trust me.”

  “I’m scared, love.”

  “Scared of what, Ma?”

  “Losing you,” Van said softly.

  “And leave you here with Dr. Conway? Nah, not a chance,” he teased.

  “Are you serious Quentel?”

  “You better know it,” he answered with a straight face.

  “Boyyyyy, puhleeeze,” Van said, then smacked him in the back of his head.

  A low growl from Bear Jr. brought her thoughts back to the present.

  She looked up just as Q walked into their bedroom. He looked so handsome in the moonlight filtering in from the window.

  “I love you Quentel Jackson.”

  “Prove it,” he said and climbed into the bed with her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “The Southern Connection”

  Scar let his anxiety rage for the next few hours, then began to calm himself. He sat back down and watched his young son run back and forth through him and his African wife’s apartment, and smiled.

  He recalled the conversation between him and the OG. The OG had a connection on some down south niggas who was getting money in Fayetteville, NC. Scar had rode through there a couple of times and he knew it was a hot spot, but since him and Dame was getting so much money in Rockingham, he never made his way back. But for right now, Rockingham was off limits, at least until the heat turned down.

  His plan now was to fake a robbery of his dope and the Fayetteville crew’s cash when they met tomorrow. He would then convince the Fayetteville niggas that he was sorry for how things went down, and he wanted to make good by fronting them some dope. So in actuality, he would be reselling them the drugs they had already paid for. And this would be his way into their city and eventually back to Rockingham. Once he builds up his money and man power, he will go back and take care of his unfinished business, mainly one Quentel Jackson. Scar picked up the phone and called Albino Mike

  “Yo nigga, I want to make sure everything is on point for the AM.”

  “Everything is everything B, we coming up like the mob tomorrow. Word, I just don't know why you going in first by yourself?”

  “I just want them country niggas to be at ease, that way they won't see this coming. Besides, as long as everyone is in place, I won't be alone but ten min before you niggas kick in the door.”

  “How you know them niggas won't try something first?”

  “Man them slow ass niggas ain’t thinking like that! Besides, they would be crazy to try and pull some shit on our turf.”

  “You right, my nigga. Well let me lay down so a nigga will be straight in the morning.”

  Scar hung up the phone, totally satisfied with his plan. He decided he would follow Albino Mike’s lead and grab some sleep.

  __________

  Q, Tim, Dame, Rasta and June slept next to the window overlooking
Bumpy’s small duplex building. They all had arrived that afternoon before the meet. Scar had no idea what he was in for.