“You trust me?” he asked after opening the door.
I nodded. “Should I not?”
He laughed. “You already nodded. Can’t take it back. It don’t work like that.”
“Clearly.” I put my hand in his and got out of the car.
A few seconds later he was using a key to get into the side door of what I now recognized as a barbershop.
I wondered what the hell we were doing here but didn’t ask. I took a seat and watched him move around the dark space before speaking.
“Leodis Johnson was the neighborhood barber when I was coming up. He used to cut my hair in this very space, then pay me three dollars to clean up. He had deals like that with a couple of us youngins, probably hoping a couple dollars a week would keep us outta the streets. For a while it did, but it was different for me. I had that street shit in my veins, from dime bags near the gas station to locker hustling in Briarwood High. I almost got kicked outta school a couple times, but Mama always went up there and smoothed it out. That last time though, she let me know if I got kicked outta school she was kicking my ass outta her house. That’s when I got smarter, creating my own plays and routes to get this money, and never got caught. Worked out for a while, stacking and staying low with my crew keeping our noses clean of any of that gang bullshit.”
He spoke in the most nostalgic tone, the type that had me on the edge of my seat, wondering where this was going. His eyes told me he had a story. That and the little pieces he let out here and there when we were in bed.
“All I ever wanted was the money, never the hood rich bullshit or any notoriety like any of these other niggas. I wanted outta the hood my mama raised me in and better for my son. Yeah I’ve done some things, but who hasn’t? I was doing good keeping my nose clean, staying outta the Waterboys and Rich Jordan beef. My money came through the middle. Then, a nigga I had never spoke a word to called me and claimed he wanted to have a sit down, believed it was necessary because we shared blood. I’ve always known Rich Jordan Sr. was my father. Mama couldn’t keep that from me nor did she try. I also knew while he was leaving chump change on her dresser most mornings before sneaking out, he was living it up in Bluffwood Heights with a family. I just took it as the nigga didn’t want to be my father, so I never asked him to be.”
That last statement made me want to literally throw my arms around him and squeeze his six-foot three frame as tightly as I could.
Instead, I looked at him to continue.
“So, a few nights before I got set up, I got a call from RJ. He said he wanted to talk to his brother and that he knew I existed. I don’t know why I took the fucking meeting, but I never made it there. Left my baby moms’ house and hit up one of my working houses on the way. I was behind St. Parrish when somebody came out of the shadows blasting. It happened so fast I didn’t think.”
This time I couldn’t stop myself. I was on my feet in seconds, moving toward him. I hugged him tightly, resting my head against his solid frame. He stiffened at my hug for a moment, then I felt him wrap his arms around me.
“Don’t tell me you getting soft on me, Killa.”
I laughed into him. “See if that’s the last time I give you a hug when I feel like you need it.”
He laughed as well.
“So, you know you were set up by your brother, so why not get him?”
“Because I want everybody who had something to do with it. I want him to see his plot fall before he falls.”
“Is that why we’re here?” I looked around the shop before my eyes landed on him again.
“Somewhat. How do you know I’m not here to get a fade?”
“’Cause you’ve been doing a good job yourself.” I looked him over, admiring the lining I had watched him give himself less than a week ago.
“You pay me a lot of attention, Killa.”
“That I do, but wait. The number you had me get. You talked to him…your father?”
“Motherfucker ain’t my daddy, but yeah. He tried to gimme some shit about everything being his fault. Knew that wasn’t true, especially since RJ is the one who put cases on him from what Wiley said.”
I nodded with nothing to say.
We spent a while longer talking before we parted and he took a seat in one of the barber chairs facing the door. Like clockwork, keys jiggled in the lock.
I watched Iso sit up and unintentionally sat up myself with my gun at my side.
The lights came on and in walked a man who I recognized but couldn’t put a name or setting to his face. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but I’d seen him.
“Yo, what the fuck?” he said aloud, dropping his bag on the floor in the doorway.
His reaction was off to me, but then again, I didn’t know him nor his relationship with Iso. Cousin Lucky looked like he had seen a ghost, and not like he was happy to see his blood wasn’t rotting away several feet underground. Something about it wasoff, but it wasn’t my place to speak. Plus I had paranoia from my own life experiences. I wouldn’t allow them to spill into his.
