Figuring I must have been asleep, I let the sounds fade as I drifted back off.
“Wake the fuck up, Joe Jackson!”
A dull, throbbing ache pulsed behind my eyes as the distant sounds became clearer. Everything was muffled, as if I were listening with my ears plugged. Before I could sit up, my body locked up under the weight of the drowsiness.
Fuck. Did I get drunk or something last night? Shit!
“Niggas these days can smoke like a fucking chimney, but a lil’ sleeping gas knocks their asses out for hours. How long is this shit supposed to last, Preston?”
I felt dizzy as I drifted in and out of consciousness. It seemed like the heavy fog of smoke was lifting as a wave of nausea hit me. I struggled hard to regain consciousness, but I still felt like I was moving in slow motion, if I was moving at all. I did sense some kind of motion; it just wasn’t coming from me.
Open your eyes, Tune. Fuck going on?
I didn’t know what the fuck Stella had going on, nor did I know how much time had passed. My senses weren’t operating well, but when I gained some awareness and was able to open my eyes, I realized that I was on Stella’s funky, thieving ass. A strange, detached feeling lingered as I tried to piece together my reality.
Stella’s apartment. Shot her nigga. Stanky sex. BBL. Scary-ass dog. Crushed the dog. SMOKE!
“Uuuuuugh!”
I sucked in a wad of air as I sat up straight and began swinging my arms. I felt suspended by something that prevented me from standing, but I kept swinging. My eyes popped open again, fully expecting to see that Stella and her nigga had me tied to a chair, but instead, I was met by a motherfucker sitting across from me in a deep green tailored suit with gold cufflinks.
“Don?”
There were big-ass headphones around his head, his leg was crossed, and a big-ass pinky ring, along with his wedding band, was on his left hand that rested on his knee. The nigga looked cool as a fucking cucumber with that green on while I was fighting for my fucking life.
Whup Whup Whup
My ears were ringing as the loud thumping sounds pounded in my head. Don jutted his chin to the side of me, and there were the same headphones he was wearing. I snatched them up, placing them on my head, still confused by what was happening.
“Why you like beating bitches, Payne?”
“Hunh?”
His expression was neutral, and since he didn’t repeat himself, I closed my eyes. Whatever the fuck was going on was too fucking much, but the earphones helped with the loud-ass sounds, so I tried to calm myself enough to settle the lightheaded feeling.
This shit can’t be happening. The last time I felt like this, I woke up in the fuckin’ desert.
My eyes shot back open, and this time, instead of giving Don my attention, I looked to the left and saw nothing but clouds. The endless blue and white stretch was a terrifying void, the cotton clouds mocking my fear as they floated serenely in the sky. It was nothing serene about this shit here. Suddenly, my stomach flipped. Air rushed past the windows as a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach while the helicopter drifted through the blue expanse. Looking down, all I could see was clouds below us.
How the fuck high up are we?
“What the fuck is this?”
I tried to remove my seat belt, but Don held his hand up. “Keep that shit on. You’ll be outta here soon enough. Ion need you dying before the real fun starts.”
Looking past Don, I was trying to see who was flying this big-ass copter, but past him was another seating area and beyond that nothing but buttons, dials, an empty pilot seat, and clouds.
“Who the fuck flyin’ dis hoe?”
“Money.”
“What?”
“Money, nigga! This is a self-flying copter. This is what the fuck money do.”
“Okay, well, why the fuck am I in it? And where the fuck is Stella?”
“Why the fuck yo’ married ass worried ’bout a bitch with a botched BBL? I had high ass hopes for you, Tunan, but you showed me dat you indeed got Cuppacio in yo’ blood? Them old niggas had a hand problem too. They loved knockin’ the shit outta bitches.” He pointed at me. “That’s where you get that shit from.”
