“And how he take it?”
I let out a short laugh. “How the fuck you think he took it?”
Zeek chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, aight. Say less.”
For a second, neither of us said anything again. We both knew this conversation wasn’t really about Jamal being out.
It was about what came next.
“What Kyrie want to do?” Zeek asked.
I shook my head.
“He ain't trying to touch it.”
“Smart.”
“Yeah.”
As much as Kyrie wanted Jamal gone, he wasn't stupid. The nigga had too much money, too much attention, and too many cameras following his every move.
One mistake, and everything he'd built could disappear.
“That's why he told me to call you.”
Zeek went quiet for a second.
“So, he wants eyes on him.”
“At minimum.”
“And if the nigga move funny?”
My jaw tightened. “Then we deal with it.”
“Aight.”
I heard movement on the other end of the phone like Zeek was getting up.
“Send me everything you got on him.”
“I don't got shit yet.”
“Then start getting it.”
I nodded even though he couldn't see me. “What you thinking?”
“I'm thinking ain't nobody just get out of jail and start acting right overnight.”
A dry laugh left my mouth.
“Facts.”
“Give him enough rope, and he'll hang himself.”
I leaned back in my seat.
“So, you saying wait?”
