Tone clicked something else and another picture came up showing the run-down little house with the boarded-up windows. There was cars parked in the yard and dudes standingaround outside. “He over there now,” Tone said. “This one of the little trap houses off 22nd. He got maybe six or seven niggas over there with him.”
“Only six or seven?” Dique laughed. “Aw yeah, this gone be quick.”
I kept looking at the screen. “He know we know?”
“Nah,” Tone said. “Nigga still movin’ regular.”
“Good.” Because I wanted him comfortable. I wanted him sitting around smoking and laughing and feeling safe. I wanted him to hear my trucks before he saw them. I wanted him to know exactly why I was there before I killed him. “This ain’t no whole army type shit,” I said, looking around the room. “Three trucks. Me, Tone, Dique, Marco, Zo, Rell, and four more hittas. Everybody else stay put.”
Dique smirked. “Good.”
I looked over at Tone. “You stayin’ close to me.”
“I already know.”
“Dique.”
“What?”
“Don’t start actin’ stupid when we get over there man.”
He looked offended immediately. “Me? Act stupid? Never.” He placed his hand to his chest exaggerating.
“Yeah aight.” I growled.
After that everybody grabbed their shit, checked the clips, and made sure every gun was ready. The energy changed from talking to action real quick because that’s how it always happened with us. We weren’t one of them crews that had to sit around making speeches and over-planning shit. Everybody in the room already knew what time it was. It was over for these niggas. They were fish trying to play with sharks. I grabbed my Glock and tucked it into the back of my jeans, then grabbed the bigger piece. Tone passed me another extended clip, and I slid it into my pocket while Dique loaded his gun beside me.
“You think Carmen gone be mad?” Dique asked casually. I looked at him without replying.
He shrugged. “I’m just sayin’ nigga. She be actin’ all lawyer-ish and shit.”
“Carmen don’t give a fuck about me doing me. She gives a fuck about me being safe. She’s pregnant, not delusional, she still know who she married.”
“Aw, she gon’ know,” he laughed. “Her ass know when you lying before you even finish the sentence.”
He wasn’t wrong, “Yeah well thank God I ain’t never have to be no lying ass nigga.” I checked the clip one more time. “Let’s go.”
By the time we came downstairs, the trucks were already outside waiting. I climbed into the backseat of the first truck with Tone beside me and Dique in front. Marco and Zo were in the second truck and Rell was in the third. The whole ride over there, nobody said much. I sat back in the seat looking out the window while the city moved past me. By the time we turned on the block, the streets looked exactly how they always did in any other hood…. just run down since the city never wanted to put no money back in the hood. It was a bunch of loud ass kids running around too damn late and niggas standing on corners watching everything.
The trap house was halfway down the block, and you could hear the music blasting with cars parked crooked on the curb with people outside. I counted at least four little kids playing in the street with a football before we even got close enough to stop.
“Damn,” Dique muttered. “They got all these badass kids out here.”
I looked out the window and saw one little boy dribbling a basketball with no shirt on and one Jordan untied, he couldn’t have been older than eight. “Nah,” I said. “Get the kids out first.”
The trucks pulled up slow down the block before stopping a little farther away. Tone and Dique got out first while the rest of us waited. I watched through the windshield while Dique walked over to the kids like he knew them.
“Aye,” he called out. “Y’all little bad asses wanna make some money?”
That got they attention immediately. One of the little girls looked up at him suspicious. “For what?” she frowned wearing her colorful shirt and jean shorts with a pair of Old Navy slides.
Dique reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of cash. “Go to the store, buy whatever y’all want. Candy, chips, juice, all that shit, but don’t come back for like thirty minutes.”
The little boy with the basketball looked at the money with wide eyes. “All of us?”
“All of y’all,” Dique said. “Now move around. Get the fuck on, scat.”
That was all it took and them kids took off down the block fast as hell, laughing and yelling like they had just hit the biggest lick of their lives. They probably did, because that was probably the most money their young hands had ever touched.
