Page 34 of Gang of Roses: Dice

Then I zoomed in on one of the pictures.

“...Ain't no damn way,” I muttered to myself, but Oats caught it.

“Radar.”

Gwop’s voice barely reached me. I was too busy staring at my phone, reading the same damn information like it was magically gon’ change.

“Aww shit. I’m guessin’ plates to go. This nigga got that look in his eyes,” Gwop muttered.

“Bruh.”

Oats was no longer next to Wallie. He was now standing in front of me, while I stood like a stoned statue. I didn’t respond; hell, I couldn’t. The aroma from the grill…completely gone.

This shit Tom sent better be inaccurate like a muthafucka.

“You good?” Oats pressed, trying to figure out what’s the move. Hell, hungry or not, these niggas would go starving for weeks to make sure the crew was straight.

“I’m good.”

“Ahhhh, hell, naw Oats. Ask that nigga again,” Wallie said, knowing how to play me when I got like this.

“Monroe?”

Oats only called me Monroe when he felt like I needed to hand it to him straight.

“I’m good.”

“Nah,” Gwop said, shaking his head. “Something happened.”

“What is it, Radar?”

I looked back down at the screen one last time.

I read that damn email again.

Then again.

Ain’t no way...

There had to be something I was missing. My phone lit up in my hand.

Tom: You get it?

I didn’t text back; there was no need to. I would get my answers from the source.

They say you go looking, you will find more than your ass bargained for! That was a fact.

I hated feeling like I should have known I was way too observant for this shit, but I was also way too busy to stop and think past the patterns.

I locked my phone and slid it back into my pocket.

I could feel Ritz slowly taking a backseat while Radar started creeping to the front.

Somebody was playing with me...

And I didn't like that shit.

“We rollin’ out?” Oats asked.