Page 7 of Delirium 2

Three seats left untouched for us.

Once we were seated, everybody in the room sat down too. The room was silent. Every set of eyes on me. They were waiting for me to speak. It was so quiet in the room that if one of these muthafuckas dropped a pin, you’d probably be able to hear it.

“We have a problem. Well,” I tugged on my beard and shrugged. “We don’t have a problem. I have a problem.”

“You got a problem, we got a problem,” said one of the niggas at the end of the table. I wasn’t good with names. Knew him as Mark because he had a big ass birthmark across his face.

I nodded and looked around the table. “Something of mine was taken by some niggas out west. Near Almont Rd. Petersburg. I don’t know how many or none of that. I know… a little sloppy. But things happened too fast for me to really do my due diligence. What I do have is a name and an address.”

“By Almont? I got family out⁠—”

“Don’t give a fuck,” I said interrupting another nigga at the end of the table. Black. Because he was dark as hell.

He held his hands up and fell back against the chair. “I was just saying because⁠—”

“Let ‘eem rap,” Kiss interrupted, gazing down the end of the table at him.

I understood why he spoke up. Probably thought him having family out there would help some. It wouldn’t. I didn’t want help from anybody outside of the room. I was selective as hell about who I did business with. On every level. Not just when it came to transport.

I scratched my nose. “Like I was saying… I got the addy.” I flicked my wrist to check the time. “Buck, I need you to pull them glasses out, throw on a buttoned up and get on your Peewee Herman for this one.”

Buck laughed, his bucked teeth protruding. “I got you, Big Dawg.”

“Aight look… this the play,” I said, sitting up, getting ready to put them on to what I had up my sleeve.

* * *

The next morning, I was up bright and early, dressed, meeting the team. When I pulled up at the meeting spot, a McDonalds a mile away from the location, I gave Buck a once over. As requested, he was dressed in a white buttoned up, bow tie strapped tight, reading glasses on, dress pants held up by suspenders. On his feet were a pair of loafers.

I approached and handed him a magazine—The Watchtower—something Jehovah’s Witnesses kept on them. That’s what I had him on. He was going to hit a couple houses on the block before finally getting to the location. Buck used to be a Jehovah’s Witness, so he knew all about that shit. Grew up under that religion, but he converted to Christianity, joining the church a couple of years back. He was a point-dexter for real. Linked with him on the business tip when he called Solomon one night, crying over a body he caught. Solomon linked him with us and the rest was history.

We went over the plan for a good ten minutes before piling in our cars. In the rearview mirror, my eyes landed on Zeke. He was busy handling his blick.

“Stick to the script,” I said through gritted teeth.

He looked up. “Huh?”

“The script, nigga. Stick to it. None of that wild ass shit. I’m trying to make sure shorty is safe. You hear me? You fuck this up⁠—

“Bro,” he sucked his teeth. “I know what we on. On bro I’m not⁠—”

“I don’t need all of that. I need you to take heed,” I interrupted.

Zeke was trigger happy. He was a good shot fa sho, but when we got on shit like this, he got to going. It was usually hard to keep him on track. He liked to squeeze off on just about everybody in the vicinity. I had very explicit directions for how I wanted this to go down. Not only because I wanted Jada safe but because I wanted dawg and ol’ girl breathing at the end of it. I had special plans for them.

Zeke’s face softened and he shook his head. “I know how serious this is, brodie. Aight?”

I didn’t say anything. Burnt off from the McDonalds parking lot, heading in the direction of the crib. The ride there was spent in silence. Kiss left the AUX alone. Zeke sat back against the chair, veering off out of the window. Kiss passed me a blunt I declined. He reached to the backseat and gave it to Zeke. I didn’t want to smoke. I wanted a clear mind. I needed a clear mind. I wasn’t one of those niggas that needed a morning wood. Weed was literally recreational for me. Zeke and Kiss, on the other hand, smoked faithfully. I didn’t judge—everybody had their vices. Mine just happened to be getting money.

About five minutes later, I was pulling up on Petersburg Ave. In the rearview I peeped the other three whips pull up, too. Parking a couple of houses down from Stubbs’s, I shifted the car in park and shut the engine off. My eyes landed on Jada’s Benz parked in the driveway before I shifted my gaze to the rearview mirror, putting my focus on the white Nissan approaching from the end of the block.

Buck cruised by the whip and parked a couple houses down from Stubbs’s shit too. I watched as he got out of the car, adjusting his slacks, bible and magazine in hand. He pushed his glasses up over the bridge of his nose and surveyed the hood. I wore a scowl, but I was impressed. He looked the same exact way he looked when we were first introduced. Timid. Innocent. Like a true ass Jehovah Witness who wouldn’t hurt a fuckin’ fly. But underneath that nice guy look was a nigga who really got to that murder shit. He had a crazy ass temper and would spazz at the drop of the hat. When he met up with Solo after catching his first body, he was in a fit of tears, sick, begging bro to help him with an exorcist, saying he had a whole ass demon in him. Solo did what he did. Prayed for him but felt the heaviness of who he really was weighing him down. That’s when he hit me up and I found a good use for him.

I watched as he bopped up to the first house, wearing a soft smile. The first neighbor slammed the door in his face, and he continued down the block. He had two houses to hit before he got to Stubbs’s shit. Could’ve went straight there but I was a cross every t dot every i type of nigga. I wanted his steps carefully curated.

He stood talking with the other neighbor for a nice little minute. Because I knew Buck knew his shit, I knew he wasn’t stammering over his words, spitting shit he didn’t know about. He was really spreading the gospel with a glock tucked in the waistband of his pants, ready to commit murder because I told him to. Real nigga.

“Look at that nigga,” Kiss said with a light laugh. “Moving around this bitch like a straight point-dexter.”