Page 218 of 4 Corinthians

"What kind of bet?" I asked. "And, with who?"

"Krude started it."

"Of course he did," I replied.

"And it’s for who does the crazier shit. You or your wife," he finished. "Majority of the money is on you." I turned to look at him. "I got money on your wife though. She's been quiet for too long. Has too much pent-up rage and shit. I know crazy when I see crazy, and your wife?"

"She ain't the crazy one between the two of us," I told him.

"Agreed," he said, nodding, then pointed at me. "You're the crazy one. Corinthians is psychotic."

"As long as you know," I said, then turned around.

There was no reason to correct him or attempt to correct him because he was right. I dealt with my anger by fighting; it was my outlet, which kept me partially sane. But Cori? She was carrying her pain. Eventually she was going to explode, and when she did, I had to be the person there to protect her and bring her back down to safety.

"Four, is this address?" Unc asked.

I leaned forward, checked the address, and then nodded. "Yeah, this is it," I told him. I had every address memorized. This was the fourth name on the list.

Unc parked the car, and we all got out. The neighborhood was nice, a populated mix of folks. Very much gentrification at its finest, but one thing about these neighborhoods that most didn't realize is no matter how pretty they tried to make them, this was still the hood. The old folks that lived here from the jump knew when shit was going to pop off, so seeing our black asses get out of the car and us not belonging put them on alert.

"Hey baby," an elderly lady called from her porch. We stopped walking and turned to face her. She looked to be in her eighties. She was dressed in a house coat, tall socks, slippers and had those old school pink rollers in her hair. Her eyes were a funky shade of brown and blue; more than likely, she had glaucoma or cataracts, but they were alert. She'd seen some shit in her day. "We need to get these kids in the house?"

"I don't plan on it spilling into the street, but as a precaution, yeah," I answered her.

She stared at me for a few moments before nodding. "You ain't that nigga friend, are you?"

"No, ma'am," I denied. "Not even close."

"Didn't think so," she replied, then pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her housecoat and took one out. "You look familiar; who are your people?" She looked around me to Unc. "Besides that nigga over there. That your daddy?"

"Uncle," I answered. "And I doubt you know my people."

"You'd be surprised by who I know." She put her cigarette in her mouth, lit it, then dropped it and her pack back into her pocket. After she took a pull, she blew out the smoke. "What's your name, son?"

"Four."

"That's your nickname; what's on your birth certificate?"

"Uri." We stared at each other before I sighed. "Uri Strong."

"Cassandra Roosevelt," she said, then put her hand out for me to shake. "Grandma to a million damn kids and none of them blood." She let my hand go and stepped back. "Go on in there and kill that nigga. Me and the kids going to go to the basement and have us a little party. Don’t start shooting ‘til you hear my music."

I watched as she left me standing there and called the kids into the house. They didn't argue or fuss; they just dropped whatever they were playing with and ran into the house.

"You ain't worried about her snitching?" Unc asked.

"Nah," I answered with a chuckle. Something about Ms. Cassandra told me she was solid. She just wanted to know my name. She probably had a mental Rolodex of all the killers that have stepped foot on this block. "She's solid."

"How do you know?"

I turned around and walked towards the house. I patted Unc on the shoulder as I passed him. "The eyes never lie, Unc. That lady solid as fuck." I made a mental note to give her name to Nine to make sure she never went without.

I stood on the porch and waited. When Michael Jackson started playing, I looked over at Hood. "Would I be pushing it if I kicked the door in?" I asked him. I knew the extent of my injuries and already knew the answer.

"You trying to be back under the knife before your woman is done doing whatever she's doing?" He lifted his brow and questioned me. "Because if so, go right ahead. If not, shoot that bitch down."

"This is a safe neighborhood, or so it looks like. I bet the doors open," Unc said. I tested his theory only to come up empty. It was locked. "Oh, my bad," he laughed.