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“Found who?”
“Jessica,” she said. “It’s all over the news. Her body was found somewhere in New Jersey.”
The Kid was calm and silent. He gaped at the TV. The news segment about Jessica was just ending, but Eshon was just starting up. Her hate for Jessica was still palpable, although Jessica was dead.
“Devon may be a scary and crazy muthafucka, but he definitely knows how to put in work. I’m glad she’s fuckin’ dead. I hated that bitch,” she proclaimed with much distaste. “Remind me to bake him a cake for this one.”
The Kid remained silent and still. Most likely, she would never know the truth. He had located and shot Jessica in the head. He was a cold-hearted and calculated killer. He was more dangerous than Devon would ever be. He was smart, but the wheelchair and unassuming appearance would continue to throw everyone off and make Kid appear more amicable than he really was.
“I know you used to like her, Kid, but I’m glad you didn’t get wit’ that bitch. She was fuckin’ poison and she probably would have ruined your life,” Eshon said.
“What’s done is done. I’m ready to move on,” he said.
“We all are. So what’s next for us?”
It was Eshon’s favorite question. But what was next for them? The Kid wanted to know too.
“I don’t know right now, Eshon. We’re living here now, in peace with some money, and I kind of like it here. It’s different.”
“It’s too quiet sometimes.”
“I don’t mind quiet.”
“I miss Harlem,” she said.
“I do too, but Harlem is chaotic right now with the feds, the explosion, and people being homeless. Why Brandy wanted to go back to that, I don’t know. It was a foolish choice.”
“Where else is she gonna go, Kid? She wanted to leave town, but all she know is Harlem. And all I know is Harlem.”
“That’s why it’s always good to expand your horizons. If it’s all you know, then it will always be who you are. And the easiest thing in life is to be predictable.”
“So what you saying? We predictable?”
“I’m saying, we always going to have to think five, six, and seven moves ahead.”
“That’s why we have you,” Eshon said.
“Me, I’m just a nigga in a wheelchair, Eshon. What can I do?”
“You’re my conscience . . . my guardian angel.”
“I’m no angel,” he replied.
“You’re my angel.”
“Well, your angel finally lost today in chess.”
Eshon was shocked to hear the news. “What? You lost? How? And to who?”
“This girl. She simply outmaneuvered me . . . and beat me at my own game,” he said.
“You lost to a girl?”
“She was eighteen.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m not.”
