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“True that.” I nodded. “But theNivlebtribe family’s tight as shit. They come through in a clutch.”
Jug offered me dap. “A fuckin’ clutch, ock. I ‘on’t know what Ms. Rose be giving me, but I be drinking, sniffing, and letting them rub whatever stinky shit she want. Plus, the food is a’ight!”
“Damn sure is. I found that out my first time here.”
Crackling sounds caught our attention. It was soon clear they were from heavy footsteps. Man was jogging our way.
“Yurp!” he called on the way.
“This muthafucka…” Jug wheezed then had another light cough. “Wanna be a country nigga already, joggin’ in the woods with his flip flops on.”
“Fuck you,” was the first thing Man delivered when he made it to us. Then he turned to me. “You were right, my G. That Haris dude connected to the Bartnickis.”
“What?” Jug asked.
I knew it…
“Sin told me to look into Haris knowing the Bartnickis after we found out one of the niggas who tried to robClub Sinfour years ago was connected to Haris.”
Jug looked to me for an explanation. “I thought hard and mad long on it over the past few days.” It’s what insomnia would do to you. “Ain’t no way this British dude pick me out of a lineup.”
“So, I went down the Bartnicki kid’sInstagrampage.” He tapped me on the arm. “The family shut down hisFacebookaccount, but ain’t touchIG. That shit still up and with mad pics. Down, almost at the bottom where he started the account, is a pic of him and Haris posted up in front of aFerrari. Then there was another with the two of them and some other niggas. The clown ass Bartnicki kid put in the caption some shit about, ‘my family said I was wildin’ out in Jerze too much, fuckin’ too many bitches. So they sent me to London, where I got even more bitches.’ The nigga was wildin’ out there.”
“And right next to Haris’ dumb ass,” I confirmed.
Man shook his head.
“And remember, that’s why Paulie wanted his ass gone.” Jug rubbed his chest. “Remember, he like…raped his daughter or some shit?”
“His daughter and her friends, or some shit like that.” My memory began to warm up.
Eighteen-year-old me took the job for the money, but now as a grown-as man, I felt some relief knowing it was vindication for a piece of shit, rich brat.
“So, what we gon’ do with this funny talkin’ nigga?” Jug asked.
I shook my head. “Shit.”
“Nothing?” Jug’s big ass eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
Man just watched and listened.
I took a seat in the empty wheelchair. “Nah. We fucked up the niggas he used for the botched robbery and rundown of the club. That sent a message. He tried coming for Ashira, and, eventually, tried to approach me directly, albeit under the guise of business. I’ll wait on his next move.” And see if Ashira had been straight up with me about not having any dealings with ol’ boy.
“I ‘on’t know.” Jug shook his head. “I think he need one in the middle of his forehead.”
Man’s eyes bounced down to me for my take.
“Nah, man. We got way too much going on.” I glanced up at Jug. “We got you back. Now, you need to get back to one hun’ned percent. I ‘on’t even remember you not having breathing issues no more at this point.”
“Yeah, but I feel it. Whatever Ms. Rose is giving me is working.”
Man faked a jab on him. “Yeah, nigga. Let’s see if ya dying ass make it to the McNabb-Davies fight. We copped half a row of tickets. Third row.”
Those droopy eyes flashed again. “Y’all copped the tickets already?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn! How long was my ass out?”
