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“Oh!” Monk called out from the entryway. He clutched the door as he craned his neck to look inside. “Doobie from one-fortieth and Lennox coming home next month.”
“Oh, word?” Man’s forehead lifted.
“What he do?” Jug croaked. “Fifteen on a armed robbery?”
“Try twenty-two on a AR and attempted.” Monk shook his head. “He popped the owner of the jewelry store, just ain’t off him.”
I sat back on the sofa in Man’s office atClub Sin. We’d just finished chopping it up with Monk from another building in my projects. When he heard I was around the way today, he popped up to show love. After two short bids in the pen himself, Young Monk finally got his shit together, running a boxing gym around the way that Man helped fund a few years back. He was a good dude, just needed a few years to tire out that monster in him.
“We tryna do something big for his touch down party. Real fuckin’ big, nah mean? ‘Member he dropped a few for us back in oh-seven?”
No one agreed verbally, but we knew. We understood the exact reference.
“What you got in mind?” Man asked, then reached for his brandy for a swig.
“Some epic shit. Food, drinks, bitches, trees… Man, fuckin’ water.” Monk lifted theYankeescap to scratch his scalp. “What about Sin’s crib out in Jersey?”
“Pause!” Jug croaked loudly.
“Aye, man!” Man sat up in his seat, alarmed at the same speed. “That ain’t possible, and you know it. A bunch ofHarlem Prideniggas at the O.G. crib? Next thing you know, them young hoppers gon’ be back on some snake shit with them thangs.” He curled his thumb and extended his index finger to mimic a handgun.
“And you know a nigga there all the time, and I stay hot with the steel.” Jug used his arms and hands to gesture a rifle.
“A’ight, man.” Monk smirked, but was obviously disappointed. I had no idea why. The nigga knew that plan wouldn’t fly. I’d never thrown aHarlem Prideparty at my place. The closest to it had been my daughter and her mother’s parties. “That shit would be up and stuck as fuck.” Shaking his head, he finally left the office, closing the door.
“That muthafucka crazy as hell! The fuck?” Juggy grumbled.
Inclining toward his desk, Man blew it off, mumbling, “He should know better than that. Anyway. What it do, my nigga?”
Jug gathered us tonight to kick it. Man was now the sole owner ofClub Sin, but even before that, here was where he spent most of his time. I was around the way at the tea shop, kicking it with Frankie about business, and agreed to meet up here. It was good to see Jug out of the house. He’d been laying low for months now.
“Look, man.” Jug waved his hand to communicate. “Y’all been my niggas since the birth of me and will be to the death, ya heard. Niggas know ol’ Jug ain’t no bullshitter; I shoot my shit straight. Y’all know I been fucked up for a minute now. This shit ain’t getting no better. A nigga feel like…” He hesitated. “Fuck it. A nigga living in his last days.”
Damn…
Man sat back in his seat, sighing hard from frustration. Seeing Jug’s health decline all this time had been hard, but hearing him talk death was fucking painful.
“Nah. Nah!” Jug argued with his hands, accurately perceiving our displeasure with the topic. “Just hear me out, my nigga. Just hear me the fuck out!” he barked. “I’m gonna always keep it real. You know we all on a journey. None of us know when the shit gon’ end and the credits gon’ start to roll. I’m G’d up for life. Came into this bitch swinging, but I’m going out salutin’.”
“Come the fuck on, man,” Man groaned, raking his face with a hand.
“I need to make sure my kids eat when I go, nigga.”
Man smacked his teeth. “Fuck you mean? They gon’ eat. You set that shit up. They eating good nowandwhen you go. Whenever any of us go. You know that shit!”
They were taking brolic tones with each other, not being disrespectful, but out of frustration from the topic.
Juggy’s head swung side to side with heavy, droopy lids. “Nah, my nigga. I mean long after I’m gone. I put in work and got themM’s, but I need to make a few more investments for them to be set for life or, at least, longer than what I’m sitting on now is gonna do.”
Man’s fist slammed against his desk, rocking the shit. “And how the fuck is you gon’ do that?”
“I got some fuckin’ ideas, Man. I ain’t asking for no fuckin’ handouts, my nigga!”
Man’s eyes blew the hell wide, and he asked me, “Did I fuckin’ say he was asking for a—” He turned to Jug. “Why the fuck would I say you asking for a handout? We doin’ that, nigga?”
“I’m tryna prepare for my seeds, muthafucka, and you here bitchin’!”
“Nah, nigga!” Man shouted. “You here on some death shit. Like…you giving up!” He jumped to his feet and grunted to me, “Yo, talk to ya mans. You got more patience for bullshit now.” He grabbed his drink and left us in the office. “I got shit to do downstairs.”
