Adored by a Brooklyn Drug Lord 3 Page 5

  A ragged breath was all I could reply with. “It’s so dark in here.”

  “I know, but you aren’t alone.”

  My father slipped his arms around me, pulling me onto his lap, taking deep breaths. The effect was instant; I gulped down as much air as I could, and my breathing had returned to normal as the elevator lights came on. With a dramatic lurch the elevator restarted, shuttling us to the first floor. I was on my feet, brushing off my pants as the doors sprang open. Two hospital executives stood there, their faces apologetic. According to them, the elevators were brand new and the kinks were still being worked out. I brushed past them, their apologies falling on deaf ears. My family stayed behind to give them an earful. Mal caught up to me, his long legs falling into step with mine.

  “It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” he said, holding the door open for me. “I used to see all types of fucked up shit after my pops died. Most of it was you being shot.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “I never knew that.”

  “Of course not; you had your own shit going on.” My head dropped in shame. “I’m not saying it was your fault, all I’m saying is that you need to get ahold of this before it gets ahold of you. Or else you end up a nineteen-year-old crackhead.”

  My head snapped up. “Is that why you—”

  “Some people are good at talking shit out. Some of us need to purge it out. The only way I could function was by getting high. If I could go back in time, I’d give that overpriced therapist your pops hired another try. Now I gotta do this shit on my own for my sister,” Mal replied with a tight nod. “I threw everything away. My supplies, my friends, and got rid of every single piece of crack in my apartment. Briana’s been holding everything down on her own. When she wakes up, she’s going to need every ounce of support she can get. I can’t do that while still fucking with that shit.”

  “Mal, you can’t quit cold turkey. Your body won’t let you. If you’re serious, why don’t you let me put you up somewhere. Just between the two of us?” I offered.

  Mal had turned down any form of help in the past, whether it was hurt or pride we’d never be sure. I prayed he wouldn’t, and those prayers were answered when he replied, “I’ll do it…under one condition.”

  I expected Mal to ask for me to look out for his mother. He said Daddy and Koi were more than capable of doing that. When he told me of his request, I agreed immediately; it was easy enough, and would benefit me in the long run. Or at least I thought so until I lay in bed, clutching Quill for dear life because I was too afraid of the darkness behind my lids. Without Mal’s condition, I wasn’t sure how much longer I would’ve suffered in silence—I was sure my family would’ve nipped it in the bud at some point before it was too late—but I felt good for getting in front of it from the jump. As I sat on the sofa in the pristine Bedford Stuyvesant living room, watching a light snow sweep over the streets, a stillness crept up inside of me, one I had been searching for in all the wrong people and places.

  “Kelsey,” Dr. Arden Templeton said with a small smile. She had been as gracious over the phone as she was in the bathroom of the doctor’s office. “What brings you in today?”

  “A lot of stuff, Arden. First I was dealing with my sexual assault by running away, making a new life for myself. Then there was being buried alive. I can’t run from it because there is darkness everywhere and it’s suffocating me. Please, help me.”

  Arden handed me a box of tissues, her expression sympathetic. “We’re going to get through this, Kelsey.” I accepted the box, snatching two tissues to dab at the tears I felt stinging my eyes. “Now why don’t we start from the beginning?”

  “The beginning?” I sighed. “It all started five years ago. The day of my sixteenth birthday…”

  4

  Quill

  I took a pull of the passed around blunt, clogging my lungs with some of the best bud in the city. It came from my boy Marlon, a Jamaican nigga who was looking to start his own operation up here after having received his citizenship papers. This was a celebration of sorts for him; he was an American citizen, and if this partnership worked out he would be able to sever ties with the middle-aged white woman who had brought him to this country at the tender age of eighteen. It was her house we were posted up in, smoking and watching television while she made sandwiches in the kitchen. Marlon told her to keep out of his business, but she was insistent on butting in at every turn she got. Why a wealthy divorcee wanted to be a trap queen was beyond me.

  “My nigga, I was watching the news the other night like ‘look at my boy Quill’! The news said y’all got into a high-speed car chase, you jumped the gate to the cemetery, and searched all through that bitch until you found your girl. Did it really take ten of you to dig her out of the grave?” Marlon asked, accepting the blunt from me and taking a pull as he waited for my answer.

  I gave a confirmatory nod. “I can’t give you a number; was too busy trying to get her out of there.”

  Eric accepted the blunt, shaking his head at the retelling. “You just got out the hospital after being shot up again, and ran through that bitch like you were still at Duke. How does your knee feel?”

  The condition of my knee had been a second thought for me. I moved it around for show. “It’s aight. No complaints.”

  “You ever consider going back to playing basketball?” Marlon inquired. “I don’t doubt for one second that scouts would love to take you on with a story like that.”

  I shook my head. “Nah, what I’m working on is far more lucrative than ball could be for me, even if a team was to take me on. The contract would probably be shit, I’d never get on the court, and even if I did it wouldn’t feel the same because my heart isn’t there anymore.”

  “I don’t know,” Marlon replied under his breath. “If I had a way to make some legit money to send back home I would snatch it up in an instant so she can gwan with she rass.”

  Eric let out a bark of laughter, extending the blunt to me as he tried to catch his breath. “I feel you, man. Everything was good with Chastity, but lately…”

  “What? You’re missing someone?” I quipped.

  “I went to make sure Bri was good, and some yuppie ass nigga stopped me at the door, coming out his face talking about how she doesn’t need any fake sympathy. I had to let that nigga know my baby moms will always be a concern of mine whether we together or not. Fuck outta here…” His brows furrowed at my expression. “What?”

  “You sure this has nothing to do with knowing she’s moved on? Ayanna’s death was a shock to the system for all of us. I think you let other people get in your ear, and had you not, you and Bri would still be together.”

  “Maybe so,” Eric admitted.

  My boy was looking like he needed some uplifting words. “If Kelsey and I can get back together after years of being apart, I don’t see why the same can’t happen for you and Bri.”

  “Nah, whoever he was, he ain’t letting her go without a fight. To be honest, after everything I put her through, Bri deserves someone who wants to do right by her.”

  He didn’t know it, but Eric still loved Briana more than he cared to admit. I don’t think he ever stopped loving her. Years ago, I wished the same for Kelsey, and we still found our way back to each other. Nothing was impossible. My phone started buzzing in my pocket, interrupting the moment. Eric’s did as well. There was only one person who would contact the both of us at the same time.

  “Marlon, we gotta rise up, but I’ll be in contact with you about placing a possible order. Why don’t you hit me with some figures and we’ll go from there?” I said, rising from my seat at the same time as Eric, who dapped up Marlon.

  Marlon’s girlfriend, a lily white woman by the name of Susan, appeared laden with snacks. “Daddy, are your friends leaving already? How about I wrap these sandwiches to go?”

  “Hell yeah,” Eric said, scooping up a few potato chips.

  I wanted to argue since we needed to get moving, but my stomach let o
ut an involuntary growl. Susan shot us a warm smile and shuffled back to the kitchen, shouting that she would have everything wrapped by the time we made it to the front door. Marlon rolled his eyes.

  “Quill, don’t forget about me,” he said, his tone laced with exasperation.

  We dapped. “I promise. I got you. Just make sure your shit is straight before we make any moves. If I have to supply you with access to my network it’ll hurt your cut, and I don’t want to do that…”

  “Nah, I need every penny I can get,” Marlon said, his gaze transfixed on the hallway leading to the kitchen. “I want to bring my son up here to live, give him a better life than what I have as of right now. His mother is doing a good job with him, but a boy needs his father.”

  “Hell yeah,” Eric and I said at the same time, stopping in front of the door.

  Susan came hurrying down the hall, holding out brown paper bags, a can of soda in each hand. We accepted both graciously, promising to be in touch with Marlon later. Eric chuckled on the way to the car, shaking his head as he stuffed chips into his mouth.

  “Crazy how you think you want one thing, and one day you wake up realizing it’s far from it. What you thought would be a salve turns out to be a poison,” he said, and I couldn’t agree more.

  We spent the car ride in an amicable silence, the only noises in Eric’s car being us wolfing down Susan’s hoagies. It had been a long time since I had the munchies, and as we pulled up in front of our destination I regretted ruining my palate with the simple sandwich. Eric triple checked the address to make sure he had it right. A valet appeared at his door, ready to take his keys.

  “This my favorite bitch,” he told the valet as we headed into The Mackenzie, one of the first men’s-only clubs dedicated to providing networking opportunities to men of color. “Make sure you park her out of the sun. And don’t put her next to anything manufactured before 2017…”

  “Eric, come on,” I said, tugging him along.

  The doorman refused to budge until we mentioned Urban’s name. He perused a list, I’m sure for the feeling of importance, and let us in. We followed his directions to the tee, ending up at another heavily guarded door. This time it was by one of Urban’s personal security guards. The grand doors opened inward, leading to a dining room fit for modern day royalty. On the walls were pictures of Langston Hughes, Pac, Biggie, Malcom X, Martin Luther King, Caesar Chavez, and other visionaries that helped to shape the world before their untimely demises. At the head of the dining room table set for twenty-six was Urban, sipping on a tumbler of scotch, studying us over the rim of his glass. To the right of him was a manservant who asked if he was ready for the first course to be served. Urban inclined his head, never taking his eyes off of us. He pointed to a seat on either side of the table. Eric opted for the left while I chose the right.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your day off,” he said, taking in our appearances. “No judgment from me. Back in my day I showed up to a meet or two high. One time I double ordered my product, and damn near killed myself moving it. Good times…”

  Eric and I shared a look; this easygoing Urban wasn’t the man we had dealt with in the past. Urban read our expressions and let out a laugh, motioning for a server to bring out two cups of coffee. They were placed to the side of us, in the center a fancy Caesar salad that I damn near inhaled. Marlon had some potent shit. And if it was hitting Eric the same way it did me, we needed to get this on the streets. Urban took two bites of his salad, the first one easy but the second one making a slight mess. He placed his fork on top of his food. I thought it was weird that Urban, who was still fairly young, was experiencing a debilitating disease that wasn’t affecting any of the other men in his family. A thought popped into my head.

  “You work on those cars alone?” I asked, taking a gulp of coffee.

  Urban mulled over my question. “As in does anyone else have access to them? The mechanics, but as for my family or associates, you’re the only one who knows they exist.”

  “How much time you spend there?”

  He shrugged. “I stop by every day to see their progress. You think this has something to do with the cars?”

  “I’m just saying, I put Kelsey in charge of being my medical proxy because I’m bad at filling out forms and shit. If you’re anything like me, Normani fills out all of your paperwork, doesn’t she?”

  “Chastity fills out mine,” Eric interjected.

  “If Normani doesn’t know about the cars, then that omission might’ve prevented you from having certain tests done. Those fumes could be fucking your body up,” I told him, polishing off my plate of food.

  “Word, you might end up on one of those ER shows,” Eric said. “I mean, you ain’t got no monsters, but you did shoot your cousin. That makes for good television.”

  Urban slipped his phone from his suit jacket pocket, and made a call to what sounded like his doctor. “We’ll know in a few days,” he said, placing his phone on the table beside him. “The reason why I called the two of you in is to personally thank the both of you for helping to bring home my Kelsey.”

  “No need to thank us; Kelsey’s family,” I said.

  Eric nodded in agreement. “That’s sis, man. She’d do the same for either one of us.”

  “Good to know Kelsey has people other than me who truly care for her. As you can see, I’m constantly under a microscope. Law enforcement binds my hands at times, making it hard to react how I want because it’s not just my life in jeopardy. It took everything in me not to say fuck it, and get my daughter myself, but it would’ve put more than her life on the line.”

  Our second course was brought out; a crab cake the size of a baseball. Eric dug in, his attention on his food, though I could see the alertness in his eyes return.

  “As a show of gratitude, I wanted to offer each of you one favor. Anything you want. Name it, and it’s yours.”

  “Anything?” Eric asked, placing his fork on his plate, pushing it away from him. “When you say anything—”

  “I mean anything.” Urban’s eyes flickered between the two of us. “Kelsey’s life is priceless.”

  Eric sat back in his seat, thinking long and hard. I thought for sure he would ask for enough cash to set his family up for life, some product, a spot on Urban’s team. My boy opted for the opposite—something legitimate. “I want a property. A multifamily home with commercial space on the first floor. Prime real estate. Preferably one that’s been renovated, and is waiting to be occupied.”

  “I’ll have my real estate agent take you around to see your options,” Urban said, impressed with Eric’s decision. His eyes found mine. “Quill?”

  I sat there for what felt like hours, thinking of what I could possibly want. Our third course had arrived at the same time I came up with my decision. Taking a measured breath, I replied, “I think I’ll hold on to my favor, keep it safe for a rainy day.”

  “Quill,” Eric hissed. “This is your opportunity to get away from You-Know-Who by because of You-Know-What. I know you probably want to secure something better, but you might not be able to enjoy it if you’re dead.”

  He mouthed the last word as if Urban wasn’t sitting between the two of us listening. I picked at my food—some elegantly decorated piece of beef—my stomach churning as I considered Eric’s opinion. Nah, this was a problem I created for myself. Having another man bail me out would kill any chance I had to running my own shit. I would hold on to my favor from Urban.

  “If that’s what you want,” he said when I gave him my final answer. “Whenever you’re ready to call it in, I’ll be here.”

  It was unspoken, but there was a shift in the way Urban and I interacted from that point on. The disdain he had for me evaporated, almost as if he knew why I refused to have him bail me out. Cutting corners wasn’t how he ended up at the head of a table in a building with his name on it. I had to play the long game, which required patience that some lacked. As we finished up and shook hands, agreeing to do business at some
point in the future, I saw something in Urban’s eyes. He wanted me to catch it, and it was a powerful motivator. No, I didn’t want to act like it changed me, however, it did. The king of New York gave me something he didn’t share with many others.

  His respect.

  __________

  I heard the noise the second I stepped off the elevator on my floor. Loud music blasted throughout the halls, so loud the walls vibrated. Drea had lost her goddamn mind if she thought it was okay to play music that loud while Legacy was in the house. Ever since she saw me on the news with Kelsey, her entire attitude toward me had changed. Somehow I had become the villain, a bad guy for not sitting back and letting her punk me the way she had in the past. Bull tried to pull some reverse psychology shit on me, asking me what had changed in our relationship. I hit him with the “having a baby changes everything” slogan and kept it pushing. If he was unaware it meant Drea had kept her word. Now I needed her to screw her head on right before she messed around and lost the best thing that ever happened to her—Legacy.

  “Drea, have you lost your—” A cloud of bud hit me head on.

  This wasn’t the pure shit Marlon was selling; this had to be some reggie that came from somebody’s projects. I fanned the smoke away from my face, slowing as I saw who the culprits were. Sitting in my living room were Bull and LaKeith, along with two young niggas from the block, Dro and Keef. They were in the middle of a heated game of spades, the coffee table filled with red Solo cups, an ashtray stacked with roaches, and playing cards. Bull was the only one to look up from the game. LaKeith didn’t bother to look up from his cards, but a slick grin on his face let me know he clocked my arrival.

  “Wassup, lil’ nigga,” Bull said, sitting back in his seat. “What you been up to?”

  “Work,” I said, setting my duffle on the kitchen table.