Page 4 of Disrespectfully, Relic
“Who is it?” Jahleel asked, watching as Relic washed his face and then tossed his washcloth into the hamper like he had all the time in the world.
“No one important. Just a stupid muthafucka who doesn’t know his left foot from his right.”
“You say that ‘bout everyone but me.”
“Because you’re the only one who doesn’t piss me off. Everyone else is fucking useless and a prime example of if you want shit done right, do it yourself,” he caviled, snatching up his phone before stalking out of the bathroom with Jahleel on his heels.
Relic tuned out his son’s slippers scraping against the hardwood flooring as he refocused on his screen—his alertness heightening as the worker set down the bags to tug a hood lower over his eyes before shoving both hands into his pockets. The nigga should’ve walked away. Relic’s usual worker who delivered his groceries was aware of their bi-weekly procedure, but he obviously hadn’t given his replacement the full gist of instructions.
Once descending the staircase to the foyer, Relic lifted a hand for his son to halt and then placed a finger to his lips before pointing away from the front door. Jahleel’s eyes widened, but he scurried to hide behind the living room entrance wall while Relic pressed the microphone icon to speak through his intercom.
“Who the fuck are you?”
The worker’s head jerked upward like he’d heard Jesus himself at Relic’s gruff voice booming through the speaker. His eyes flitted around before locating the camera.
“Good morning, big homie.” He leaned his face toward the black orb with an amiable grin in greeting. “I’m Drish. I was dropping off your groceries for TJ, but didn’t want to leave them for someone to steal, so I figured I’d wait.”
“Does it look like you’re in a neighborhood where muthafuckas need to steal a couple hundred dollars’ worth of meat and cereal? You got five seconds to get yo ass off my porch before I pump yo chest with lead straight through this fucking door.”
Drish backpedaled at the blatant threat and stepped down from the porch. He removed both hands from his pockets, swiping off his hood before raising his arms in mock surrender while retreating to show he wasn’t a threat.
“That’s my bad, boss man.”
“Five, four...” Relic counted down, disregarding the apology. The nigga wasn’t moving fast enough for him.
He toggled with his camera view, zooming in on the young man’s face, and then the vehicle idling in his roundabout driveway. Once the worker hopped inside of it and drove off, Relic took a picture of the license plate and then opened the door to grab his groceries. His temples throbbed from an oncoming headache at having another fucking issue to resolve because he was surrounded by simpletons.
“Who was that?” Jahleel popped out of his hiding spot to interrogate once Relic reentered and locked the door.
When he didn’t receive an answer, he trailed his dad into the kitchen—hopping on a bar stool at the floating island while Relic dropped the bags onto the floor near the fridge and began putting away their food.
“How ‘bout, worry less about my business and help put away this shit,” Relic griped, making Jahleel curl up his top lip.
“You never made me help before. Did you get waffles?”
“Get your ass up and check the bags to see.”
Jahleel laughed and hopped down, heading straight toward the bags of frozen goods while Relic shook his head. He could tell that his son was slowly turning into one of those spoiled ass kids who expected to not lift a finger while getting everything their heart desired. A part of him didn’t mind it. Relic had gone through enough struggle to last a lifetime at his son’s age, so he refused to place the same burdens on Jahleel unless necessary.
His eyes wandered away from his son as he tossed the package of meat he held into the freezer and then pulled out his vibrating phone. He scoffed at the name before he answered, placed the call on speaker, and then tossed it on the countertop nearest him so that he could finish with his task.
“What the fuck do you want, P?”
“Fanmi, kisa bon? A nigga will be back like cooked crack tomorrow, muthafucka!”
Pierre’s animated voice blaring through the line made Jahleel whip his head around with a gasp. “What’s up, fanmi?” he greeted, trying to sound cool like his folks as he tore into the box of waffles to pull out three.
“What’s good, big money, Jah?”
“Nothing. Making something to eat while Relic is putting up the groceries.”
“Oh, y’all got food this week? That nice ass house ain’t ever got no kitchen action going on when I stop past. Tell yo rich papa to hire a chef, ‘cause the way y’all paid and poor at the same time don’t make sense.”
“Yea, let’s get a chef, Relic! I’m tired of microwavable stuff,” Jahleel admitted. He shoved his waffles inside the four-slice toaster as Pierre cracked up while Relic shook his head.
“Stop putting on for P’s bitch ass. I buy you whatever you ask for to eat, and Savvy brings us food whenever she cooks.”
“Why the hell is your brother’s wife feeding you and your son?” Pierre’s disdain was evident in his voice. “I keep telling Shabu, he’s sharing his old lady, but he doesn’t want to listen. Tell the truth, gang... is Indie yours? That’s why you put the restaurant in Whoop’s name, ain’t it? Bribery to keep y’all lil’ secret under wraps.”
