She mushed my head out of her face. “Bye, Dr. Bell.”
“Oh, okay. That’s what we on?”
For the first time, her eyes watered. “Why did I have to find out about Hakeem on the news? According to the picture I saw of his brother on the news, Marco is the one who tried to kill me and Quilo that night.”
Marco was still in ICU recovering from third degree burns and a gunshot wound. He was in a medically induced coma that I needed his ass to come out of, ASAP.
“It wasn’t my intentions not to tell you. Actually, that’s why I’ve been moving like I have been lately. It’s nothing about a bitch. I promise, aight. We locked in forever, so don’t ever fret over shit like that.”
She glanced away, and her shoulders slightly lifted as if to saywhatever.
I turned her face towards me and said, “Remember I told you that it was gon’ take trust you never knew in order to be married to a man like me. Trust me, my baby. That’s all I ask.”
This time, she nodded. I kissed her lips, then her forehead.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Leaving the house was hard as fuck. I wanted to assure Pretty that being in the streets wasn’t what I wanted. However, I had to get to the bottom of what happened to Hakeem. So far, I had nothing other than a comatose Marco.
Jamaine, a nigga we knew on the East Side, was one of the biggest drug dealers in the city. He owned a club, Dark Door, on the other side of downtown. It was always packed and one of the hottest spots for live entertainment. The bottle girls were fine as fuck, and the atmosphere wasn’t so bad.
Our presence alone made him uneasy, though. He entered our section and despite putting up a front, the look in his eyes gave him away. His right and second hand men flanked him. They kept their eyes on Alli, Dothan, and DJ.
“What has the good doctor darkening my doorstep?”
“Just came to chill,” I said. No dap. No shit like that. I didn’t fuck with this nigga. Shiiitt. We didn’t even order drinks. I just wanted to peep who was moving through here.
“You sure, Doc?”
“If I was on some other shit, this bitch would’ve been cleared out by now,” I stated.
He chuckled, and I heard the nervousness in it.
“Enjoy ya night,” he said before leaving back out of the section.
For two hours, we kicked it and took mental notes of anything we saw to circle back to. One face stood out the most. Kim McAroy strutted her fine ass past my section wearing a smile that many niggas would’ve folded for. Not this nigga, though. Kim and her twin brother, Kody, were the offspring of a family that my great-grandfather would roll over in his grave if he thought I was fucking with them.
The McAroys were another Black family around at the time my great-grandfather and his homeboys were building Niceville Shores. Just like my family, the McAroys were an extensive family. The McAroys originated out of Pensacola and were heavy in the liquor game. They heard about some men putting together a new community in Niceville Shores and thought they were going to carry their asses across that bridge and bully Allistair. Allistair sent them back to Pensacola wearing some bullet holes and knots. It was a long-standing silent agreement that as long as they didn’t fuck with us, we wouldn’t fuck with them. Hell, they weren’t even welcomed at Dr. Bell & Associates, and nearly everyone in the streets was welcomed there.
“Remember what I said about an organized family?” Alli questioned for my ears only.
Sure, the McAroys were capable of knocking off Hakeem. That shit felt off, though.
Just as Alli said it, Kody passed my section. His unyielding face matched the look on mine as we held eye contact. We weretwo alphas who didn’t have to assert any fucking energy for people to know who the fuck we were.
“The fuck that nigga lookin’ at?”
I stopped DJ when he went to get up.
“Chill… Everything is cool,” I said.
Putting the McAroys out of my mind, I went back to studying the scenery. Jamaine stayed out of dodge the remainder of the evening. If he was the one to hit up Hakeem and his crew, I was going to burn his entire bloodline to the ground.
Althoughthelastweekhad been trying as hell, I was determined to show up for Quilo. I stood on the sidelines and watched him throw another dime clear down the field. The young man who caught the ball did so with ease. They were walk-on tryouts killing the current players on the team. The young man jogged back down the field and bumped fists with Quilo. Coach called him Savage. I knew some Savages here in the city, but I didn’t recall them having any children. This kid had a monitor on his ankle, piquing my interest. He and Quilo seemed to hit it off. Honestly, I was happy to see Quilo actually enjoying himself. On the field, he appeared to be carefree.
“Surprised to see you here.”
Glancing to my right, I saw Curtis Baker approaching me. The retired marine lived a few neighborhoods over from Bell Estates and owned a local gun range. He shook my hand and peered out over the field.
