“Just look up when you step up or use the app on your phone to unlock it manually. It won’t lock you out of your own shit, nigga, not unless there’s a power outage. And, at that point, there is an emergency.”
“Then where it’s at?” I needed to know.
“In there,” Laike pointed toward the black King Ranch Super Dually on Forgiatos.
The F-350 was sweet. I was almost certain that it took over two hundred dollars to fill the tank, but I also knew that trucks as such were meant for the open road so they were great on gas. A full tank could hold you over for at least 600 miles.
“I see ya, nigga,” I complimented, loving the muscle sitting in my yard.
I couldn’t conceal the pleasure on my face even if I wanted to. Laike had been making me proud since I stepped foot in the joint. He’d taken on my roll with an iron fist and doubled my predicted profit over the ten-year span I expected to be down. I received time served and came home in a little over eight. Now that I was home, I was wondering if I even wanted to dabble. He was getting the fucking job done with no questions asked, but I knew he wouldn’t let me sit it out. He’d been waiting for me to return so that we could stand side-by-side and really run up a check. Both of our heads were better than one.
“That’s all you, bro.”
“All who?” I snapped my neck in his direction, peeling it from the designer shoes on the super truck.
“All you. That motherfucker too slow for me, man. That’s more of your speed. I need something that can get me out of there in ten seconds flat. That ain’t it.”
“Appreciate that,” I responded, pushing Laike across freshly laid grass.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Luca. I’ve put niggas in the ground for less.”
Laike dusted off his shirt as if I’d gotten him dirty. Stepping closer, I pushed him again as I headed to the truck. Knowing that it was mine made it even sweeter. When I opened the door, the step descended so I was able to step inside. There was a massive gap between the truck and the concrete, so it was necessary.
I stepped on it and then into the truck, admiring the interior, too. When I started the engine and heard the roaring, a smile tugged at my lips. Laike had truly outdone himself. He’d spent at least the last six months putting together my welcome home kit, and I was nearly certain he wasn’t finished yet.
“I knowa spot where we can chill and kick shit at tonight. Nothing major, just good vibes and plenty of bad bitches.”
“If you’ve planned a coming home party, please cancel it now. I’m not showing up to that motherfucker,” I warned before piercing my salmon burger again.
We’d stopped by Manuel’s to grab a plate before heading to Channing Galleria. I needed to holler at Rico, my jeweler, about upgrading the pieces I’d left with him before going in. The salmon burger with dirty rice was the perfect meal to welcome me home. I’d eaten bullshit for the last eight years, which included far too many noodles and snacks from the commissary.
“Then good, ’cause I haven’t planned one. I knew better than to organize a gathering for the Grinch.”
“Yeah, aight.” I shrugged, not giving a damn what he was calling me nowadays. It wasn’t anything new. He’d sworn I was the uptight one since we were children.
“It’s a spot out here. A restaurant with a stupid ass bar in the back for the guests who aren’t quite ready to leave after dinner and for guests who prefer the bar opposed to fine dining.”
“I’m with it.”
“Then call your sister and try to convince her to come outside. I hardly even see her ass unless it’s at the house,” Laike complained, referring to our parents’ home as ours.
“If I tell her to come, she’s coming. I’m not begging her little stubborn ass to do shit. I’d be better off physically removing her from her pad instead.”
“You know I’m with that, too.”
Of course he was. Laike was with anything that included physical force or violence. It was a form of therapy for him. My parents assumed it would be him behind bars long before I pled guilty, but to their surprise I was the one spending nearly a decade behind the wall.
“Unfortunately,” I responded, placing my sandwich on the extra wide arm rest and grabbed my phone as we stopped at the red light.
“Facetime Lyric,” I instructed Siri.
The music paused as the call was initiated. Seconds later, I saw Lyric’s pretty face on the screen. She finally looked like she’d gotten some sleep and had pulled herself together.
“What’s up, baby girl?”
“It feels like a dream, seeing you so clearly and whenever I want. Is this really real?”
“I’m happy to know you want to see your big bro or whatever. That means I won’t get no back talk when I tell you to come chill with me tonight, right?”
