I shrugged my shoulders.
"Shit, clean up around here, wash some clothes, something productive. You know I don't live junky like this anyway. Look at all the shit you have piling up, and we haven't been here for a week."
There were cans of soda, bottles of water, bags of crackers, but all half-eaten because she couldn't keep shit down anyway. This mess was running me up out of here faster than I already wanted too. People often joked that I'm slightly OCD, which I would rather be than a filthy mutha fucka.
"Why can't we just call a cleaning lady to come over? You act like they are the people who kidnapped me."
"Well, we don't know that they aren't. We have to move accordingly."
"I know for a fact it wasn't Hispanics that took me."
"How? You say you don't know one detail about who snatched you out our place? You don't even know wether you took the steps to the garage or the elevator.”
"Whatever, Hov. You don't have to be a smart ass."
She shook her head and then went to sit down on the sofa across from where I slept.
"Look, I'm not trying to argue with you Cash. Are you good?"
I grabbed her arm and pulled her up on her feet and in closer to me.
Cashmier instantly became putty in my arms just that quick. One thing about her, she loves her some Hov. Probably too much at times.
I knew that things like holding her in my arms right now only made her even more drawn to me, but that soft spot I show her now isn't from a place of love for her, but because of what she carries. That's who gets the soft kisses, warm embrace, and defeat from me now. Not Cashmier.
"Promise me that you won't continue stressing my son out, worried about the wrong shit?"
"You mean your daughter, but she will be just fine."
"Alright, I hope so."
After kissing Cashmier on her forehead, I could tell that she had let go of her attitude just by the way she hummed into the kitchen.
Now I have to make sure the truth about her father's death is under wraps until after her first trimester. I found out from Google last night that the miscarriage rate is high especially during that time.
Once I was done getting dressed, I left the condo and stepped out into the summer heat.
The streets were already booming with delivery trucks double-parked in front of my building, car horns blaring at one another, and people weaving through the sidewalks with no regard for what's going on around them. I slid into the car parked on the side of the street and started the engine to head towards my next destination.
After getting on the FDR Expressway, the view of the buildings stretched tall in the rearview mirror. As I drove, on my right was the East River, which looked like blue glitter when the sunlight was hitting the water just right. I've always been a fan of crossing this expressway because of the view over the railing. As a kid, I wanted to get out of the car on the bridge and go for a swim down below. I never understood why my mother would tell me no back then. She turned her nose up every time I asked saying I would get a disease. I brushed her ass off everyday though. To me as a kid, it would be worth it.
Though still as beautiful today as it was in the past, I now understand completely why my mama didn't want me getting in that water. Shit, I know for a fact I have bodies laying at the bottom, so that glitter effect on the top was just a facade of what lies beneath.
On my ride home from Castle Hill last night, I came up with the idea to use another location for a stash house for extra cash instead of leaving it in the same location with the tellers and whatever security I hired. I was always paranoid about having every fuckin dime I make in one place so easily accessible to other people. That's when I told myself I needed to have a second location to store the money waiting to be cleaned off the streets. I can't put my money in a bank, so I have to make my own banking system. The money will be counted in one placeand held in another. That way, all my eggs wouldn't be in one bucket or whatever the fuck old people say.
The new potential stash spot is located in the suburbs, which is a little further away than the old one, but that distance was all part of the plan. The goal was to be somewhere quieter, more ducked off, and somewhere where we wouldn't end up with the wrong eyes on us.
The new location is the family house where my grandma lives. It's located on a block that is entirely black, with successful black people who own the homes they live in. With all the gentrification going on in all of the boroughs around the city, Wesley Ave was one of the few neighborhoods left with all African American owners in New York. Everyone on the block knows and looks out for each other just as they would have back in the day. They were that old school kind of loyal that doesn't fold for shit. The kind I hope to always have around me.
The part of the house I planned to use was where my father lived when I was just a snotty-nose kid looking up to him. My father could've gotten his own shit way before he moved out of my grandma's, but he liked being close to her. He liked to have her cook for him and wash his clothes and baby him like she did when he was younger. I remember grandma used to come down to the basement and clean it from top to bottom every day. Back then, the area was set up with couches, televisions, and refrigerators, making it feel like a small apartment with an entrance to the outside, which allowed you to avoid seeing grandma's area altogether. You couldn't tell me that my father wasn't living large down there back then because even with the older frame of the house, he still made it look lavish.
Now, years later, no one has lived or been down to the underground, as my father called it, in years. I know it is dusty as shit, and some of the furniture and appliances are outdated,but that's not shit I can't fix. I have contractors and decorators on hand at any time I need them since I am in the Airbnb business. Those are the type of people I had to learn to network with because the street business isn't my only business to look after. After all, I planned on leaving the game altogether one day, especially with being a father. I don't want my kid visiting jail like I did. Wondering when their father would come back home.
When I stepped out onto Wesley Lane, a sense of familiarity washed over me immediately; the flood of childhood memories instantly took over my mind, and I paused right on the side of the road to soak it all in. There were things about the street that were exactly the same as back in the day, like the tire swing hanging from the old pin oak tree in the yard. That, along with the bike ramp on the side of the house that I built with my old homeboy Luca, made it seemed as if time had stood completely still. Even the scent of fresh grass gave me that nostalgic feeling of playing outside while my grandpa cut the grass. It's really sad that I only come out here on holidays, but that's all about to change. My grandma will be happy to hear of my new plan to frequent her downstairs basement. My visits have always made her day.
"Jehovah, hi baby! I wasn't expecting you."
My grandma came out of the door on the porch to greet me as soon as I walked into her front yard. She always gave me a huge welcome since I was a kid getting dropped off over here by my mama. Grandma Iva was and still is my favorite person. The only thing I didn't like about her was that she was way too kind. She showed compassion to people I would've told to kiss my ass a long fuckin time ago.
