Page 37 of He Don't Play About Me
“DAMMNNN! They fucked y’all shit up.”
All I could do was laugh.
“They did.”
“What the fuck did they take?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I can’t tell! It didn’t look like shit was missing, but the shit we had on the table that night.”
“That’s right, he had just re-upped.”
I zoned out for a second, those words shivering down my spine.
But I wasn’t gonna talk to him about that. I shook that feeling off and cleared my throat, cutting into whatever Bully was talking about.
“Well, did you re-up, nigga?”
He smirked. “Yeah, I got you right. You ready to slide out?”
I looked around the place at the lil’ work I did get done.
“Fuck it,” I said, grabbing my bag. “I can hire movers and shit, let’s go.”
We walked out, and I looked around, looking for that woman, but didn’t see her.
We hopped in his car, I got in the back again, and Bully passed me two bags.
“You gonna have to cut and weigh it out back there, everything in there.”
I nodded, and we were in motion.
Bully pulled out of the complex, sent the kite, and passed the phone back to me. I broke one brick open, and the smell hit my nose immediately. I started to break it down piece by piece on my lap while the scale zeroed out.
The car filled with the quiet sound of plastic crackling and the soft tone of the scale, until Bully turned up the music. I gotin a lil’ routine, cutting it down, weighing it out, bagging it up, tossing it in the duffle bag.
We were moving slow.
Nothing like the first day.
We hit a few licks, but the rest of the time we were riding and talking. I made plans for movers and checked on my parents. I was about to tell Bully we could go back to the complex when his phone rang.
I looked at the screen, and it said Kronic.
I hit the button and lifted the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Islah?” his deep voice came through the phone, asking.
“Yeah, wussup?”
“You and Bully slide through the hood.”
“Okay, we are on the way.”
We hung up, and Bully looked at me through the rearview mirror.
“Kronic wants us to slide through.”
