Page 5 of The Richest Gangstas in the Room
“You be careful out there, and I’ll see you in two weeks.” He relayed.
“I will and thanks again Baby,” I said. He didn’t respond he only smiled.
I grabbed my bag and walked out, my heels clacking quietly against the plush hotel carpet. The elevator ride down gave me just enough time to turn myself off emotionally. That was the real trick in doing this shit, it wasn’t the men or the money. It was knowing how to detach.
Once I was outside, Chicago greeted me the way only it knew how to do. The air was cold and unapologetic; I glanced around and spotted who I was looking for.
Rylo’s black Benz truck was sitting idling at the curb, music low, windows tinted. He leaned over when I got in, kissed my cheek like this was just another night.
“You straight?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, buckling my seatbelt. “I’m good; Can you drop me off at the nail shop? I'm meeting Mya and Morgan."
"Sayless," he replied.
Rylo put the car in drive, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror out of habit, that caution came from living how we lived. His fingers, adorned with two diamond rings, tapped against the steering wheel to the beat of Lil Durk coming through the speakers.
"How much?" he asked, keeping his voice casual like he was asking about the weather.
"Forty-five hundred." He nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"That's what I'm talking about. My baby worth every dolla and then some." I reached into my bag, peeled off two bands, and handed it to him.
“This for you,” I said. “Handle whatever you gotta handle.” He glanced at it, then nodded.
“Good looking out, baby. I got a play lined up tonight anyway. It’s a couple cards bout to crack.” He said and I didn’t reply, I just watched the streetlights blur past the window. Rylo always had a play. He was always one step away from a big lick that never seem to fucking come.
When I met him two years ago at a party on the Westside, he approached me different than how other niggas did. He didn’t come tryna spit no weak ass lines, nor was he trying to pressure me. He came up to me with a confidence that made bitches do a double take.
I was at the party with Yatta, who was checking up on one of his old friends. Mya had stayed home, buried in her veterinary books like always. The party was at some trap house off Madison, crowded with the usual suspects, drug dealers, hustlers, and bitches who were looking for a come up.
Rylo had been in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, watching the room with observant eyes. When our eyes locked, something just clicked.
Later, he told me he'd noticed that I wasn't drinking, and I wasn't chasing after the flashy niggas flaunting their money. And he wasn't wrong. That shit didn’t excite me at all. I was a getting money ass bitch myself so no I wasn’t impressed.
We'd exchanged numbers, and on our first date, he told me straight up about who he was in the streets, he did a little bit of everything from bank fraud, identity theft, credit card scams, all that white-collar shit that kept him out of the dopeboy life but paid just as well.
All in all, Rylo was a scammer, he lives behind computer screens and burner phones, he liked to say he was smarter than street niggas because he didn't touch product. But in my opinion that was some dumb shit to say, scamming was a different hustle, but it held the same risk.
I respected his hustle because when he found out what I did with men like Mr. Clyde, he didn't judge me. He just asked if I was being safe and getting what I was worth.
The nail shop came into view, and through the window, I spotted Mya laughing loud, while Morgan sat beside her, with her phone in her hand.
Rylo pulled up to the curb. I grabbed my purse, then paused before opening the door.
"I'll be at your crib lata’; so, make sure you answer the phone," I told him.
He leaned over and kissed my cheek again. "Aight. I gotchu’."
I stepped out of the truck and watched him pull off before turning toward the shop.
* * *
Fancy Fingers Nail Bar was poppin' as usual on a Friday night, packed with hood princesses getting fresh for the weekend. The smell of acrylic hit me as soon as I pushed the door open. The chemical smell was sharp mixed with fruity lotion and cheap incense they burned to cover it all up.
"Yah-Yah," Mya's voice cut through the chatter. My baby sister waved her hands in the air, careful not to mess up her wet polish.
"Bitch, you overly late!"
