Page 103 of Rather: The Therapist

“Say less.”

Silk was my next point of contact.

“You here?” He asked as soon as he answered.

“In eight minutes I will be. In ten, kill the lights.”

“I’m headed toward the powerbox now.”

When the call on the untraceable line ended, I flipped it and tossed it in the cup holder. Though peeved with Kofi’s inability to straighten the fuck up and put us all out of our misery, his protection would forever be my responsibility. Because, I knew if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot or catch a bullet for me. He was an asshole, but he was a beast when it came to the people he broke bread and shared the same blood with.

In eight minutes I was in the parking lot of Orchid with the strings of my hoodie tightened underneath my neck. The confusion written over the security’s face when the power went out was my sign to exit the car. Right in front of the club, I left it running. Their state of bewilderment made it easy to slip past them and inside.

I pulled the goggles down over my eyes. Instantly, the darkness transformed into an array of greens. I could see everything, including the clubbers who weren’t interested in exiting due to promises being shouted by club management.

“Ohhhh ohhhh. Don’t go nowhere. Having issues with the power. The generators will kick on in a few seconds. Don’t go nowhere.”

Kofi.

I spotted my brother in the booth near the corner. He’d removed his pistols from his waist. They sat on his lap, clutched tightly in his hands.

Smart boy.

Against the wall. Fingers on the triggers. Ready for war.

Don’t worry, brother. I got this.

My thoughts raced as I tried not to draw any attention my way by bumping the people standing around waiting for power.

“In fact,” the loud voice continued yelling, “Let’s count this shit down. Starting from thirty. I bet this shit be back in business. I hope you motherfuckers can count! You ready? I’ma start this shit off.”

Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds, Priest.

The countdown began as my search continued.

Twenty-nine.

Twenty-eight.

I counted along with the crowd.

Twenty-seven.

Twenty-six.

Fuck. Where these niggas at?

Twenty-five.

Twenty-four.

I turned in the opposite direction, knowing that wherever they were it was likely they had a clear view of my brother.

Bingo!

Spotted were six niggas with curious eyes and too much movement for my liking.

Twenty-two.

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