Page 5 of Heavy Is The Crown

He tossed the phone on the coffee table, leaning back, exhaling slowly.

Through the thin walls, he could hear the neighbors arguing, a baby crying somewhere in the distance, and the faint sound of police sirens in the background.

Fuck!

His mama’s apartment wasn’t home. Hell, nowhere felt like home anymore. And now his baby mama was fucking with the opps. Shit was fucked up.

But he had to figure something out because one way or another, he was going to be a constant in his daughter’s life. He had failed her enough. It was time to make shit right.

**********

Kenyatta sat slumped on the couch, one hand rubbing at his temple while his other rested on his knee. The conversation with Brooke had drained whatever was left of his patience for the day.

The buzz of his phone on the coffee table pulled him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen.

Jay-1.

A deep exhale left his chest as he grabbed the phone and answered. “Yo.”

Jay-1’s voice came through the line, laid-back but laced with amusement. “Damn, nigga, you sound like you just lost your last meal. What’s up with you?”

Kenyatta leaned forward, rubbing his face. “Man, just been out all day on some job shit. Ain’t nothing shaking. These people act like I’m tryna rob the place when I walk in the door.”

Jay-1 chuckled. “Shit, I’d be scared of you too, big ass ex-convict looking like you break kneecaps for a living.”

Kenyatta smirked, but there wasn’t much humor behind it. “I’m serious, nigga. I went to that temp spot over on Hollis. Soon as they pulled my name up, it was a wrap. Same old ‘We don’t hire felons’ bullshit.”

Jay-1 sucked his teeth. “Man, fuck them jobs. That’s why I keep telling you, you making shit harder than it gotta be. You know the money out here, Yatta.”

Here we go.

Kenyatta leaned back against the couch, shaking his head. “Nah, man. I ain’t even on that type of time.”

“But you on broke time?” Jay-1 countered. “Come on, nigga, that shit don’t even make sense. You out here filling out apps, getting curved left and right when you could be getting to a bag.”

Kenyatta rolled his tongue over his teeth, holding back the first thing he wanted to say. Jay-1 wasn’t wrong about the money being out there. It was. But he’d spent seven years inside because of that money. Yet, the thought lingered though: if these job leads kept turning up empty, then what?

Jay-1 must’ve heard the silence because he let out a loud laugh. “See, I can hear you thinking too hard. Your ass gonna be back outside before the year up.”

Kenyatta shook his head, but he was already standing up, pacing the small space between the couch and the TV.

“Man, I just needed a break today. Shit’s frustrating, that’s all.”

“Say less, then. I’m outside in a minute. We hitting Velvet Room tonight; couple bad ones already sliding through.”

Kenyatta sighed, debating. He wasn’t in the mood for bottles and bullshit, but sitting in this damn apartment, stewing in his problems, wasn’t any better.

“Yeah, a’ight. Come get me.”

Jay-1 snickered. “See? You just needed some motivation, nigga. Get fresh. I’ll be there in twenty.”

The call ended.

Kenyatta stared at the phone for a second before tucking it in his hoodie pocket. Not that he was a child and needed permission to leave; but he was staying in her house, so the least he could do was make Traci aware he was stepping out for a second.

Traci was in her favorite part of the apartment; the kitchen, washing dishes, when he stepped in.

The sink was running, drowning out the sound of the small TV on the counter playing one of her favorite court tv shows. A half-burned Black & Mild sat in the ashtray next to an old Jehovah’s Witness leaflet.

---