Page 28 of DOM: The Miami King

Dique was frustrated but he answered the next call. “What now, Keondra?”

“Boy, WHERE is my child support?!” she snapped sounding exactly how she looked. No matter how powerful Dique was, and no matter how much paper he was touchin’, he just couldn’t keep his dick in check. He fucked bad bitches, but they were airheads, nothin’ like the females I dealt with ‘cause ain’t no way I would’ve ever touched Keondra.

“You mean the child that look like Malcolm X and MLK had a baby together? That one?” Dique shot back, loud as hell. “Come on man, stop playin’ with me Ke.”

Carmen and I both cracked up and I damn near missed the light. Dominique had always been a fool even when we were younger, he ain’t take shit serious that’s why Pop always had to put his ass in the headlock or put the belt to his ass. He was the one in and out of jail, bangin’ and shit, and just had the ‘fuck it’ mentality. Carmen covered her mouth, but she was laughin’ too.

“Dique!” she hissed shakin’ her head.

“Nah cause this girl really thinks I’m the pappy. The baby got light eyes, red curls, and a gap wide enough to park my Hellcat through. I’m dark-skinned, baby! My babies gon’ be dark just like me.” He said wearing a serious look on his face, ‘cause truthfully, he was dead serious. I didn’t know what that baby looked like, but I had to see it for myself, and I was about to.

“That’s not how genes work though Dique. It could very well be your baby and then you’re gonna have to apologize.” Carmen retorted. “She can sue you for defamation and emotional distress.”

“Yeah, well I’ll cross that bridge when it gets here,” he exclaimed. “Until then, I’m not lettin’ up on shit.”

“WHERE YOU AT KEONDRA?” I cut in loud enough for her to hear me.

Keondra paused hearin’ my voice, one that not many heard unless I wanted them to, but they knew it too well. “Uh... I’m at the duplex off 62 Terrace and 17thon the second floor. You betta not be trying to have me killed, Dominic!”

“Yeah, bet! Be outside.” I growled. Dique hung up before she could say more. I ain’t have time for this dumb shit. When we pulled up ten minutes later, it was like steppin’ into a different world, the same world that made us who we were today, the fuckin’ bricks.

The second we turned down62nd and 17th, the air changed, and you could feel that shit. It was the same air that ran through my blood. The heat and hood politics were all swirled into the smell of fried food, cheap perfume, and trash that scattered the streets. It was loud even when it was quiet. It was the type of neighborhood where music never really stopped, that shit just moved from speaker to speaker, porch to porch, and generation to generation.

This wasn’t unfamiliar to me and Dique. This was where we earned our respect and not with words or handouts ‘cause ain’t nobody ever gave us shit. It was earned with action. The blacked-out G-Wagon crept slowly over potholes and broken glass as the engine hummed low but powerful. The concrete was cracked up and the kids were runnin’ around, ridin’ scooters while the lil boys were shirtless. It reminded me of when we were jits back in the day. Somebody was bumpin’ Plies out a speaker with the loud Miami bass. The smell of grease and weed, filled the air the closer we got.

“Damn,” Dique muttered, pullin’ his shades down to peek out the tinted window. “Keondra still in the same busted-ass unit?”

Carmen didn’t say much. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands on her lap with her eyes already scannin’ the surroundings. When we stepped out, the heel of her Givenchy boots were were loud even on the concrete. As soon as we parked,the block boys clocked us, but none ever stupid enough to try no shit. Most of the niggas were fans of me and I appreciated it.Lil Dre, Tino, and a lanky dude from the 40’s, who name I couldn’t remember were all sittin’ on overturned milk crates by the corner store with their eyes focused, but mouths closed, and I knew they instantly recognized us.

Dre stood up first and nodded his head once. “Wassup, King.”

I nodded back. “You straight?”

“All day.” He replied before sittin’ back down without any further conversation ‘cause none was needed; it was all respect.

I walked like I belonged ‘cause I did wearin’ my black tee, diamond Cuban link, and my wrist gleamin’, but not loud enough to be stupid just in case a nigga thought they wanted to make a name for themselves. I always hoped they didn’t ‘cause they were gon’ fuck around and be famous fo’ real fuckin’ with me after their names were flashin’ across the screen in the breaking news. Every eye on that street knew what time it was. A few females on the steps of a nearby building watched us walk up. One of them was short with a thick frame and a bonnet slid halfway off her head. She nudged her friend hard.

“Ooh girl look, that’s Dominic Royal. I ain’t know he was that fine in real life.” She gushed.

Another one whispered, “Who that with him? His brother? Lawd, they got the same damn cheekbones on them and some strong ass genes.”

Dique smirked, clearly hearin’ all of it. He adjusted his chain and winked at the boldest one. “Appreciate the love, ma. But I’m allergic to drama and child support.”

They fell out laughin’. Meanwhile Carmen rolled her eyes and kept walkin’ tryin’ to ignore laughin’ at Dique. Carmen had dudes starin’ too but it was different stares. Her stares wasn’t thirsty and shit. She drew in the type of look men gave a female they knew they couldn’t afford to disrespect or get next to. She had power in her walk and her eyes said it all,‘I got bail money, and I know how to hide the body’.Only reason I ain’t shoot a nigga in the eyeballs was ‘cause they didn’t know she was my wife, even if the shit was arranged. Carmen wasn’t allowed to fuck with no niggas… call me toxic baby, I’d wear that.

We finally reached the rusted metal steps of Keondra’s duplex. It was faded in green with paint chippin’ off the walls like the buildin’ was tired from years of neglect. I looked up and Keondra was on the second-floor balcony in a red bonnet, a tank top, and some fuzzy slides. She had one hand on her hip and a Juicy Couture diaper bag slung over her shoulder. She was actually a pretty girl, her mentality just sucked.

“Bout time!” She yelled, waving a finger like we owed her more than a paternity test.

We climbed the stairs, while Dique was draggin’ his feet the whole way with his guns visible on his hip. “Don’t say nothin’ slick,” he muttered to me. “I’m already fuckin’ traumatized.”

I didn’t know what the fuck he was salty with us for, hell, he the one who did it and now he wanted to call the baby a cross between Malcolm X and MLK and shit. If that baby turned out not to be his, he better had dropped to his knees and thanked God for dodgin’ that bullet. As we reached the door, a little girl with two high puffs and rainbow barrettes ran out.

“DAAAAAADDDYYYYY!” She squealed catchin’ us all off guard. The sound was so high-pitched, a few pigeons actually flew off the fuckin’ roof. The little girl slammed into Dique’s leg wrappin’ her arms tightly around his leg. I could tell she had been coached and shown pictures for her to really think that she was a Royal and Dique was her daddy. She wasn’t an ugly lil girl, she was actually cute in her own unique way, but she didn’t look like she belonged to us.

Dique stood stiff as hell; as stiff as I ever seen him be in his life. For the first time, Dique ain’t know what to do. I placed his hand on her tiny back and looked at us for help. “Uh… hey, baby,” he said soundin’ awkward with his eyes wide as hell.

I bit the inside of my cheek to avoid clowning baby bro. Carmen turned her head tryin’ to hide her laugh too. This was somethin’ we shouldn’t even had to do right now ‘cause it was already too much goin’ on. The stares from the people on the block were stares of those still admiring us, while also wonderin’ what we wanted with Keondra or how she even knew us to get this close to us.

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