Page 13 of The Millionaire Mortician
“What’s good, son?” I questioned with a raised brow.
He stopped and looked at me. “Dave.”
Hearing the name gave me an instant headache.
I leaned against the edge of my desk, folding my arms. “What about him now?”
Maverick shook his head as if he were in total disbelief of what he was about to say. “The nigga got ties to one of the region’s main distributors,” he blurted out.
“Who?” I was intrigued.
“Frost, Mallo’s direct competitor. Reem just put me up on game,” Maverick explained.
Mallo was our plug who we got our weight from. We never really had issues with Frost directly because, to be honest, that wasn’t our level in the business. We did have issues with his organizations he sold his weight to, though.
“If that’s true...” I trailed off and began thinking more deeply.
“Why the fuck would he ever need us when he’s plugged in on his own?” Maverick cut in. “This nigga’s been acting hungry when he already had a plate. That shit doesn’t add up.”
My mind replayed every move Dave made, every favor he asked, every time he sat at our table, looking eager to learn and be at our service.
“It means he had an angle all along,” I concluded. “He ain’t here ‘cause he needed us. He’s here ‘cause we got something he wants.”
Maverick’s eyes narrowed. “Which is?”
“Position,” I exclaimed, letting the word hang. “Respect, and the perfect cover.”
Silence stretched throughout the office. The hum of the air vent was the only sound you could hear for a while.
Maverick finally muttered, “The nigga played us from the jump.”
Dave had been with our organization for about two years. Within that time, he proved his loyalty countless times and was one of our biggest earners. He moved up the ranks faster than anyone we’d ever had.
I rubbed my chin, then stood up straight. “Nah. He showed his hand too early. That’s his mistake. We gon’ let him think he’s finna have a seat at our table, then we’ll pull the chair.”
Maverick cracked a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Knew you’d say that. But you sure I can’t just go blow the nigga’s head off right now?”
“With Frost potentially backing him, we’ve gotta move smart and find out more.”
Just like the kid he had hidden inside him, Maverick plopped down on the couch and sighed out loud.
I turned back to my desk, straightening the papers as if nothing were wrong. My voice dropped even lower. “If he’s really got that pipeline, then the question is bigger than him. Who sent him? And why us?”
Maverick’s sour face faded as he caught the meaning of what I had said.
I knew it was deeper than one disloyal lieutenant. My gut was also telling me it was the start of something else, something big.
The city was moving as it always did. Cabs were honking, bikers weaving through traffic, and people rushing past like time owed them money. I wasn’t caught up in any of that, though. There I was, standing in front of a glass storefront in Tribeca, staring at what could be my future.
Talina stood beside me with her arms folded. Her oversized shades slid down just enough for me to catch her eyes gleaming. “Sis,” she murmured, “this is the one.”
Before I even walked inside, something in my chest told me she was right.
It was different there — quiet enough to feel exclusive, but busy enough to keep steady traffic.
Pushing the door open, we stepped inside and were in awe. The space swallowed me whole almost immediately. Ithad high ceilings stretched tall, industrial lights hanging down, and polished hardwood floors that reflected the afternoon sun pouring through the wide front windows.
I froze still, letting my eyes sweep from corner to corner. In my head, I was already rearranging everything the way I wanted. I saw barber chairs lined up on one side with long mirrors flush across that wall. I was thinking maybe a mural in the back would look dope. Of course, it would’ve had to be something fly, something urban but classy, representing both me and the culture.
