Page 41 of Cannon
I ain’t give a fuck about a nigga’s feelings. But there was something in his eyes, something hungry that hadn’t been there before I went away. I knew his business was on the fritz. He needed something from me that he couldn’t get anywhere else.
“I been busy,” I replied, keeping my voice level, controlled.
The waitress shuffled over, pad in hand, looking like she wanted to be anywhere else. Smoke didn’t even glance at her when he ordered. “Coffee. Black. And bring some of those little cream things anyway.” Then he looked at me. “You eating, C? I’m buying.”
“Just coffee.”
“Two coffees,” he told the waitress, waving her away with one of those ring-heavy hands. She moved off, and Smoke leaned back in the booth, studying me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
“Look at you,” he said, shaking his head. “Five years locked up and you come out lookin’ like you ain’t missed a beat. Most niggas get out looking broke down, defeated. You look…” He paused, searching for the word. “Dangerous. Like you been planning something the whole time.”
I didn’t respond. Let him talk. Smoke always liked the sound of his own voice, and sometimes if you stayed quiet long enough, he’d tell you more than you wanted to know.
“Working security though?” He leaned forward, lowering his voice like we were conspirators. “Man with your reputation, your skills, working the door at a strip club? That’s beneath you, C. Way beneath you.”
The coffee arrived. Smoke tore open three sugar packets, dumping them into his cup while keeping his eyes on me. He stirred slow, deliberate, like he was buying time to read my face.
I kept my expression blank. Stone. Whatever he was fishing for, he wouldn’t find it written across my features.
“You know I got love for you, right?” he continued, taking a sip and making a face at the bitter taste. “Despite everything that went down before you went away. Iono how you got popped but now that you out we can find out who did it and take care of it.”
My jaw tightened, but I didn’t speak. Not yet. I knew who set me up. It was Silas King but he had help with someone fromSmoke’s camp. I knew it wasn’t Smoke because I was the glue that was holding his operation together. Since I’ve been gone he’s been losing left and right.
Smoke must have taken my silence as encouragement because he leaned closer, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I got something for you. Something that’s gonna pay better than whatever Queen is giving you to stand around and look intimidating.
“I’m listening,” I said finally.
His gold tooth caught the light when he smiled.
Smoke took another sip of the bitter coffee, his eyes never leaving my face.
“See, that’s what I always respected about you, C,” Smoke said, stirring more sugar into his coffee. “You don’t waste words. Don’t ask a bunch of unnecessary questions. You just listen, process, make moves.” He paused, studying my face like he was reading a map. “But I gotta ask, what’s really good with you working for Queen Marie?”
“It’s work,” I said simply.
“Nah, nah.” He waved one of those ring-heavy hands. “Don’t give me that basic shit. You’re Cannon fucking Price. You used to run crews, move weight, plan operations that made us millions. And now you’re checking IDs and breaking up drunk fights?” He leaned back, shaking his head. “Something ain’t adding up.”
“Unless…” His eyes narrowed, and I could see the gears turning in his head. “Unless you’re playing a longer game. Maybe getting close to Queen for a reason?” He smiled, that gold tooth glinting. “Now that would be the Cannon I know. Always thinking three steps ahead.”
The motherfucker was fishing, trying to figure out if I was running some kind of con. If he only knew how fucked up my situation really was, living on an air mattress, borrowing mysister’s car, working for a woman who paid me weekly like I was some regular employee.
I would never tell him that I had tens of millions of dollars sitting in a digital wallet somewhere.
“What you want from me, Smoke?”
“I want you to come back to my team. The money is callin’ ya name. I know you hear it.”
“I’m good.”
“Aight, this is my proposition.”
Smoke reached into his mink coat and pulled out a flip phone, one of those cheap burner joints you could grab at any corner store. He set it on the table between us, next to the sugar packets and stained napkins.
“There’s a nigga named Riot,” he said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
My blood went cold at the mention of that name. What the fuck did he want with my brother?
“This motherfucker and his bitch. And the worst part is, the bitch is my niece. She killed her own brother,” Smoke continued, and I could hear the rage simmering under his controlled tone. “Carmelo. My sister’s boy. Shot him down like a dog, then had the nerve to leave his body there for his mama to find.”
