Page 13 of Girl, We Go Together
“What, nigga?” I said as soon as we made it to the front door.
“I’m in some shit that’s a little too crazy for my liking.”
I raised my eyebrow and then crossed my arms over my broad chest. I didn’t give a damn how much this little nigga got on my nerves; I would go to bat for him every single time.
Our parents raised us to stick together, always. His problems were mine, and everybody knew that shit. If he felt like he was in some shit to the point he couldn’t handle things, then it was my job to step up and get things straightened out.
“Walk me to my car and explain.”
I opened the front door and then started walking down the driveway. My mother lived in Long Island in a big ass house I had cashed out on about five years ago. There was no way I was gonna let her stay in Brooklyn with me being a demon in the streets. When Omari started running around town, I knew that it was time for her to go. It wasn’t like our dad was around to protect her.
I was too busy running around, and honestly, my brother didn’t have a mature enough mindset to constantly look out for her as she deserved. Although Omari was two years younger than me, and his mentality was three years younger than that. He was still so hot in the head. I was, too, but within reason. It was safe to say that those Blackwood boys were a work in progress. I was the low-key sibling while Omari had to do everything for everyone to see.
I didn’t really care for social media, and he lived for that shit. There was a shift in the way he posted on Instagram lately. At first, I just thought it was my brother trolling, how he usually did. But now knowing that he was in some shit, I was pissed offabout the posts I had seen from him that were up and down my Instagram feed for the past two weeks.
“And ya ass making all those IG posts when you're in some shit. Turn those typing fingers into trigger fingers and go lay something down. What the fuck is going on?” I asked, leading the way to my car.
“So, I had a shipment go missing?—”
The way I turned around and glared at him caused him to stop speaking immediately. I was giving him the Ike Turner meme look because I was pissed. A shipment going missing showed a sign of weakness that no man in the streets should want under their belt. When I narrowed my eyes for him to finish, he continued.
“I found the culprit, though. And I gotta handle him for the disrespect. There’s no other way.”
He said the last part like he was trying to convince me that the way he was about to move was justifiable. See, when I was head honcho out here, I didn’t look to the next man to justify any actions of mine. I didn’t give a fuck who they were. I didn’t even consult with my own daddy, and he was the one who had put me up on game. I did what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it because who the fuck was going to check me?
“So, handle business,” I said flatly.
I opened my car door and then sat inside the driver’s seat, leaving the door open so we could still speak. I didn’t see a problem. Both my brother and I had dumped niggas in the Hudson for less.
“It’s Fresh…”
I twisted my face in disbelief.Na, not Fresh,I thought as I shook my head from side to side. FabianFreshButler had been my best friend since first grade. Unfortunately, when I put my trapping ways behind me, we had fallen out. I wanted Fresh to walk away from the game with me. But like Omari, he haddeclined. Nobody more than me understood the illusion of fast money and the thrill that being in the streets gave. It was an addictive lifestyle that most couldn’t pull themselves away from. But I was trying to level myself up because I was becoming a dad, and Fresh couldn’t understand that shit. When I got tired of trying to get him to leave with me and see things my way, I flipped all my money and then put my brother in contact with my connect.
Fresh wished that would have been him, but I couldn’t set a nigga up for success who wasn’t happy for my own. The man had a mouth on him when he couldn’t convince me to stay in the streets; we shared words that ’til this day are unforgivable. Stepping down and letting Fresh step up wasn’t even an option after the things we said to each other. Besides my best friend, the very next person on my list to take my spot was my brother. It wasn’t hard transitioning everything to Omari. Rightfully so, when I hung up my hustler's jersey, I passed it right to my brother.
“Now, why would Fresh take a shipment from you? He’s eating just like you are. It’s no reason for that,” I asked as I rubbed my beard.
Upon my leaving the game, I had one stipulation for my brother. That was to keep the team together. Being out of the streets didn’t mean that I was out of tune with it. I always kept myself in the loop, and I was glad I did for reasons like this. Fresh didn’t seem good for this. Although I didn’t fuck with the nigga anymore, I never saw or heard of him stealing anything.
“Well,” Omari rubbed the back of his neck and then smirked a bit before he continued, “I’m kinda fucking his wife.”
My eyebrows furrowed over my eyes instantly, and then I shook my head as I released a sigh.
“Nigga, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Fresh had married this Cuban bitch about three years ago. I knew we weren’t as locked in as we used to be because he didn’t even invite me to the damn wedding. Some people make the boat ride when you’re cruising to growth, and some people don’t. His ass was still on the dock when I was mid-ocean. I pinched the bridge of my nose because my little brother was stressing me the fuck out. When he first started hustling, I gave him a couple of rules that our dad had given me. Be fair to your team and keep your dick and nose clean.
My mother and father had been married all my life. Instead of a bid or the streets taking pops out, colon cancer came instead. He took his diagnosis like a champ. He was the one dying, but he told me he had done a lot of bad shit in life, and the cancer wasn’t shit but his karma. Once I started seeing a decline in his health, I stepped up. He used to tell me how niggas would get and stay in their feelings over two things: money and pussy. I guess his life lessons went completely over Omari’s narrow-ass head.
Another thing about my brother is that he could be so damn naïve sometimes. And to top it off, he was a handful of putty when it came to a bitch. A Spanish mama with some ass and a pretty smile could talk him out of his life savings if she wanted to. Being that he was so green when it came to these bitches, I had to get down to the nitty gritty.
“How do you even know he took your shipment?”
“Lucia told me,” he quickly answered.
“So, you fuck this nigga wife, he pulls a tender dick ass move and takes your shipment, and his wife is the one who tells you all about it?” I spat.
I had to wrap my head around this shit for real. My little brother had more drama than a reality television show going on right now.
