“So what’s shakin’, Black?”
I took my time and laid out our program, you know, that he and I were partners in this now, just like I did with Drew. Seventy-thirty his way and we still kick up twenty-five percent to André.
“Nigga you must be out your fuckin’ mind. Coming up in here and telling me some bullshit like that. Shit! You think just ’cause you got Emmet to roll over for you, that you can step to me … like this … all fuckin’ incorrect and shit. Yeah, mutha fucka, I heard about that shit and I ain’t the mutha fuckin’ one. Now, nigga, you need to get the fuck outta here before my boys throw you out,” he said, and grabbed my arm like he was gonna put me out his damn self.
I jerked my arm back and punched him in the face. I hit him so hard that he lost his balance. Then I hit him again, this time he stumbled back and went over the rail.
Chapter Seven
I looked over the rail at Montel’s body. I wasn’t really planning on killing him, so I was kinda hoping that he fell in the dumpster like they do in the movies, but that wasn’t happening. Montel was laid out in the middle of the alley and he wasn’t moving.
I looked back at Freeze and Wanda, her mouth was wide open. Freeze nodded his head, said something to Wanda and then he headed for the door. I opened the window and came back inside.
“I thought you weren’t gonna kill him?”
“I wasn’t, it just worked out that way,” I said, and looked around for Whitey. “Maybe he ain’t dead.”
“We’re on the sixth floor, Mike. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” Wanda shook her head. “This is not good.”
“Why?”
“There’s a body in the alley. Somebody is gonna find it.”
“The Kid’s on it.”
“The Kid? Oh … that’s reassuring.”
I spotted Whitey. “Relax, Wanda. He knows what he needs to do.” Or at least he should, he’s been with me when I had to drop a body enough times to know what to do.
Whitey Thompson was Montel’s muscle. They called him Whitey because the nigga was blue black. I mean dark as night black. I’ve known Whitey for years. You know, enough to say, what’s up and keep it moving until one day when André sent me to collect from or cause pain to a dealer named Mitchell Wright that owed him fifty large. I couldn’t find Bobby, Nick or Jamaica and André said that it wasn’t going to be a big deal; words I’ve since learned are meaningless coming out of André’s mouth. He just wants his money.
Long story short, I went alone and found myself surrounded by five guys. Now, I can hold my own in a fight, two, maybe three guys at a time, been there and I kicked their ass, but against five, chances were that I was about to get my ass kicked that night. That’s when Whitey came in. When he saw what was happening, he said, “Five against one? It ain’t goin’ down like that.” That night, me and Whitey kicked ass and André got his money.
We’ve been cool since then.
“Whitey!”
“What’s up, Black?”
“Let me holla at you for a minute,” I said and put my arm around him. I led him out in the hallway to break the sad news to him, or at least that was my intention.
But the second he closed the door he asked, “Did you kill that grimy bastard?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Whitey said and spit on the floor. Then he looked at me. “You ain’t gonna kill me too, are you?”
I just looked at Whitey, tipped my head to one side and then I shrugged my shoulders.
“Awww, come on, Black, this me, Whitey T, the nigga that had your back on the Mitchell Wright thing.”
I said nothing.
“Shit, nigga, we go too far back for you to just fuckin’ blast me like that.”
I reached in the pocket where I kept my gun and Whitey closed his eyes. But then he opened them.