Monday, November 21, 2005

...Ain't Gold (Part Nine)

Rich was moody.
He was laid out, staring at his fireplace in deep thought. Nicole hadn't returned his call, Mookie was AWOL, Cookie was home and Toots wasn't speaking to him. He had to get back on track because there was money to be made.
He knew Cookie was not one he wanted as an enemy. But what could he call her? He stood there and stood stock silent as he watched her take one for the team. Six years for a crime she had nothing to do with. She was nowhere near his drugs and he knew it. But he couldn't afford to go to prison. He had paper to chase.
Toots would never forgive him, he was sure of it. He needed her to though. He didn't know if she knew it but she was more important to him than anything. He hated what he had done to her, hated having to lie to her. It was to protect her. Surely she could understand that. He loved Toots like he loved every breath he took. She was as important to him as the blood flowing through his veins. Shit, she was the blood. His eyes closed as his thoughts carried him to sleep. He didn't need anymore shit and yet here it was about to hit him in the face.
Simone let herself into the house with the key he had given her.
"Richard? Rich? Where you at?"
Her snowy Vasque boots clunked against the floor as she kicked them off and put her feet in his Adidas slippers. She stopped in the living room, shaking her head. Rich was laid out on the couch on his belly, one leg bent, the other sliding to the floor. She lifted her foot and kicked him in the butt. "Nigga, wake up."
Rich awoke when he rolled off the couch. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. "What you doin here?"
"I can't come see my brother? Gimme a cigarette." Rich tossed her the pack of Newports on the coffee table. "Ain't you posed to be on the grind or some shit?"
"I am on the grind, baby. Everybody need to sleep."
"What you poppin up out the blue for? I ain't seen you in like three months."
"Don't be askin me no questions, nigga," she said, puffing her cigarette. "I felt like comin over." Rich listened to her voice. She was upset about something. He didn't see his sister often, but he wasn't retarded either. He pulled his SideKick off the table as it vibrated. Mookie. Hittin tha spot, it read. Three from a couple of potential bedmates and another from Cris B. "What's up, Simone?"
"I need a little cash. I'm getting a new apartment."
"Where you movin to?"
"Back to Brooklyn."
Rich snickered, picking up his lighter and gesturing with it, a smoke dangling from his lips. "Why you ain't ask that nigga for no cash? He movin wit you, right?"
Simone "psshed" and threw her head back gently. She picked imaginary lint off her sweat pants. "Only place he movin is out my crib."
"What the fuck you still fuckin wit that nigga for? I keep tellin you he ain't shit."
She stood up and turned around, turning back to him and waving her cig fingers. "Look, Rich. I done heard the same shit from Darnell and Grandma and Aunt Toni and I don't need it from you, aright?" Her tone was stern but her voice was trembling.
He looked at her clearly for the first time since she arrived. She had a spreading bruise on her face. He stood up and touched her cheek. She jerked away. Rich eyes clouded over in a rage. "That muthafucka hit you? Speed did this?"
Simone wasn't one for tears and the little sister he'd known a few years ago wouldn't have stood for this. She blinked back a tear and he watched as her bottom lip began to tremble. She passed a hand over her face. "It ain't nothin. We just had a fight."
He nearly dragged her to the mirror next to the couch. "Do you see that? What happened to my Simone? Ain't no nigga puttin they hands on my sister." Rich took a quick hot shower and they were out the door in a matter of twenty minutes.
Rich slowed the 525 to a crawl. "Where he at?"
"He was sleep when I left. He probably still sleep wit his fat ass."
Rich parked across from her apartment building on 193rd and East Tremont. "Stay here, keep your hand on the lock. If you see that nigga comin out without me, hit the gas and get outta here."
She nodded. Rich got out and jogged across the street to the front door, planting on of his Tim's in it. It slammed against the back wall. He took the stairs two at a time, hitting the third floor and banging loudly on her door.

Copyright © 2005 Jacki Simmons
All rights reserved.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Je parie que tu es blanc et en plus américain. Pourquoi? Parce qu'il n'y a qu'eux pour être cons comme était temps que les Européens vous remmettent à votre place de moins que rien... En fait, Je ne vois pas pourquoi Je me fatigues à répondre vu que personne d'autre ne l'a fait... C'est normal vu à quel point t'es con...

1:47 PM  

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