He Who Is a Friend (Sadik Book 1)

by Love Belvin

  “At the moment, photography.” He shifted, bringing his torso forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “A year ago, it was teaching yoga. Next year, it could be a dog surfing instructor.” He shrugged crossly and even rolled his eyes adorably.

  I snorted a laugh. My palm flew to my face and leg suspended in the air as I tried to control my amusement. What made him less intimidating was his obvious concern and possible annoyance about his sister’s life choices.

  “At least someone finds humor in it. She has a master’s in economics.”

  “No wonder she doesn’t know what to do.” I knew a few people in that program at my school. It was one of those degrees you had to be super focused and strategic about career goals in order to be successful. “She’s twenty-six; she has time.”

  I took another sip of my drink. It burned my esophagus even less. When I happened a glance his way, his eyes were locked on me, mouth slightly parted and tongue running the lining of his bottom lip. Sadik seemed to be in a trance. He didn’t stay there long. Catching himself, his gaze roved up to my eyes, then rolled away.

  “How long have you been at the diner?” His aplomb expression communicated so much, my heart literally leaped; all humor washed away.

  I took a deep breath. “Too long.” Sitting up, I placed the nearly empty glass down on the table to remove my jacket. I was sure it was more than the fireside flames heating me. This Sadik guy and his Mauve assisted. It also didn’t help that his eyes surveilled my every movement as that tongue discretely caressed the inside of his bottom lip. “When my father died, we needed all hands on deck like never before. My mother’s income was good for health benefits, at best. My brother was too busy in the streets.” I shrugged. “I’d had experience in restaurants, so I was able to get the job at Michelle’s.”

  “What experience does a nineteen-year-old have in restaurants? Washing dishes?”

  This was the part I hated sharing. Hated reflecting back on the years when my family was normal…together. We’d never been rich, but my parents were entrepreneurs and earned enough to take care of us.

  “My parents owned a restaurant—two, actually. I kind of grew up in them.”

  “Oh, yeah?” His interest appeared genuine. “What kind?”

  “African and soul food. We’re Somali. My grandparents on both sides came to America for work. My paternal grandmother had the opportunity to move her husband and small children here for a job as a rare chemist with the Food and Drug Administration. I think my Dad may have been two or so years old. Ironically, my maternal grandfather, who didn’t know my paternal grandparents, migrated over months later when my grandfather was granted an engineering role at one of the largest pharmaceutical companies at the time.”

  Sadik’s face morphed into one of shock, impressed.

  “Yup,” I nodded, going for the last of my Mauve. “They settled in New York. My mother was born here eight months later. They had a mutual friend who linked them through a mosque in Jersey. My mother’s family ended up moving to New Jersey when she was about eleven. They bought a house in my father’s family’s neighborhood. My father was just a couple of years older and said by high school, he couldn’t take it anymore.” I sputtered a laugh at the memory of him telling this story a gazillion times. “My father said just before taking her to his junior prom, he told their parents he wanted to marry her.”

  “And?”

  I couldn’t explain my bashful nature, regard whipping to the angry fire. The music had turned jazzy. Conducive to comfort.

  My face wrinkled, brows met. “Are you really into this story?”

  Sadik reached over and poured us both fresh glasses of Mauve. “Embarrassing transparency?” I caught a waft of his cologne as I nodded. “It’s the most interesting conversation I’ve had all damn year. You want something to eat? They have sandwiches, salads, and things like that back there.” I shook my head. “Now tell me, what did your mother’s parents say about that declaration?”

  I accepted the glass from him. “Well, my mother said her mother was concerned. They were so young. But my grandfather claimed his wife had become too westernized and had experienced a cultural shift since being here.” I swung my hand, dotting that story. “When my father told the story, he said her parents were so happy, they cried. In fact, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. My mother said she was somewhat grossed out by the prospect.” I fake whispered, “I think I’ll go with my mother’s rendition.”

  Sadik smiled. “But they finally married, had two kids, businesses…” He shrugged before sipping. “I’m sure they were married when your father passed.”

  Miserably so. “Yes.”

  “Okay. So, why do you look so spooked? That’s a successful Black love story. Your grandparents stayed together, too. Right?”

  “Yeah. They did.”

  “So, that’s three fruitful unions. This is what Jones argues hasn’t been shown in America. She believes the only successful love stories exposed to us via pop culture are those of White people. You and I are two healthy and balanced individuals who know differently—and can follow the legacy of ‘family’ passed down from our examples.”

  “Family.” I rolled my eyes.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  I shrugged, suddenly wanting to disappear from this conversation…this place…his company. “I don’t have family. My brother’s away. My aunts and uncles live completely separate lives in nearby towns. They haven’t been in our lives since…” Before trouble hit. “Since I was a kid. I mean, I see them a couple of times a year, but it was clear my parents, brother, and I were on our own. My mother was an only child. My father’s sisters cut him off when I was a kid. My household felt the effects of the severance.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  My neck jerked back. “Why?”

  “Because family is everything to me. My brother, his family, my sister, and I have dinner at my parents’ at least once a week. We even take family vacations a couple of times a year. We’re really tight.”

  “What about cousins?” My mood turned dreamy.

  “I have lots. We see them often. My family hosts cookouts, and shit. Thanksgivings and Christmases can be overwhelming when my father extends the invitation outside of our unit. My family is my identity. That’s why I can’t wait to grow it. Have my own legacy to add to the tree.”

  “You only have a few months, from what I gather.” When Sadik’s eyes met mine, my pulse sprinted from the darkness coating his expression.

  His face turned stony, and I returned the gape as my right leg bounced while crossed over my left.

  He used the arch of his index finger and thumb to comb the lower half of his face. “Let’s get this out of the way now.” He leaned over his knees again, heated gaze piercing me. “I know what you think about Lia and her being pregnant. I understand why you think you know what you know. While I can’t speak about it in detail, what I can say is I am not bound to her or any woman. I am a single man, free to pursue my life with anyone I choose. You have every right to have your questions, but no reason to be concerned. She’s not a topic of discussion to be had between us.” There was authoritative irrevocability in his tone.

  The once fairy tale smitten chat partner was now an authoritarian? Because clearly, he was practiced in his firm tone. He’d done this before: called the shots, made demands, decided fates.

  “Then why are you going out of your way to talk to me? What do you want with me?”

  “I told you. To be a friend.”

  “What kind?”

  Sadik sat back, stretching his arms aside his shoulders on the back of the sofa. “That’s to be determined.” He was unsmiling.

  I should have bolted out of there, but couldn’t. The murkiness in his aura pulled at something vulnerable inside. Helplessly, I was attracted to his dark energy like a magnet to an underbelly of the unknown. The nefarious enigma didn’t spook me like it should have. Instead, it pulled at my core, beckoning me not to run
to the clear heavens away from this guy.

  “She’s having a baby,” I tried to reason with him.

  “And I’m sorry about that. I really am, Bilan. Nonetheless, that’s unlikely to change until she gives birth. Even still, I see nothing standing in the way of us getting to know each other unless you put it there. The baby is not between us. At all.”

  His gaze stapled me to the loveseat. It was the brandy. It had loosened my defenses and possibly good senses. He’d disarmed me and now, I was without my usual vim. His phone ringing bought me some time to recharge, or at least attempt to. Sadik pulled it out, read the alert, then opened an app.

  “Shit…” he grumbled. His eyes lifted to me. “We’ve spent the last of our time together discussing futile matters.” Did he really put that on me? “I’ve got to go. I’ll drop you off. I need your number first.”

  “For what?”

  He was clearly annoyed.

  “To keep in touch.”

  “And what if I don’t want to?”

  His head fell to the side as his gaze narrowed and shot into me. “You don’t want to keep in touch with me, Bilan?”

  This guy! Ugh! His handsomeness was distracting. Those curled lashes. The enticing five o’clock shadow. The swag he exuded in a simple sweat suit and sneakers. It all worked against my usual resolve.

  I went to my fanny pack for my phone. “I’m only doing this because I can easily block you when I get home and process the end of this conversation. Because, I hope you don’t think I’m going to be okay with—”

  I tapped in my password, and Sadik reached over to grab it before I could finish speaking.

  “Before you decide to hit the block button, remember my intention here.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Without hesitation, he made clear, “To be a friend. And you’re telling me I can’t because of a pregnancy. Don’t be unreasonable, Bilan.”

  My forehead stretched in response.

  It was close to three in the morning when I sauntered into the diner. Just when I thought the place was empty, I saw a small crowd congregated in a booth near the end of the long counter.

  “There she is!” Tasche croaked, her eyes pink and lips dry, reminding me of the late—or early—hour.

  I made my way over to them. Randi and her girl, Brenda, were seated across from Tasche.

  “Why y’all here this late?”

  “Waiting on your ass, to make sure you was good,” Randi bit out.

  My eyes narrowed and lips pushed out. “Since when do you wait up when I have a date?”

  “Since when did you date?” she challenged me.

  “Gooood,” Tasche groaned, rolling her eyes. “Can I please go home now? Some bitches gotta work tonight.”

  “I didn’t mean to hold anybody up.” My palms went into the air. “I don’t remember telling you I needed this—”

  “You do,” Randi asserted with tight lips and a crook in her neck. “You ain’t got a flying fuckin’ clue about who that nigga is, do you?”

  My gaze brushed around the table and saw Brenda and Tasche’s eyes wide and expectant.

  My head shook faintly, suddenly curious myself. “No.”

  “I ain’t think you did. That’s Sadik fuckin’ Ellis. You never heard of his family?” My brows tightened and I shook my head again. “He’s the second son of Double E Bags. That nigga is the biggest drug lord in the state—Black, at least. He used to have the whole fucking state on lock. Back in the day, he was like Nicky Barnes, Frank Lucas, Rich Porter and them cats, but in New Jersey. From the top of the state to the bottom, back in the eighties, nineties, and early two-thousands, if you was making money slinging in the Garden State, you had some connection to Double E Bags and his crew. His fuckin’ sons.”

  She pointed behind her. “That Sadik nigga is his youngest son. His oldest one…” She tapped the table. “I can’t remember his name right now, but he’s a fuckin’ crazy ass hothead, they say. He did a bid recently for murder.”

  “Murder?” Tasche’s head snapped back. “You ain’t say all that!”

  I glanced around, hoping no one heard us.

  “‘Cause I just remembered. Ricky went to his welcome home party.” Randi turned to me again. “He did a four-year bid or something like that, because he actually got off. Murder charges’ll get you way more time than that, but his daddy, Double E Bags, hired the best fuckin’ lawyers in the country and they got that shit reduced to something small, and he only got a few years.”

  “Damn,” Tasche breathed.

  That was how I felt. Randi was a beautiful, worldly thirty-year-old from Irvington. She’d been around the block a few times, so to speak. So, I believed every word she cautioned me with. She’d been with several known ballers in her day, was even with one now. Ricky Ricardo, as he was nicknamed, was a Haitian guy from East Orange who was heavily into guns. He had a reputation of selling and using them when needed. He pretty much kept to himself and had been transient over the years for his safety, though not many wanted to meet him in a dark alley. He was feared…dark and dangerous.

  Over the past ten years or so, Ricky had been sought after by the cops for questioning in two murders—that I knew of. He’d been so elusive, they’d never been able to find him to bring him in. Some say it was because he had committed the murders; others have said it was because his Visa had expired and he knew he’d be deported. I didn’t know much other than what Randi and a few others from around the way had told me over the years.

  Randi had been with Ricky for three years now. They weren’t living together, and probably didn’t consider themselves a legit couple, but the streets did. On occasion, Randi would hear of him cheating with another girl and there would be hell to pay. I never understood why she’d go to the extent of fighting women for her fidelity. That was Ricky’s responsibility. But then again, they weren’t an official couple. Right?

  “Yeah. That’s how deep their pockets run,” Randi continued, obviously reading my shocked reaction to her information. “This Sadik guy, they say, is different. He wasn’t raised in the streets, like his brother. He went away to school. Matter of fact, Double E Bags supposedly lives out in PA, somewhere so he can’t be touched.”

  “I think he retired, though,” her friend, Brenda, suggested. “My uncle, who used to run with Double E Bags’ people, said he retired and left the game to his son. But I ‘on’t know how true that is because right after, his son got locked the fuck up.”

  “Maybe his drug empire is defunct.” I shrugged.

  The girls snickered at my expense.

  “Bullshit!” Randi laughed. “Don’t show ya age, Bilan, and don’t be naïve. Double E Bags was in that drug world so hard and for so long, he could only leave it with a bullet or a lifetime prison bid. That nigga ain’t in a grave, and he ain’t locked the fuck up either. He the type of man that breeds drug lords. That’s what we saw tonight at the concert.”

  “Shiiiiiit!” Tasche breathed, not hiding the goofy smile breaking from her face. “That damn suite was fuckin’ life, yo! Yooooo, you see all them drinks they had in there?”

  “Ohhh! Girl, and the food and view to the stage!” Brenda hi-fived Tasche. “That shit was life!” she screamed, causing me to look behind myself in the nearly empty space. “And them damn bodyguards. I saw the quiet one had a gat in his waist.” Her palms shot into the air. “But if he want that pussy, Bilan, just give it to him and see what he gone give in return,” Brenda advised.

  “Sleep with him?” My chin dipped and voice dropped deep. “To see what I get?”

  “It’ll be worth it.” Randi nodded while shrugging with her lips. “I ‘on’t know who the nigga, Sadik, fucked with around here, but he paid out the ass. He should know how to trick a bitch.”

  “He betta,” Tasche hissed. “My girl worth more than a pair of Loubs, too. He betta fuck his way to a Chanel bag!” She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes before yawning.

  Randi’s eyes were on me. “Niggas
like that don’t ask for much with the pussy. Don’t expect to be romanced too much. Shit, he probably got a lil’ ass dick. They be happy for you to suck that shit and swallow!” Laughing, she slapped palms with Brenda, who was the oldest at the table.

  “Well, thanks for the advice, but I ain’t sucking nobody’s nothing or spreading my legs. If he’s giving out designer clothes for good conversation, I may be available for that. But thanks for the heads up.” I pivoted to leave. “I gotta get started back there. Y’all want anything, let me know.”

  “Shiiiiit!” Tasche yawned out. “A bitch want a fat ass blunt and her bed right now. Fuck what you heard.” She moved to stand.

  “It was fun, y’all!” I smiled, remembering the night we’d planned for weeks.

  “Damn sure was!” Brenda agreed, standing too.

  “Next up is ya graduation joint. We gone bless you, B!” Tasche offered a dap I reciprocated.

  She was so…Harlem.

  “Y’all really don’t have to. We can do something simple. Hit up the LQ and throw some stuff on the grill at my place.”

  “That sounds G, but let us call it,” Tasche argued. She chucked the deuces, drawing away from me. “Fuck niggas, get money.”

  By this time, Randi was on her feet, too. There was something in her eyes, something concerning. That bothered me. Was anything about this Sadik guy worth trouble between us?

  Tasche began her trek toward the door with Brenda on her heels. When I thought Randi would follow them, I turned myself for the bathroom.

  “B,” I heard behind me and turned. Randi was there alone. “Be careful, girl. Niggas like that will wine, dine, and fuck the sanity out your ass. Then you’re left behind, looking for your wig when he move on. And I don’t mean your hair. It’s your mind that go when he do.”

  I wanted to ask if that was her situation with Ricky. Had that been Randi’s experience at all. I’d known her for years and she ran in life at the same pace: dangerous men, fast living, easy money, and then on to the next adventure.

  But I didn’t utter a word. I nodded before continuing to the bathroom.