He Who Is a Friend (Sadik Book 1)

by Love Belvin

  “Aye.” I glanced up to see Tiffany glide over to the fridge, pulling a silk kimono over her bare shoulders. Her thick thighs shifted with each step she made. Her smile couldn’t be missed even on the quickest glimpse. “Ain’t y’all meeting before we leave for the airport?” She opened the door and browsed inside.

  My attention went back to my screen, mind recessed again, surfing pictures.

  “We ready, Deek.” Iban’s tanned frame filled the doorway of the cottage.

  I nodded, moving for another sip of my beer before tapping my device to sleep and standing to my feet.

  On my way to the door, Tiff asked, “Y’all eat all that Beluga caviar last night?”

  I shrugged. “Probably Diane and Nena and them.”

  She sucked her teeth. “Dad need to teach them bitches community,” she hissed. “They’re not at the Elliswoods Palace in Hunterdon County.”

  Ignoring that reasonable complaint, I headed out to the small table on the porch where my father was sitting, gazing out at the turquoise sea several yards out. Iban was near, puffing on a stogie, the wind pushing his open beach shirt behind him. He approached the table, taking a seat.

  “What do you think, Sadik?”

  “About this island?”

  He nodded.

  “This shit dope as hell,” Iban interjected animatedly. “I can’t believe you finally ready to buy a island, Pop. You been saying this shit forever. I like the last one. Shit was big as fuck.”

  My father’s green eyes landed on me, once again asking for my opinion. We’d seen four islands in the past two weeks. The first two were in Central America and the last two, here in the Caribbean. Grenada was our last stop. He’d planned this time to start looking at them from the top of the year, being sure to have me clear my schedule as well. Iban wasn’t originally in the plan. It was supposed to be my father, his attorney, Marion, and me. I wasn’t even sure if Iban knew we were making the trip. But with the issue of him pulling out a gun on one of Rizzo’s men, I couldn’t leave him back in the U.S. without supervision from my father or me, the only two with influence over him.

  “This one is nice, but too far from a developed island. Just like Marion said, we’d have to clear the area of savages before building anything here.”

  “We got the manpower,” Iban asserted. “Shit, me and you can come out here for like two-three weeks and clear this bitch of anybody who ain’t ‘posed to be here.” He took a pull of his cigar.

  Ignoring that statement, my father asked, “So, the cay in Belize or the double island in Honduras?”

  “The cay in Belize isn’t developed at all. It’ll be a mean expense to get the type of plumbing and wiring for even the designated house area that you’d be comfortable with. And the twin islands in Honduras may be the least expensive and have construction already, but those shits are dumb small. You won’t have an ounce of privacy from fellow residents or voyagers.”

  He nodded in deep consideration. I had to admit, I was happy for my father, too. This move was a good look for him. He was inching toward seventy years old and needed more leisure. He deserved it. Even looking at him now with his yellow chino shorts, open silk button-up exposing his belly bump and salt and peppered chest hairs, and Ase Garb thong sandals—all of which I was sure his young diva girlfriend, Nena, picked out for him—brought the vision of him relaxing on his own private island.

  “And the thing with Salvatore’s boy?”

  I heard from my FBI connect, Jefferson, with the news last night while on a neighboring island for dinner.

  “Damien,” I answered.

  “What?” Iban leaped in his seat with wide eyes.

  My father, too, sported an expression of shock, though not as animated as my brother.

  I nodded. “Damien received a patch of skin he recognized as Tank’s.” My hard and knowing eyes ranged over to my brother.

  Iban cowered in his seat, looking busted.

  “You can’t just kill a muthafucka and let them take every piece of their flesh to hell with them, can you?” my father barked at his eldest.

  Iban mumbled something beneath his breath with the stogie hanging from his lips. We’d been on him for years about discretion. My brother preferred his bloodshed be public knowledge.

  “The good news is, those two have each other to be busy with,” I advised. “That’ll give us time to do what we need to gather the info needed to take Damien down.”

  “Fuckin’ finally,” Iban grumbled, looking toward the forest of palm trees opposite the ocean.

  “My concern is Lia and the baby,” an unusual cry of concern spilled from my father. He’d never spoke fondly of a Rizzo. He and Salvatore went way back, and while they were cordial now, beneath the peace of a treaty was a sea of shared resentment. “You see how Marco’s house was hit. Who’s to say Lia’s won’t be next?”

  “Man, Damien’s fruity ass know not to touch a ghost of a Ellis! He don’t want no smoke with this family.” Iban was too confident with that false notion.

  He’d already robbed my father’s warehouse of tens of thousands, which led to the death of three of his men. But I wouldn’t be the one to bring us back to that fact.

  “Just calm the fuck down, Iban!” My father’s breathing turned uneven. “I’m trying to get out of this shit with peace of mind. I don’t need the attention.”

  “You right, Pops.” Iban nodded, still facing the opposite direction. He was upset, and of course couldn’t see how he created problems for himself when he pissed Earl Ellis off. “You right. I’mma chill. Let this shit play out how it’s gonna play out.”

  There was a moment of quiet, allowing both men to calm down.

  “Antigua would be my pick,” I circled back to our original topic. “Close to fifty acres that includes barren land and foliage for privacy. You can have a piece for your family and possibly build commercially for added retirement income.” I shrugged, gazing out to flying terns. “But you’re bringing Mommy out for her pick of your top two.”

  “Yeah.” I heard the smile in that one syllable and glanced down to have it confirmed. My father’s beam was undeniable. “My Irene’s gonna love this sun and water shit. I remember her first time on a beach with clear water. Damn!” He breathed. “The feeling I got knowing I was the man to bring that to her. You know?” He gazed up at me with so much pride—and love—in his eyes, thinking about that woman.

  I averted my eyes, proud he still had a level of affection for her. I wanted that one day. I wanted to bring wonder and adventure to a partner. I would have loved to be a first of ventures.

  That led my thoughts to three weeks ago, when I sucked the sweetest nectar from trembling Somali legs. She felt new to having her pussy tasted, but it was hard to believe a woman with her style and self-awareness would still be a virgin. I, myself, was too old to expect to run across a virgin at my age. But I could damn sure run into a woman I could show new things to.

  “As corny as it sounds, it’s a fantasy to spend the night at the beach.”

  Her.

  But I let it go. I’d heard from Bilan a little over a week after the Ameerah concert. She texted me about returning my suit jacket. I was at a tiki bar in Belize, drinking with Iban when the text came through. I was both excited and annoyed. The girl was prideful. She was disappointed by my absence, I was sure. But instead of saying so, she tried playing it cool.

  Bilan: You were generous enough with the women’s apparel. It’s clear you don’t want them back, but what am I supposed to do with a man’s tuxedo jacket. I can drop it off to you. Or mail it.

  Bilan: Let me know.

  Bilan: I can donate it if you no longer want it.

  I’d been with enough women to know she was uncomfortably intrigued. What was crazy was, I was sure it was half of what I felt. I wanted that girl, but had to let her go before anything kicked off.

  “Yeah,” my father breathed. “A private island to have my grandbabies run wild on. And I want more. When I finally get my gran
dson, I may die after that. It’s the last thing on my list of wishes for my life; a grandson to extend my legacy.” He laughed. “Now, I see what your mother felt like until your sister, Taaliba, got here. I got two granddaughters I gotta have tea parties with. I need a boy I can show how to shoot a rifle, man.” His grin was longing.

  “When does Lia find out what the sex is?” It took a few seconds to realize the question was posed to me.

  “Uh…I think she finds out soon,” I answered honestly, trying not to look at my brother. The last I remembered, she’d be having a gender reveal party. No one mentioned a date to me, so I doubted it had taken place. “She wants a gender reveal party soon.”

  “Ahhhh…” Earl groaned. “As much as I don’t want no attachments with the Rizzos, I’d be happy with a little boy from you, Sadik.”

  Damn…

  I knew that was hard to say. My father had been having a difficult time with this pregnancy thing. Even my mother had noticed. Hearing him accept this had guilt gripping me in a vice-like chokehold. Iban and I finally met eyes. I was the first to look away.

  “Aye, Pops.” Iban’s cheerful tone caught my attention. He faced my father, body fully turned now. “I know you been wanting a lil’ boy at your kneecap. I just wanna let you know Monica’s pregnant again, so hopefully you’ll finally get your wish.” His smile was accomplished.

  It annoyed the fuck out me.

  “Well, damn,” my father sighed. “I gotta get my shit in order. Two on the way! My boys don’t play!” He reached over and gave Iban a firm shake, nothing of what I got when I announced Lia’s pregnancy. Iban wouldn’t know that. He wasn’t there when I broke the news. “This shit is wonderful. Next, Sadik’ll be telling me he’s finally settling down and getting married!”

  He didn’t laugh at that ridiculous prediction, because he didn’t mean it as a joke. My father and mother would have loved that for me. For them. For the family.

  “I see Tiff still here.” My father’s expression turned boys club on me. He was a man. He knew what Tiffany was after when she flew out here two days ago, saying she’d gotten into a fight with her man, Larry, and needed a break. My father was no fool, likely knowing she’d been sharing a bed with me since arriving. But he was also no baby and could understand what simple fucking was. “Maybe I’ll get two grandbabies out of you and have you make my goddaughter an honest woman.” He winked.

  “Nah. That’s a lot and ain’t gonna happen,” Iban replied. “Shit like that take focus. Deek too busy contributing to campaigns and shit.”

  My eyes slammed into him hard. Why the fuck would he bring that up in front of our father?

  “Campaign?” Dad predictably asked. He turned to me, confusion etching his face. “What campaign?”

  “Julius Richards,” Iban answered before I could.

  “Your boy from Silk City? What’s he running for?”

  Iban’s brows lifted. “Big dog; mayor.”

  My father’s expression matched his oldest son’s. “He running for mayor in Paterson? I ain’t know that.”

  “He announced it last week,” I finally spoke.

  As he peered up at me, I could see so many thoughts shooting through his mind. Yes, I could contribute to an election campaign. My legal businesses and reputation allowed me to do something my father couldn’t, even if he was interested.

  And there it was, another strike of disappointment for a decision I made in my life.

  Dad stood from the table. “Let me make sure these girls got me packed up. We should be leaving soon.” He strolled into the house.

  I moved toward the waters, needing to get a distance between Iban and me.

  “Yo, Deek!” Iban yelled. “Wait up, man.”

  I didn’t hear him gain on me so quickly, so when he grabbed my left arm, yanking it hard, I swung back with my right on a hard twist, connecting to the corner of his mouth. Iban flew back, landing on his ass.

  I bent over, cocking my arm with a balled fist to jab his ass again, but Iban’s arms flew into the air.

  “You got the power, man! You got the fuckin’ power!” he shouted.

  I knew I had; I was ready to put his fucking lights out.

  “Fuck you!” I grated, wanting to kick him in the fucking face while on his back. “Eight fuckin’ months! Eight fuckin’ months and your punk ass still ain’t coppin’ to this shit. The baby’ll be here in two. The fuck’re you waiting on, Iban? You gone wait for your wife to get pregnant with her fourth child before you tell her about your third?”

  A sharp whistle sounded, causing my head to whip up toward the cottage. My father’s new security, Stewy, was charging toward us, but stopped at the harsh sound. He looked back, and a tiny ass Rory in little jean shorts and a bikini top rolled her index finger in a circle.

  “We don’t involve ourselves in those, new blood!” her coarse voice carried across the gentle tropical breeze.

  Stewy looked confused, but in a few seconds was convinced and began to back away. He was new and more familiar with Iban than me, so that could have gotten ugly real quick.

  “Why the fuck you trippin’?” Iban shouted, trying to keep his voice low while holding his jaw. Blood trailed his chin. “I told you, I got this!”

  “When?”

  “Soon! With all this shit going on, it ain’t been the right time!”

  “But you take advantage of the time when he’s fuckin’ broken hearted over shit I didn’t do. That’s cool, though? When he’s fuckin’ bleeding over his legacy being tainted by Rizzo blood, thanks to me, you hit him with the news of another baby in the family and how I’m contributing to a damn campaign. Bruh, that’s some foul shit!”

  Iban lifted himself from the sand. “I ain’t mean it like that. But we brothers. We hold each other down! It ain’t like I’m compromising ya marriage, or shit like that. I keep telling you, you don’t know how complicated this shit is. It’s just fuckin’ inconvenient, man!”

  “And what the fuck you think it is to me?” I shouted.

  “Deek!” Rory barked.

  My eyes rolled up to find my father on the porch of the cottage, watching us.

  “Fuck this,” I exhaled, taking off.

  “Where you going, man?” Iban asked with outstretched arms.

  I called over to Rory as I trekked toward the side of the cottage to the jeeps. “Grab all my shit. I’ll meet them at the fuckin’ airport!”

  “C’mon, Deek!” Iban shouted from behind me, wisely staying the fuck back.

  I rolled my neck in circles, feeling each tender muscle stretch. My entire body was sore and I felt drained.

  “I ‘on’t know how you gone get through this shift, yo,” Tasche observed from across the table while on her phone.

  I pinched the innermost corners of my eyes, gripping the bridge of my nose. What I really wanted to do was rub my tired eyes, but refused to disturb what was left of my eyeliner.

  “I’ll make it. I do it all the time.”

  “This time different, though,” her chords gravelly. “You been on one thousand at school lately.”

  She was right. As we sat deep inside the diner, opposite of the entrance and away from the front counter, I tried killing time while I waited on my banana puddings and peach cobblers to finish baking so I could put the sweet potato pies in. Maria and Pedro were back there, packing the aluminum pans with pie crust now. Their help would ensure a faster assembly time, then I could hopefully leave by five…this morning. It was now just after three in the morning. Tasche opted to have her “dinner,” which was breakfast for most, here at the diner instead of taking it to-go.

  “Daaaamn, I could use a fat ass spliff right now!” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I’m sleepy as fuck.”

  “Is he coming over?”

  Tasche was plotting on the guy she’d been DM’ing for a couple of months now.

  “I’m still waiting on that nigga to respond. His shift should be up by now. Damn!” she moaned, scratching her head.

 
; I tried stretching my arms above my head, but winced when I felt the first zing of pain.

  “Uhn-huhn! You all fucked up, yo. You sure the gym did all that?” Her eyes twinkled with girly mischief.

  “Girl, please. I hadn’t been to the gym in a couple of weeks because of finals and work at school. My body reminded me of it today in my workout.”

  “You sure that’s the only session you got today?” she teased.

  “I tell you a guy went down on me one time, and you think I get all this play now.”

  “Girl, he ate ya pussy on a private plane! The entire fuck you mean?”

  I shook my head, lungs shuddering as I exhaled. Thinking about Sadik hurt. I still hadn’t figured out why. It had been three weeks since he dropped me off on my doorstep, drugged from an emotion created through intimacy. That’s the part I didn’t discuss with Tasche when I was sure to tell her not to share a sentence of the story with Randi.

  I messed up whatever Sadik and I were on our way to establishing because of my stubborn tendencies. Yeah, the doctor’s office thing was extreme and rude. I would have gone on my own if we decided to take it there. But it didn’t have to be a deal breaker. Then the Ameerah thing. Not only was I disappointed by her reaction to me, but it bothered me that he’d take me to a show of one of his former lovers.

  So many things went wrong that night, and out of all the times my mind replayed those incidences trying to measure my actions, I couldn’t convince myself there was no connection between Sadik and me. That was until over a week had passed and he hadn’t reached out. That hit at something so vulnerable in me. So, I sent him a text—from the phone he bought me—offering to return his jacket.

  Sadik: Thanks. I’ll have it picked up. Will hit you with details when I’m back in town.

  That was it. I didn’t even know how to extend the conversation. It was sterile and not of a man who went down on me—twice in one night. So, for close to two weeks now, I’d been privately sulking while taking exams and working both jobs. I decided to hit the gym at six in morning before heading off to school. Most of my day was spent on campus between classes and departmental work. I clocked in here at ten last night and had been busy baking since. Tasche here was a welcome distraction.