by Sa'id Salaam
All he had to do was turn around.
Ju-baby sat in the back row, watching and listening. The irony of creating an occasion for him to wear his new black suit escaped him. He saw Breeze in the expensive suit with the expensive chick and locked in on him. Seeing people paying their respect to him told him he was a near relative. Too young to be a dad, so he figured him to be a brother. He correctly guessed him to be the owner of the 550 Benz outside, and put him on his list. What he could not see was the killer under the cool.
“Ray-Ray was a good man,” the preacher declared. “God’s son.”
Brezel felt uncomfortable with the lies being told from the pulpit. His brother was not a good man. He was not God’s son. He was a drug dealer, a serial baby daddy, and a thug. He was dead. He figured why lie on him?
“It’s going to be okay,” Vita said in reply to the lone tear that ran down his cheek and fell on his lap. She squeezed his hand as if to prove it.
“Not for Ray it ain’t,” he replied ruefully. He watched, nodded, and replied to the well-wishers who stopped by to offer their condolences. He counted at least four baby mamas with six kids. One baby mama leaned in for a selfie with the body and posted it to Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter as she walked away. Goldmouth smiled down at his friend, then crossed himself. He wasn’t Catholic, but had saw it done in a movie and adopted it as his own. Once he paid his final respects, he came over to Breeze.
“Sorry about yo brudda, shawty,” he said offering his hand.
“’Preciate it,” Breeze replied genuinely. Goldmouth held his hand and darted his eyes conspiratorially before leaning in to whisper.
“I got ten keys that belong to yo’ brudda,” he whispered as low as his buckteeth would allow. It wasn’t low enough so Vita didn’t hear it, even though she pretended she hadn’t.
“Just hold onto them. I’ll holla at you later.”
Mama and Damita cut the fool when the procession reached the gravesite. It took everything Breeze had to keep them from going in the hole with Ray-Ray. The preacher told some more lies about the man, and finally they tossed some dirt on him, and it was time to go.
***
“Thanks for coming,” Agent Stevens said graciously as he hosted the urgent briefing. He felt like a rock star at having everyone coming in just to hear what he had to say.
“This better be good,” the captain grumbled. He, for one, was tired of the agent’s vendetta against Brezel Johnson.
Yes, they knew he got away with a plethora of crimes, including murder, but it was over. Ice took all the charges and Breeze was a legitimate businessman now.
“Oh, it is,” he replied smugly. He may have been willing to let Breeze get away, but he wasn’t. His daughter Shantel hadn’t gotten away.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here to update you on the case against Brezel Johnson,” Stevens began. He hit the remote and cast Breeze’s picture on the large screen.
“As you all are aware, he narrowly escaped prosecution in one of the largest drug rings in our city. He created the appearance of a legit businessman, but it is all a façade. My sources tell me cocaine is being sold in the club. A coup d’état is in motion by the manager, and he is set to take possession of ten kilos of cocaine.
“You’re beating around the bush with this ‘my sources’ crap! If you can’t produce a real, live, sound informant with real information, then we’re shutting this case down,” the captain boomed.
“I figured you might say that,” Stevens smiled. “One second.” All eyes followed him as he stepped into the hallway. His heart stopped momentarily when he saw it was empty. It began to beat again when his informant stepped from inside the bathroom, drying her hands.
“You ready?” he asked eagerly.
“I am.”
“So, um. How are you? How’s, um, your daughter?” Stevens managed uncomfortably.
“She’s your daughter, too. Go by my mama’s house and see for yourself,” Vita shot back.
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