by Ashley
“He has a mom who has a closet full of guns,” she said. “I’m going to ruin my baby.”
“Nah, ma,” Fly replied as he pulled her close, pulling her into him. “You’re good. He’s good. I’mma make sure of that.”
Miamor exhaled deeply. She wished that his words held as much weight as he would like them to, but truth was, they didn’t. The only man she had ever sought approval from was Carter Jones, and Fly was a far cry in comparison. Every part of her wanted to fly to Colorado and get her man, but Carter had been clear. He’s not fucking with me, she thought. Carter’s rejection stung, but she had a man in front of her who wanted her. He had literally done the impossible just to be with her when he killed Baraka. He had returned C.J. to her, making her feel forever indebted to him. That alone made her feel like she was obligated to give him a chance. He wanted to be her man and in fact he was a good man. He just wasn’t Carter. No one ever will be, she thought as she halfheartedly hugged Fly.
He noticed her lack of enthusiasm. In fact, he had noticed it ever since she had reconnected with Carter. He stepped back. “You a’ight?”
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I’m not Carter. All I can do is be me, Miamor,” he stated knowingly.
“That’s all you need to be,” she reassured him.
“I’ve got the money, the power, but I can’t compete with history. If you gon’ run back to that man, do that now. Don’t be here doing this with me and then one day I look up and you’re gone,” Fly stated.
“I’m here, I’m with you,” she stated.
“A’ight,” he said as he kissed her lips.
“I’ve got to hit the blocks, but I can drop little homie off at school if you want,” he offered.
This was why she appreciated him. Fly was great with C.J. He was attentive and went above and beyond to connect with her son. She nodded. “You’re good with him,” she said with a smile.
“I can be good with another one, too,” he said.
Her brow raised in shock.
“I want a baby, Miamor, and I want her to look like you,” he said as he boldly palmed the V between her legs.
He had caught her off guard and she didn’t know how to respond. She honestly couldn’t see herself having children by any other man than Carter. She had never even wanted children. She had made an exception for him. She couldn’t commit the same to Fly. Her mouth fell open in satisfaction as Fly Boogie got on his knees and pulled her satin panties to the side, placing his face right in her pleasure. “This is my pussy, Miamor. Can’t nobody make it feel as good as me,” he mumbled as he ate a full course of her, bringing her to an earth-shattering orgasm right there in her closet.
Fly may not have been her soul mate, but he knew exactly how to please her. God, that tongue is golden, she thought as she used her bloodred fingertip to wipe herself off his lips. He wasn’t good enough to put a baby in her, but he was good enough to keep making her scream while he tried. She made a mental note to get on birth control. She wouldn’t insult him by asking him to strap up, but having another child wasn’t on the agenda—at least not for her.
* * *
C.J. rode in the car, silent as he watched the L.A. streets fly by in a blur outside his window. After being away from home for so long, it felt odd to be back.
“You quiet over there, lil’ homie, you good?” Fly asked as he maneuvered the car through the busy streets.
“Yeah, I’m good,” C.J. said, poking out his bird chest. He liked riding with Fly. Fly treated him like he was his right-hand man.
“You ready for your first day?” Fly asked.
“Not really,” C.J. said. “It’s the middle of the year. Everybody already has their crew picked out.”
“You worried about fitting in, huh?” Fly said.
Not wanting to seem like he was pressed, the young C.J. said, “Nah, I don’t care. I’m just saying. Everybody already got they crew.” He kept his chin up, but Fly could tell by the look in his eyes that C.J. was nervous.
“Look, you in what? Third grade, lil’ homie? Elementary school is simple. Whoever has the freshest gear gets the most girls and has the most friends,” Fly said. “Simple as that.”
“Oh, yeah?” C.J. asked, intrigued.
“Most definitely,” Fly confirmed. “But first we got to get you out of them button-ups and schoolboy slacks your mama got you in. How about we play hooky today? I’ll upgrade your clothes and you can spin through the hood with me today. Sound good?”
“Yeah, that sound good,” C.J. said, excited.
Fly turned the car around and headed for Compton. “You ever held a gun, big man?” he asked.
“No,” C.J. answered.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Fly said as he reached under his seat and placed a gun in C.J.’s lap. “Hold on to that for me. That’s for you. You riding through the hood with me means you’re my right-hand man. Can you handle that?”
C.J. picked up the gun, the weight of it feeling heavy in his hands. He turned it sideways and pointed it at Fly. “Like this?”
Fly snatched the gun from C.J. “Never point a gun at me, C.J. Never,” he said. He placed it back in the boy’s lap. “Now pick it up, hold it straight, finger off the trigger. Only time you put your finger on the trigger is if you ready to shoot something, you understand?” Fly asked.
“Yes, sir,” C.J. replied.
“Chill on that ‘sir’ shit. Save that for your old-ass daddy,” Fly said slyly. “Now wrap your hand around the handle and place your free hand underneath for support.”
C.J. did as he was told, but his hand shook, showing that he was intimidated.
“You scared? What you scared of? You the one with the gun. You’re the man as long as you got that,” Fly said. “You see that red dot on the side?”
C.J. nodded.
“That’s the safety. Red means dead … that’s all you have to remember. You see red and it’s ready to fire,” Fly said. “Now flip the safety and keep that on you for a little bit. The longer you hold it, the more comfortable you’ll get with it.”
Fly pulled up to a house in the middle of Compton and parked on the street. “I won’t be long. Stay in the car. Keep your eyes open, lil’ man.”
C.J. watched Fly until he disappeared inside. His eyes scanned the block while gripping the gun in his hands. His heart was beating so fast that it felt like it would beat out of his chest. Excitement and anxiety had his head on a swivel as he surveyed everything moving around him. He was so ready to prove himself that he would have popped off on anyone who walked by. Luckily it was early morning and nothing on the block was moving besides the early morning fiends out to score a hit. C.J. had never even been on this side of town. He was born into privilege. He had no idea about the way the other side lived. Being in Compton was like being in a ghost town. He wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t like it. After what felt like forever, Fly came back out, carrying a book bag. He slid into the driver’s seat and passed the bag to C.J.
“What’s inside?” C.J. asked.
“Open it up,” Fly said.
C.J. unzipped the book bag and inside lay thousands of pills. From Xanex to Percocet to Adderall, the colors popped out at him. Each prescription was in a different clear Ziploc bag.
“That’s a quarter-million dollars in your hand, lil’ homie,” Fly said.
“Looks like candy,” C.J. said.
“It’s nothing like candy. You never use the shit you sell. That shit will fuck your head up,” Fly warned.
C.J. was intrigued by the fact that every single pill inside the bag was worth cash money. If there was one thing he had inherited from his father, it was the love for the flip. Hustling was in his genes. Fly saw the look in the young boy’s eyes and he grabbed the backpack and placed it in the backseat. “Now put your seat belt on. Let’s get you fresh.”
* * *
Fly Boogie pulled in front of the shoe store and parked curbside. He pulled out a wad of money a
nd peeled off ten crispy hundred-dollar bills. He handed them to C.J. “This is enough to buy whatever you want,” Fly said casually. “Put your money in your pocket. Never let another nigga count your pockets.”
C.J. nodded. He was soaking up every word that Fly said. They hopped out and walked into the store.
“Hey Fly,” one of the sales girls greeted him. He was a sneaker head and would come through and easily clear out the store. They knew him well, especially the pretty, young girls in the store. “This your son?” the girl asked.
“This my little homie,” Fly introduced. “Tryna get him out of this schoolboy shit.” He turned toward C.J. “You see something you like?”
C.J. picked up a retro sneaker. “These?” he suggested.
Fly Boogie nodded while distractedly texting in his phone. “He’ll take everything on that wall. Measure his foot and bag us up.”
C.J. thought Fly Boogie was the coolest dude he knew. He wasn’t old like his father or uncles. He didn’t walk around in suits and shiny shoes. Fly Boogie’s youthful appearance and casual swag made him more relatable to C.J.
Fly turned around and noticed a police officer approaching his car. He walked outside. “Yo, Officer, that’s me,” Fly Boogie said. “Is there a problem?”
“You’ve got some ID?” the officer asked.
Fly Boogie frowned. He wanted to ask why he needed identification, but considering what he had in the car, he wasn’t going to cause a scene. “I’m getting ready to reach in my back pocket for my wallet,” Fly informed him, not wanting to give this officer any reason to pop off. In his eyes, all cops were the enemy and the LAPD was the dirtiest gang in the game. He moved more carefully around them than around the goons he sold to. He pulled out his license and passed it to the officer. “I’ll be right back,” the officer said, retreating to his car.
C.J. and the sales girl came out of the store carrying several bags filled with shoes. C.J. went for the car, but Fly Boogie placed a hand on his chest, holding him back.
“Hold up, C.J.,” he said, now wishing he had just dropped the kid off at school. Things could be real bad if the officer came back with a hostile agenda. The officer took his time running Fly’s plates and checking his name, but Fly didn’t budge. For twenty minutes he stood on the curb unmoved, because he knew the cop wanted to rise a reaction out of him. It didn’t matter to Fly Boogie. He would play the waiting game all day. He wasn’t like most hood dudes who reacted first and thought later. He would remain compliant if that meant he would leave with his life and without his hands in silver cuffs.
The officer came back over and reluctantly gave him his license back. “Move the car. This isn’t a parking spot,” he grumbled before retreating back to the squad car.
Fly hustled C.J. into the car and hurriedly pulled away from the block. He wasn’t even two blocks away before C.J. said, “Fly, the police are behind us again.”
“Shit,” Fly said. He peered in his rearview. The cop had let him go only to call in to another patrol and have him harassed again. He wanted to peel off, but with Miamor’s son beside him, he decided to play it cool. “Reach in the backseat, C.J. Grab the book bag, put the gun inside,” he said as he pulled another burner off his waistline, passing it to C.J. “Put that one in there, too, and put it on your back.”
C.J. hurriedly did as he was told.
Fly Boogie pulled over. A coal-sized lump formed in his throat as he gripped the steering wheel nervously. “Just be cool,” he said, speaking more to himself than to C.J.
The officer got out of the car and Fly could tell by the way he gripped the pistol on his hip that this wasn’t a routine stop. “I need to see your hands!” the cop shouted as he approached the car. He pulled his gun, and Fly Boogie stuck both hands out of his window. “The passenger, too!”
“He’s an eight-year-old kid!” Fly Boogie yelled back.
“Out of the vehicle,” the officer said, pulling open the driver-side door. Fly Boogie stepped out as the officer roughly slammed him against the car. C.J. wasn’t sure what he should do. A crowd began to form as the officer rough-housed Fly Boogie in broad daylight. “What you got on you? Huh? Drugs? Is there anything in the car that I should know about?” the officer asked as he frisked Fly Boogie.
Fly Boogie gave him the grim face and didn’t respond. He simply stared straight ahead as he was shaken down.
C.J. eased out of the car with the book bag on his back and assimilated into the growing crowd. The officer noticed and yelled, “Kid! Back in the car! Now!” He twisted Fly Boogie’s arms behind his back and slammed him on the hood of the car. The cuffs were so tight on his wrists that they cut into his skin like razors. C.J. watched on in horror. He took a step back into the crowd. “Hey, kid!” The cop started toward C.J., and Fly Boogie rose up, fighting against the officer’s force to create a distraction.
C.J. took off down the block, running full speed. His heart pumped, and adrenaline coursed through him as he cut through the bodega. He was running with so much speed that he knocked over a display.
“Hey!” the store clerk shouted, but C.J. was already out the back door. He never looked back to see that he had already shaken the officer. He ran down the alley and came out on the next street. He spotted a bus up ahead. By the time he made it to it, he was out of breath.
He pulled out a pocket full of money. His hands were so shaky, he could barely thumb through the bills that Fly had given him. The bus driver frowned in concern. “This is the wrong side of town to be pulling out so much money,” the older black gentleman said. “You in some kind of trouble?”
“No, I’m just trying to get to school,” C.J. lied as he stuffed the bills in his jean pockets and then held out a hundred-dollar bill.
“Keep it, kid,” the man said. He pointed directly to the seat behind him. “You have a seat right here. What’s the name of your school?”
“Brookdale Academy,” he answered.
“I’ll make sure you get there,” the man said.
C.J. sighed in relief as he held on to the book bag for dear life. He had been so terrified that he had to blink away his tears. He had no idea what was going to happen to Fly Boogie. He wanted to call his mother, but if he did, she would know that he had ditched school, so instead he went to school. He would meet her outside afterward like it was just an ordinary day. Only problem was, it wasn’t and he had a bag full of pills and guns that he didn’t know what to do with.
The bus driver finished his route, letting all of his passengers off until only C.J. remained. It was the first time that C.J. had been to these neighborhoods. The graffiti, the seedy characters, the old school cars and loud music … it all intrigued him. Coming up as a son in The Cartel, he only knew about the wealth. He hadn’t witnessed the come-up, but riding through the hood made him wish he was from the other side. He had no idea the people trapped in the struggle yearned for the life he had. Miamor and Carter had sold their souls to make sure he didn’t live the hard-knock life, and here he was craving a piece of it. The bus driver turned off his service light and then made the hike all the way to the Baldwin Hills, where the bourgeois school was located. C.J. got off at the corner. “Thanks,” he said as he passed the old man a hundred-dollar bill and then rushed off.
C.J. headed into school. What he didn’t realize was his new school had a no-loitering policy and his presence in the hallways midday made him stand out. The principal spotted him as soon as he stepped inside.
“Mr. Jones, you’re late on your very first day.”
C.J.’s eyes widened as he stopped walking midstep.
“I’m Mr. Simpson, headmaster here,” he introduced himself. He held out his hand for the young boy. C.J. reluctantly shook it as he grasped the straps to the book bag. “Let’s get you to class. I’ll show you where your locker is. We don’t allow book bags to be carried during school hours. You can keep it in your locker and carry your books to class,” he informed him.
C.J. nodded and nervously let Mr. Simpson
lead him to his locker. He held out his hand. “Book bag?” Mr. Simpson asked. He reached to take the book bag off of C.J.’s back. C.J. snatched it away, shrugging him off, hard.
“I got it,” C.J. said.
The principal frowned, but didn’t press the young man. They located his locker. “You can pick up a lock from the main office after school. For now, your belongings should be okay without one.”
“I need a lock,” C.J. pushed as he slid his shoulders out of the straps.
“I assure you,” Mr. Simpson said, “no one will go into your locker. We have a zero-tolerance policy for theft.” He reached down to grab the book bag from C.J., who snatched it out of his hands. This time, the principal didn’t let go. “C.J., let go of the book bag.”
“I just need a lock!” C.J. said urgently. He pulled on it, trying to get it out of his principal’s grasp, causing the zipper to break. The guns and pills spilled out all over the floor.
Mr. Simpson looked at the contents in shock and quickly apprehended C.J. “Step back. Over there, sit down on the floor,” he said sternly.
Tears welled in C.J.’s eyes and he gritted his teeth, but he did as he was told. He knew he was in trouble and as he watched school security arrive on the scene, he lowered his head, afraid of the consequences to come.
CHAPTER 14
“Where is my son?” Miamor asked the officer sitting at the reception desk inside the precinct. “I’ve been waiting here for two hours. Where is he?!” Her patience was nonexistent, and anger burned in her eyes.
“He’s being processed, miss,” the officer said. “When I have more information, I’ll provide you with it. Until then, sit down.”
Miamor’s temper was threatening to boil over, and she had to remind herself that she was standing in the middle of a police precinct. “Listen, you fat, bald, incompetent—”
“Miamor.”
Miamor turned around to see Carter standing behind her with his legal bulldog, Einstein, beside him. Carter was clean and dapper as ever in his Tom Ford suit. The beard was gone, and the sadness that had filled his eyes had been replaced by a look of anger. He stood before her strong, shoulders squared, and with an expression that said he wasn’t beat for the bullshit. She hadn’t seen this version of him in years. He had been holed up in the mountains for so long that she had hardly recognized him before, but this powerful man in front of her was the Carter she knew. Everything about him signified power. The look of anger that burned in his eyes told her that he would handle this. His presence brought her instant relief.
