by Ashley
Fuck this shit, Zyir thought to himself as he located Carter’s contact information in his phone. I’ve got to warn him. Before he could press call, Breeze’s face illuminated on his screen.
He gritted his teeth at her timing. It was like she’d sensed him. They were so connected; despite the fact that they weren’t even together, she knew that he needed to hear her voice.
Zyir knew the lovely melody of her tone would talk him out of warning Carter, so he declined the call, sending her to voice mail.
This was an impossible choice to make. His best friend or his wife. His wife or the nigga who had taught him everything. Breeze or Carter. Carter or Breeze. He loved them both dearly. They were probably the only two people he had ever loved, and now he had to destroy one to save the other. The pressure was eating him alive.
Breeze called right back, probably shocked at the fact that he hadn’t answered. No matter what he was doing or where he was, he always made time for her. She was his priority. Still, he silenced the call. He knew the texts would come next.
Breeze
Zy. What’s up babe? Why aren’t you answering for me?
Zyir couldn’t take this type of guilt. He made his way to the aft of the yacht and stood out on the extended deck that hung into the water.
I can’t take this shit. This shit is too much. No matter what I do, somebody gets hurt. This ain’t for me. None of this is for me anymore, he thought. He wanted to say that his thoughts weren’t his own … that he wasn’t thinking clearly … but he was as sharp as they came. Not a thought crossed his mind that he hadn’t pondered for some time. He prided himself on remaining focused, free of inebriation, of narcotic … to always be on point. It was a lesson Carter had taught him … one of many, in fact. The deep blue, rolling waves enticed him. All you got to do is step off, he told himself.
His phone chimed again.
Breeze
I hate that you’re out on the yacht by yourself. Be careful. You can’t swim. You know I worry.
Zyir closed the text. It was like she could feel he was on the brink. The cold water on his feet caused goose bumps to pop up onto his forearms. It was a beautiful day to die. His death wouldn’t erase all that he had done, but at least he wouldn’t feel it. He couldn’t live with this. He had tried for three years, but the secret was too much to bear. How he wished he had been the one the police pulled over in his car that day. He would have taken his punishment like a G without a second thought. He knew that should-haves, could-haves, would-haves didn’t matter at this point. Life hadn’t served up the circumstance that way.
Zyir
I love you so much, B. Even when I’m not with you.
It was the last message he would send. He wanted her to know that, because once he stepped into this ocean, she would question it. She would question everything. She would blame herself for his death, and that was the last thing he wanted her to do. He just needed the madness inside his head to stop. He would rather be dead than continue to be a pawn that the feds manipulated.
Breeze
I was going to wait until you came back from Miami to tell you this, but it seems like you need a pick-me-up.
She sent a photo to him, and Zyir’s breath caught in his throat. It was an ultrasound image. Zyir couldn’t contain the sobs that erupted from him. He couldn’t help it. The liquid rolled effortlessly down his face onto the screen of his phone. This time when she called, he answered.
“Hey, Daddy,” she greeted him playfully, but when she heard him crying, her tone changed. “Zyir. What’s wrong?”
She had no idea what that one picture had just stopped him from doing.
“You’re pregnant?” he asked as he sniffed loudly and regained his composure. “You’re pregnant, B.”
“I am,” she said with joy. “We are!” She laughed.
“But I thought…? After the damage from Ma’tee’s rape, I never thought we could…” Zyir paused as he wiped his face in disbelief. “Wow, ma. I’m so happy. You just saved me, ma. You saved me,” he whispered.
She didn’t know what he meant, but she could hear the happiness in his tone.
She was over the moon. She had waited, just like last time, to tell him because she wanted to be sure. Breeze had agonized over the secret for months because she was fearful that it would end in tragedy like the first time. Every time she sat down to pee she checked her panties for blood, but when she had felt the first flutter inside of her, she knew: Everything would be all right. The sound of the baby’s heartbeat had been music to her skeptical ears, but she still didn’t tell Zyir. Not until she was past the twelve-week mark. Not until it was safe. “We’re having a baby,” she said.
“Aww man,” Zyir said. He was on an emotional roller coaster. It was instinctive for his next words to be “I’ve got to tell Carter.”
The mention of Carter’s name made Zyir solemn, but he shook it off. He had to cooperate now. Breeze was carrying his child. She had just upped the ante.
“Okay. I love you, Zyir Rich,” she said. “Be safe out there.”
“I will, B. I love you, too.”
Zyir climbed back up onto the main deck of the boat and lifted the anchor before turning the boat around. As he headed back toward the Miami shore, he couldn’t help but think of his betrayal. Carter didn’t deserve it. Not after all he had done for him. But it was happening. As he sailed back toward the marina, he couldn’t help but think of the way Carter had entered his life.
* * *
1995
FLINT, MI
Zyir hid under his bed as tears flowed down his face. Timidly, he was balled up in a fetal position, with both hands over his ears in pure terror. He had soiled pajamas and his body was sweaty because of the hot summer night. Pure fear had pushed him to urinate on himself involuntarily. He heard the screams coming from his mother’s bedroom and was anticipating the moment that it would stop. His mother’s alcoholic boyfriend had yet again gone on a drinking binge and was in the process of beating his mother. Zyir, only seven years old, couldn’t understand why the man his mother loved so much would become such a monster. He didn’t understand the effects of alcohol and the inner demons that it usually exposed. Zyir tried to press his hands against his ears to muffle the horrific sounds, but the screams were too loud to drown out.
After a few minutes of the arguing and beating, Zyir couldn’t take it anymore. He crawled from underneath his bed and tiptoed out of the apartment. After slowly unlocking the door, he then stuck his head out and scoped the apartment’s hallway. After seeing that the coast was clear, he ran across the hallway to the door of his older friend, Carter Jones. Zyir, with a blanket in hand, knocked on the door with tears in his eyes. He waited patiently with his head down, hoping that Carter would answer the door. He knocked again and waited. After a minute had passed and he got no response, he turned on his heel and headed back to the hell that he called his home. Just as he reached his door, he heard a chain being slid off the lock and Carter’s door cracked open. Carter stepped out, wiping the sleep out of his eyes and wearing nothing but boxers.
Carter squinted to see Zyir and noticed that his friend had been crying.
“Come on, lil’ homie,” Carter said as he waved Zyir into his mother’s apartment. Zyir wiped his tears from his eyes, headed across the hall and through the door. Carter was a few years older than Zyir, and Zyir looked up to Carter. He felt a sense of relief when he was around Carter. Carter was home alone since his mother worked the third shift.
Zyir looked around the apartment and wished that his mother kept their apartment this nice. Carter had everything. The latest television, leather furniture, and custom carpet that melted in between Zyir’s toes every time he walked. Although they were in the projects, while inside Carter’s place, it didn’t feel like it. Zyir slowly walked in with tears in his eyes. Carter threw his arm around him and guided him to the couch. Zyir always felt safer around Carter, and the horror he’d felt just moments before slowly began to fade.
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“That nigga over there again?” Carter asked.
Zyir only nodded.
“A’ight,” Carter said as he nodded. “It’s all good. You can stay the night over here.” He tossed Zyir a pillow and a spare cover. He then turned on the television, knowing that Zyir was afraid of the dark but would never admit it. “Good night, Zy.”
“Good night,” Zyir replied.
Carter was halfway to his room when he doubled back. “Yo, do that nigga ever hit you, Zy?” Carter asked.
“No, just my mama,” Zyir said. He didn’t want to admit that he, too, was a victim of the abuse. He didn’t want to look weak in front of his friend. Carter left it alone, but he had a feeling Zyir was lying.
“Come here,” Carter said. “Let me show you something.”
Zyir climbed out from beneath the cover and followed Carter to his room. He watched curiously as Carter pulled a shoe box from under his bed.
“You ever held a gun before, lil’ homie?” Carter asked.
Zyir shook his head and looked with wide eyes as Carter pulled out an old .38. It was raggedy, but it worked.
“You got to protect your mama, Zyir. A man protects his family,” Carter said as he handed the gun to Zyir. “It’s yours.”
“For real?” Zyir exclaimed as he wrapped his hand around it. It barely fit in his palm and it was heavier than it looked. He had never shot a gun a day in his life, but just having it made him feel like he was sitting on top of the world.
“Yeah, it’s yours,” Carter said.
“Thanks, man,” Zyir replied.
Carter nodded. “Now tell me the truth. That nigga be hitting on you, too?”
Zyir pulled his shirt off, feeling comfortable enough with Carter to reveal his secret. He turned around and showed Carter his scar-covered back. It looked like someone had used him as a human ashtray. It was so bad that Carter’s eyes filled with tears of anger.
“He burned you with cigarettes?” Carter asked.
Zyir threw his shirt back on over his head. “Not in a while. He just been getting into it with my mama,” Zyir said.
“The next time that nigga even look at you funny, you shoot him,” Carter said.
Zyir nodded as he aimed the gun at the wall.
“BOOM!” Carter yelled, scaring Zyir so bad that he dropped the gun. Carter burst into laughter.
“First you got to learn how to shoot it,” Carter said. “We can set up some cans on the roof after school tomorrow. I got some bullets.”
* * *
The next day, Zyir awoke early and crept out of Carter’s apartment. He was always too embarrassed to stay for breakfast with Carter and his mom, so instead he woke up at the crack of dawn to make his escape. When he entered his apartment, his mood instantly changed. He walked quietly to his mother’s door, lifting his tiny hands to knock. He pressed his ear against the door. He knew her boyfriend was gone because he didn’t hear his drunken snores. He opened the door and reached for the light switch, but as he flipped it, nothing happened.
“Ma?” Zyir called. “Ma, you okay?” he asked. He walked into the dark room, stepping over empty liquor bottles and empty fast-food bags. “Ma!” he said as he shook her.
It wasn’t until he got right up on her that he saw why she wasn’t responding. Her face was bashed in. Blood covered the pillow and the sheets. “Ma!” Zyir screamed as he shook her. “Ma, wake up!”
Zyir was sure she was dead and tears welled in his eyes. Her face was so badly beaten that he didn’t recognize her. Zyir ran out. He needed help. His heart beat out of his chest as terror seized him.
“Where you think you going, little nigga?”
His mother’s boyfriend stood between Zyir and the door. He had a large hunting knife in his hand and a huge sack in the other.
Zyir was frozen. His eyes went from the knife to the bag to the devilish look on the man’s face. Was he going to cut his mother up? If not, what was the knife and bag for? He wanted to run, but his feet wouldn’t move and he had left the gun at Carter’s.
Zyir had a feeling he wasn’t going to make it out of the apartment. He had seen too much.
“Please, I won’t say nothing,” he said.
The man stalked over to him and grabbed him by the neck, using so much force that Zyir thought he would snap it. “Get your little ass in here,” the man barked. “I told that bitch about her mouth. I told her. Now look what the fuck she made me do.”
He tossed Zyir onto the floor, hard, causing his head to hit the corner of the wall. The man climbed on top of him and put his hands around Zyir’s neck. Zyir’s eyes bulged out of his head as he kicked his legs frantically. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned so bad as tears rolled out the sides of his eyes onto the dirty carpet beneath him. He was about to die all because his mother had chosen the wrong man. Zyir felt the blood vessels in his eyes bursting. Seconds felt torturously long, until he slowly began to not feel anything at all. Then …
BOOM!
The weight of the grown man collapsing on top of his body crushed him. Zyir was too weak to even push him off. He just lay there only half-conscious, on the edge of death.
“Zy! Zyir!”
That was Carter’s voice.
“Zyir! Wake up!” Carter screamed. “Mama!!!!”
Carter pushed the man off of Zyir and pulled Zyir’s limp body toward the front door. “Mama!”
The gunshot had lured nosy neighbors into the hall, but none dared go inside.
Finally his mother emerged from their apartment. “Carter! What did I tell you about…”
When she saw her twelve-year-old son struggling to carry Zyir to the door, she put her hands over her mouth in disbelief.
“Call 911! Don’t just stand there! Call somebody!” she shouted as she rushed inside. “Oh my God! What happened?” she cried.
She heard the groans of the man in the hallway and watched in horror as Carter stood to his feet, walked over to the man, and stood over his body.
BOOM!
Without remorse, he put a bullet in the man’s head just as the cops came swarming in.
“Put your hands where I can see them!” the police yelled.
“No!” Tonya yelled. “No!” She left Zyir lying there as she ran to Carter. “No! You will not arrest my son! He was protecting his friend! Help him!” She pointed toward Zyir, who had slipped into unconsciousness.
Her screams fell on deaf ears as they pushed her son against the wall forcefully before placing him in cuffs.
“Stay with Zyir, ma,” Carter said as they escorted him out.
“We’ve got another body back here,” another officer called out. Tonya stood as she watched the paramedics tend to Zyir.
“We’ve barely got a pulse. Let’s get him in the bus,” an EMT yelled. She stood horrified as she watched them load Zyir’s small body onto a stretcher while working to save his life. Zyir’s eyes fluttered open and he saw Carter being escorted out. He couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to see anything more. The last thing he remembered hearing was someone say, “I’m losing him.”
* * *
Zyir remembered the day as if it had happened just yesterday. If Carter had walked in a minute later, Zyir would be dead. Carter had saved his life. He had killed for him. Due to the evidence against his mother’s boyfriend, Carter never served a day in lockup. He was put on probation until the age of eighteen and walked away without a felony conviction. Zyir had lost his mother that day, but he had gained a brother. From that day forward, Zyir and Carter were inseparable. They had always had each other’s back … until now. Zyir picked up his phone and sent Carter a text.
Zyir
I love you, fam.
Carter
Fuck you being all sensitive for little nigga?
Zyir
Ha!
Carter
I love you, too, my G.
They hadn’t spoken the words to each other since they were young kids. Ego often caused men to mask their emotions, but
Zyir felt it necessary to say. They were family, and Zyir didn’t know how long he had before Carter’s love transformed to hate. He reminded himself that he was doing this for Breeze as he stepped off the boat where two federal agents were waiting to wire him up.
CHAPTER 17
The rolling hills of the golf course were the perfect shade of leprechaun green. The country club was full on this Saturday afternoon, and the mild temperatures accompanied by a cloudless day made the perfect combination for tee time. Carter and Zyir stepped into the ritzy building. Their black skin immediately made them the focal point of the many club members. It was a members-only type of club. This may have been Miami, but it was still the South. It was clear they didn’t belong, but they still walked in like they owned the place. Both dressed in designer, tailored suits it was evident they weren’t there to step and fetch. They screamed money … real money … long money … not the gold-chain-wearing, flamboyant, hood-rich type, either. They were made men. They had acquired their riches their way, playing by their own rules. Bosses. That’s what they were. Black kings and they knew it. Carter bypassed the reception area and walked right onto the fairway, where he knew Estes would be. It was so routine that even the most unworthy adversary could catch him slipping. Nine a.m. tee time every Saturday. It never changed. For over thirty years, he had come like clockwork.
Carter and Zyir waited patiently, keeping a respectable distance as he watched Estes swing.
Estes turned and noticed them waiting. He took his time before calling them over. Carter smirked. Even in old age, Estes kept it G. They were on his time. He respected it. Finally he motioned for them to approach.
