Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 12

"Who is it?" Liberty yelled from behind, her attitude ready to put on a show for whoever had the nerve to knock.

"Somebody for me." Cleo opened the screen and slipped from the house, purposely closing the wooden door after her. Once on the porch she narrowed her gaze on the boy. "Putt told you where I stayed, didn't he?"

The boy shrugged, taking a seat in the plastic chair. "He told Taz. Since he's my boy he told me." He reached for Cleo's hand, but she slapped his fingers away. Untroubled by her rejection he continued. "Heard 'bout what popped off at C's the other morning. They say you walked the dog on one of his brizzas, and even tried to go one with him too. You got the whole Circle talkin', chica."

"Ask me if I care," she said, smacking her lips. Waving a hand, she silenced him when he opened his mouth to speak, not interested in one of his slick ass answers. "What you want? Why you here? Don't tell me you walked all the way over here just to be nosey."

"Walked? Chica please," he said, his little chest puffing from indignation. "I rode my chopper." He nodded his head at a bike chained to the rail at the bottom of the stairs.

"You say that like its better. Either way, you was still sweatin' it out in that hot behind sun." Cleo sat down on the top step, angling her body so she could look up at him, while disregarding his offended expression. "Weatherman says the temperature is supposed to get up in the triple digits today, and you around here tryin' to ride a bike. Boy you gonna mess around and catch fire on that bicycle."

"What difference is that supposed to make for me, when I already burn for you?" He leered at her, his lips donning a nasty boy grin.

"Ugh," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'ma need you to stop getting your game from Hallmark. You know that they'll sue you for that, right?"

"Like that, huh?" The boy asked, slumping further down into the seat. "Got it from a Valentine's Day card that one of Taz's women gave him. Thought it was fly." He finished with a shrug.

Cleo cocked her head to the side and stared at him like he'd just been touched by crazy. "You stupid or something? This the Ninth, you just can't come rolling through here like you're made of Teflon." Her gaze left his to glance around the projects. Luckily, no one seemed to be paying his simple ass any attention at the moment, but that didn't mean a, two dollar hooker, thang. Things had a way of switching lanes real quick around there. "You need to leave before someone comes around and make you."

"Wish a bitch would try me," he said, lifting his pointy chin in defiance. "I'm not scared of none of these vatos around here. I'm packin'." The boy lunged from his chair to stand, yanking his shirt up and withdrawing a short kitchen knife with napkins wrapped around the blade.

Cleo's face fell into her hands as she shook her head. Was he serious? "Um, that's fine and all, but tell me this, how in the world is that bread knife gonna protect you against bullets?" Her head snapped up as she released the words from her lips in a slow deliberate trickle, waving her hands in emphasis to help transport her meaning to his dim brain. "You do know glocks trumps blades, and that the whole thing about never bringing a knife to a gunfight isn't just a sayin', right? That little bitty thang couldn't even stop a behind stompin, let alone a hollow point."

"Don't worry about all that, just know I got your back, if things get heated out in this joint," he said, shoving the kitchen knife back into his pocket, while wearing a serious expression on his narrow face.

"Have your own back, it need covering more than mine with all the cemetery chances you takin'," she said.

Cleo shook her head as she cast her gaze to the parking lot below. The poor fool was too insane to live, and if he kept playing his life like a game, he wouldn't have that problem for long. Consequences were stalking his bad decisions how a DEA task force would lay down a trap house, swiftly, and with all exits blocked. And although she didn't know the little fellow from the dude holding down the parking lot in front of the neighborhood liquor store, she'd hate to see anything bad happen to him just for being so utterly dumb.

The sound of a door slamming downstairs wrestled her attention from Pep. She leaned forward to peep through the space between the steps to see which one of her neighbors had come out. As she attempted to maintain her balance and be nosey at the same time, she felt the vibration of someone heavy climb on the stairs.

"What you lookin at, Babygirl?" A deep voice asked, in a sugary feminine tone.

Cleo jumped at the unexpected voice, quickly straightening to swing her gaze to the six foot two, ebony skin toned man wearing a denim dress that zipped up the front. He patted the curls at the back of his head in place on his auburn wig as he regarded her with an indulgent smile, his eyebrow raised, while he waited for her to answer.

"Nothing, Ms. Pat," Cleo said, unable to continue holding eye contact after she'd been caught being nosey.

"What's that?" Pep asked, his voice laced with unsureness and a hint of fear.

Ms. Pat's hand found his hip as his head jerked back. "No, the question is, what is you boo? Are you a little boy," He brought his index finger and his thumb so close together they almost touched. "Or a chicken that's been plucked, or maybe you just a little girl with a wish. Whatever you is though, doesn't matter, because I'm still looking at a straight up mess booboo." Ms. Pat thumped his fingers as if he were flicking away a booger, and then retrained his eyes on Cleo. "Ya mama home darlin'?"

"She in the house, cookin'." Cleo jerked her thumb over her shoulder without turning around. She didn't need to see the look on Pep's face to know Ms. Pat's read had one, two-ed his ass.

Ms. Pat raised an eyebrow. "Cookin'?"

"Yep." Her head bobbed.

"Humph. 'Magine that." Ms. Pat climbed the rest of the way up the stairs. "Well let me go in there to make sure she don't burn the damn house down, my apartment is right under y'all's." He muttered to himself as he disappeared behind the screen door.

When the screen clattered closed a sick feeling began to play double dutch with Cleo's intestines. She wasn't stupid. Ms. Pat's visit was no social call. He was Liberty's dealer, and she knew within ten minutes her mom's would be so lit, she just might let the damn house go up in flames.

Irritated she stood. "Come on let's go to the store." Gesturing for Pep to follow her she descended the stairs.