After they finished eating, Cleo washed the dishes, while C's sat at the table absently turning over the brick of cocaine as he tried to put his thoughts in order. He'd promised his chick that he would tell her about how he got down, but he'd begun to have second thoughts. Not because he didn't trust her. Truth be sold, he'd never let a girl get as close to him as he'd let her, and some of his bitches he'd dealt with for years. No. The only problem he had with Cleo knowing about his grind was her becoming involved in something as trife as his day to day. It would be so easy for his dirt to get her filthy. By unspoken rule, nobody associated with the life was exempt from the harsh judgment of street justice. That was just the way shit went down in the field.
If he was treal, he'd feed baby girl, take her home and keep her the fuck out his lane, but in the end when it came down to doing the right thing everything grimey and selfish about him came to light. He couldn't leave her alone. Not even for her own damn safety. How fucked up was that? Holding something you craved so tight that you eventually squeezed the life out of the very thing you swore to defend.
He shook his head to clear away the bullshit eating at his mental. What the hell was he tripping on? Of course that shit he'd contemplated on was BS in its rawest form. Of course he'd protect his baby. What other place could be safer for her than under his arm? He just needed to bust his craziness open and put it all on wood for her. Let her decide whether or not she could handle everything he was dropping.
With a sigh, C's cleared his throat. If she was going to be in his zone, then there was no way around the madness. She had to know. It was only fair. Fair. Humph. Another damn thing he didn't do before her. "Hey c'mere, bae. The dishes will hold." He held his hand out to her, when she turned to look at him. "We need to talk."
Dropping the dish rag in the soapy water, she spun on her heel and walked willingly into his embrace. Her arms slipped around his neck as her gaze searched his face. "Is this about what you do?"
"Yeah. Something like that." He answered, tightening his hold on her.
"You're a ghetto M.D. aren't you?" She asked her voice, barely loud enough to be considered a whisper.
C's shook his head. If she only knew. "I'm more like the block's weather man, baby. I'm that motherfucker who says if there's gonna be a drought or a snow storm comin' their way." He dipped his head to nuzzle her neck, feeling himself way too much.
"What's that mean?" She leaned away from him, taking her sweet throat with her.
His arms fell to his sides. "I run shit in my yard. And this..." He snatched the key off the counter, holding it up. "Along with my nine, is what got me shot callin' around this bitch. Guaranteed Benjamin's, baby. And you betta believe yo' boy move more weight than Heavy D and the Fat Boyz put together."
"Like how Tech runs the Ninth," she said more as a statement than a question.
Oh hell no! His game was slicker and tighter than Tech's old tired ass hustle. "Naw, Trouble. Tech don't have the heart to get down like I do. Shit, the only reason he still hangs on to the Ninth is because of Trey. If it wasn't for his brother's buck ass somebody would've been snaked that spot from his incompetent ass." C's dropped the coke back on the counter. "Homeboy try to be friends with everybody and shit. Instead of showing them who the fuck the boss is. What his pussy ass fails to realize is, fear lasts way longer than love. That's gonna do his ass in one day. Humph. The one he loves the most, is gonna be that same motherfucker who puts one in his dome. Watch what I tell you, yo. I see that type of shit play out like that all the time out here."
"That's messed up." She mumbled staring at the key on the table. "I don't really know him, but I'd hate to see something like that happen to him." Her gaze swung back to drink him down. "Or you. My chest couldn't take the blow if it did. Life support would be a must."
"Yeah?" He stared her down, trying to ferret out the truth. This whole situation was bananas. After only three days, he was ready to get inked the fuck up. Tattoo her name across his heart. Permanently.
"What you think?" Her head snapped back like he'd punched her. "I know I haven't known you long, but now that I do..." she shook her head. "I can't double back and live my day to day the same way I did before I damn near ran you down on the street. I may sound nutty as hell, but..." Her shoulders rose and fell. "It is what it is."
Done the fuck in by her admission, he scooped her up, planting her down in front of him on the counter. Stepping between her parted legs, he cradled her face in his hands. "You don't have to worry about me goin' out like, Tech's simple ass. I stay ten moves ahead of the game all day every day, bae. I damn near got this shit down to a science." He leaned forward, capturing her lips in a quick kiss, pulling away he stared at her mouth. "Matter of fact, I'ma show you."
Breathless and a little drunk off the taste of her, he hoisted the coke off the counter, holding it up between them. "Before you do anything, you have to know what the hell you have on hand." He left her sitting on the counter to snatch a digital scale from the cabinet over the stove. Once in hand, he swaggered back over to her, placing the coke and scale on the tile topped counter. "All birds should weigh thirty-six ounces, if they don't then you need to have a conversation with your suppliers, because y'all got some problems." He glanced at her as he placed the kilo on the scale.
"That says forty," Cleo said, leaning over to look at the display on the scale.
His mouth hitched at the corner. Damn she was cute. "The extra four ounces come from the paper and plastic wrap, bae. If this bitch was naked, she'd weigh thirty-six all day long."
"Oh." She straightened. "Well why the hell do they use all that paper and what not anyway?" She asked with an attitude.
"To disguise the smell, during transport." He replied, while reaching over to tuck a curl behind her ear. "So the dogs won't sniff it out, if shit goes left and they get hemmed up by Nine."
The slamming of the front door snaked his attention. A moment later Ant walked into the kitchen and slung himself into a chair at the breakfast table. His gaze traveled over Cleo in an annoyed yet somewhat appreciative glance. Then his stare flicked to C's.
"He wants two," Ant said, stretching his legs out.
Damn. That's exactly what he was talking about. Right out of the gate. With Putt's two he already had half of Reyes shit sold. Fifty more grand and he'd be able to get him out of his pocket. And the only way for him to do that was to go get lost in those streets. His looked at Cleo. What the hell was he going to do with her? He couldn't take her home to that empty ass apartment.
"Go ahead. Handle your business," Ant said from his spot at the table. "I'll show her how to make that shit comeback."
"Man. I don't know-," C's began.
Ant cut him off with a raised hand. "Stop trippin' and shit. Ain't no more bitches gettin' up in here. Straight the fuck up."
"Where you goin'?" She asked. Her gaze swinging from C's to Ant and back.
He placed his hand on her knee. "I gotta run off for minute. Make a few stops." His attention returned back to Ant, giving him a hard glare. "Ant's gonna keep an eye on you while I'm gone."
"Keep an eye?" Cleo hopped off of the counter, rounding on him. "What do I look like a baby? I don't need no damn body to watch me. Matter fact take me home, on your way out. If you're not gonna be here, then there is no point for me to be here either."
Now there she go, trying to make shit hard for everybody involved. C's glanced at Ant for help, but only got a, could careless, shrug from his ass. "Look I can't take you with me so chill."
Frowning, she looked him up and down like he'd lost his damn mind. "Uh, I'm confused." She touched the side of her head with her index finger and her thumb as she looked up at the ceiling, while shifting her weight. "Did I ask you to take me with you? What part of take me home don't you understand? Should I say that shit in Spanish, hombre?"
Oh hell naw! She did not just take it there. "And what part of you not goin' home to an empty ass apartment don't you understand. Should I say that shit in Swahili?"
Ant coughed to cover up a laugh, but at the point C's was at, he shouldn't have bothered.
Cleo's neck rolled backwards, like a snake about to strike. "What the hell is that supposed to mean. Are you tryna say I'm African?" She stalked forward, slowly. "Or are you just calling me a nigga on the sly?" Her hands fisted at her sides, as she continued on through clenched teeth. "Is that what you meant by that Swahili diss?"
"What?" Ant and C's cried out at the same time, as they shared a look of shock.
"Aw damn, dog." Ant laughed, this time not bothering to cover it up. "This chica's loco, folk." He shook his head still wearing a look of utter disbelief. "What's with you and these crazy ass brizzas you go out the way to kick it with?"
C's ignored Ant, keeping his eyes trained on a very pissed off Cleo that now stood within firing distance of him. What the fuck was her damage? The only thing he'd said was that she'd have to stay with Ant, and she'd gone and broke the damn chain. Now she was running around his kitchen doing the motherfucking fool.
"What the hell you meant by the Spanish dig?" C's asked, deflecting shit back on to her until he could figure out what the fuck was going on.
"That is your first language isn't it." She folded her arms across her small bosom. "Your brown ass sure be spittin' it when you trying to talk me out of my panties."
Ant damn near choked. "Ahhh. She pulled your card, hermano."
"Thought I wouldn't?" Cleo asked, with a snap of her fingers. "When I told you I wasn't stupid, you should've listened the first damn time. I'm not the chick to be played with."
"I don't give a fuck if you're the queen of Sheba." C's chest puffed as he grabbed her by the arm. "You're gonna sit your ass in this house until I get back. Comprender?"
"What the fuck ever." She snatched her arm out of his grasp and stomped into the living room.
Cool. Now her age was showing. He shook his head still dazed by her crazy ass outburst. A pent up exhale crept from his mouth in ragged stutters. When he finished jumping his bomb, he was going to have some serious shit to think on.
He glared at Ant who openly smirked at him. "Not a word, folk. Not one stutterin' word!"