Sid tried to imagine what a little kid named Robert would look like. She'd only ever met adult Robert's. Already grown into the regality of their name. But they had all been little boys at some point. Running around, kicking soccer balls, all while being named Robert. The name was weird to see plastered on the cubby in front of her. She shifted her head and looked at the cubby next to it instead. Allie. Now, that was a kid's name.
"Here." Chante passed her a drink and dropped onto the couch cushion next to her. She was back in Chante's daycare. The kids were again long gone but the room would soon have a few other inhabitants... if everything went well. Sid took a sip from the cup and instantly winced as the bite of liquor hit the back of her throat. She should have known better than to accept a drink from Chante without verifying it's alcohol content first. Chante looked at her and rolled her eyes.
"You thought I was going to do this shit without a drink? Tuh." Chante took two big gulps from her cup. "You sure you want to do this?"
"Yep." Sid had asked and answered that question at least five times since she got here. And at least ten times since she asked Chante to help her.
"Sid, I—" Before Chante could say the words Sid knew were coming, a loud knock on the door interrupted. Chante's chest heaved with the deep breath she took and her hand trembled as she rested her glass on her desk nearby. She took her time making it over to the door and Sid was careful not to say anything. It would probably send her into a full fit and stop this whole plan in its tracks. By the time Chante finally pulled the door open Sid was sure a caterpillar had turned into a butterfly somewhere.
Sid saw Nixon's amber-colored arms, tattoos snaking up his forearms, wrap around Chante's waist. She teetered forward into his embrace and he kissed her forehead. The gentleness of it made Sid look away. It wasn't until she heard him greet her that she looked back their way.
"Hi, Nixon. How are things?" They embraced briefly while Sid was still seated on the couch. He pulled the rolling computer chair away from Chante's desk and took a seat. The recessed lighting bounced off the satin of his black durag.
"I'm cool. Just came off a little local tour. People feeling the new song." Nixon said somberly. He looked exhausted like he was only awake off the energy Chante and music gave him.
"That's amazing. Congrats."
"Yeah." He seemed to perk up at that but it was still a lot less than she expected from someone on the verge of having a successful music career. "So, what y'all up to?"
Chante's glass clinked as she lifted it to her gloss covered lips, leaving the rim of the glass smudged and opaque. Sid thought she would speak after she swallowed her sip but Chante just took another. And another. Sid rolled her eyes.
"Okay, I guess I'll talk. Umm, it's really a lot to unpack..." Sid launched into the story. From start to finish. From the train platform six years ago to her locked in Kru's office in the back of the bodega. To Phil laying across town in a hospital. Nixon's amber skin had drained to a dull gray by the time she finished the entire saga. She knew she should take a breather but she pushed on, eager to get all the background information out on the floor so she could move on to the real reason they were all sitting here.
"After delivering the money to all these businesses I realized how he did things. How he took over things that people worked hard for and used them for his own gain." Sid paused and looked over at Chante before moving on to the next bit of information. Chante's gaze was locked on hers but instead of holding that pleading look she appeared relieved to have everything out on the table. Another deep breath rose and fell in her chest before she signaled for Sid to continue. "He's using all those businesses to clean his drug money. Even...even this one."
Nixon's gazed passed over to Chante. Now Sid wasn't the only one urging her to speak. He was pleading with her with his eyes but Chante stayed mute and glued to her seat.
"You let him get involved, Chante?"
"I needed help. I was about to lose the space..."
"Then you should've talked to me! How come you ain't ask me?" Nixon roared at her before pulling himself back.
"You were gone and what's the fucking difference, Nix? If I get it from you it's like I'm getting it from him anyway!" Nixon stood from the chair so quickly that it slid across the room into a toy chest.
"That's fucked up." His voice was loud and full of hurt as he pointed at Chante before turning his back on them both.
Sid threw a sharp look at Chante to which Chante just shrugged her shoulders. They were supposed to be enlisting Nixon's help not pissing him off. He would be integral in keeping Kru out of the way so that things would come together.
"Nixon, she's just talking crazy because she's scared. I am too." Sid's quiet voice in the midst of their yelling seemed to bring both of their roaring flames down to a simmer.
"You see what just happened here? The way y'all held each other when that door opened. It was beautiful. But in an instant. Just at the mention of Kru's name, you guys were yelling at each other." Sid stared at the jagged cuticles of her fingernails. Wrecked from constantly chopping, submerging her hands in seasonings, and repeated washing. Her dad's hands often looked the same.
"It's what he does. Over and over again. Take something so beautiful and literally destroys it. I won't keep watching this happen to the people I care about. Nixon, that's why I asked Chante to call you tonight. I'm going to kill him. I hope that me saying that doesn't get me killed right now. I know you're close with him but I also know that if he's doing what he's doing to Chante, what he did to my dad...he must be doing the same to you with your music. Am I right?"
Nixon cracked his knuckles as he paced the multicolored rug with the alphabet printed on him. Seeing him so troubled in a space like this made Sid think of him as a little boy. One who loved music and had dreams of commanding stages and moving his entire family out of the ghetto. Instead, he was still here. There had to be a reason.
"He gives me enough to be aight. But not much more." His voice held none of the sing-songy vibes it did on his records. This man sounded defeated. "I do all my production and everything." He whispered to himself more than to Chante and Sid. He was confessing what had probably been on his mind for years. Sid could only imagine creating music that someone else fully reaped the benefits of. It made her break and instead of seeing Nixon as that little boy, she saw him standing in her father's shoes. Someone trying to make his dream. Though they'd barely spoken more than two words to one another before Sid found herself rising up from the couch and walking over to Nixon. She placed a hand on Nixon's shoulder as he hung his head. Sid was about to say something to comfort him, get him firmly on her side but he started speaking.
"I knew your Dad." The energy in the room shifted between Nixon and Sid as he looked at her and spoke. "He always volunteered at the soup kitchen. My family and I didn't have much but he...the food was always on point when he was there and he would always give me and my brother extra if we wanted. Always looked my father in the eye too. Never made him feel like less of a man for having to bring us there. I was sad when he died." Nixon cracked his knuckles before shaking his head. "Kru did that?" He asked. Sid simply nodded. He looked over at Chante who was near tears. He straightened his back and wiped at his eyes. "What do you need me to do?"
"You think you can line up some shows out of state for a bit? Get him to go with you?"
"If there's money that he can take, there's no problem getting him to follow me. But what do you plan on doing?"
A drumbeat sounded on the door. Their necks all snapped toward the sound as it continued. But no one moved.