Damon
Cafe Loco
“Show a nigga some love, nephew!”
Uncle Duval has always been loud. He announces my entrance into the
club as few customers in there turn in his direction, then in mine.
They roll their eyes back to their food. Good thing I don't blush
easy.
I give him a hug as two of his “boys”
try to mean mug me, but they just nod at me. The tall one keeps his
left hand slightly under his shirt the whole time, his hand on his
gun. The short, dreaded nigga is all muscle, B-Boy stanced. I figure
he's the brawler with little experience, given his size and no one
probably steppin' up to him. Guess Duval didn't tell them about me.
He knows I'd disarm that fuck faster than he'd pull his gun out,
smoke him and his partner, and stroll out the door.
Me and Duval sit down at the table,
and he waves at the food offering me something to eat. I'm actually
not hungry. I got business on my mind.
“Turnin' down food, nephew? Shit, you
must be ready to discuss business.”
I don't take my eyes off him as I nod
my head. “It's gonna be different this time around.”
Duval doesn't say anything. He reaches
for the nachos, looking at me as he grabs a few chips and stuffs them
in his mouth. You ever see cows eat? That's what he looks like right
now. I know he's thinking about what I said, because he forms a grin
on his face as he's chewing. He finally swallows and answers.
“Talk to me.”
“I'm only in it until I make enough
money to get the hell out of this damn town. My son deserves more
than this, and I want to make sure he gets it.”
“All good nephew, I only need you for
a bit.” He sticks a shrimp in his mouth and smacks the damn thing
likes it's gum. Fucking disgusting. But who am I to judge? Look at
what the hell I'm about to do. “'Sides, I need these youngins to
better learn the art of...persuasion. They're damn sloppy.”
I smirk at the “girls”. “Like you
said, they're youngins.”
“And what's dat make you, nigga?!”
a raised voice from the tall one. Good, he's not so quiet; those are
the ones you watch out for. “You just some washed up ass nigga come
crawlin' on his knees to his uncle wantin' some of the pie again!”
Kid has a big fuckin' mouth. I like
that. I sit staring at Duval, and he smiles.
“Not here. Don't need you fuckin' my
boys up yet. Fellas.” Duval nods to the left, and they move slowly
to the side of him, eyeballing me all the way. I don't make it any
better. I stand from my seat and face them, my chin low and hands
loose on my sides. Nothing like an old fashioned skullfucking between
fellas to see who punks out down first.
None of us budge. The 'girls' stare at
me like two wolves ready to jump in for the kill on a downed deer.
Time to mess with them. Faster than they react, I act like I reach
for my gun in the small of my back, and come back with my gun finger
pointing at them. The slow ass niggas are barely reaching for the
guns in their belts. Damn right I get the drop on them.
“I've seen women better prepared.”
I laugh and walk off, throwing the table a peace sign. Duval is
laughing, too, but I know he's pissed. Hell no I don't trust him. I
remember what he did years ago to another runner who he thought short
changed him. The kid's face was beaten into hamburger, and he made me
do it. I always remembered that, and told myself he wasn't going to
do it to me. Now he knows I'm wise to his shit, and I'll be ready.
Small messages go a long way.
