Tank felt tears falling as he leaned against the wall. He dropped his head and felt the scream traveling to escape. Mz. Ave was his salvation. Since he had met her, she made him feel like people gave a fuck about him. And now, she was gone. Now, the very thing that she tried so hard to keep him out of had gotten her.

  “Damn it,” he finally screamed. He began punching the wall in frustration, making dents and holes. “Fuck!”

  He broke down and cried like he had never cried before. All the years of frustration and pain built up had come out at that moment. She was the only mother that he had. He never thought that he would lose her.

  Suddenly, the door opened, and two white men wearing suits walked in. One appeared to be in his thirties, while the other was much older with gray hair. Tank could see their badges as he stood up and wiped his face.

  “I take it you’re Mr. Young?” the older cop asked.

  “Yeah,” Tank answered, clearing his throat and stepping forward.

  “Well, Mr. Young, thank you for sticking around to talk to us. And our sincerest condolences,” he added. “I know you may not want to do this right now, but we want to try to find out what happened to your mother as quickly as possible. Do you have any idea of anyone that could do this?”

  “If I did, trust me, I wouldn’t be standing here now,” Tank growled. He meant every word he said. If he had an idea, there would be bloodshed.

  “Did she have any enemies? Any disagreements with anybody?” the younger officer piped up. “Any type of problems?”

  “The only problem that my mama ever had was caring about everybody and wanting to be there for everybody,” Tank told him. “Everybody loved her.”

  “Yeah. I must say this is a bit bizarre,” the older officer spoke. “I don’t have much knowledge of her, but from what I heard, she was a pretty well-rounded individual. Had a shelter, right?”

  “Soup kitchen. Yeah,” Tank mumbled, looking in the opposite direction.

  He couldn’t bring himself to look at Mz. Ave. Every time he did, he wanted to break down. Her face was haunting him, and he couldn’t take it.

  “Yo, I can’t deal with this shit right now,” he announced.

  “We understand,” the younger detective nodded. “But if you can think of anything or anybody, please give us a call.”

  He reached into his pocket to hand Tank a business card and looked down at it.

  “Mr. Young, I understand that this is your mother, and I know I can’t even begin to fathom the pain that you’re feeling right now, but please, let us handle this,” the older officer pleaded. “Don’t take what’s already a terrible situation and make it worse.”

  Tank looked at the card and then looked back at the detective. He shoved the card back in his hand aggressively.

  “I’m good,” he told him. “Y’all just better hope that you find out who did this before I do.”

  “Mr. Young, I promise you, this ain’t the way to handle it,” the cop warned.

  “Well, it’s the way I’m gonna handle it,” Tank said, walking out and leaving them standing there.

  He headed to his car and barely got in before he completely lost it. He punched the steering wheel, rocking the car, screaming for what seemed like several minutes. All he could think about was his mama being gone. All he could remember was the smile on her face. He remembered meeting her for the first time and how she dismissed his cold exterior like it was nothing.

  He remembered her telling him how proud of him that she was. He remembered the hugs. The laughs. He remembered her beautiful spirit. And now it was all gone. He broke down and cried like a baby. He was so angry he couldn’t see straight. All he wanted to do was tear something up.

  Picking up his phone, he called the only other person that he even remotely cared about.

  “Hello?” Genese answered sleepily.

  “Hey, it’s me. Martaveous,” he sniffed.

  “Why in the hell are you calling me so early in the morning? I got to get up to go to work in like three hours,” she yawned.

  “My bad,” he apologized. “This shit—this shit got my head fucked up, man,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, hearing his shaky voice.

  “She’s gone, man. She’s gone,” he let out.

  “Okay, calm down, baby. Where are you?” she asked.

  “I’m leaving the morgue,” he told her.

  “Okay. I’ll meet you at your house,” she told him. “I’m getting up now. I’m on the way.”

  He hung up the phone and sat there for a few moments before he could get the strength to drive. Everything seemed so surreal. Knowing that his mother was gone, it felt like he was in a dream—more like a nightmare that he wanted to wake up from. He wanted her to be here with him. He wanted her to open her door and welcome him with the biggest hug like she always did. But he knew that it wasn’t a reality anymore. She wasn’t going to come back. She wasn’t going to welcome him with any more hugs tomorrow.

  Cranking his car, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to his house. Genese had told him she would meet him there, and for once, he was grateful. He had never dealt with anything like this before. He was so used to being by himself that he had never really lost anyone. But the feeling hurt like hell. And if it was the last thing he did, he was going to make sure that the person that gave him such anguish paid with their life.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  February 2019

  “What the fuck you mean the traps got hit? How did three different spots get hit at the same time, Fendi?”

  “Man, I don’t know. Like I said, I woke up, and my phone was going off. Niggas was talking about they got jacked and shit. Niggas ran up in spots and was out in less than sixty seconds. It was like they knew exactly where to go or some shit.”

  “Get everybody up. And I mean right fucking now,” Tank ordered.

  “A’ight. I got it,” Fendi replied.

  “Fuck,” Tank yelled, throwing his phone on the floor.

  He was downstairs pacing in the kitchen. Fendi had called him first thing with the bad news. He was downstairs so he wouldn’t wake Genese. He was already in a bad mood since he hadn’t had much sleep. He didn’t get back to his house until almost seven in the morning, and Genese was there waiting for him. He spent the next couple of hours pouring out his heart to her and telling her what happened. Mz. Ave’s death was hitting him hard. Now, to find out that three of his traps had been hit? Something was going on, and there wasn’t no more playing around. He had to get to the bottom of it. Somebody was coming after him. It was becoming more evident.

  He headed upstairs and rushed to get dressed. He was about to meet with Fendi and the crew. Finding Mz. Ave’s killer had to take a temporary backseat to something that he could control. Somebody had to know something, and he wasn’t giving any mercy.

  “Where are you going?” he heard.

  He turned around to see Genese sitting up in the bed, rubbing her eyes.

  “I got some business to handle,” he told her. “It’s some bullshit going on right now.”

  “Okay,” she murmured, yawning. “Why you didn’t wake me up?”

  “Damn, ain’t you grown?” he snapped. “You know how to wake yourself up. Fuck I look like an alarm clock?”

  She sat in the bed, completely caught off guard. She opened her mouth to say something but then stopped. He was going through some shit, so she was going to let him make it.

  “I thought you had class,” he said, changing the subject.

  “I was going to skip it,” she told him, getting up, walking over to him, and sitting next to him. “I figured you probably needed me right now.”

  “What I need is to go handle business,” he dismissed. “I’m good.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “How are you feeling?”

  He looked at her as if she had a third eyeball.

  “How the hell you think I’m doing, Genese?” he started. “I just lost my mom less than twenty-four hours ago, and you ask me some stupid shit like that?”

  “Baby, I was just asking you a question. I’m sorry,” she apologized.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled. He wasn’t really trying to hear her.

  “Okay, maybe I should go ahead and go,” she offered.

  He knew he was being an asshole to her, but he couldn’t help himself at that moment.

  “Yeah, ’cause I gotta roll,” he told her.

  She stomped off back to the bed, grabbing her stuff and throwing it on. Attitude was bouncing off of her, but he didn’t care. All he needed her to do was leave so that he could go handle his business.

  “I guess I’ll go ahead and head to class then,” she announced. “Are you at least gonna call me later?” she asked as she headed downstairs, grabbing her car keys.

  “Yeah,” he nodded.

  “Okay,” she sighed. She tried to hug him, but he pulled away, aggravated.

  “I gotta go,” he grumbled as he got into his car and pulled off, leaving her standing there.

  He didn’t have time for the emotional shit. He wasn’t really mad at her. He was angry at the fact that somebody was stupid enough to try to rob him. He called Armani to let him know that he was on the way to their main trap, which was off 135th Street.

  When he pulled up, everybody was there waiting on him as he had requested, and he wasted no time getting down to business.

  “Now, tell me what the fuck happened and how the fuck am I out damn near a quarter of a million dollars?” he yelled, slamming the door.

  Armani had them explain how three guys came in, moving quickly. The more that Tank listened, the angrier that he got.

  “I want these muthafuckas found now,” he spat.

  “We already got niggas out here tryin’a get answers, bruh,” he heard.

  He snatched his gun, and before anyone could blink, he plugged the bold young buck right in the head. Everybody jumped while he stood furious.

  “I said find these muthafuckas,” he yelled. “Ain’t no more excuses. I ain’t got time for this shit. Y’all better find out who the fuck did this shit and dead they asses. You niggas got me out here in these streets look fucking stupid. Niggas actually think they can just come and jack my shit. I got shit needs to be handled out here. I got business.”

  He started walking around the room, and his men watched him nervously. He pulled his gun back out, tapping it against his leg.

  “Now, if you muthafuckas can’t handle that shit, let me know so I can lay your ass out like that fool,” he said, motioning to the dead body.

  Armani looked at his boy. He knew he was stressed out. He had heard about his foster mother being killed, and he knew that their traps getting hit happened at a bad time.

  “I’ma put it to y’all like this. If I don’t get some damn answers by the end of the day, then some of y’all families gon’ be looking for y’all bodies,” he warned. “Now, get the fuck out of my face.”

  He watched as they all scattered, and Armani approached him.

  “Bruh, I know you tight right now, but, yo, we gon’ handle the shit,” he told him.

  “How the fuck do three fucking houses get hit in one day?” Tank asked, pacing the floor. “This some inside shit, and I ain’t with that. And until I find out what the fuck going on, niggas is gon’ drop. That shit ain’t no fucking coincidence. Three of my spots? And them niggas knew exactly where to go, and nobody got them fools? Come on, man.”

  Thinking about it, Fendi had to agree. It did make sense. It had to be somebody on the inside. He had to find out who it was because if not, his boy would plug his whole team. He was about to go check on the other spots to make sure everything was good while Tank calmed down.

  “I’m ’bout to ride out. I’ll hit you in a little bit,” Tank told Fendi.

  Fendi nodded in understanding, ready to handle business himself. They dapped each other up, and Tank hopped back in his car to take a ride. He headed to his spot in South Beach. On the way, he decided to take a detour and drove past the soup kitchen where his foster mother had spent her entire livelihood. Just being in the neighborhood reminded him so much of her.

  He cruised the streets with his windows down and slowed down, seeing all of the flowers, balloons, candles, cards, and bears left for her. He pulled over and just watched as people came up. It had only been a day, but the center looked so different to him . . . lifeless.

  He got out and walked toward the door when a police car came driving past, sirens blaring. He looked to see that they stopped on the corner and heard a passerby say something about Li’l Strap in trouble.

  “Ah, shit,” he mumbled, springing into action.

  He ran over, seeing Li’l Strap being hemmed up by the cops.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Four cops stood there with guns drawn. Two cops held Strap down. It was pissing him off that they had all these guns on him because the boy was only 9 years old. He hated to see cops trying to use their authority like that. They had done it to him. And he wasn’t about to let it happen to Strap. He was still a kid at the end of the day.

  “Officer, what is the problem?” he asked, approaching them.

  “Get back,” one of the officers snapped, turning the gun on him.

  Tank did as he was told and kept his eyes on the boy. “I’m just tryin’a figure out why you got my little brother hemmed up,” he said.

  “Yo, let me the fuck go,” Strap struggled. “Fucking pigs tryin’a put a charge on me.”

  “Yo, Strap, chill out,” Tank advised. He looked at the officers and could swear he saw a look of amusement on one of their faces.

  “Is all of this really necessary?” he pressed. “He ain’t resisting.”

  “I’m not gonna tell you again. Step back,” the officer warned. “This is an official police matter.”

  “Yo, he works for me. I pay him to post flyers around the neighborhood for a concert I’m hosting,” Tank explained.

  “He got anything on him?” the other officer asked, ignoring Tank.

  “Nah, he’s clean.”

  “See?” Tank pressed. “He’s good. Now, will y’all let him go?”

  He was close to losing it watching them do this young boy like that. He was glaring at the cop, ready for a challenge. He had so much rage in him. He wanted to blow all they heads off right there.

  They finally pulled Strap up, taking the cuffs off him, and Tank pulled him to his side.

  “Told y’all I wasn’t doing shit,” Strap spat.

  “Yo, chill,” Tank warned him.

  Strap nodded and stood quiet out of respect.

  “You need to stay out of trouble, little boy,” one of the officers said. “The streets is no place for you. Be careful of the influence that you have around you.”

  He looked at Tank when he said that, and Tank rolled his eyes.

  “Trust me, he’s better with me than anybody. And I got enough pull to have you fired before you leave the block,” Tank smirked. “Why don’t you tell your boss how you met Martaveous Young?”

  He damn near laughed, seeing the cop’s face change as he opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t figure out what to say.

  “That’s what I thought. Come on, bruh,” he said, grabbing Strap’s shoulder.

  They walked to the car, and Strap was hyped.

  “Yo, you see how he tried to hem me up?” he said.

  “Yeah,” Tank nodded, his blood still boiling.

  “I appreciate you, fam. Yo, whatever you need, I got you,” Strap promised. “I can work it off. I told you, I’m ready to move some weight.”

  Tank looked at him like he was crazy.

  “Boy, did you not just realize your ass was about to be locked up?” he stressed. “You ain’t doing shit but flyers. Now, get in the car—you coming with me. I got to handle some stuff. I’ma take you with me and keep your butt out of trouble.”

  “Okay, cool,” the boy happily agreed as his friends watched him get into the nice car.

  Tank pulled off and saw the soup kitchen in the rearview. He thought about what his mother said and wondered if he was helping Strap or making things worse. He didn’t have a chance to think for long because Fendi texted him and told him that he had one of the niggas that robbed him.

  Finally, he was about to get some answers.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  March 2019

  “I can’t fucking believe this. Two hundred grand?”

  “Yeah, man,” Two-Shots nodded, grinning. “That nigga is mad as fuck right now.”

  “I just bet he is,” Genese smirked.

  She was at her cousin’s crib counting the money. She had told Tank that she was going to work after their earlier argument, but in all actuality, she was going to meet up with her cousin. She had made sure that she hadn’t been followed and circled the block to be on the safe side. The game plan had changed slightly, and she wanted to ensure that he understood precisely what moves needed to be made.

  “I hope that your ass was careful,” she said to him.

  “Man, yeah,” he nodded.

  “Good. Because he left the house this morning talking ’bout how he wasn’t stopping ’til he found the niggas that did the shit,” she advised. “So I don’t need no mistakes.”

  “A’ight. So, now what?” he asked.

  “Well, we can’t hit up any more of his spots for a minute,” she told him. “He’s gonna have extra security and niggas watching all his traps. And I know he got niggas on the streets. So, we gotta lie low for a few days,” she advised. “You can’t be out here buying up shit and bringing attention to yourself. Like, just chill out. Then we gon’ hit him where it hurts.”

  He looked at her, puzzled, waiting for her to continue.

  “All right, so he got these two clubs open right now that’s doing good,” she explained. “But he’s doing a grand opening of his new club the night of the concert. It’s supposed to be where he having the after party for the concert. So, you know that’s gonna be a lot of cash. He’s gonna have his boys in there working and moving weight. That’s when we hit him.”

  “How we gon’ do that? How he ain’t gon’ know it’s us?” Two-Shots asked, confused.