“Fine.” Martaveous agreed, flopping down on his bed.

  The director nodded and left. He was right. Martaveous hadn’t been to school in weeks. School just wasn’t for him. But he needed to stay in the home for now until he could figure out his next move, so he had to go. But if he was lucky, he could hustle at school, although that was a bit risky.

  The next morning, he caught the bus to school and walked the halls. Being there surrounded by all of the teenagers was annoying to him. Girls were standing at their lockers fixing their hair and shellacking their lips with gloss and popping gum. Niggas was walking the halls trying to get at different females. All he wanted to do was hustle.

  He was walking down the hall when he saw someone that looked oddly familiar to him. He didn’t know many people, but he knew this nigga.

  “Ty?” he said, walking up to him.

  The boy turned and looked at him, and his eyes got wide.

  “Oh shit. Martaveous, what up?” he said, reaching out to dap him up.

  Martaveous was shocked to see a familiar face. It was like a family reunion.

  “Yo, where your Tank ass been, man?” Ty asked.

  “Nigga, everywhere,” Martaveous said. “Damn, I ain’t know you went to school here.”

  Then again, Martaveous had only been to the school twice since he had gotten out, and he barely stayed but an hour.

  “Damn, bruh, you done got big,” Ty observed.

  “Hell yeah.” Martaveous nodded.

  In the time that he was in juvie, he had up’d his weight. He wasn’t the scrawny little kid that used to get picked on that Ty remembered.

  “So what you been doing?” Ty asked as they walked off.

  “Man, honestly, a bunch of bullshit,” Martaveous confessed. “Hustling mostly. I ended up in juvie for a bit awhile back on some assault shit.”

  “Oh shit, word?” Ty asked, shocked.

  He never would’ve guessed that Martaveous would’ve ended up in jail. He was so quiet and timid. Ty used to fight his battles for him. But looking at his boy now, he was a completely different person.

  “Yeah, man,” Martaveous nodded. “Shit got crazy when I was supposed to be going to this foster home with this racist muthafucka, and we got into it. Started scrapping, and the next thing I know, I hit his ass. I tried to run, but a nigga got caught. Got a little assault charge. Nothing big.”

  “Yo, bruh, that’s really fucked up.” Ty shook his head as they neared the class. “So . . . Where you at now?”

  “Staying at this transition house,” Martaveous told him. “They pretty chill. You pretty much go to school, and they leave you alone.”

  “Well, nigga, I ain’t seen your ass, so I guess you fucking that up, huh?” he laughed.

  “Hell nah,” Martaveous laughed.

  He had been hustling so much, all he wanted to do was save his money. So he didn’t spend a dime of it.

  “Well, shit, put your boy on, my nigga,” Ty said, stopping outside his class.

  Martaveous looked at him, surprised. Ty was his boy, but it had been awhile since he had seen him. He needed to see how he moved.

  “Bruh, ain’t shit really rocking right now,” Martaveous lied. “But we’ll talk.”

  Ty knew that Martaveous was stunting, but he didn’t say anything.

  “A’ight, man,” Ty said, dapping his boy.

  He walked into his class, and Martaveous headed to his, thinking about what Ty was asking. He didn’t know if Ty was going to be a good look to get put on. But the thought of making more money a lot faster was appealing. He could have Ty do the same shit he did. Buy a couple of bags and see what he could do from there. It was something to think about. If he could get his boy on, there was no telling who else he could get on his team. And before long, he could leave that house and have his own.

  * * *

  “Dawg, explain to me how in the hell you was kicking it with the finest bitch in school last night?”

  “What you talking about?” Martaveous asked.

  “I saw you chopping it up with Toya in the corner last night,” Ty reminded him.

  “Oh, you talkin’ ’bout ole girl with the long-ass weave and shit?” Martaveous recalled.

  “Yeah,” his boy nodded, bouncing his basketball. “Yo, everybody in the school tryin’a get at her.”

  “Not me.” Martaveous shrugged. “She just a broad. I mean, she was throwing it at me, but I ain’t feeling her like that.”

  “My nigga, what you mean?” Ty asked, looking at his boy sideways. “You feeling niggas or something?”

  Martaveous stopped walking and looked at Ty, his jaw tight.

  “Nigga, don’t play with me. I’ll bust your ass,” he threatened.

  “I mean, I’m just saying,” Ty laughed. “Had a nigga nervous is all.”

  “I damn sure ain’t feeling no niggas. Hell nah,” Martaveous gritted. “I just ain’t about a bitch that everybody been with.”

  He and Martaveous were walking on the block. They were headed to get money as usual. Martaveous had gone ahead and put Ty on, which was a real good decision because he was making damn near twice as much, twice as fast.

  He wasn’t staying at the transition house as much anymore. He would check in before room check and then sneak out. Most of the time, he was crashing at his boy’s home. It was like they were brothers. He missed kicking it with his boy. They were getting money, and Ty was catching him up on a lot of shit.

  Ty had it good. He had a foster mother that took care of him really good. She wasn’t crazy like most of the crazy women they had dealt with when they were younger. Martaveous could tell that she didn’t like him, though. He had overheard her telling Ty that he was a bad element and that she didn’t want him to lose focus.

  “Yo, you good hanging out?” Martaveous asked him, thinking about that same conversation.

  “Yeah, why? What’s up?”

  “Nigga, I heard your moms talking about how she don’t want you hanging around my ass,” Martaveous told him.

  Ty shook his head. “Man, she been riding my ass lately,” he complained. “She tryin’a make sure that I get in the college and everything. Shit, I got one more year left, and my ass is out of here.”

  “Word?” Martaveous cheesed.

  Ty had his head on straight for the most part. But he didn’t feel bad about him hustling. Shit, he made the choice. He was old enough to make his own decisions. Martaveous didn’t have to put a gun to his head. If he wanted to put in work, then that was him.

  Since he began running with him, Ty had started to get more attention. Of course, Martaveous told him to keep a low profile, but bitches was coming at him hard.

  “Ay, yo, my girl told me to ask you if you were feeling her friend.”

  “Who your girl?” Martaveous questioned.

  “Remember Shante?”

  “Oh, you mean the broad from the party last night that had the little pink top on and wouldn’t get up off your dick?” Martaveous laughed.

  “Yooo, she can stay on that muthafucka the way she was suckin’ that shit,” Ty bragged. He sighed. “Bruh, she was sucking that shit so good I thought she was gonna suck the skin off.”

  Martaveous shook his head at his friend’s reminiscing. Ty was his boy and always had females paying him attention. But this girl Shante had him open. He had been talking about her for the last week or so, but that wasn’t his business. To Martaveous, all these females were just gold diggers that were trying to get in a nigga’s pockets.

  They stood out on the block for a bit longer before Ty decided to call it. He invited Martaveous back with them to eat, which, of course, Martaveous accepted.

  They were almost to their block when Martaveous noticed a guy following them. Unlike Ty, he always kept his eyes open to his surroundings. He had seen the nigga a few blocks back but didn’t say shit. But now, he needed to find out what the fuck was going on. So, turning quickly, he confronted the nigga, catching him off guard.

  “Ay, yo, is there a reason why you following me for the last three blocks, nigga?” Martaveous asked, sizing the man up and down.

  The nigga was big, but Martaveous could take him easily.

  “You Ty?” the boy asked.

  “Who wanna know?” Martaveous questioned.

  “The nigga who girl you fucking,” the boy spat.

  “Ay, I’m Ty, homeboy,” Ty said, stepping in front of Martaveous. “What you talking ’bout?”

  “I’m talking ’bout Shante. I heard you was bragging to your homies ’bout how you was fuckin’ my girl. That’s my bitch, my nigga.”

  “Obviously not ’cause she been on my dick,” Ty smirked.

  “My nigga, why you sitting here letting this nigga try to clown you?” Martaveous chimed in.

  “Yo, this nigga the clown,” Ty snorted, tapping Martaveous. “He mad ’cause his bitch moved on to a real nigga.”

  “Oh, you talking big shit, huh, nigga?” the boy said. “Nigga, I’ll fuck you up.”

  “Well, wassup then, bitch?” Ty popped off.

  The boy charged at him and took a swing, but Ty had a hard punch. He knocked the boy to the ground with one hit and jumped on him, landing a lot of punches. Martaveous stood watching, seeing Ty handle his own.

  Suddenly, Ty jumped back with his hands up. Martaveous looked and saw the boy had pulled a gun.

  “Yeah, wassup now, bitch?”

  Martaveous was prepared, though. He pulled his gun and put it right to the back of the boy’s head.

  “Watch who the fuck you pull a gun on, nigga,” he growled.

  “Yo, I ain’t got beef with you, bruh,” the boy said.

  Martaveous could see him shaking. He could tell he was a bitch.

  “You got beef with him, then you got beef with me, homie,” Martaveous told him.

  “A’ight, man. You got it,” the boy said, slowly putting his hands down.

  Martaveous grabbed the gun from him and hit him in the back of the head with it, making him fall forward.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Martaveous spat.

  The boy grabbed the back of his head and took off running.

  “Yo, what the fuck?” Ty sighed, shaking his hand. He had hurt it when he went ballistic on the nigga.

  “That’s why I said you can’t be trusting these broads,” Martaveous told him.

  “Man, this shit so fucking crazy,” Ty said in disbelief.

  “Yeah, I know. But, yo, you gotta leave broads like Shante alone,” Martaveous advised his friend.

  “Man, I done already quit that chick,” Ty promised. “But I appreciate your folk.”

  “I got your back,” Martaveous nodded, dapping him up.

  He meant it. Ty was his boy. He was always going to hold him down. He just hoped that his friend didn’t do nothing stupid. He was the first nigga that he knew that really had some shit going for himself, and he didn’t want to fuck that up.

  Walking back to the house, they both hung out in his room until it was time for dinner. Ty became a completely different person not to upset his mother. He was back to being a Goody Two-shoes that his foster mother wanted.

  Looking around, Martaveous was slightly jealous. Ty just didn’t know how lucky he had it.

  Martaveous was going to have that too. It would just be the dirty way.

  Chapter Eleven

  September 2018

  “So . . . You’re looking at roughly 10,000 square feet. There’s a lot you can do with that.”

  “Is it enough to have at least three full bars?” Martaveous asked.

  “Well . . . It’s a possibility. Just from what I’m looking at, maybe you could knock out that wall. Or you could also extend the area in the back and kind of have an outdoor bar?” the realtor suggested.

  Martaveous was at an empty spot that he wanted to turn into a club. It was going to take a lot of work, but it was possible. It was right in the middle of the Wynwood area, and it was two stories and had a huge deck. He thought about the realtor’s suggestion to knock out the wall or even turn the back area into a sophisticated spot. Looking around, he was liking the flow of the place and wanted to buy it for sure.

  He stepped out on the deck and then looked out into the neighborhood around them. He was making a mental note of everything he needed to do, such as putting up a fence so that folks couldn’t just walk in off the streets and not pay. He wasn’t going to be charging an arm and a leg to get in, but folks wasn’t about to be sliding in for free either. He had ideas racing through his mind on how to make money in there and move weight.

  “So, what do you think of the place?” the realtor asked, trying not to be too pushy.

  He looked at the small white woman and nodded. “It is tight,” he admitted. “A lot of stuff that I can do here.”

  “Yes. Indeed it is,” she agreed. “What kind of club do you plan on opening up?”

  “Well, it’s going to be a lounge, actually,” he corrected her. “But I might turn it into the nightclub-type vibe certain nights.”

  He peeped at how the white woman was looking at him, and he could tell she thought he was just some thug.

  “Oh, so you’re like a rapper?” she smiled.

  He looked at her and shook his head. He hated that white folks had so many stereotypes.

  “No, I’m not a rapper. I’m a businessman. I manage artists,” he told her. “I purchase properties and flip them for profit.”

  And I slang cocaine to muthafuckas like you that make me rich, he thought.

  Of course, he wasn’t going to say that part. He had just gotten cleared from that stupid arrest, thanks to Red. The cops tried to pin it on him, but since Red mysteriously “disappeared,” they didn’t have anything and couldn’t book him. Tank was out within a couple of hours and back on his grind. He had tightened up shit since then, though.

  He had been kicking it with Genese just because he knew the cops were watching his ass. He would chill at her crib until it got late and then dip. She’d been blowing up his phone to see him, but he was busy trying to find spots for the club. He had to make sure wherever it was, the spot was dope. Ain’t nothing like a club that had lots of space but nobody in there.

  His phone rang. He looked to see that Genese was calling him again.

  “Excuse me for a minute,” he said, stepping back outside on the patio. “What’s up, ma?”

  “Hey. I was just checking on you. Everything good with you?” Genese asked.

  “Yeah. I’m at the spot now trying to check it out and see if I can get it,” he told her.

  “Okay. Well, what are you doing after that?” she asked, hopeful.

  “I gotta handle business, yo,” he replied.

  She sighed, and he rolled his eyes. The shit with her was starting to get on his nerves. She was always complaining about him not spending time with her. He had tried to be nice before and explain to her that he was grinding, but now, he just had to tell her what was what.

  “Okay, so am I gonna see you at any point?” she pressed.

  “Yo, what I tell you? When I got time,” he snapped. “Now, I told you I got shit to handle. When I get up with you, it’s what it is. Shit. I just saw your ass two days ago.”

  “It’s cool,” she huffed. “Do you. I was just tryin’a kick it with you, but I ain’t tripping.”

  He looked at his cell like it was possessed.

  Who does this bitch think she fooling?

  She most definitely was tripping if she thought he was going to believe that shit. She was constantly texting him and complaining about not seeing him, and he was getting tired of it. If she kept up this shit, he was going to have to dismiss her ass.

  “Look, man, I gotta go. I got some shit I gotta handle,” he rushed her. “I’ll hit you up when I got some time, a’ight?”

  “Okay,” she replied, sounding disappointed.

  He hung up the phone and shook his head. This bitch is crazy.

  He was about to go back in when he noticed a group of kids playing outside down the block. He was used to seeing kids playing all the time, but one young boy caught his attention. He was blending with the kids and all, but he wasn’t playing with them. The way he was looking around, Tank could tell what he was up to. It was all too familiar to him. The boy was looking out. So that told him the young boy had to be working for somebody.

  The boy was small, wiry, and had dark skin, just like Tank.

  “Mr. Young? Is everything okay?” he heard.

  “Huh?” he said, turning around to see the realtor standing there.

  “I was asking if everything was okay,” she repeated, side-eyeing him. “I-I have to go. I have another appointment soon, and uh . . . It’s getting-it’s getting late.”

  He knew what her scary ass meant the way she was looking around. She was trying to get the hell out of that side of town before it got dark.

  “Yeah, everything is good. I’ma go ahead and take it.”

  “Oh . . . well . . . okay. Excellent!” she smiled, surprised. “Well, how about we go inside, and we can get started on some preliminary paperwork?” she suggested.

  He nodded, following behind her, and they walked inside the building. Sitting down, he started to fill out the paperwork as the realtor instructed, but his mind kept going back to the little boy. He was so young. He couldn’t have been more than 10 years old. Tank wondered what all he was into.

  He finished the preliminary paperwork and decided to go find out about the boy. Seeing him out there had him concerned, even when he shouldn’t have been.

  “Okay, well, I will get this paperwork back to the office and send it off to the seller. You should hear from me soon, and from there, we can work on a closing date,” the realtor said. “Did you have any questions or anything?”

  “Nah, I’m good,” he declined. “As long as we can get everything done within the next month or so, I can start renovations, so we good.”