“Well . . . That’s going to require a lot of money,” she advised.

  He didn’t like the way she said that shit to him.

  “Don’t worry. Not all Black people are on welfare. I’ve got more than enough to buy this place,” he said to her.

  She squirmed and looked like she was sick. “Absolutely. Well, um, I must be on my way,” she said in a hurry. He got pleasure in making her feel like shit. “If you have any questions, feel free to give me a call.”

  He nodded, and she walked out, rushing to hide her shame and embarrassment. He stood in the middle of the room, looking at his future.

  “This shit is all mine,” he said to himself. He could see the money rolling in.

  He stood for a bit longer before heading to the crib. By the time that he remembered the young kid, he was already halfway home. Martaveous didn’t know him or why the boy was so important to him, but he had plans to find him. Every fiber of his being was saying to stick around and help him. And that’s precisely what he was going to do.

  Chapter Twelve

  Late September 2018

  “All right, y’all. Dinner is about to be ready. Y’all go on ahead and start washing your hands and everything. Emily, I need you to come back here and help me get these pans of corn bread out of the oven.”

  “Yes, Mz. Ave.”

  Tank walked up the block to the center, where he was going to see his favorite person. He could hear her shouting orders all the way down the streets. He loved coming to the soup kitchen. Mz. Ave was a pillar of the community. She fed the homeless for so many years. He needed to see her to make sure that she was good.

  Walking up the sidewalk, he saw all the familiar faces outside.

  “What’s going on there, youngblood?” one of the older homeless men greeted, seeing him.

  “Ay, what’s going on, Wayne?” Tank spoke.

  “Man . . . Ain’t nothing. Ain’t nothing. Just tryin’a stay out of this crazy-ass, hot-ass heat,” the man complained. “You got something for me?”

  “C’mon, Wayne. Now, you know I ain’t got nothing on me,” Tank told him, shaking his head.

  “Man, see, this what I’m talkin’ ’bout. You li’l young niggas out here acting like y’all holding and ain’t got nothing.” Wayne went off to the random hobos and junkies standing around. “A nigga like me, back in my day? Shiid . . . I always kept something on me. That’s how I got all my hoes,” he laughed, coughing.

  Tank snickered at the crazy old man. Everybody in the neighborhood knew Wayne. He was an old war vet who had lost his damn mind when he returned from the war. Nobody knew exactly what happened to him, just that he went crazy. He had a badass wife and kids but became an old drunk and started beating on them. He got busted, went to jail, and from what Tank knew, he spent some time in a psychiatric ward.

  He had lost everything. His house. His car. He ended up on the streets. People looked out for him and tried to help him the best that they could, including Mz. Ave. She tried to get people not to support his habit, but sometimes, you just couldn’t help it. Wayne was entertaining. Especially when he went on about his hoes and how he had it back in the day.

  “Look here, man,” Tank said, reaching into his pocket and handing the man a twenty.

  “Now, that’s what I’m talking about, youngblood,” Wayne beamed.

  Tank snorted at him dancing and left them out in the heat as he headed inside the center. He looked around and smiled. This was the one place where he came that meant everything to him. It was more so the woman that ran it, though . . . Mz. Ave.

  Everyone was busy, and folks were in line getting food or cleaning. A few people were sitting down, talking and shooting the breeze. He walked toward the kitchen where he knew he would find her, stopping to speak to people on the way. Mz. Ave appeared from the back, seeing Tank, and grinned.

  “Well, look who done graced us with his presence,” she teased.

  “Hey, Mama,” he smiled, walking over to her and embracing her in a big hug.

  She squeezed him tight, and he smelled the familiar smell of her Eternity perfume mixed with all the ingredients of food she had cooked that day.

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting to see you here today,” she said, stepping away from him.

  “Yeah, I was on this side of town. Thought I would come in and see how you were doing,” he replied.

  “I’m better now that I see you,” she said. “Come on back here and put some gloves on and help me with this food.”

  He nodded, laughing at her bossiness, and followed her to the back where the kitchen was. Mz. Ave had been like a mother to him for the past several years. He met her when he was 16 years old. He was in a dark place, and he had been stranded one night, and she let him stay with her. Even though they didn’t go through the state or anything like that, he ended up becoming like her son. She was the first one who was nice to him and treated him like he was his own person and not just her servant. He was grateful for her. If it weren’t for her, he didn’t know where he would be.

  “So, what has my handsome son been up to?” she pried. “Have you been behaving yourself?”

  “Oh, you know I have,” he assured her.

  “Mm-hmm. I know that that’s a lie,” she laughed. “Martaveous, you stay in more trouble than Bobby Brown in all of his careers.”

  Tank roared with laughter at her attempt to make a joke. “I promise, I’m being good,” he said.

  “Okay. I heard you wanted to buy a club or something. How’s that going?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I am. It’s going okay. Right now, just handling paperwork and all of that,” he told her.

  “Well, baby, I’m proud of you,” she said, pulling some stuff off the shelf.

  He smiled at her words. “I’m just hoping it goes off without any problems,” he expressed. “I got a couple of artists now and trying to make things happen.”

  “Martaveous, baby, you keep doing what you’re supposed to, and everything will happen,” Mz. Ave promised. “I told you God got you and gon’ take care of you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he nodded.

  He picked up the trays and helped carry them to the table out front. He noticed a small boy sitting and eating quietly. Looking closer, he realized that he recognized him. It was the boy that he had seen a few weeks back when he was at the club.

  “Lord, I forgot to go check on the greens.” Mz. Ave fussed to herself, rushing back to the kitchen.

  Tank saw the opportunity to approach the boy.

  “Hey,” he greeted.

  “What?” the boy said, looking up. His eyes grew wide when he realized who he was talking to. “Yo, you Tank.”

  “That would be me,” Tank nodded.

  “What you doing here, man?”

  Tank sighed and sat next to him. “My mom runs the soup kitchen,” he told him.

  “You talking ’bout Mz. Ave?” the boy questioned.

  “Yeah,” Tank nodded. “What’s your name, li’l man?”

  “Everybody call me Strap,” the boy introduced himself.

  “A’ight, Strap. That’s wassup. How old are you?”

  “Nine.”

  Tank nodded his head. His assumption was right. The boy was fairly young.

  “You got a place to crash?” he pressed.

  “Yeah,” the boy nodded, his tone changing. “I’m staying with my foster mama, but I don’t really like it over there. She be tripping a lot and acting all crazy.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been there,” Tank agreed.

  “Yo, you got some nice shoes,” Strap observed, looking down at Tank’s feet.

  “Oh, word?”

  Tank looked at Strap’s face noticing the admiration in his countenance.

  “Tell you what,” he offered. “I’ll get you some.”

  “For real?” The young boy’s eyes grew large.

  “All right, now, don’t be over here trying to corrupt my baby,” Mz. Ave said, walking over to the two of them.

  Tank smiled at Mz. Ave and stood up. “Never that, Ma,” he said. “I was just talking to the youngster here.”

  “Okay, now. ’Cause this is one of my babies,” she said, walking over and placing her hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  She saw the little boy beaming, and Tank appreciated it. He knew exactly how that little boy felt—having Mz. Ave in his life, he knew it was a blessing.

  “Martaveous, I need you to help me carry some of the stuff to my car,” she spoke.

  “Okay, Ma, I got you. Point me in the direction.”

  She pointed to a bunch of boxes in the corner, and he shook his head.

  “Ma, all of that stuff is not gonna fit in your car,” he fussed.

  “Well, we better figure out a way to make it work because I got to take it over to the church.”

  “A’ight.” He huffed, already trying to figure out a plan. “A’ight, man, I’ll see you around.”

  The boy nodded and dapped him up.

  “I’ma have something for you next time I see you,” Tank promised. He looked down at the boy’s feet. “What are you? A six or seven?”

  “Seven,” the boy told him.

  “Cool,” Tank replied.

  He walked over to the corner where Mz. Ave had boxes for him to carry.

  “What was that about?” she asked once they were away from the boy.

  “Just thought I’d get him some shoes. He said he liked my shoes,” he answered.

  She looked at him and smiled, and he saw her eyes glistening.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, worried.

  “I’m just—” she stopped. “I’m just so proud of you, Martaveous. You’ve come such a long way. I remember you being that hotheaded little boy that was always angry at the world and always wanting to fight everybody. And look at you now. You own your own business and managing these rapper guys and all of that. And even willing to help people that I’m taking in. I’m proud of you, boy. You may not have been my blood, but I’m proud to call you son,” she beamed.

  Tank swallowed a lump that was forming in his throat and blinked back a tear. Only Mz. Ave could get to him like that.

  She hugged him tight, and he squeezed her. He was so grateful for her. She was so patient, and even though he didn’t deserve it, she gave him all her love.

  She sniffed and helped him grab one of the boxes. “But don’t think I didn’t see you giving Wayne money earlier. I can’t believe you giving that old drunk money to support his habit,” she complained.

  Tank looked at her and laughed. “How did you see that?” he questioned.

  “Boy, please. I got eyes everywhere,” she advised. “You better quit that mess. You know he going to get something in him and start acting foolish, and then I got to put the old coot out.”

  “Well then, if it happens, I’ll take care of it,” he promised.

  “Mm-hmm,” she answered smugly. “Just remember, I am Mama. I see all, I hear all, and I know all,” she warned. “I’m gonna always get on your butt and make sure you do right.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, grabbing more boxes.

  She was the only woman that could put him in his place to this day.

  And that’s how it would stay.

  Chapter Thirteen

  1999

  “I can’t believe you ’bout to take your ass all the way to D.C.”

  “Ay, I got to go where the money is. And Howard is offering me a full scholarship. So, gotta take it.”

  “Yeah, but I thought you said you was considering FAMU too?”

  “Still am. But I know that I’ll get better chances at Howard. Plus, to keep it real with you, man, sometimes, I just want to get out of Florida, you know what I’m saying?” Ty said.

  He and Tank were sitting on the back of Ty’s car. Ty’s mother had bought it for him as an early graduation gift. They were now in their senior year, and they were getting ready to graduate the following semester.

  “Yo, it’s hot as fuck out here,” Tank complained.

  “Yeah, but gotta make this money, my nigga,” Ty reminded him, hopping off the trunk, seeing someone approaching them.

  Tank followed and watched as Ty opened up the trunk of his car, revealing several boxes in duffel bags. This nigga had to have close to $5,000 worth of sneakers in the trunk of his car. He had a connect that boosted the sneakers for him, and he then sold them for a profit.

  Tank was impressed. He was still hustling and everything, whistling and drugs, but Ty was getting money from everywhere.

  They were sitting in the parking lot at one of the flea markets. It was the weekend, and it was packed, so Ty was expecting to sell everything in the trunk. Tank sat back and watched Ty do his thing. But of course, he was making money too. He had started to make a name for himself, and he had a few niggas that were running for him. It was exactly what he planned. He spent day and night hustling. Some nights he would crash at Ty’s house in his room after his mother went to bed. He was ready to get his own crib, though. He was almost 18, so he didn’t have much further to go.

  “Ay, waddup, B. Let me get three of them dime bags,” somebody said, walking up to him.

  Tank slid him three bags, collected his money, and Ty watched. The two of them were hustling together, and that’s how Tank liked it.

  They spent a few more hours out making money and decided to head back to Ty’s to change and get ready to go kick it. Some girls from their school were having a party, and Ty was itching to get his dick wet. He had stopped fucking with Shante and had a gang of bitches ready to take her spot. Tank wasn’t on the hoes like Ty, but they definitely had their eye on him.

  “Ay, man, you know Monica tryin’a get at you?” Ty said as they walked through the door.

  Tank didn’t get a chance to answer before Ty’s foster mother met them at the door.

  “What is this?” she said, holding up a roll of money.

  Ty and Tank both looked to see her standing in the middle of the living room with a big roll of cash in her hand.

  Why the fuck does this nigga have his money in the damn house?

  Tank had told him before about keeping that much money in the home. Ty tried to heed Tank’s warning, but he didn’t have many options where he could hide it without getting jacked.

  “Where’d you get that from?” Ty questioned.

  “No. The better question is, where did you get this from?” she spat.

  Sheila was five foot eight and an older woman, but she could still throw hands.

  “Boy, I know that you’re not selling drugs in my house,” she accused. “I just know that you ain’t that stupid.”

  “Mom, I’m not selling no drugs,” Ty lied.

  “Then you stealing or something because if you don’t have a job, and you not selling drugs, you doing something,” she yelled. “And you hanging around this one, so I know you up to something. This money didn’t just come from the sky.” She turned and looked. “So, you selling drugs, Martaveous? Huh? Is that what you doing? You selling drugs with my son?”

  “No, ma’am,” I shook my head, trying to be respectful. “It’s nothing like that. I was just—”

  “You were just what?” she cut him off. “You were just being a bad influence on my kid? You was just out here hustling and trying to pull him into your mess when you know he’s about to graduate and go to college and do something with his life? Is that what you was just doing?”

  “No, ma’am. I promise you, Ty’s not selling no drugs,” Tank spoke. “I just knew a couple of people that wanted sneakers. I was selling sneakers, and I asked him to hold my money for me so I wouldn’t lose it.”

  He was trying to think of whatever lie he could to keep Ty from getting chewed out any more than he already had.

  “Well, let me tell you something,” she said, walking over to him. “Ty may not stand up to you, but I don’t appreciate the type of influence that you have on my son. Before you came around, Ty was fine. He was going to school, getting good grades, and doing what he supposed to do. But now, he’s out here all hours of the night doing God knows what, and then I find stuff like this in his room. My son is not going to go to jail. My son is going to college. Now, you can do whatever you wanna do with your life, but you’re not gonna mess up his. I worked too hard for that. I tried to be open and patient, but you can’t be here anymore. You are not welcome here in my house.”

  “But—” Ty tried to intervene.

  “Uh-uh,” she stopped him. “This is my house, and these are my rules. And, Ty, if you don’t like it, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “It was just some shoes!” he stressed.

  “Who the hell you think you talking back to?” she yelled, snatching him. “I don’t give a damn if it was a stick of gum. You better get it together.”

  She let him go, and Ty stood feeling guilty. Her eyes were watering. She turned and started to walk away, throwing the money to the floor.

  “I want him out of my house, Ty. Now,” she yelled.

  Tank looked at Ty, who looked like he was regretting everything he had done. Ty wasn’t cut out for the shit. He could see it.

  “I’ll see you at school, bruh,” he said. He walked over and picked up the money. “I’ll hold this for you.”

  He walked out, putting the money in his pocket. He wasn’t going to spend it. It was Ty’s. He would keep his word and hold it for him. He headed toward the transition house. He hated to admit it, but the shit with Ty had him fucked up. Some woman telling him that he wasn’t welcome had him mad. Ty was his boy. And she didn’t want him around.

  The following day when he got to school, Ty was waiting on him at his locker. Tank slipped him his roll of money, and they walked down the hall to their homerooms.

  “Yo, why’d you take the fall for me?” he questioned.

  “’Cause she flipped the fuck out, and she was two seconds from putting your ass out,” Tank joked. “I ain’t wanna be a witness to no domestic violence or child abuse.”

  Ty laughed slightly but looked at his friend.

  “Nah, on some real shit, though. I appreciate what you did. You ain’t have to take the fall.”

  “Oh, I know.”