lost.
âDonât you think that shit is fucked up?â
I shrugged even though I wasnât sure what to make of his drunk rambling.
âMy blood . . . runs black and goldâthereâs no coming back from that.... What the fuck am I supposed to do with that information now? After all this time? I mean, why tell my ass now?â Mason jumped up from his armchair and paced around like a caged animal. âNah. Nah. We squash this shit. Right here. Right now. Weâre never gonna talk about this shit again. You feel me?â
I hesitated only because I wasnât too sure of what the hell I was agreeing to squash.
âYOU FEEL ME?â he demanded.
I jumped, but quickly agreed. âAâight. Yeah. Cool. â
âCool. Cool.â Mason turned up his bottle of Henney.
I side-eyed him, tryna gauge his mood. Hell, I was young. I didnât know what to make of the shit. Couple of seconds later, he changed up. He plastered on a smile, grabbed my head like it was a footballâthat shit used to always bug the fuck out of meâand then refused to let me go until I cried uncle.
When he let me go, he had this strange look on his face. âTell you what, Ray. No matter what nobody says, Iâm always gonna be your big brother. You got that?â
âYeah. I got it.â
Masonâs smile wobbled. âGood. Now forget all that other shit. Get the fuck out of here and let your big brother go find something soft and gushy to get up inâbefore this fucked-up birthday really goes to shit. â
When Profitâs story drifts off, I wait a second to see if heâs going to finish it, but then he doesnât say anything else. âThatâs it?â
His eyes snap back to me. âThatâs enough, donât you think?â
I pause a minute so that I can digest that story. âSo that woman back there really was Masonâs aunt?â
âI donât know.â Profit shrugs. âShe could be.â His cell phone rings and he quickly scoops it out of his pocket.
âWho is it?â
âLucifer.â He shakes his head and then stuffs the phone back into his pocket. âIâll call her back later.â
I glance back down the crowded hallway at the closed hospital room. âSo the woman who kidnapped them wasâ?â
âI said I donât know. Fuck. Enough with all the damn questions.â
âAll right.â I toss up my hands. âForget I said anything.â
Profitâs mom races out of the room with her face in her hands, running blindly.
âMom.â Profit takes off after her.
I toss another look at the guarded hospital door. Maybelline Carver. Carver . Isnât that Pythonâs last name?
15
Lucifer
U ncle Skeet is dead.
That shit is another shock to the systemâeven though I never liked his crooked, monkey ass. The main reason is still wailing in my ear. For years, my mom has been content to be Skeetâs sideline chickâhappy to take any piece of him that he would give her. I never got it and Iâll never understand itâespecially since she wasted no time opening her legs to him within weeks my father was gunned down right in front of us in the front yard.
âWhat am I going to do? I donât have anybody left.â
Jeez. Thanks. âMom, let me call you back after I find out what the hell is going on.â
âNOOOOOOOOOO,â she cries, pathetically. âHe canât leave me like this. He canât.â Her devastation pulls at me, but for my own sanity I have to throw up a brick wall on this shit.
âMomma, Iâll call you back.â
âWhat am I gonna do? How am I going to live without him?â
Click.
Sorry, but I donât have time for this shit.
âCall Profit.â Masonâs eyes are still glued to the news report.
âAlready on it.â I just hope that he takes my call.
Of course he doesnât.
My irritation
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