Chapter 11
Man of the House
“Smoke Money Family,” MadBlack’s talking to me, but he’s looking at Sam. “Those brothers Chinaman and Corvette?”
“Camaro, but yeah,” I instantly regret correcting the man. It’s too late to take it back. “That’s them. They’re pushing cheese at Louis Carver, the high school over there in Thunder Gate? Sam’s school. He and his boys roughed up a few of their dealers so they came after him for revenge.”
MadBlack’s leaning back against a wall, his blue silk robe exposing a bit more bare skin than I’m comfortable with. He likes these awkward silences and even though he’s still wearing his dark shades, I can tell he’s visually appraising Sam. He’s met Deep Kut before, but not Sam. Hopefully he likes him or he won’t be staying here tonight. I try to help Sam’s cause along.
“I don’t like that cheese bullshit,” MadBlack’s shaking his head. “Came outta Dallas, Texas. Nothin’ good ever came outta Texas.”
I’m hoping Sam doesn’t mention that he moved here from Texas. Luckily, he’s not doing anything more than letting his eyes roam around this kitchen. With black marble counter tops, state of the art appliances and expensive slate-gray floor tiles, it must appear pretty posh to him as a young buck who’s only ever lived in low-income housing.
“Bad news, for sure,” I agree. “Trashy dope made to make new junkies out of young folks who don’t know any better. Predatory. Sam’s crew only slangs ganja. Right, Sam?”
Sam nods, fidgeting with his pockets.
Deep Kut’s still working on those sandwiches when he turns to ask MadBlack, “Where y’all keep the mayonnaise?”
“Fuck mayonnaise,” MadBlack’s irritated by this seemingly unimportant intrusion to our conversation. “I ain’t French. I don’t eat that nasty shit. Miracle Whip’s in there. Mustard, too, but I don’t fuck with nasty mayonnaise.”
“It’s cool,” Deep Kut finishes up the sandwiches, handing one to each of us before approaching MadBlack. “You want a sandwich, too?”
“Nah,” he tosses his reply at Deep before refocusing on me, “How’s Benton Park doin’?”
I take a bite of my food to avoid wincing, “Good. I had Philly watching over it while I went to Dizzy’s. No problems.”
“Ain’t Philly in Thunder Gate?” this question comes out low like a roll of thunder before the clouds rip open.
I nod, chewing busily.
“So,” he let’s that word linger. “Who’s watching over it now, then?”
I swallow the dry sandwich hard, “I am.”
MadBlack crosses the floor, depositing his empty glass in the sink. “Don’t look like you’re watching it. Looks like you’re standing in my kitchen. Eating.”
I hate when he gets this way, means he needs sleep. “We got three cars full of our boys patrolling it right now. Figured I’d head on over soon as I updated you on the situation at Thunder Gate and found Sam a place to lay low for a while till this blows over.”
Kissing ass sucks, but sometimes it has to be done.
“You do that,” he’s aware of what I’m trying to get him to say so he decides to draw it out longer the way he likes to do. “Where’s the kid gonna stay?”
“Hoping he could stay the night here if that’s alright with you.”
“We can do that,” he’s watching Sam slowly eat the sandwich. “But get this numbskull outta my house before he empties my fridge.”
“Aw, man!” Deep knows he’s playing. “Why you gotta do me that way? You know I draw my musical inspiration from the way you handle business, man.”
“Don’t insult me like that,” MadBlack’s not serious, but anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t be able to tell by his deadpan delivery. “Blamin’ that shit you write on me.”
Deep Kut laughs, shaking his head.
“Kid want a joint or something?” MadBlack’s watching Sam with the closest thing he has to an expression of concern. “Been through a lot, sounds like. Reefer’ll calm the nerves and build the appetite.”
Sam doesn’t seem to hear this so I ask him myself, “Hear that, Sam? MadBlack’s offering you some of the finest bud in this country. You up for a smoke-out?”
“Sure,” I worry Sam’s going to seem nonchalant towards MadBlack’s generosity, which is a bad idea. “Thanks, man.”
“It’s nothing,” MadBlack tells him, then says to me. “I feel like a movie. You got any suggestions?”
“Terminator 2,” Sam tells him. “If you got it.”
“Course I got it,” he sounds pleased. “Arnold motherfuckin’ Schwarzenegger! Damn fine choice.” He looks at me, “Load that up for me before you head out. Pack me a fat bowl, too.”
Author’s Notes: Late posting again, next post goes up tomorrow to speed things up. Will try to get back in sync soon!
