Page 2 of The Prettiest Outlaw

“Please don’t, Ma.”

She ignored me and continued talking. “You mourned Emerald. You grieved. It didn’t look anything like what Donovan’s doing?”

“Everybody mourns differently. There’s no right way. There shouldn’t be comparisons.”

“But what about when it’s not healthy… and it goes on for years and years? We’re more than three years out from the accident. He’s still in the same place.” She set her lips in a determined frown. “It’s time for him to come out of this pit. I don’t care if I have to stage an intervention.”

That made me laugh aloud. “An intervention? With two people? Me and you? Who all do you think is gonna show up for Donovan’s sour a—self?”

She chuckled softly because she knew I was speaking facts. “I’ll get some of the prayer warriors from church to come.”

“Good luck with that.”

Because of Donovan’s disposition about church, God, and life in general, when my mother’s condition precluded her from driving herself, I hired a health care aide. Lana, the aide, took care of my mother at the house and also drove for her. I didn’t want my mother to lose her independence, so she was still able to do her errands and make her little runs. She just had to do them from the passenger seat.

On Sundays, Lana didn’t come until the evening. I refused to have my mother take a rideshare to and from church every week. That meant that I had to make myself available.

Initially, spending Sunday mornings at church was the worst couple of hours of my week. Getting up at the crack of dawn to get my mother to the 8:00 a.m. service then sitting in an uncomfortable suit for hours only to have to spend another hour mindlessly busying myself while my mother conversed with her friends sucked.

Lately, it hadn’t been so bad. One thing about Faith in Harvest Church was that they had a young, dynamic preacher in Royal Sharpe Jr. Pastor Sharpe brought the words in the Bible to life. He made walking with Christ about more than sin, hell, brimstone, and fire. He made it sound like a friendship, like a relationship. So much so, that a week earlier, when he opened up the doors of the church, I found myself having an out-of-body experience where I stood from my seat, walked down the aisle, and joined the church.

* * *

The following Tuesday, I was at my auto body shop. As a youngin’, I spent my time running the streets. My mother did the best she could, but the calling to jump off the porch was stronger than her desire for me to do the right thing.

Vehicles were my passion. I loved them. I loved to drive them. I loved to race them. I loved to dismantle them. It was no surprise that my first “job” was stealing them for the owner of an underground chop shop.

My father was a career criminal, who operated within a syndicate of criminals that provided services in different industries. My family, The Hills, specialized in cybersecurity. My father had groomed both my brother Donovan and another one of his sons, Dorien, in tech, coding, and intel.

Kenny “KG” Garfield, my first boss, specialized in automobiles. He ran a chain of chop shops cleverly hidden in plain sight throughout the Chicagoland area.

KG liked to employ younger dudes as thieves because he felt like it was less risky. Young dudes went to juvie, not to prison. I stole cars for him for six years—well past my juvie stage.

Funny thing was, when I was a kid, I never got busted. The year I turned eighteen, I got busted three times in one year. The final time, I could tell that the judge wanted to throw the book at me. He knew I wasn’t going to stop. He knew that I didn’t feel remorse about the cars I was taking off the streets, but Gianni Outlaw stepped in and saved my life.

Gianni was another one of my father’s associates. He wasn’t a lawyer or anything like that, but Gianni was the man. He had judges, politicians, and corrupt cops in his pocket. After a week in the county, I was free to walk. and my record was clean like none of my run-ins with the law had ever happened.

Gianni was a cool dude. He wasn’t like some of my father’s associates who would’ve held the fact that they got me sprung over my head and would’ve made sure that I understood that I was indebted to them and that they could call in that debt whenever they pleased.

The only thing that Gianni requested of me was that I leave KG the fuck alone. Told me if I needed a job, he would put me on. By that time, I’d been making money like crazy working for KG. I wasn’t a flashy dude, so I’d saved a pretty penny. I didn’t need a job. All I needed was an opportunity and my freedom papers from Kenny.

When I went to talk to KG about opening up my own shop, a place that was legit, he wasn’t sad to see me go. After getting popped three times by the cops, I was a liability. I made his “workshops” hot as hell. He let me go with absolutely no strings attached.

I went legit and never looked back. My shop,Emerald City Auto Body and Repair, was in the black before the end of its first year. I was good at what I did. I was honest, and I had the backing of Gianni Outlaw. Clients chose my spot because Gianni recommended it. As my reputation grew, I was able to get clients without a word in the right ears from Gianni. Soon, women realized that my shop did honest business with them. It wasn’t long before women became my largest sector of clients. They appreciated that I didn’t hustle them, tack on fake charges, or try to convince them to pay for work that their vehicle didn’t need. I wasn’t surprised that I was successful.

“So, how long you think it’s gonna take for me to get my car back?” The young lady standing in front of the customer service counter asked my head cashier, Kayla Davidson.

I liked Kayla because she was easy-going, polite, wasn’t intimidated by other pretty women, and kept a calm head when customers tried to make waves.

Kayla looked down at the service order. “Umm… Khalil is working on your car, and he prides himself on being quick… but very thorough.”

The young lady in front of her smiled, as her head nodded.

“But it says here that we have to order the part?—”

The customer’s smile fell as she cut Kayla off. “Ugh… Here y’all go with this shit. Whenever they start talking about ‘they gotta order a part,’that adds ten days to the week y’all was already gon’ keep it.” She sighed heavily. “I can’t be without my car for a week. I work out by Six Flags… and I live in the city.”

Kayla was about to respond when I cut in.

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