Page 16 of Dr. Bell

“Of course, not. It’s just, when have you ever offered muhfuckas a chance?”

Duval’s question caused a stir. However, I didn’t take issue with his question.

“There’s already a war in the streets. Our family has been quietly maintaining our line. We’ll continue to do so unless that line is crossed.”

He didn’t like my answer, and it showed.

“I hate to say this, but a non-reaction can be considered weak as fuck, Cuzzo. You really want to have that nigga thinkin’ you want peace with him and his people?”

Peace.

That was fairytale shit in the life we lived. Peace was more like the eye of a hurricane. At some point, it passed and brought hell behind it.

“Long as he keeps his fuckin’ hands off what’s mine, all will be well.”

“Fair enough,” Duval finally said.

“Pops, get with Hicks first thing in the morning. We need papers drawn up, ASAP. I need papers drawn up for Quilo as well. Their mother is deceased. Be sure their father is non-existent.”

“Consider it done.” The admiration in my father’s voice superseded any doubt in my cousin’s voice. Although he was third-in-command, Duval had a lot of ironing out to do. I loved him, but my cousin was hotheaded and lacked emotional control. He’d grown in recent years, however, that shit still irked me sometimes.

Just before midnight, I called the meeting to a close. Once everyone left, I armed my house, checked on the boys one lasttime, then retreated to my room where Pretty was fast asleep in my bed. Or so I thought. Her brown eyes stapled to me the minute I stepped into the room.

Chuckling, I said, “Go to sleep, Pretty.”

Sighing, she replied, “I’ll try.”

By the time I got myself together and laid across the couch, she was out like a light.

She just needed me close. The thought brought a small smile to my face.

Unfoldingmylargebodyfrom the couch, I sat up and stared at the woman lying in my bed. Pretty was fast asleep now, lightly snoring and shit like she hadn’t experienced a near death situation last night.

The antique clock mounted to the wall directly in front of me read a little after three in the morning. Bowing my head, I said a prayer. Three o’clock seemed to be the time my spirit was commissioning me to do so. Few and far between did I sleep a whole night through without rolling over and taking note of the time. Usually, after I prayed, I’d fall back asleep. Tonight, I was too amped.

Standing from the couch, I stretched, then silently eased out of my bedroom. As I walked down the hallway leading to the kitchen, I heard the water running. Coming around the corner, I wasn’t surprised to see Quilo at the sink. He rinsed out a cup he’d used, dried it off, then placed it back in the cupboard where he’d found it. He glanced at me entering the kitchen and immediately his shoulders tensed.

“Need to talk?” I asked him.

“No,” was his quick and snappy reply.

“Well, too bad. Have a seat.”

His shoulders tensed even more, and he looked like he wanted to take a bat to my head. Ignoring the defiance in his eyes, I went to the refrigerator and retrieved a pitcher of lemonade my mama had prepared. After pouring myself a glass, I put the pitcher back in the refrigerator, then took a seat on one of the high back barstools situated around the kitchen island.

Realizing I wasn’t taking no for an answer, Quilo plopped himself into a seat. I took a sip of the lemonade and waited for him to say something.

Irritated, he sighed heavily. “You want me to sit here and watch you drink?”

“Nah… I want you to tell me what’s on ya mind.”

He clicked his teeth and glanced off at nothing in particular. His head was hard as hell, and his defiance was almost sickening. Yet, the heaviness in his young eyes caused me to have compassion for him.

“Tell me something about ya’self, Quilo.”

“Ain’t it a lil’ too late for that?” he snapped.

My fingers gripped the glass of lemonade a little tighter to keep from reaching across the counter and busting him in his lip.

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