Page 235 of Not My Type
“Give me a second please,” I run into the house. They’re all in the same positions as they were when I called. Dem nuh tired?
I rush inside. Nickoi and Gutta are on the sofa, Gutta still glued to the game, but Nickoi’s eyes snap to me, tense. I can see it, he’s got that look, like Gina’s memory just hit him. Junior’s in the kitchen, his back to me, focused on the food he’s cooking. Rick is by the Touch Screen fridge, scrolling through songs, but he glances up, eyes shifting between Nickoi and I. They both feel it. Nickoi’s gaze flicks to the door, his whole body tight.
Nickoi returns to his previous state “Wah yuh come for?” he asks. Cya believe mi fighten mi baby.Shut up Zara,my subconscious laughs.
I smile. “Mi just wah sup’m fi eat,” I say and he looks back at the TV, playing his game. “Excuse me,” I bend while holding up my hand as I pass the TV. Gutta nods and Nickoi just looks at me.
“Hey Chefs,” I greet Rick and Junior. Junior is so reserved, he only smiles. “Wah gwan Zara?” Rick beams.
“Just come fi a snack,” I say as I walk over to the pantry. Rick still looks a bit shaken.
“You okay?” I ask before I open the cupboard door. For a few seconds I stare at him. “Mek sure enuh,” I smile taking out a barbecue Pringles from the pantry.
“When yuh come back you get some real food mon,” Rick smiles and I know he’s back to normal now. Good. I move over to Nickoi and peck the side of his lips because I don’t want to block him from his game.
“Bye,” I glide my hand on his shoulder as I walk away. Then I look over my shoulder for a reaction. He has a mischievous smirk. As expected. I smile and join Thomas outside.
NICKOI
“Cya believe say Saturday a the last day mi a see back mi woman, star... and the worst part is, anuh like mi a go see har alive,” Rick says, grabbing our attention. Jah. Junior was in the middle of telling us about a gang fight from his high school days, but the second he hears Rick, he stops. Just like that. The man was just laughing with us a second ago—now, silence.
My eyes find Rick. “Wi deh yah fi yuh enuh, just stay strong, bro G,” I reassure him. He looks down, his brows low, lost in thought.
“Mi a try,” he says.
“Mi know it hard, mi bredda, but we tuffa than any obstacle weh come wi way,” Gutta says, and we all nod, even Rick. I take a pull from my weed, letting the smoke settle.
“That’s why mi nuh feel no way say Carlos dead enuh.” They all nod in agreement.
“Not a way mi nuh feel,” Gutta relaxes.
“Swear to yuh,” Junior adds.
Gutta looks at me. “Yuh know wah wi should a do?” he starts, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Every man inna the gang shoulda get a shot or more offa him.” Then Junior chuckles. “Him woulda mash up.”
“Mash up more yuh mean cause a ten shot the G gi him in a him head,” Gutta tells Junior. I chuckle sinisterly.
“A dem kind a death deh bwoy like Carlos fi get and him son soft stillenuh,” Gutta adds and we laugh.
“Weh unuh seh easy kill?” Rick laughs too.
“Mi not even get fi see how him look,” I say and they erupt in a contagious laughing fit.
“A so we did a gwan?” Gutta says in between laughter.
“Never a ramp,” Junior chimes in..
“Pass the scissors, bad chargie,” I say to Rick. He hands it over, and I start cutting up the weed. Affi build a next spliff. The amount a weed yuh deh smoke, Nickoi, it cya healthy.
“Wah client just come back to mi mind enuh mi affi go deal with that later,” he says, sounding a little better.
“When last yuh chap thou?” Junior asks me.
“Yuh know mi chap yesterday though in a the mawning,” I say before I smirk.
“Been a while.”
“Welcome back to the game bro we missed you,” Rick says in his uncle Sam accent and we laugh. Man ya a real clown enuh. “Yuh eva’ stop chap?”
