Page 2 of Royce
“You complaining but besides the mall, your shops slanging the most white.”
“Tuh! Imagine the FEDs getting word about my acrylic. You think them Asian’s gon’ report me if I keep taking they clients? I mean, where else can you get a full set and an 8ball?”
“That’s my point. You staying or heading out?”
“Oh, you better believe I’m staying. I gots to see this shit. It’s been a year since I saw you catch a body. I been feeling like you ain’t love me no more.”
“That’s a lie and you know it. You be too busy catching your own to check in with family.”
“Aye, they be playing with the name and I can’t let them think I’m one to play with.”
Mercedees may have looked kind and sweet, but she was one of the first muthafuckas I’d call outside of Striker to handle shit. She was the only girl and never hesitated to pull a trigger. She was an Atkins at the end of the day and whether she wanted it to or not, her name held weight.
She pulled into the parking lot of the mall and drove around back to the loading docks. Those that are usually in attendance for the shipments were still here. Striker was able to keep everybody here without a hiccup. The second I saw Walt’s Range, my blood boiled. He was bold to cross me. I had to give him that.
Once the car came to a stop, I put the blunt out, released a deep sigh, then exited the passenger seat. The cool breeze the nightfall provided wasn’t couldn’t even be enjoyed. Irritable, pissed the fuck off with each step I took.
As I entered the building, heads turned in my direction. Niggas were lined up against the wall waiting for me. I walked through the cloud of fear they exuded until I was in the back room behind the office.
Striker was sitting on the table while Walt and his crew were sitting on the fold out chairs. There was plenty conversation happening before I walked in, yet my presence brought a dead silence to the room the second I stepped through the door. Mercedees was right behind me taking a seat at the table with Striker. She removed her pistol from her hip and got comfortable.
“Speaking of the devil, look what he dragged in,” Striker voiced pointing at me with a smirk.
Without acknowledging a soul in here, I walked over to the computer and pulled up the video. The projector stayed up and ready to go so all I had to do was hit play. Walt and his crew didn’t have a clue as to what the fuck was ‘bout to happen.
“Aye Walt, what time you and yo’ crew got here?” I questioned. He was gon’ lie because that was what thieves did. If he stole from a nigga, it wasn’t shit for him to lie to me as well.
“Shit, ‘bout a quarter to ten. Why wassup?” he answered.
“And Striker, you got here at eleven, right?” He nodded while still carrying that devilish grin. “Call Baker and put it on speaker.”
“I been calling Baker since I got here. He ain’t answer for me once,” Walt chimed.
“Who the fuck are you for him to answer for? Call Baker, Striker,” I ordered.
Striker did like I asked with Baker picking up after the first ring. Walt’s entire demeanor went from a relaxed one to a nervous one. “Hello.”
“Aye B, Royce need to holla at you right quick,” Striker voiced as he approached me.
“Aight.”
With my hands in my pocket, I asked, “B, where my shit at?”
“What you mean where yo’ shit at? I dropped that shit off hours ago,” he answered.
“My fridge empty ‘round this muthafucka, B. Walt said he been calling you all night and you ain’t picked up once. You playing with me?”
“Walt called me at eight stating you and Striker called for the shipment to come in an hour early. Me and the team showed up at ten on the fuckin’ dot. Him and his crew were already there and waiting. When I asked where the fuck Striker was, Walt said he was on the way. I ain’t question that shit ‘cause it’s either him or Striker there waiting on me. I did my part, Royce.” Baker wasn’t gon’ risk shit for Walt and that I knew. I could see why no red flags were raised.
“I know, I just needed you to say that shit in front of this dumbass nigga. Aye don’t ever move unless it’s me or Striker telling you to moving forward. You got that?”
“Yeah. I fucked up and that’s on me.” He took accountability. That bought him another chance at life.
The way Walt and his crew wanted to get the fuck out of dodge was comical. His entire crew helped him take from me so every last one of them had to go. I was literally sitting in a den of fuckin’ thieves. Striker hung up, walked to the door, and locked that bitch. Wasn’t nobody leaving this muthafucka but me, him, and Cedees. I could promise you that. Guns weren’t allowed pass the office, so they were sitting ducks.
I hit play on the video and all heads turned toward the projector. I had Baker’s word, and they could deny that shit all they wanted. However, you couldn’t fake being caught in 4K. Unbuttoning my blazer and removing it, the two pistols I kept tucked on my ribs were on display. My shirt sleeves were rolled up afterward. I was ‘bout to get my hands dirty.
“Where my shit at, Walt?” I inquired calmly. He had no response for me. He sat there eyeing me and the door as if he would make it out of here alive. “You ain’t here me?”
