Page 23 of Certified Pressure 2
“For what?” he asked, soundin’ like I just pulled him out his sleep.
“Don’t ask no questions, nigga. Just get here.”
Minutes later, there was a knock and then the door opened. Renza walked in wearin’ some house sweats, waves all messed up, lookin’ like he been stretched out somewhere.
He frowned at me. “Man, what you on?”
I sat up straighter. “You still got that laptop with everybody info from when they signed up?”
Renza squinted like he had to wake himself up more. “It’s in my room. Why?”
“I need Pluto info,” I said without hesitation. “Her number, her address, all that. Go grab it and hurry up.”
He gave me this look, part confusion, but part curiosity. “Nigga, you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m playin’? Move yo’ ass.”
He shook his head. “A’ight, gimme a minute.”
When he left out, I leaned back again, suckin’ my teeth. I hated askin’ for anything, but this was somethin’ I couldn’t finesse my way around. I ain’t never cared to get them girls’ numbers when they first came through the door, ‘cause in my mind they was all temporary. Now here I was stuck, wantin’ the one who slipped away, and realizin’ I ain’t had the simplest piece of info to reach her, other than that damn hospital.
About ten minutes later, Renza came back in, holdin’ his laptop. He set it down on the bed and sat across from me, flippin’ it open. The screen lit up his face while he started scrollin’.
“Hold up, bruh. Lemme find the folder,” he muttered.
I leaned forward, my eyes locked on his hands. “Man, hurry up.”
“I’m tryin’, nigga. This ain’t no one-click shit. I gotta go through the emails from when they sent all the info in. Just chill for a sec.”
“Chill?” I repeated, my brows raisin’. “I’mma chill when you find Pluto name. Till then, I’m on yo’ neck.”
He chuckled, shakin’ his head. “Boy, you sound pressed. I ain’t never seen you like this.”
“Bruh, just type,” I shot back.
He scrolled through lists, clicked folders, then cursed under his breath when somethin’ ain’t load right. I leaned closer, irritation rising. “Renza, don’t make me slap that laptop out yo’ hand. You better find somethin’.”
“I’mma find it, damn. You the most impatient nigga alive,” he said, still tappin’ keys.
A couple more minutes passed, and then his eyes narrowed on the screen. “Wait, wait. Here we go… Monroe, right? That’s her last name?”
My chest tightened. “Yeah. That’s her.”
He turned the screen so I could see it. Pluto Monroe. Number. Address. Everything right there starin’ me in the face.
I exhaled slow, finally feelin’ like I could breathe again. “A’ight, good. Now pull the address up on your phone. I wanna see what it look like.”
Renza grabbed his phone, typed the address in, and a second later his eyebrows shot up. “Aw, hell nah. Look at this.” He tilted the phone toward me, grinnin’. “Nigga, shorty stay in the gutter for real. Run down ass complex. Shit look like a trap spot.”
I took the phone from him and stared at the pictures. Rusted stairs, paint chippin’ off the walls, windows boarded on some of the units. My stomach twisted. That wasn’t no place Pluto should’ve been layin’ her head. She was too solid, and delicate for this type of background. That shit ain’t make me laugh like it did Renza. It pissed me off. It gave me more reason to make sure she ain’t never have to step foot back there once I brought her back to my side.
I handed his phone back, my voice low but firm. “Good lookin’ out, cuz. You can go.”
Renza gave me a side eye but stood up. “You wild, but I see where your head at. Do yo’ thing, bruh.” He closed the laptop and tucked it under his arm before walkin’ out.
Once the door shut, I went straight to my closet. I pulled out a black sweatsuit, slid into it quick, then grabbed a duffel. I tossed a few packs of weed inside, some essentials, and slung it over my shoulder.
I ain’t tell nobody nothin’. This was personal.
