Page 20 of A Boy is a Gun: Part I
Jamie sips her wine and swirls the liquid as she contemplates if she wants to throw it at me. “See, you don’t like me because I see right through you. I see everything. I see the hurt, the insecurities, and the reckless taste for power. Taylor only sees the shiny part and thinks that’s how everything will always be. You always wanted a puppy to play with, and you got one in Taylor.”
I love my sister dearly, but she’s not above getting murdered in the worst way possible. I’ll move heaven and earth for Taylor, and likening her to a lovesick animal is beyond reproach. “Watch your mouth; that is the last time I say that.”
She smiles at me and shakes her head. “You brainwash your girlfriend. You have her believe that you are her only saving grace. Her mother’s, her lawyer’s, and her father’s deaths were completely out of your hands. And if she’s with you, she’ll be protected. Sure, she did that silly-ass kidnapping thing, but it made you a bigger mark.”
“And you know what, James?” I call her by the nickname she’s always loathed. “I can say the same thing about you and Ethan. You honestly think he’s with you because he loves you, or he wants another way to get back at our family, and fucking you was the smartest way?”
Jamie is holding back because she knows if she even does what she’s thinking about, I’ll have her murder look like an unfortunate suicide. She looks away and shakes her head again. “You are with someone public, Cameron. You’re not dating someone who has no social media profile and can keep to herself; that would make any difference. You’re dating someone well-known not just in Atlanta, but worldwide. And now you two have a child together. So, Taylor is no longer the target, which is great for you both, but guess who is? Mia.” Jamie leans in closer to me. “The moment something happens to Mia, Taylor is gone for good, and there won’t be a damn thing you can do to get her back.”
“Then I guess your little boyfriend better play nice,” I warn her, “because if he’s the reason I can’t protect Mia and Taylor, you both will feel my fucking wrath.” I finish my wine and sit back in the chair. “I’ll hire movers to get you out tomorrow. Nothing is pressing you to need to do here that will take until the end of the week. Consider this as an early Christmas gift. My flight is early in the morning, so I need to return to the hotel and get some rest. While I want to forget and forgive this conversation, I want to make sure you remember it.” I get up and gather my items. “The bill is paid for in advance, so enjoy the rest of the room. You have another hour in here. Use it to think about how you’ve been acting.” I leave the room and grab an Uber.
As I steam in the rideshare, I can’t help but think about how Ethan played me. He’s been chasing me since I was a teenager, and I stood for everything he loathed. He had to work hard through his blood, sweat, and tears to get to where he was while I had everything handed to me.
He doesn’t understand why I joined the streets when I had no reason to. I know how it looks–wealthy white kid, politician dad, and all the money I could handle. The answer is simple–power is a hot commodity.
Anyone can make brick, but only some can turn that brick into an empire.
Once I arrive at the hotel, I place the only phone call that matters. “Hey Mike, it’s Cameron. I need one more favor from you. I’ll pay you the same amount as before for this intel.” I wait for him to gather a pen and paper. “You ready? Good. Please get all the intel on Jamie Page. Her address is 175 Van Ness. Yes, that’s correct. I want to know everything–if she was ever on the dating app or had visitors to her place. She uses both AIM and Eye On U, so I want to verify some information. Also, another name. Are you ready? Ethan Underwood. He’s a detective in Atlanta.”
Two
Taylor
There is something so exhilarating about listening to Donny Hathaway and enjoying a nice cup of coffee.
I don’t have to worry about rude customers, those who are mad that I didn’t have the exact amount of foam in their cup, or bratty children messing up my store before I’m about to mess up their asses.
All I have to do is sit back, listen to “A Song for You” ad museum and be grateful I still have a business.
The pandemic has been hit-and-miss in many ways. Atlanta acted like there was no such thing as a pandemic, and everything stayed open, and people acted like masks were a thing of the past. My coffee shop, Fresh Espresso, was booming.
Above everything else, my life turned semi-back-to-normal.
I don’t necessarily have to be here. Hayley has done a fantastic job taking it over; my cousins have helped. My staff is excellent, and everything was running just as smoothly or even better before I left.
Yet, there’s something about Fresh Espresso that’s home to me. My Daddy built this place from the ground up. I remember coming here after school and sitting at one of the tables to do homework as my Daddy eyeballed me while he served customers.
Eventually, I moved to the office, where Hayley and I hung out and talked about boys in addition to doing homework. Well, Hayley talked about boys. I just listened and wondered why she was messing with those scrubs.
I never envisioned becoming a business owner at 22 and a new mom. I always knew it would happen, but not this quickly. I’m not complaining, however. I love getting up early to beat traffic and raise the security gate. Brewing that first cup of coffee and enjoying a moment of solitude as I slowly eat a tea cake.
Then the morning rush starts. The coffee is brewed, the pastries are baked, and a small line forms. The regulars come in and get their usual. I ask about their lives, like how Miss Johnson just started teaching in person again, and she’s still getting used to the ever-changing rules of the CDC.
Or how Fred the Entrepreneur is filming yet another YouTube/TikTok video and giving me props (I always make sure my hair is done and my face is beat for this purpose).
Or how Mister Al always meets his friends on Tuesdays, spending a good hour or so inside with a reserved table for them. They all order the same thing – Al Green coffee (coffee with a bit of sugar and turmeric) and lemon olive oil cake. I always block it off so no one but them can sit there during that time.
Fresh Espresso is my home, and I can’t imagine not ever having it. I’ll probably leave it to Mia if she wants it or gives it to another family member once I retire. But that’s many years away and not even on my current scale.
My mind is occupied with the new hip-hop-themed ghost restaurant Hayley, and I are testing out and waiting to get a fateful visit or phone call that Cameron is arrested or dead. Yay, me. I can’t be like any other regular 22-year-old woman who is partying, starting a new career, or traveling the world. Ihaveto be a clusterfuck.
“Hey, Miss Mamas!” My ride and die, Hayley, comes through the back. She’s a light-skinned girl who always looks like a cross between IG baddie and ‘round-the-way. Her figure is one hundred percent natural, and that’s why she has a following of damn near two million followers.
She helps me run Fresh Espresso; I’ve known her since we were little. She has a baby with Que, and we often go on play dates with our daughters.
The biggest difference between Hayley and me is that Hayley accepts the lifestyle that comes with slanging and the drug game. Que took over Cameron’s operations, at least in the public eye, but Cameron is still operating ahead behind the scenes. Que handles the street, Cameron handles Congress, and Silicon Valley.
Hayley can turn a blind eye as long as she’s laced in Gucci, Burberry, and Saint Laurent. I lowkey wish I had that IDGAF attitude about life. Maybe I wouldn’t be so damn neurotic and get on my nerves.
