Page 30 of Rah
I sighed, staring at the passing lights. “Only problem is I still owe Carlos for the work I lost. I can’t even make moves ‘til I clear that up.”
Smoody smirked and leaned back. “Man, we can handle that nigga if you want to. Just say the word.”
I chuckled, even though I knew he meant that. “See, that’s your problem. You so trigger happy.”
He grinned. “I’m just sayin’, bro. That wasn’t your fault. You don’t owe that man nothing but smoke.”
“Nah,” I responded, shaking my head. “Carlos is like family. I ain’t about to off family over no money. I’mma talk to him and work something out.”
Smoody laughed, shaking his head. “You too loyal. Way too loyal.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But that’s how I was raised.”
He went quiet for a second, then said, “Still don’t make sense, though. You out here trying to make things right with everybody, but Rah? That nigga don’t never return the favor. When’s the last time he came through for you?”
I stayed quiet, staring out the windshield.
“Exactly,” Smoody pressed. “Rah always using you. Always talkin’ that boss shit, but he don’t move nothing on his own. Nigga don’t even know how to hustle. He just leans on you to make him look like he got motion.” He looked at me for a response, but, out of loyalty, I kept quiet. Smoody smirked, “You know I’m telling the truth. You just too loyal to say it.”
He wasn’t lying. I hated to admit it, but I’d been thinking the same thing for a while now. Rah talked like a king but moved like a pawn. Every time he got into some shit, I was theone cleaning it up. Every time he needed money, I was the one moving weight or bussing my ass in the studio. Every time he needed backup, I was there.
And now my woman was sitting in a cell because of me, and indirectly, because of him.
I leaned back in the seat, running a frustrated hand over my face. “Yeah,” I muttered under my breath. “I’m starting to see it too.”
Smoody nodded with his eyes still on the road and wearing a crooked smile on his face. “You a real nigga. You thorough, but you gotta stop being loyal to the wrong people.”
7
KAHLANI
Since I got locked up on a Saturday, I couldn’t even get a bond hearing until Monday. I spent two whole days in that cold, nasty cell, just lying there, staring at the wall, waiting to feel stupid for taking that charge for Moses.
But I never did.
Every hour that passed, the only thing I felt was peace. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d let my helpmate, my man, the loving father to my child, the one who busted his ass every day to take care of our home, lose everything. He was so close to his dreams he could damn near taste them, and I wasn’t going to just stand there while he lost it all.
Every time they let me call him, I could hear how miserable he was. He promised over and over that he was gonna get me out first thing Monday morning.
When Monday came, my public defender sat me down and kept it real with me. “There’s nothing you can do to avoid being charged. The car’s in your name. By law, that dope belongs to you. The only way out of this is to give them names.”
I just sat there, listening while my stomach knotted. He saw in my files that I had never been arrested before and was working while raising my son.
“Either you come clean about who those drugs really belong to, or you hope for the best. The police don’t care about two kilos when it comes to getting somebody bigger off the streets. Cooperate, and this goes away. Don’t, and you’ll have to fight it. That can take up to a year, unless you plead guilty, but I wouldn’t advise that. You’d be looking at jail time or, at best, felony probation.”
By the time I stood in front of the judge, I was delirious from lack of sleep. My stomach was aching from hunger, and my head was pounding.
When I turned my head, I saw Moses sitting in the back. He looked like he hadn’t slept since I got arrested.
The judge looked at me like I was just another case file before charging me with possession with intent to distribute.
Class A felony.
Fifty-thousand-dollar bond.
The air outside the courthouse slapped me in the face. It was cold and unforgiving, just like the last seventy-two hours had been.
Moses was standing at the bottom of the steps, pacing with his hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket. The minute his eyes caught mine, he stopped like the world just froze. Then he was climbing those steps two at a time.
