Page 24 of Don't Kross Me
Kross had implemented a system all throughout Miami that kept the peace in the streets. Business owners who were in agreement with him paid him a fee just to keep their spot out of the red zone when it came to vandalism, robberies, and other wild shit these young Miami niggas were willing to do for the money and the thrill. Some would call it extortion, but to Kross, he considered it a fair exchange.
Noonie let out a heavy sigh, followed by a shake of his head, before making the turn to head to Sunny’s. Sunny’s was a hoodstaple. What started as a gas station and corner store expanded into a Chinese spot that sold take-out. In his early days, Kross could remember posting up at Sunny’s every night to sell his dime bags. Him taking over the block was always expected. He had that hustle in him ever since he was a youngin’.
Before he got locked up, he closed a deal with the owner Mr. Yin, who was racist as fuck. It always puzzled Kross when he tried to figure out why Mr. Yin decided to build a gas station in an impoverished black neighborhood in down south Florida if he ain’t like or respect black people, but to each his own. Mr. Yin was no match against the neighborhood, no matter how racist he was. The kids stole his merchandise, robbed him a few times, and even beat his ass if he got a little too carried away with his slurs. That all came to a stop once Kross made it known that Sunny’s was out of the red zone. Along with the monthly payments, Kross made it clear Mr. Yin better tighten the fuck up and start respecting people or his money wouldn’t be buying him the safety he thought was guaranteed.
Pulling into the gas station, a light smirk casted onto Kross’ face once he saw how the block was jumping. He could see a few Paper Chase members busting plays and making their money. Near the back of the store, the usual dice game was underway, causing the same arguments between niggas who were hard up on money and had no business gambling. When he stepped out of the vehicle, his presence caught everyone’s attention. When he said he was making a comeback, he wasn’t fucking playing. There was no more laying low for him.
The beaming Miami sun shined down and reflected against the thick, gold Cuban link chain he had weighing down his neck. His diamond drenched, gold Cartier time piece around his wrist danced in the sunlight, causing the young niggas on the block’s mouths to salivate. Kross was truly every hood nigga’s dream. To do a seven-year bid and come back to more riches than he leftwas unheard of. Deep down, he knew the image he maintained wouldn’t have been possible if it weren’t for Cassie and his guys making sure money and business was getting handled the right way.
As he trekked toward the entrance of the gas station, he motioned curt head nods in the direction of some of his soldiers. The authority and power he exuded could be felt immediately. It prompted niggas to straighten up their posture and come at him with respect. He didn’t have to utter a word for everyone to know that he was the head nigga in charge. His presence and demeanor said it all.
When he emerged through the doors of the gas station, his entrance brought in a draft of cold air. The store patrons seemed to all take a moment to take in his suffocating presence before they pried their eyes off him and returned to their shopping.
At the cash register, he could see Mr. Yin handling the line. Instead of cutting the line, Kross joined it and waited patiently until he was called up to the counter. “What’s up, Mr. Yin? Long time no see,” he taunted the man with an amused chuckle that stirred up Mr. Yin’s insides.
His mouth went dry as he found himself at a loss of words at the sight of Kross. “Take it easy, Mr. Yin. You’re not in no trouble. I just came to collect,” he told him, hoping that would be enough to steady his choppy breathing and calm his nerves.
Eager to get Kross out of his store, Mr. Yin nodded his head before excusing himself and heading to the back toward his office. “Aye, it’s been seven years, and you still got his racist ass spooked,” Noonie cackled as he grabbed a bag of Doritos from the shelves to indulge in.
“I got to,” Kross said, shrugging his broad shoulders. “He walked around this motherfucka’ thinking he ain’t have to respect us. Now, I got his respect, and his ass scared straight.”
Eventually, Mr. Yin returned from his office with the money in hand. The transaction was smooth and due to him being so shaken with fear, he never uttered a word to Kross.
“‘Preciate doing business with you, Mr. Yin. We’re back doing collection on the first of every month now.” He earned a nod from him in response before taking the exit so Mr. Yin could finally catch his breath.
As quickly as they came, he and Noonie rolled out. They hit up a few more spots before Kross decided to end his day of collecting at Fresh Miami Cutz, the barbershop on 17th Avenue. He had to get back to the hospital to be with Aniyis, so he was hoping it wouldn’t take him too long to collect. He assured Noonie it was cool for him to stay behind in the car while he made his way inside.
Just from the number of cars parked out front, Kross knew the atmosphere was jumping inside, per the usual. The barbershop was a communal spot for damn near everybody. He was glad to see not much had changed since he left. He pushed the door to enter the shop, prompting the chimes that hung from the threshold to ring. The aroma of barbicide clashing with the heavy mixture of cologne stung his nose upon entering. He was greeted by the heavy bass of the speakers that were bumping “All There” by Jeezy and Bankroll Fresh, setting the ambiance of the shop. His entrance prompted all eyes to gravitate onto him, stirring up the energy inside.
The senior barbers in the shop knew Kross all too well. His presence had them shocked since no one really knew he was out of prison. With his confident gait, he trekked to the center of the shop, and his umber eyes scanned around in search of the familiar face he was looking for.
“Aye, Deno around?” he throated out in his baritone voice which cut through the loud music that was blaring from the speakers.
His question filled the shop with a thick tension as eyes darted across the room at each other and mouths were kept shut. He was never blessed with patience, so the fact that he had to repeat himself evoked a heavy sigh of agitation to air out of him.
“Yo, where the fuck Deno at?” His voice boomed throughout the shop, causing even the clients to shift in their seats uncomfortably.
Emerging from the back of the shop, Remedy stood firm with her hand perched on her curvaceous hip and a menacing look webbed within her soft brown eyes.
“Why the fuck are you asking?” she hissed while eying him up and down.
His rich sepia skin that contrasted with the solid gold he had wrapped around his neck and wrist always caught her eye. Being up close and personal allowed her to admire his chiseled features. As he peered down at her, he clenched his jaw in annoyance, flexing how sharp his jawline was. He maintained a low cut with deep waves that could make any woman seasick, which went perfectly with his full, lined up beard. For a second, Remedy caught herself fantasizing about wetting up his beard with her sweet juices, but she quickly snapped out of it. Absentmindedly, her orbs trailed down to his tender dark lips. She could see them moving; however, her mind was too busy taking in how fine he was to actually register what he was saying.
Rudely, he snapped his fingers in her face, hoping to bring her back down to earth. The little mean mug she had etched on her face didn’t faze him a bit. Seeing her at the shop was an unpleasant surprise. Kross was beginning to think this chick was everywhere and that she had some sort of vendetta since every time they ran into each other, she was popping her shit.
“Who you supposed to be? Topflight Security or some shit?” Kross slyly let out while towering over her at his staggering height of six-foot-four.
Granted, he looked good fitted in his designer jeans that sagged slightly and Lanvin branded graphic tee that gripped his muscles, but he came in with the wrong energy, almost like he thought he was running shit. Last time Remedy checked, her father Deno made it real clear wasn’t nobody running shit in his shop after he passed away besides her.
“You walked into my shit with questions about my father. I think you have shit backward, so you can go ahead and see yourself out,” she instructed and pointed to the door.
Kross shook his head as he continued to shoot daggers at her with his eyes. Before she knew it, he walked straight past her headed toward the back office where he and Deno would talk business. Appalled by his lack of regard for what she told him, she stood with her arms folded across her chest, watching as he opened the door to the office. With a smooth head gesture, he motioned for her to make her way inside the office.
The fucking nerve of him!
The entire shop watched anxiously as she stormed over to Kross with a look of sheer fury webbing her eyes. “See, I done told your ass to see yourself the fuck out. Now you keep testing me. You better get your ass gone before I call up my nigga and have him beat your ass in front of all these people,” she sassed with her lethal tongue. This was three run-ins with the same nigga who always managed to trigger a bad attitude out of her by acting like he ran shit. She wasn’t having it then, and she for damn sure wasn’t having it now.
Finding her little threat amusing, Kross threw his head back in laughter. “Shawty, call whoever you need to fucking call. I promise you I’ll have that nigga laid out before he steps foot in this bitch,” he snarled at her, his demeanor changing as quick as a light switch. “You’re a lady, so I done let a lot of shit slide, but don’t think you about to be ice skating ‘round this motherfucka’. I got business with Deno, and me standing here going back andforth with you ain’t making me no fucking paper, so I suggest you get Deno over here now before I shut this shit down.”
