Dirty Work: Part 2

She smiled back.

They continued to play. She was improving. Her next move was a challenging one, but it was still inferior to The Kid’s.

“I’m a good teacher, I see,” he joked.

She chuckled.

Out of the blue, Kid’s cell phone rang. The caller I.D. identified Devon. Kid looked at Eshon and said, “Excuse me for a minute.”

He pushed himself back from the table and answered the call. “What’s up?” he asked.

“We need to talk. Me and Papa John are outside,” Devon said.

“A’ight, come inside.”

Eshon wasn’t too surprised to see Devon and Papa John come into the new house. Lately, they would come over to see Kid. They all would disappear into a room to talk. She would be left out. It was odd to her. Why were they meeting with Kid? What were they talking about? Were they chatting about capers? It was bewildering to her—two cold-hearted killers now socializing with a chess champion. Kid was a humble man—a good guy. She figured it was nothing. With Kip dead, hanging out with his two best friends was probably the only closure Kid had in his life. And besides Eshon, there was no one else to reminisce about Kip with but Devon and Papa John. They knew him best, too.

Devon closed the door to the bedroom. The Kid looked up at the two men, and by the look on their faces, something had gone down.

“What’s up? What’s going on?” The Kid asked.

Devon looked at Kid and said, “Maserati Meek was hit.”

“What?”

“He was shot.”

“Is he dead?” The Kid asked in anticipation.

“Don’t know, but he got hit up the other night in Canarsie at one of his money houses. Word is, he had about two mill on him,” Devon said.

“Shit!”

It was a lot of money. The Kid wished he had that nigga’s money in his possession. But if Meek was coming out of one of his places with two million easy, there was no telling how much more money there was out there. The Kid wanted it all. It was owed to him since Meek took his brother’s life.

“Who went after him?” The Kid asked.

“Not sure. It could be Panamanian Pete or some other niggas out there itching to blow his fuckin’ head off, like me.”

“First things first. We need to know if he survived the attack.”

Devon and Papa John nodded.

“And second, find out who was responsible for the attack. Whoever

got that close to Meek might be of value to us. You know what they say: The enemy of my enemy could be a friend to me.”

“And what if it’s Panamanian Pete? He will never be a friend. We robbed that nigga of eight hundred grand and killed his peoples,” Papa John said.

“But to my understanding, he’s blaming Maserati Meek for it all. That makes us clear of any wrongdoing toward him.”

“It’s still risky to reach out to that nigga,” Papa John advised. “I don’t trust him, and I never will.”

The men talked for several minutes and then they left the room. The Kid wheeled himself out of the bedroom and noticed Eshon lingering in the hallway. Papa John and Devon said their goodbyes to her and left the house.

“Is everything okay?” she asked him.

“Everything’s fine,” he replied. “We were just talking.”