“It’s God.”
“God . . .” She thought it was an odd name for him. “Why do they call you God?”
“Because I make things happen and I see everything,” he said.
He was amusing, and Miracle found him intriguing. She continued to work her sexiness on him and even kissed the side of his neck as she gave him a sensual lap dance.
“Well, God, do you want a private dance with me?”
He smiled. “How much?”
“Two hundred.”
Just as things were about to get hot and heavy, his cell phone rang. He definitely needed to take the call.
He slightly nudged Miracle off of his lap, indicating that she was somewhat irrelevant at the moment, and he answered the call. “Hey, baby. What’s good?”
“I miss you, God. Where are you?”
“I’m chilling with Fingers. What’s good?”
“You. I wanna see you tonight. But can you come pick me up?” she said.
“A’ight, no doubt. Where are you?”
“I’m at Mack’s bar,” she said.
“I’ll be there in a few.”
The call ended. Right away, God turned to Fingers and said, “C’mon, nigga. Let’s go.”
“What? Nigga, I’m ready to fuck tonight.”
“I gotta pick up shorty, and we need to talk,” said God. “Get that bitch’s number and catch her on the rebound.”
Fingers frowned and the voluptuous, half-naked girl straddling his lap frowned too. God was being a party-pooper. To compensate the girls for their time, God gave them each a hundred dollars and they were appeased.
Fingers picked himself up and said, “You lucky ya my nigga.”
God smiled. “Ride or die, nigga.”
The two men left the strip club and climbed into God’s Jeep. They drove to Canarsie, Brooklyn, and during the ride, God told Fingers that he’d gotten wind detectives were asking around about them. The streets were talking, and they weren’t saying anything good.
“They still on that dead cop shit?” Fingers asked.
God shook his head. “I don’t know. I just heard shit through the grapevine. But you know they ain’t gonna give up on that case. A cop got killed and they wanna crucify some nigga, or niggas.”
“Shit happened like eight months ago. Fuck that bitch-ass cop.”
“Anyway, I think you should leave town again fo’ a minute,” God suggested.
“And go where, back upstate?”
“We just gotta continue to keep a low profile.”
Fingers grimaced. He ran once. He hated to run from anything.
God pulled up to a quaint bar on Rockaway Parkway. He sat behind the wheel staring at the entrance, waiting for his girl to exit the place. He called to let her know he was outside.