“On who?”
“Jessica.”
“She’s locked down.”
“I know, but we need to be there just in case she don’t remain locked down, which is possible. That bitch need to get got.”
They had said too much in a public area, and Papa John needed to be somewhere. Devon had that look in his eyes—that satanic gape itching for payback and yearning for violence. Though they were both killers, Devon always looked like he ate, shit, and breathed for murder, while Papa John needed some time off from it and needed to indulge himself with the ladies, his kids, and a normal life. Kip’s death was a wakeup call that tomorrow wasn’t promised to anyone, and last night’s chaos might have been an epiphany to him that this game wasn’t for him anymore. He was in too deep to dig himself out right now, and he needed to finish what he started before he could begin whatever transition he was thinking about.
“Yo, tell Kid I’ll be back,” Papa John said.
“Back?” Devon replied with a frown and puzzled face, “where you off to, nigga?”
“I got someplace to be.”
“At a time like this?”
“Nigga, I’ll be back before morning.”
“That ain’t the point. We at war and you chasin’ some pussy.”
“My business is my business, nigga . . . you know that.”
“Your business should be being on point, not goin’ to see some bitch.”
Papa John didn’t like how Devon was coming at him. He stepped closer to his friend with something to say. “What, I’m supposed to hide out here all night with my tail between my legs? Nah, I’m still gonna do me. I still got my kids and my priorities out there. This ain’t gonna shake me up.”
“We need to stick together.”
“And we are stickin’ together. But right now, I need to stick to something else.” No matter what was happening, there was still a slice of humor inside of him.
He had nothing else to say. Papa John didn’t want to be controlled or told what to do. His life was his life. He wasn’t about to live it being scared—though he did feel edgy. He turned and left.
Devon frowned. He lit his cigarette in the hotel lobby where there was no smoking allowed. If Kip were still alive, Papa John wouldn’t be pulling this shit. But things done changed.
***
Papa John parked the truck around the corner from his father’s place and killed the engine. Whitestone was a tranquil and serene place, especially at night. It looked like a ghost town in the suburbs. Everything in the surrounding area shut down, unlike Harlem, where it was busy twenty-four/seven. This was the way Papa John liked it. He didn’t want to be seen while he crept into his father’s house. He picked up his cell phone and dialed Dina this time.
“Hello.”
“I’m here, baby.”
“Okay, I’ll open the back door for you.”
He hung up. With his gun still concealed in his waistband, he climbed out of the vehicle and cooll
y walked toward the house. He entered the yard, slid down the driveway, and proceeded toward the backyard under the cover of night. He didn’t see his father’s Benz in sight. It was a good thing. Dina was waiting for him in the doorway. Dressed in a sexy silk and lace robe with a matching thong, she smiled at him. He smiled back. He was excited. She was too.
“Hey you,” she greeted sweetly.
“Hey,” he said, entering the house and wrapping his arms around her petite figure. They kissed passionately and welcomed each other’s embrace.
He pulled away from her. “You sure he’s gone for the night?”
She nodded. “Yes. That city bombing has every cop on duty.”
It was all he needed to hear. He lifted Dina up into his arms, her legs straddling him, and carried her upstairs to the master bedroom. He wanted the fun to begin. But first things first, she had what he needed—what he’d been craving—a dime bag of Kush and two cigars.