Wifey: Part 1

When the late afternoon approached I got a call from a 718 area code with a Queens ex

change. I ignored that too. I usually didn’t get calls from unknown numbers because very few people had my cell phone number. But today, it was nonstop. I allowed it to go to voicemail and this time a message was left. When I listened to the message it was Jasmine telling me she was calling from her home number and not to call her cell phone because Shabazz had it. Immediately, my interest was piqued. I dialed her right away.

“Happy birthday!”

“Nico?” Jasmine replied.

“Who you just call?”

“Ahhh, thank you,” she sang into the phone. “You’re too sweet.”

“Listen, what’s up with Shabazz having your phone? You seen him?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it . . .”

“Then why the fuck you mentioned him?” I snapped.

“Whoa, be easy,” she began. “I only mentioned him when I left you the message because there’s no telling what he’d do to me if he saw you calling my phone.”

“Didn’t I tell you to call me if he came around? How fuckin’ hard was that to follow!”

She began to whine. “Baby—”

“Don’t call me baby, Jasmine. I’m a grown-ass man! When the fuck did that nigga come through to take your phone?”

She exhaled and then there was silence.

“Answer me!” I barked. I was beyond playing with this broad. “That nigga Shabazz sent the hit squad up in my crib, and you’re spewing baby talk!”

She cleared her throat and began to speak like a grown woman. “He came through last night on the humble after I had sent you a text. He scared the shit outta me. Then I remembered what you said and I tried to sneakily text you to let you know what was up. That’s when he snatched my phone, saw the naked pictures, and bounced with my shit. He took my purse too…”

“So no doubt he done saw the naked pictures and all the texts that you already sent to me unless you deleted them all.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Then why are you calling me the next day asking me to not call or text you? The nigga already got everything he needs in your cellie.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Yo, you knew our circumstances from jump. Why didn’t you delete all that freak shit? What if he shows my girl?”

Jasmine’s voice elevated. “I was trying to delete the messages and that’s when he snatched my phone! He also took my pocketbook with my birthday money from my parents. He took my thousand dollars!”

“Word,” I replied, unenthused. “I’ll replace that, no doubt. But you gotta look out for me too.”

“Anything,” she purred, obviously thinking I was talking about sex. “Whatever your pleasure.”

“Anything?” I repeated.

“Anything!” she assured.

“A’ight, just remember that.”

Right after I hung up with Jasmine, my attorney called. He had gotten wind that the feds were working on a secret indictment that was going to be so wide-sweeping, it was probably going to take out my whole organization of underlings—the mules, corner boys, and trigger men. If convicted, everybody would be facing life sentences.

“What does this mean?” I asked.

“Well, technically, right now, not much that concerns you. These indictments are for low-level street dealers that are looking to cut a deal. If they cooperate there isn’t much they could say regarding your dealings with them because you don’t deal directly with them, which is good. But if they could get someone, anyone, in your organization on a higher chain of command, like your underboss—”