Crazy Summer by Cole Hart

thought, she was looking directly at him.
    “Man…it’s Christmas. I’m wit’ my family,” he spoke into the phone.
    “It’s very important. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t extreme business.”
    Danté had respect for Shay, who helped him get on his feet when he was only flipping two to three ounces. Shay had fronted him his first quarter key of cocaine.
    He thought about all of this for a second and then said, “I’ll be there in ‘bout thirty minutes.”
    “Solo,” Shay said before the line went dead.
    As Danté pressed the power button, Summer gave him a look as if to say, I know you ain’t going nowhere.
    “I got some business I gotta handle,” he told her, addressing her unspoken words.
    Jermaine and Jeremy ran into the room together and dived onto their mother’s lap. Their attention went to the children for a moment, and then their gaze met one another again. Mrs. Diane removed a tennis bracelet from a box and almost screamed with happiness while thanking Danté and Summer.
    Summer stood up and walked over to Danté. “How long you gonna be?” Her tender voice was drowned with sadness.
    He kissed her lips. “A couple of hours probably.”
    She nodded and told him to be careful. When Danté left, Summer and Mrs. Diane talked for a few more minutes alone before joining the rest of the family. Summer got on the phone and tried calling Red Bone to tell her to come over, but the line had been disconnected. It’d been three months since she had seen her, and now she wasn’t anywhere to be found.
      Danté arrived at the Sheraton Hotel in less than thirty minutes. He tapped on the door and then looked both ways down the carpeted corridor. He heard the door being unlocked, and when it opened, Shay was standing in shorts and nothing else except a Cubin link chain around his neck. He was dark-skinned with bloodshot eyes and uncombed hair. He greeted Danté with a light, quick hug and invited him in.
    After stepping into the living room area of the suite, Danté noticed two more guys. He studied their faces and realized he had never seen them before. Although the lights were dimmed, he didn’t miss seeing the Mack-11 semi-automatic gun lying on the dining room table. Something was wrong; he was positive of it. The picture just didn’t look right.
    Shay walked Danté over to the table where the two guys were sitting. A bottle of Dom P separated them. Danté sat down, and Shay stood next to him with a hand on his shoulder. Danté had also noticed that neither of the strangers really looked at him or smiled. He did know his nine-millimeter was tucked in his waist, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.
    “This is my lil’ nigga Danté who I was tellin’ y’all ‘bout,” Shay said, patting Danté’s shoulder.
    Now the two strangers were looking at Danté. They were older than him, he noted, maybe in their mid-thirties.
    He couldn’t figure out the problem at this point. He knew he didn’t owe Shay any money. When their eyes finally drifted away, one of the guys began talking while pouring himself a glass of champagne.
    “How much money do you owe, Danté?”
    “I don’t owe nobody,” he said and twisted his head toward Shay. “I don’t owe you no money.”  By the tone of his voice, they could tell he was nervous.
    Shay, who was looking crazy now, slowly pulled out a chair and sat next to Danté. A look of nervousness blazed from his eyes.
    “I owe my people here sixty grand,” he said.
     The other guy slammed his fist onto the table, causing Shay to jump. Danté just starred in their direction. The same guy who had poured some Dom stood up and slapped Shay across the head. Blood began leaking from the open wound.
    “You told me dude owed you money, muthafucka!” he shouted.
    Shay held his hand pressed against his head, trying to stop the bleeding. His lips were quivering so bad that he couldn’t get his words out.
    Fixing his eyes on Danté, he asked, “Can I borrow da money