Love/Fate by Tracy Brown Page B

they’d give him a reason to start shooting. “You can give work to Chuck and any other lil nigga out here you choose. But you’re never gonna catch up to me. Y’all ain’t never gonna get the respect I get, the money I get, or the love I get.”
    Jamari grinned now. “But it looks like I can get the girls you get,Born. Jada said to tell you ‘hi.’” Jamari licked his lips, feeling so much hatred mixed with jealousy toward his former friend.
    Wizz laughed, but on the inside, he was beginning to wonder if Jamari’s beef with Born was more about him wanting to
be
Born. To Wizz, Jamari sounded like a deranged fan. In truth, Jamari was thirsty for Born’s position, and he had been since they were young kids growing up.
    Born considered murdering both of them right there. But he decided to kill ‘em softly instead. “Tell her I said hello. I knew you was fiendin’ to sample that. I could tell from the first time I brought her around. Congratulations. She got some good pussy, don’t she?” The other customers laughed, and Born continued to smile in Jamari’s face. The two other young men in the shop getting their haircuts amped up the backhanded remark. His comment illustrated how little concern he had about Jamari being with Jada. Born had already been there and done that, and he’d had her
first.
In his heart, though, Born was still sick without Jada, and he hated her for being with this lame. But he would never give Jamari the satisfaction of knowing that. “Stick to the script, muthafucka. Stop trying so hard to fit into my shoes, and walk in your own for once.” Born looked at Jamari with contempt. Then he looked at Wizz. “You should watch how you talk to me,” he said. “You might fuck around and piss me off.”
    Born opened the door, and walked out, laughing. Wizz and Jamari were both enraged, and Wizz began declaring war. “That’s it, my nigga. I don’t care what you say. I’ma body that muthafucka next time I see him. I’ma run up in that nigga’s spots, and all that. Watch. I don’t give a fuck what you say.” Wizz was talking recklessly, and the other customers exchanged glances.
    Jamari was seething. He hated Born, because he was a constant reminder that there was always someone better than him. Jamari remembered how he had started getting respect only when he came around his peers wearing Born’s clothes, rocking Born’s jewelry. Jamari had respect for Born, but wanted that same success—wanted those same things for himself. He always got the things he wanted, eventually. But by thenBorn would be two steps ahead of him, and always did shit bigger and better. Jamari remembered when he started bringing pretty, light-skinned girls around the way, and he was the man for a minute. Having a light-skinned girl with long hair was a badge of honor in the hood back then. But then Born came through with Jada. And she wasn’t even all that light-skinned. But she was bad as hell, and she shut all the other bitches in their circle down. Jamari got an Audi, and Born got a Benz. Jamari rented a house, and Born bought one. Jamari hated the feeling he got whenever Born was around—the feeling that he was never the best. Never quite number one, as long as Born was on the scene. Everywhere he went niggas gave him respect. But Born still treated him like a shorty, and he was a grown-ass man. The truth of Jamari’s animosity toward Born had yet to surface, and he never revealed to Wizz his true motivation for hating Born as much as he did.
    Not realizing that he was speaking aloud, as he peered out the shop windows at the passersby, Jamari said, “Fuck that nigga. I ain’t no shorty no more. Things ain’t sweet like they used to be.”
    Pulling his card, the old man in his fifties said, “Yeah, nigga. You talk all that shit now that the muthafucka’s gone. Ten