elevator.
After the doors closed, I exhaled. “How the fuck you deal with her? She is wreck-less as hell! I mean, who comes out into the hallway of a building you live and insinuates that your man and his sister dabble in illegal activity?”
“ She does.”
“ Well, you need to nip that shit in the bud before she gets you locked up for some far more serious shit then whipping her ass!”
“ Don’t worry. As soon as I get my paper up the way I want, I’m gonna dip out on her dumbass.”
“ Really?”
“ You damn right. And I’m looking forward to that day too.”
“ Wait, so you think she’s fucking around on you?”
“ Nah, I don’t think that.”
“ So, why did you say that back in the house?”
“ Come on now Naomi, you slipping,” Reggie said and smiled. “Niggas blame shit they do on their women all the time. That way, we can take the heat off us.”
“ So wait, am I really dropping you off to one of your bitches cribs?”
“ Nah, we gon’ go and see moms and pops,” Reggie replied and then we hopped off the elevator.
During the drive to the Bronx, I tried to touch on the subject about him and Damian. But he didn’t bite. I could tell he wasn’t in the mood to discuss anything dealing with what happened last night. He did, however, tell me that he and Damian were going to link up and handle some business later. So I left well enough alone. I figured they must’ve come to some mutual understanding and moved on.
My parents’ house sat on the corner of Gun Hill and White Plains Road. It wasn’t the newest or the most posh house in the world, but it was better than where we grew up in the Polo Grounds. Even though they changed addresses, my pops kept that same street mentality.
I wished I could say Carter Foxx was a retired hustler, but I couldn’t. Our dad was a forever man of the streets. He was semi-retired at best. He still hit the streets every now and then. To keep my skills up, he would tell us.
Reggie and our dad were close. He taught Reggie at a young age all of the rules of the game. If Reggie had an issue, especially dealing with business, he bounced it off Carter Foxx.
As always, when we showed up, my mom would sit us down and practically shove food down our throats. It was her Hispanic culture to always cook and have family over. That’s how we found time to bond with one another. So we chatted a bit and caught up.
After the four of us had dinner, Mom excused herself because she knew we needed to talk business. She didn’t know my part in Reggie’s business but she suspected I was doing way more than the lies I told her. She always warned me that I was doing well in a legitimate job and I shouldn’t mess that up.
Foxx listened intensely as Reggie ran down everything that had occurred. We called our dad by our last name—Foxx. I couldn’t remember referring to him as dad. He taught us what he could, and that meant we knew the streets. I loved the man. He was a loving and caring like a father should be, but cool and down with knowledge, usable knowledge—the kind of teaching that kept you alive from one day to the next.
He was a slim man, slightly standing over five feet seven, a couple of inches shorter than my mom and Reggie, and an inch taller than me. His hair was naturally wavy with streaks of gray in his black locks, lending credence to his wisdom.
“ I ever tell you about the time I recommended a runner for Stone business?” Foxx asked us after Reggie had went in-depth about the events that took place at the Polo Grounds yesterday. We both shook our heads no. Stone was Big Joey Stone, an enforcer and some say assassin, who was Foxx’s best friend. “Well, I gave this guy, Marlo, who I was locked up with in the joint, my recommendation to work for Stone. A couple of weeks later, the motherfucker ran off with Stone’s money and dope.”
As kids we grew up on Foxx’s stories, or misadventures, as our mom used to describe them. But somehow they
After the doors closed, I exhaled. “How the fuck you deal with her? She is wreck-less as hell! I mean, who comes out into the hallway of a building you live and insinuates that your man and his sister dabble in illegal activity?”
“ She does.”
“ Well, you need to nip that shit in the bud before she gets you locked up for some far more serious shit then whipping her ass!”
“ Don’t worry. As soon as I get my paper up the way I want, I’m gonna dip out on her dumbass.”
“ Really?”
“ You damn right. And I’m looking forward to that day too.”
“ Wait, so you think she’s fucking around on you?”
“ Nah, I don’t think that.”
“ So, why did you say that back in the house?”
“ Come on now Naomi, you slipping,” Reggie said and smiled. “Niggas blame shit they do on their women all the time. That way, we can take the heat off us.”
“ So wait, am I really dropping you off to one of your bitches cribs?”
“ Nah, we gon’ go and see moms and pops,” Reggie replied and then we hopped off the elevator.
During the drive to the Bronx, I tried to touch on the subject about him and Damian. But he didn’t bite. I could tell he wasn’t in the mood to discuss anything dealing with what happened last night. He did, however, tell me that he and Damian were going to link up and handle some business later. So I left well enough alone. I figured they must’ve come to some mutual understanding and moved on.
My parents’ house sat on the corner of Gun Hill and White Plains Road. It wasn’t the newest or the most posh house in the world, but it was better than where we grew up in the Polo Grounds. Even though they changed addresses, my pops kept that same street mentality.
I wished I could say Carter Foxx was a retired hustler, but I couldn’t. Our dad was a forever man of the streets. He was semi-retired at best. He still hit the streets every now and then. To keep my skills up, he would tell us.
Reggie and our dad were close. He taught Reggie at a young age all of the rules of the game. If Reggie had an issue, especially dealing with business, he bounced it off Carter Foxx.
As always, when we showed up, my mom would sit us down and practically shove food down our throats. It was her Hispanic culture to always cook and have family over. That’s how we found time to bond with one another. So we chatted a bit and caught up.
After the four of us had dinner, Mom excused herself because she knew we needed to talk business. She didn’t know my part in Reggie’s business but she suspected I was doing way more than the lies I told her. She always warned me that I was doing well in a legitimate job and I shouldn’t mess that up.
Foxx listened intensely as Reggie ran down everything that had occurred. We called our dad by our last name—Foxx. I couldn’t remember referring to him as dad. He taught us what he could, and that meant we knew the streets. I loved the man. He was a loving and caring like a father should be, but cool and down with knowledge, usable knowledge—the kind of teaching that kept you alive from one day to the next.
He was a slim man, slightly standing over five feet seven, a couple of inches shorter than my mom and Reggie, and an inch taller than me. His hair was naturally wavy with streaks of gray in his black locks, lending credence to his wisdom.
“ I ever tell you about the time I recommended a runner for Stone business?” Foxx asked us after Reggie had went in-depth about the events that took place at the Polo Grounds yesterday. We both shook our heads no. Stone was Big Joey Stone, an enforcer and some say assassin, who was Foxx’s best friend. “Well, I gave this guy, Marlo, who I was locked up with in the joint, my recommendation to work for Stone. A couple of weeks later, the motherfucker ran off with Stone’s money and dope.”
As kids we grew up on Foxx’s stories, or misadventures, as our mom used to describe them. But somehow they
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