“I’m sayin’, I been kinda caught…”
“Caught nothin’. Don’t front, nigga. You been gone three years, and Ayesha had that ass on lock!”
They both laughed.
The truth was he had been avoiding her and avoiding what a meeting with her meant. He didn’t know, but Angel had been doing the same thing. She had heard about Roc’s community actions. She remembered all his letters from prison. But she thought it was just the bars talking. She didn’t think he would actually come home and put it down.
The time had come for two old friends to have a meeting of the minds.
“On the real, though. It’s good to see you. What you up to now? Let’s go get something to eat. And don’t worry, I don’t eat pork either,” she said with a smile.
Rahman glanced at his watch.
“Yeah, we can do that. Gimme about twenty minutes.”
“Aiight, cool. Meet me at Applebees.”
“Insha Allah.”
Rahman arrived at the restaurant first. The sun was setting and his eyes stayed glued to the window. The Applebees happened to be across the street from University Hospital, the hospital where he had been shot by the Feds.
The bullet didn’t freeze him. It jolted his inebriated mind into a painful sizzle. The bullet wound burned his flesh. He lay on the hard asphalt, blood gushing from his wound, looking up at the night stars wondering,
“Kinda ironic, huh?”
He heard Angel’s voice, and it brought him out of his thoughts.
“Ironic?” he repeated.
“We’re both back where it all ended,” Angel said, sliding into the booth across from him. “And where it all begins,” she added, getting comfortable.
“For who?”
“For us. Me and you, Roc. We grand champions in this game, and it’s time to put it down like true thoroughbreds.”
“And Roll? He a true thoroughbred, too?” Rahman smirked.
Angel sucked her teeth then sipped her water. “He’s a pawn. A fuckin’ fat, black, fake-ass Biggie-lookin’ pawn. He thinks I’m givin’ when I’m really takin’. I got him so twisted, he don’t know if he comin’ or goin’,” she boasted nonchalantly, then added sincerely, “but this thing ain’t right without you, bro.”
“Would you like to order?” the waitress asked politely.
“Just coffee,” Rahman replied.
“And you?”
“Same thing,” Angel told the waitress, watching as she walked away.
“Come on, Angel. You know where I’m at. You been hearin’ about me just like I been hearin’ about you. You know what I’m doin’ and it ain’t a game, it ain’t a joke, and it ain’t a front for somethin’ else,” he explained.
Angel lit up a cigarette, trying to conceal it from view.
“It may not be a joke, Roc, but you can’t be serious. Muthafuckas been gettin’ high since the beginning of time and ain’t shit gonna change that, no matter how many blocks you buy, or strip clubs you… strip,” she said, hitting her cigarette and blowing the smoke under the table. “You tellin’ me
The waitress returned with their coffee.
“Thank you, sister,” Rahman said.
“You’re very welcome.” The waitress smiled, then walked away. Angel watched her again. Rahman stirred his coffee.
“I can’t stand a pimp, Angel. They ain’t nothin’ but leeches preying on our women. He had it comin’, and it wasn’t about bein’ gangsta.”
“Okay. You want certain blocks drug-free, cool. I feel you. I respect what you’re doin’, for real. But somebody, somewhere is gonna see it and somebody gonna buy it. Why not use that money and put it to good use?” she suggested.
“Blood money.”
“This is America, Roc. It’s all blood money. But look at what you can do with that blood money. I’m talkin’ controllin’ it all-boy, girl, E, and smoke, brick to bottle,” Angel said.
But Rahman shot right back. “I’m talkin’ ’bout the same thing except it’s legal. We control every dollar, not just drug money, but a piece of every dollar in the community. Off all alone, we bring in over three hundred grand every six months.”
“Three hundred?” she said, her voice rising, but she caught herself. “Three hundred grand! Roc, we used to piss that. I still piss that,” Angel said as she realized he was definitely thinking on a smaller level than he once used to. She smashed her cigarette under her boot.
“My little three to you is a start for me.”
“Then we right back where we were when we came in, a start. Me and you. I help you lock down the legal shit and you ride wit’ me on this thing of mine and together we got every angle covered.”
He sighed deeply. They were at a stalemate. They both had the same plan for different reasons and neither could convince the other to abandon theirs.
“Angel, it’s time to take the game to another level.”
“Exactly.”
“Not that game, the real game. That game you playin’ only keeps us trapped at the bottom of the barrel,” he said, trying to reason with her.
“Listen, it was good seeing you, but…”
He stood up and Angel smiled at him.
“I love you, nigga. And I don’t care what you say. One-eyed Roc is somewhere in that belly of yours. I’ma make him come out if it’s the last thing I do.”
“
“
Rahman backed out in his Cadillac Deville, watching Angel through the plate-glass window of the restaurant. Their eyes spoke a language of their own and the words of Nas echoed in his mind.
Angel meant what she said and was determined to bring out the One-eyed Roc she once knew. She just hoped he came out for her and not against her, because if that happened, things could get very ugly.
He took the longer way back home, driving slowly in deep contemplation. The visit with Angel had been planned. She wanted to feel him out, see what he was doing, hear what he had to say, and see if he was serious. Now that she knew, what would be her next move?
He had purposely avoided the hottest drug blocks run by the bigger dealers. Sooner or later, however, he’d have to deal with them, whoever they were, even Angel. He knew what she was capable of, because he had taught her. In Dutch’s organization, he had been the problem-solver. Now that he had become a problem for her, he wondered if she would try to use his own tactics against him.
Her words struck a chord within him, because she was right. He had felt it that night at the strip club, the way his temper took control, the assault on Freddie. He was on a mission and was prepared to use any means necessary to accomplish it. He prayed he wouldn’t have to be Roc to do so.
Rahman checked his rearview mirror several times and made the unnecessary wrong turns until he was certain he wasn’t being followed. He took the same precautions every night and he wasn’t being followed.
Or so he thought.
