Kona shook his hand as Keith approached but didn’t smile at the guy and stepped back, leveling two quick pounds on the door to get Ricky’s attention.
“He in there?” Keith asked, narrowing his eyes at Kona.
A quick jerk of Kona’s chin and Keith stepped forward, but he slipped in front of the door, blocking Keith from entering. “He’s busy.”
Kona crossed his arms, depending on his size and bulk to intimidate Keith. It usually worked; most people took one look at him and walked the other way, but Keith had been around Kona often enough, had likely seen enough shit in the hustle that Kona didn’t seem like much of a threat.
“I gotcha, man.” The fluorescent light above the door cast a small glint off of Keith’s too white teeth when he smiled at Kona. Eyes over Kona’s shoulder, Keith’s features relaxed as Ricky opened the door and walked out of the room. “I’m early, dude. I get a bonus?” That bonus Keith wanted stumbled away from Ricky, pulling down her short skirt and tucking a small baggy into her bra. The girl walked with her head down and her arms around her middle as though she thought not looking at anyone would make her seem less obvious, would somehow hide the shit she’d just let Ricky do to her.
“Fuck you, man. That ain’t your bonus.” He slapped Keith on the back of the head. “Stop running your mouth and get my shit.”
Something in the air, maybe the cool looks Lil Eddie and Keith passed to each other as they popped the trunk, had Kona’s gut twisting. He stepped forward, away from Ricky and watched the two men pull duffle bag after duffle bag out of the car.
“Why am I here, man?” Kona asked Ricky when he came to his side.
“To keep assholes like those three in line.” Ricky stretched, shoulders relaxed, movements slow and a stupid, eager grin bending his mouth. Kona knew he watched him, knew he was sizing him up, taking in the way Kona moved his eyes up and down the street. Something was off, he felt it in bones, but Ricky seemed too sated, too calm to catch that air of caution moving in the frigid January wind. A quick tap on Kona’s shoulder and Ricky’s smile moved off his face and worry lines on the guy’s forehead deepened. “Why you so jumpy?”
“I’m not.” Kona rubbed his neck, pulling out the tension that bunched between his muscles. “Just ready for this shit to be over.”
A homeless guy pushing a covered shopping cart weaved the buggy down the street, head down as he sang something Kona thought might have been “Amazing Grace.” He and Ricky both watched the man in his dingy gray slacks and broken soled shoes as his voice carried around the quiet street. Three blocks away from them, the Quarter was still reeling from New Year’s, still lively and active with the thrill that 1998 promised. Fleeting, Kona thought about Keira, about how he could get her out of her mother’s house, away from Mandeville and the threat that always lingered in that place. He could get a job, maybe work nights so they could land an apartment. It would be tough. They’d struggle, but at least Keira would be out of that bitch’s house.
He shifted his eyes at Ricky, shaking his head at him when Marco tossed a duffle bag to Keith who almost dropped it. Kona pushed back the thought of working with Ricky again. He wouldn’t have Keira around that shit. It was too dangerous.
“I love this fucking city,” Ricky said, spreading his arms wide. “Service-based economy just ripe with crack heads and greedy bar owners. It’s a damn goldmine if you’ve got the right product.” Ricky’s smile dropped from his face when Kona only stared back at him. He took to sizing Kona up again, watching the dispassionate way the linebacker blinked at him. “You’re a dumbass, Kona.”
He’d heard it before. As a kid, when he struggled to read aloud in class, but Kona wasn’t a kid anymore. He didn’t want anyone calling him dumb, especially not some stupid thug who hadn’t managed to make it out of eighth grade. Ricky didn’t flinch when Kona turned toward him, didn’t do much else but move his hand to the gun in his waistband.
“You wanna say that again?”
Ricky shrugged, waving off Kona’s anger and he pushed his hand into his front pocket. “You sitting on a goldmine. You can make a lot of bank on that campus. All those rich bitches do what you tell them, follow your lead.” It was the same line of bullshit Ricky always preached to Kona. He didn’t need to hear it. He turned back around, facing the Mustang again, but Ricky kept his gaze on Kona, his bid of convincing not quite done. “That’s why I picked you, man. Dudes wanna be you, chicks wanna do you because you got that thing. You’re a shepherd, not a sheep. I need shepherds, Kona, especially ones that scare the shit out of folk who think they can take what’s mine.” Kona glared at Ricky when the dealer touched his shoulder, but the asshole didn’t jerk away from him; he only shrugged as though Kona’s reaction was expected. “You don’t have to do it for long, man. You got, what, two more years? That’s plenty of time to set up some nice change for you and your girl.” When Kona’s eyes snapped back at him, Ricky laughed. “Fuck man, you need to ease up. I’m just sayin.” He whistled, a long, squeak of a sound that rang in Kona’s ears. “I ain’t never seen a dude so sprung over his chick.”