Chicago

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

     The sun set sooner as it was the dead of winter in Chicago. Saint strolled home since his finances couldn't afford the luxury of an Uber. His hands found shelter in his pockets as he tensed his body up to preserve all of it's heat. He was only minutes away from Crispin's house and was counting every step until he finally reached there.

To keep his mind of the frigid temperature, he was stuck thinking about Chai and what could've happened to her in the bathroom. It was unsettling to know that whatever happened landed her right in the hospital. He knew her ex had something to do with it and he felt bad that she still had to put up with him.

Saint walked past the auto shop which was a landmark to let him know that he was even closer to his destination. He grew excited and never felt more happier to lay down on a couch. But his happiness fell short once he heard footsteps behind him.

He looked behind him to see an all-black figure casually strolling up to him. Saint quickly switched to defense mode as he took his hands out of his pockets, ready to fight whoever was coming towards him. He didn't know who it was but he was educated enough about the streets to know that danger was near.

"You always ready to fight. That's what I liked about you back when we was youngin's in 'Wood."

Saint took an exhausted breath as Trent walked closer and closer to him. His hands occupied his pockets and Saint had no clue as to whether there was a sharp blade ready to cut through his skin or a gun loaded with a silver bullet in there.

Saint wasn't prepared for his next encounter with Trent. He had gotten so invested in work and trying to make it off of Crispin's couch that he had forgotten there was a killer out there ready to make him his next victim.

"You know, back when you was a real nigga."

"I've been a real nigga. Just trying to get my shit together. Something you can't seem to do," Saint grew snappy. He had enough. He was tired of explaining himself to people—especially a little boy who couldn't seem to mature past high school.

"You can disrespect me all you want nigga, just choose your last words wisely,"

Trent eased his hand out of his pocket and exposed his weapon. This time it was an all black gun with a thick handle and a small barrel. Saint wasn't afraid. He had already faced death and he was tired of trying to hide from it. He was tired of hiding from Trent.

"Is that the gun you used to kill Skit?"

"I ain't kill nobody."

"Stop playing in my face man. You know you killed him. Why? Why'd you do it? You know Skit was down for anything. He was riding with you to the very end. That's how you do ya' brothers? You kill them every time they don't agree with whatever fuckshit you doing?"

Trent didn't say a word as he kept his hand on the gun.

"I ain't never met a more insecure nigga in my life. You so worried about who loyal to you that you can't even focus on becoming a better man."

"There ain't nothing to improve nigga. I am who I am and I don't ever forget that. You go to the pen' once and start turning your back on niggas like we ain't take you in as family."

"I ruined my fucking life for this shit. I can't even get a regular fucking job because the first thing they see is my record. My own family don't want nothing to do with me because I'm a felon. You don't got to deal with that shit, man. You can turn your life around right now if you wanted to. Get a job or even go back to college—"

"You my father or something nigga? Shut the fuck up, I don't want to hear all that. I'm a street nigga and I will be till' the day I die. Any nigga that can't get down with that gon' have to go, simple as that."