No Way Out

Keisha- Grandma's Wrath

Keisha strutted down the block like the queen she knew she was. After her spectacular victory at Tasha's baby shower, the high she felt was undeniable. It was as if the world was bowing down before her—everything she touched was gold, and she was at the top of her game. The sun kissed her skin, the birds chirped a rhythm that matched the swagger in her step, and the neighborhood seemed to hum with her triumph. Tasha's reputation was now nothing more than a cautionary tale whispered among the gossipy aunties and wannabe hustlers. But Keisha knew better than to rest on her laurels. If she was going to keep her crown, she needed to stay sharp. And right now? She needed fresh hair.

Keisha flipped her braids over her shoulder, feeling them fray at the edges. "Can't be out here runnin' the block lookin' like yesterday's news," she muttered to herself. She was already envisioning the new Brazilian bundles she'd cop from RayRay. That boy always had the goods, and a fresh weave was the final touch she needed to keep her reign untouchable.

RayRay was her go-to for all things hair. He wasn't just another corner boy pushing knock-off goods; he knew the game and had top-tier connections. But today, as Keisha approached him lounging outside the bodega, something felt off. Usually, RayRay was smooth, easy, like a player who knew his cards were always going to hit. But today? He was fidgety, his eyes darting around like a trapped rat.

"RayRay," Keisha called, her voice dripping with suspicion, "you lookin' shifty. What's good?"

RayRay straightened up, giving her a forced grin. "Keisha, my girl! I got that Brazilian you love. Top quality. Package deal. You want it or what?"

Keisha narrowed her eyes, taking in his nervous energy. "Yeah, I want it. But why you actin' like you just caught a felony? You good?"

RayRay chuckled, though it sounded more like a nervous tick than genuine amusement. He bent down behind the bodega's trash bins and pulled out a heavy duffle bag, plopping it in front of her with a thud. "Here it is," he said, avoiding eye contact.

Keisha frowned. Usually, RayRay handed her a small bag with the bundles wrapped up neat and tight. This duffle bag? It looked more like it was carrying gym weights than hair. She reached down to pick it up, and the moment her hand touched the handles, she knew something was wrong. It was too heavy. Way too heavy.

"RayRay," she said slowly, her voice thick with suspicion, "why this bag feel like it's full of bricks? This ain't no hair. You tryna play me?"

RayRay's face drained of color. He snatched the bag back, fumbling with the zipper like a kid caught with stolen candy. "Shit, wrong bag! Hold up, Keisha, it's—"

Keisha wasn't having it. She grabbed the duffle from his hands and yanked the zipper open. Her heart dropped when she saw what was inside. Not bundles. Bricks. Actual, heavy, solid bricks.

"Ray, what the hell is this?" she hissed, her eyes blazing. "You think I'm out here trying to build a house? You tryna turn me into Bob the Builder?"

RayRay's face went pale, and his eyes darted around like he was searching for an escape. "Keisha, I swear it's a mistake! That bag wasn't for you—it's for—"

Before he could finish, the worst possible thing happened. A cop car rolled by, slow as a Sunday morning stroll. The second the blue and white came into view, Keisha and RayRay froze like deer in headlights. It felt like every molecule in the air held its breath.

The cop car pulled up to the curb, and an officer stepped out, his gaze immediately locking onto the duffle bag in Keisha's hands. "Ma'am," he said, walking toward her with an air of authority, "mind telling me what you're doing with that?"

Keisha's heart pounded against her ribs like it was trying to escape. She'd been in sticky situations before, but this? This was next level. She wasn't about to let some misunderstanding involving construction materials ruin her entire hustle.