Memphis Streets 2 (Urban)

Chapter 31- Lucifer

As much as I want to give the green light to Bishop to make a move on Snake and his pussy-ass paper gangsters, I know that it's no longer my call to make. After putting down Killa Kyle, my boys and I roll over to Ruby Cove to check in with Mason, who, by all appearances, has survived another dance with the devil-barely.

"Did that nigga talk?"

The question is thrown at me the second I stroll out of the sliding glass door and into the backyard. I look over to see him concentrating on moving his silver walker an inch at a time across the back patio. Sweat is pouring down his face like a waterfall.

"What are you doing?"

"What in the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" Oh yeah-his attitude sucks, too.

I turn around and give Monk and Droopy the give us a few minutes look and then slide the glass door closed again so that we can talk privately.

"You're going to overexert yourself," I warn him.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Doctor," he barks as he inches the walker along.

"I think I know what my body can and cannot handle."

He barely gets the sentence out before his legs buckle and he and his trusted walker go their separate ways. I jump into action and rush to help.

"I got it," he says, but when I don't back away fast enough, Mason damn near takes my head off.

"Goddamn it, Leah, I said I got it!" I lift my hands up in the air and move back.

Turning away from me, he struggles to right his walker and pull himself up. After a while, his upper body trembles and quakes so bad that he looks like a human earthquake. Cutting him a break, I reach over and loop one of his arms around my shoulder and lift him off the ground and over to a nearby chair.

"You're welcome," I tell him after it's clear that he's not going to say anything. He grunts.

"What was that?" I challenge. He cuts a hard look over at me but then spits out,

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." His mismatched gaze meets mine, and his apology is clear in his softening expression.

"Really. I mean it," I add before grabbing his sunglasses up off the patio and handing them over.

"Thanks," he says again.

I nod while an awkward silence hangs between us. If I'm not careful, I'll fuck up and tell this nigga, my best friend, how I feel about his ass-about how tired I am of being scared that the next bullet he takes might be his last. I mean, damn, I'm no mathematical genius, but common sense would tell a nigga that he can't keep outsmarting the devil every time you roll through his crib. Sooner or later, he's gonna trap his ass down there, and where would that leave my ass-blasting through the city seeking revenge? And what happens after that? It hasn't been easy holding shit down this last time. Sure, I have my people's respect and loyalty, but I was as much a wreck on the inside as Bishop, thinking that we-I-was going to lose him.

"So whassup? You get that nigga to talk or what?" Mason asks again. I push up a smile.

"They always talk."

"When you're doing the wet work-no doubt." He leans forward and rubs his hands together.

"So who was the fucking trigger man?"

"Trigger woman. The rumors on the streets might be true." Mason twists up his face.

"No shit?" I shrug.