The Nine

Chapter 4.3: Cayman

I woke up to the sound of laughter.

Wallace was doubled over laughing. "This nigga fainted from a shot in the finger!" He was doubled over on the armchair in my living room. I was laid on the floor. My bare back was pressed against the cold, dark wooden floor. My bloody shirt was thrown to the corner of the room. A woman was standing over me.

It took a second for my vision to return completely. It was then that I realized who the woman was. It was Allison, an unemployed RN on my personal payroll. If something crazy went down, she would get a call up for some medical assistance. I ain't fuck with doctors like talking bout. I hardly ever made use of her; I had actually been planning on getting rid of her only a couple of days ago. It was fate that I ain't fire her then. Wallace must've phoned her.

"Shut up Wallace," she chided over his cackling, "the nigga's hand was damn near blown off."

"Yeah," I mumbled, "shut yo bitch ass up."

Wallace laughed harder. Allison smirked as her eyes roamed over my chest, one side of which was coated in tattoos spanning the length of my right arm. She always smelled spicy, in a good way. Her titties were all pressed against my nose, and her white smile was the only thing her short, brown hair didn't drape over.

"I told yo ass a long time ago to get out the game, so now that you ain't listen, shitchea imma laugh. Shoulda listened baby boy." Wallace assisted Allison in helping me up. My whole hand was bandaged.

"Mane fuck you. Ally, how long imma have to wear this wrap around my hand?"

"You can take it off in a day or two, but you'll have to see an actual doctor about the injury. The bullet's not in there anymore, if that's what you're worried about."

This is what my retarded ass got for tryna pull some Mr. and Mrs. Smith type shit.

"How much I owe you?"

"How much is yo life worth nigga?" Allison retorted. I glared at her.

"I wouldn't complain about three hundred more on payday." She muttered.

"I bet yo ass wouldn't," I said, smacking her on the ass. She gripped my bandaged hand and applied pressure. I winced.

"Don't test me, boss. I gotta get back to my kids. Hopefully they ass still sitting down watching SpongeBob. Don't fuck around and get shot again while I'm gone." She sashayed toward the door. "And remember my raise!"

"Won't be no damn raise if I get my fucking block knocked off," I muttered when she closed the door. I turned to Wall, "you counted them shams for me while I was out?"

He nodded. "It's nine grand."

I looked, bug-eyed. "That's it son?"

He nodded, "and some change."

I coulda fainted again right then and there. I needed twelve grand for when my guy rolled around at six-thirty. Sweet was never gonna go for this.

My heart sank when I eyed the clock on the wall and saw it was six fifteen.

I spent the next ten minutes in a panic. I didn't have any cash on hand to cover this. I had maybe two hundred on me, Wallace had one-fifty, and all the houses where I stored my money at were all a good hour away.

Sure enough, the doorbell at the back of the house rang at six-thirty on the dot. I was three stacks short.

I opened the peephole and there was the guy standing there. I never learned his name - Sweet's employees never knew a coworker except the ones under them - but he was a cool dude. He was maybe nineteen, dreaded up, and deep in the game like I was at that age. He'd always ask to chill at the crib for twenty minutes, but I always said no. The fuck he wanted in here for? This was squad territory only. But that ain't keep the lil nigga from asking.