HARDAWAY | trilogy

V3 - Chapter Twenty Nine.

𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

               Sky was baby blue with a mixture of orange due to the sunrise; a slightly breeze early this morning. I listened to the birds chirping, roosters crowing the distance, and indistinct conversations from down the block. Around this time, the neighborhood was fairly quiet and peaceful. I had on my old fleece Johns Hopkins crewneck sweatshirt and high waisted yoga pants; wearing Nike Tanjun sandals, sitting on the front porch. My hair remained in the two-strand flat twist I done last night.

The recognizable dark Bentley Continental GT turned into the driveway and parked. Just as the driver door opened, I leaned forward and watched Rico step out in a gray, elongated Nike crewneck sweater and dark denim jeans. A backwards cap covering the top of his tapered fade. Diamond Stud earrings and a single chain around his neck.

"What up, baby? Thought you ain't wanna see me unless it involves the baby?" Rico asked, stepping on the stone porch steps in his nike air maxes. "Or shall I say, babies?"

"Real hilarious," I rolled my eyes. "I phoned because I need your help find Courtnee. It's been two weeks and I haven't heard from her."

"Y'know how yo' sister is doe. She disappear; that's what she do."

"I know, but even when she does, she would call me or Giovanni at least after the first few days and she haven't. Or I would wake up to more of her clothes missing. Nothing has been touched since Memaw's funeral." I let him know, "I'm getting nervous now. We may not get along but burying my sister only two weeks after my Grandmother? I cannot survive that."

Rico leaned on the brick post of the porch patio, eying me. "No call or text to Giovanni either?"

"Not one."

He nodded his head. "C'mon; we'll go ride around and see what up."

Standing to cushioned footbed sandals, I opened the screen door and main door and took a hold of my keys and phone from the near table. I locked the door before Rico and me got into the blue leather interior of his luxurious vehicle. Kem's "I Can't Stop Loving You" plays from the speakers when he cranked the engine. Not wanting to hear about love, I irritably switched stations to our Hip Hop and R&B station that played some bullshit rap I've never heard before.

Though my strong dislike for new age Hip Hop, I rather listen to it than listening to a song about love in the same environment as Rico.

Rico laughed inwardly in the next seat. "You love that song."

Correction. "Loved."

"We just listened to it last month..."

"Yeah, and last month I thought I was carrying an anonymous man's baby, but you see how shit can change so drastically?"

He took in a deep breath and exhales, eying the road. "How you feelin? You tryna grab a bite?"

"No." I declined his offer, staring the window just as the thought of Waffle House popped in my mind and my stomach quickly growled. "Well. . if I decide to after we find my sister, Waffle House sound just fine and it's on your dime."

Rico smirked in my peripherals as he glanced at me. "Wouldn't have it no otha' way."

About a ten minute drive, Rico steered on the Eastside of Lyrewood — the home of the housing projects, homeless, and prostitutes walking the streets. I lived on the south; the second roughest side of the city. Any drug dealers slanging any type of drugs from marijuana to crack or cocaine, the Eastside was the place to be. Crackheads on every corner and at long-standing corner stores. Southside was rough, but with nice houses. However, the east, it looked rough and is rough.