Technically, I’d already graduated from the community college. But I didn’t really feel like finding off-campus housing right then, so I decided to shoot for my Master’s degree. That way, I could stay in the dorms a little bit longer. My fast-food job was doing pretty good. All four of us in the suite were living nice off the free food I brought back every single night after my shift.
I mean, it was unhealthy as fuck, sure. But free food is free food, you feel me? Why rush out of a situation when the setup is already this good?
But there was one thing I never liked doing: favors. Actually, let me rephrase that. I specifically hated doing favors for Michael’s ass.
You guys remember Michael, right? The same white boy who glassed his plug in the face and stole his stash. He almost got my life ended in a drive-by. Yeah, that white nigga.
To be fair, Michael had reformed a little bit lately. He was helping clean up the suite more. He also stopped buying weed from sketchy-ass plugs, only getting it from close friends or other students on campus. He was doing a lot better.
But the one thing I still couldn’t stand was doing favors for the man. And those Arizona teas he always had? He couldn’t even bribe me with them anymore after the massive favor he asked me to pull.
Now you’re probably wondering,
Rico, why do you always make him pay you in Arizona iced tea instead of just cash?
I’m a simple creature, man. I’m not hard to please, and keeping it simple means people do what I want without a fuss. Plus, I don’t feel like spending my own money on drinks. Getting Arizona on my own dime has me fucked up. But that’s beside the point.
One night, I came back home from my shift at the joint, carrying a heavy load of food we were gonna throw away anyway. I had a bunch of Crunchwraps and burritos. I also grabbed those delicious cinnamon twist things. I even brought back a whole family-size bucket of KFC. They’d brought back the barbecue sauce chicken, too, so you know it was delicious as fuck. And of course, I couldn’t walk out of a KFC/Taco Bell combo without bringing back at least three giant cups of Baja Blast.
The chicken and the Mexican food were made with ingredients that were going to expire the next day, so Jacob wasn’t tripping about me taking them. However, I did pay for the Baja Blasts out of my own pocket. I wasn’t about to put my boy in a bad position just to save a few dollars on soda. If a corporate higher-up came down on his ass, we’d both be cooked. We had to hold it down together, you feel me? Fuck these big corporations. To them, we’re easily replaceable while they sit on their asses deciding who they’re gonna fire next.
When I stepped through the door, it was raining hard as fuck. I was completely covered in water, looking like I’d just crawled out of a goddamn swimming pool. I walked into the living room and found Zachary and Michael chilling on the couch.
“What up, fools?” I asked.
“Yurrr! My dog Rico!” Michael yelled. “He came back with the food again!”
I walked over, dapped up Michael, and then did the same with Zach.
“I know it must’ve been pouring out there,” Zachary said, looking at the puddles forming at my feet.
“Like a motherfucker,” I said, shaking some water out of my hair. “I’m so soaking wet right now, I’m wetter than sperm whale pussy, my nigga.”
I walked over and put the heavy bags on the table. “But other than that, we’re eating good. I packed about ten burritos and ten Crunchwraps this time. Plus, we got that big-ass bucket with the family-size barbecue chicken. That’s a whole twenty-piece.”
“Hell yeah!” Michael grinned, immediately tearing into one of the bags. “That’s fucking sweet! I tried to get some earlier but it was sold out at all the other locations. You guys were just about to throw some away?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “Jacob intentionally lied to the customers and told them we were sold out so we could have it for tonight. I did help him get that manager position, so he was returning the favor. But to pay him back, I bought the Baja Blasts this time.”
“Damn, our bad,” Zach said. “You just got paid, too. You didn’t have to buy the drinks.”
“It’s cool, Zach,” I said, grabbing a dry towel from the kitchen. “Y’all my niggas. I don’t mind going the extra mile to make sure we’re straight. You guys are the closest thing I got to brothers, so it’s all love.”
“Speaking of which,” Michael said, leaning back. “Did you put money on Kobe’s books again? We went to go see him while you were working. He couldn’t stop talking about how grateful he is for you doing that.”
I sighed. “Damn, Michael. Now you’re making me feel bad. I wish I could go see him more, but my schedule is already crazy trying to get this Mastery in coding. I’m just trying to make sure I got the big bucks waiting for me when I’m done.”
“Don’t sweat it, bro,” Michael said. “He already knows you’d be there if you had the time. He appreciates you getting the commissary together for him. But he did want me to ask you to stop sending him cash.”
I stopped, looking at him. “What the fuck? Why?”
“It’s because he doesn’t need it anymore,” Michael explained. “You’ve been sending at least fifty bucks out of your paycheck every single time. So, Kobe used your money to make more money for himself. He’s basically the Candyman of the prison now. He doesn’t even need your cash anymore. Bro, when I tell you he couldn’t stop glazing you when we went to visit him, I mean he literally couldn’t stop talking about you.”
I just sat there for a second. Damn. I was just trying to help out my boy because I knew he was probably going through it mentally. But it was good to know he was doing better. He might never get out of jail, but at least I knew he was doing well. That was the best I could do.
Then I looked over at the TV. “Are you guys watching the Fred movie?”
“Michael is watching the Fred movie,” Zachary said without looking up. “I’m just on my phone texting some hoes.”
Michael took a big huff out of his vape pen, blowing a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Hell yeah I’m watching this movie. It’s a cinematic masterpiece, the greatest movie of all time. It is absolutely preposterous that this shit didn’t win an Oscar or some type of award.”
Preposterous? Look at Michael using big-ass words now. I see you, my boy.
“It’s soaking, creamy nostalgia,” Michael continued.
Okay, my boy... pause?
“If you ever want to make your girl’s sweet, peachy pussy soaking wet like you are right now,” Michael said, pointing his vape at me, “put on Fred: The Movie on DVD. I swear to fucking God, it will do the trick.”
“Fuck you for that joke,” I muttered.
“That movie is literally like a fever dream of our childhood, Michael,” Zachary added.
“Hell yeah it is,” Michael said. “It’s my comfort movie.”
“Dead ass?” I asked.
“Dead ass. Fred: The Movie got me through some dark times in the crib alone.”
I shook my head. “Yeah... that movie is dog shit.”
“Yeah, definitely some dog shit,” Zachary agreed. “But it’s Michael’s dog shit, and we need to respect his choice.”
“But anyways,” I said, grabbing a burrito from the bag. “What do you guys got going on today?”
“I got some late-night classes I’m doing later,” Zachary said. “Who knew civil rights law required night classes just to make sure you can argue your shit good in court?”
“Okay, Zach, I see you,” I smiled. “Don’t let me hate on you. Make sure you pass that bar. Unlike society, the bar test is actually pretty high.” I turned to Michael. “Now, what about you, fat ass?”
“I mean, this morning I’m just chilling,” Michael said, shifting his weight. “But later tomorrow, I got a new delivery I have to make. Some guy who moved here from Virginia ordered a whole pound off me. He’s coming into some major paper this year. Doing what I do, you know—young entrepreneurship shit. Be your own boss, work for yourself, fuck a nine-to-five.”
I couldn’t help but start laughing. “What do you do, DoorDash or something?”
“No, bruh,” Michael frowned. “We’ve been over this like a thousand times. For somebody so smart, you do be forgetting a lot sometimes.”
“Oh, I’m the one who be forgetting?” I retorted. “Says the guy who literally goes to Mars and back every single day. You be forgetting your own body, my nigga, but I’m not allowed to forget a single thing?”
“Did you not just hear what I said?” Michael said, rolling his eyes. “I’m delivering a whole pound to this dude who came from Virginia. I sell drugs, bro.”
My face went from amusement to pure dread.
Honestly, it was like I’d actually forgotten he was in the game. I always thought he was just playing, because there was no way this dude had the impulse control to not smoke up his entire supply. Plus, he came from a well-off family in the suburbs, so what the fuck did he need the money for anyway?
“Why, dude?” I groaned. “You came from the fucking suburbs, my nigga. You didn’t even know what a corner store was until you went to college, bro. Why the fuck are you doing this janky-ass, hood-nigga shit?”
“It’s not janky,” Michael said defensively. “It’s fast cash. Easiest way to make money.”
I just palmed my forehead in pure frustration.
“Michael, I’m gonna keep it a stack with you,” I said. “You definitely need a new revenue route, because this shit you’re doing right now is not it. You’re about to either get robbed or killed doing this shit. Especially if you sell to the wrong nigga.”
“Well, damn, don’t be praying on a guy’s downfall,” Michael muttered, waving his hand. “You’re just trying to manifest that bad energy in the air.”
I wasn’t trying to manifest shit. The truth is, nobody wins forever in that game. There’s no way you can sell weight and not have your customers constantly thinking about robbing your ass or trying to finesse you.
“You just need to relax, dude,” Michael said, leaning back. “Selling weed is where it’s at. I’m on my Scarface shit. Fast cash, easy bread. It’s not like I’m selling crack cocaine or anything. It’s just some bud, so it’s no big deal.”
“But why do you sell it, dog?” I asked, exasperated. “Why? Like,
WHY
?”
“It’s lucrative and it’s easy,” he said. “People are addicted to it, so I’m always going to have customers. The target’s rich!”
He reached into his backpack, pulled his hand out, and dropped at least ten bands in cash onto the table.
“Look at this shit,” Michael said, literally rubbing his face into the green stack. “Mmm, Mmm, MMM! This is how much I made this month alone trapping. I’m feeling quite extravagant. I’m doing good, my boy. I’m doing pretty damn good.”
“And let me guess,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “You need me to drive your ass all the way up there, huh?”
“Bingo!” Michael grinned. “But don’t worry. I already knew exactly what you wanted before I even asked, so I got this a week in advance.”
He reached behind the couch and pulled out a cardboard box.
“A twelve-pack of Arizona Tea. Since you always make me buy you one every time I need a favor, this box right here is good for twelve favors.”
I eyed the box. “You know I don’t just drink any random flavor, nigga. What kinds of tea you got in there?”
“Three Mucho Mangos and three Fruit Punches,” Michael said, counting them off. “Plus, you got three Kiwi Strawberries and three Blueberry White Teas.”
Holy shit. He actually remembered the exact ones I liked.
“Bro, you must be infatuated with me or something,” I said. “Fruit Loop ass nigga. I didn’t even tell you I liked those specifically.”
“Yeah, I’m the fruity one,” Michael sneered. “Why do you like all of these fruity-ass teas while you’re over here shooting out gay jokes? A real man would’ve just got regular sweet tea or an Arnold Palmer. Hell, I even let you slide before on that virgin piña colada cocktail. But no, you want Kiwi Strawberry and actual fruit punch with your fruity-looking ass.”
Zachary was dying laughing. I felt so played I didn’t even have a comeback. Usually, I’m the one doing the roasting, but he got my ass so good they might as well have called me a pork roast.
“Shut the fuck up talking to me, dude,” I muttered, snatching the twelve-pack from his hands. “What time do you need to meet your client, bro?”
“At around 7:00 P.M. One of my other clients told me he was chill, so he should be good.”
“All right, bet. But you know you can’t do this shit forever, dog. You know weed is legal for recreational use where we live, but if it’s not from a licensed dispensary and you have an ungodly amount of it, they can still hit you with possession with intent to distribute. Eventually, you’ll have to get other sources of income. Legal sources of income.”
“Rico is actually spitting, Michael,” Zachary chimed in, looking up from his phone. “Nobody can just do crimes forever. You always end up getting caught lacking, either by the cops or by your ops.”
“Relax, guys. I’ll be extra careful,” Michael said, taking another pull from his vape.
“Especially since the last time I got shot at. Ain’t nobody trying to go through that shit again. But you guys are right. This is just temporary until I get enough money to buy my own crib. My dad stopped sending me money when he found out I like smoking weed, so I’m just a little tighter on cash than usual.”
“Whatever,” I sighed, walking toward my room. “Just drop the address in my phone. I’m finna take my ass to sleep.”
The plan was simple: drive him to his weed deal, let him make his drop, and then head straight back home. That’s all it was supposed to be.
But everybody knows goddamn well that when things seem that simple, they’re usually too good to be true.