Fifteen Years Later. . .
The smell of fresh air hit me as soon as the gates opened to the place I called home for the past fifteen years. The sound of the metal door opening gave me a sense of relief as I made my way out of them.
The officer standing near the gate that led to my freedom held his fist out when I made it to him. Officer Culver was one of the officers who looked out for me from the moment I was booked. While I didn’t give a fuck about making friends in there, I knew I had to make a few allies.
On the streets, I had much respect.
I gave back to my community, and I was never on snake shit. People respected me because I was loyal. They feared mebecause, while I may have been cool, when it was time to lay my murder game down, I did that shit without a conscience.
That respect and loyalty followed me on the inside. I had a few of my crew members who had been doing time since before I got locked up. I made sure to take care of their books and their families, and in turn, they protected me inside.
Officer Culver was one of the many COs who made sure I was good, so I didn’t leave him hanging when I stuck my fist out and gave him a pound.
“I don’t want to see you back here, fam. Enjoy the rest of your years out here,” he said.
“Trust me. This is the last time you gon’ see my face.”
And I meant that shit.
He gave a curt nod as I continued my stroll down the paved walkway. I looked to my left and spotted Meeko leaning on the hood of a brand-new Durango SRT and smiled.
“My nigga free out this bitch!” he exclaimed as I walked up to him, slapped palms, then hugged him.
“It’s good to see you, my baby,” I told him.
“Good to see you too, man.”
I pulled away. “Get me the fuck away from this bitch, bro.”
“You got it. Let’s get up out of here.” We got inside the truck and pulled away from that shithole.
Once we were inside, Meeko handed me a phone, two credit cards, and one debit card.
“Fuck kind of phone is this?”
He chuckled. “That’s the new iPhone 12 Pro-Max.”
“Nigga, I don’t know how to work this shit.”
He laughed again. “I’ll help you once we touch down.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t know shit about this. Where Troub and Killa at?” I asked. Meeko glanced over at me, then looked away, shaking his head.
“The last time I talked to you, you told me you wanted to chill for the next six months with no more contact. A lot of shit happened within that time.”
I rubbed my beard, wondering if I wanted to hear what he was about to tell me. “Fuck it. Spit it.”
“Trouble is a drug addict, bro.”
I frowned. “What?”
“Yeah, started snorting coke a little after you got sent away. He was straight for a while, but then shit just started going downhill. Started smoking 51’s, then straight crack, and now he on that boy. Killa and I tried to help him, man, still trying, but the homie is too far gone to listen.”
“Fuck!” I yelled, pounding my fist on the dashboard. That shit broke my heart to hear this shit about our brother. Trouble, Meeko, Killa, and I had been best friends since junior high. We did everything together, including getting into the drug game and making a killing. If it hadn’t been for him taking my gun that night, they would have possibly hit me with ten more years on top of that fifteen. The ho-ass nigga’s ass that I beat spent almost a month in the hospital. He testified against me when he was the one who touched my girl.
My girl.
Jordin Wallace.