“A’ight. Slide by Glade, third building from the end. Don’t talk to nobody. Don’t post up long. In and out,” Juelz instructed, handing him a prepaid flip. “Only call me if it’s somethin’ real.”
Trig snatched the phone. “Say less.” He hopped out and disappeared around the corner.
Juelz pulled off, checking his mirrors before hitting the main road. He cut through a back lot near Fremont, and pulled up beside a beat-up Maxima, and two boys were posted outside smoking and play-fighting like the little niggas they were.
“Yo,” Juelz called out through the window. “Cut all that shit out and come hop in.”
They slid in, the smell of weed and oversprayed cologne trailing them. Both were young, maybe seventeen, eighteen, broke, and ready to work. That’s all he needed. Juelz popped the trunk on the Charger but didn’t get out just yet.
“I got some work I need y’all boys to move quickly,” he said, eyes flicking between both of them. “Ain’t no time for all that flexin’ and shit y’all be doin’. I need y'all boys on ya toes.”
“How fast?” one of them, Lil’ Rico, asked, already checking the corner like somebody might be watching.
Juelz lit a pre-rolled blunt before he answered. “Fast, nigga. Think 48 hours. Max. I’m tryna out this new connect, and I need this shit to move expeditiously.” He took a hit of his blunt. “That’s the only way them niggas gon’ fuck with us.”
“Say less,” the other one, K, nodded. “We on it.”
Juelz looked hard at them both. “Deadass. If y’all fuck this up, that’s y’all ass. You feel me?”
Both boys went quiet and nodded fast.
“A’ight. I’ll hit y’all in two days. That’s enough time to get rid of that work. Grab that duffel in the trunk.”
They jumped out, grabbed the duffel as if death were written on it. Juelz took one more drag of his blunt, then tossed the rest out of the window and peeled off.
Three days later…
Tasha's alarm clock went off at 5:15 a.m., and she slapped at it, realizing she couldn’t hit snooze again, and it was really time for her to get her ass up. She had hardly slept at all last night, due to the constant pain she kept feeling in her stomach. Juelz was still knocked out, one arm stretched across the bed as if he were glad he had the bed to himself. She watched him for a second before bending down to kiss him on the forehead. She went into the bathroom to take care of her hygiene, then she was off to work.
Twenty minutes later, the elevator doors slid open, and that hospital air hit Tasha like a cold ass shower. Emerald City always had some shit happening. Loud patient screaming, constanttrauma codes, machines always beeping, phones ringing off the wall, and nurses with rubber soles squeaking down the tile as if there were water spilled on the floor.
Tasha placed the chart binder under her arm, pinned her badge to her scrub jacket, and headed to her assigned floor. She was barely three hours into a twelve-hour shift and already overworked.
“Morning, superstar,” Nurse Kenya yelled from the front desk, her gum popping like a drumline. She was Niyah's replacement after she left, but she wasn’t anything like her. It was something definitely off about Nurse Kenya; Tasha couldn’t put her hands on it just yet.
“Morning, girl. You lookin’ too happy for a Monday,” Tasha called back, sliding on gloves.
Kenya grinned. “That’s ‘cause I took PTO Friday. I’m well rested and full on the ‘D’.”
“Must be nice,” Tasha muttered. PTO felt like a rumor she’d heard once, not something real people got to use.
Her first stop was Room 212. Mr. Donald, a chronic line-puller, was halfway out of the bed, wires everywhere.
“Mr. Donald,” Tasha clapped her hands loudly. “What wenotgon’ do is rip out these IVs again.” She caught the tubing just before it slipped loose. “You know yo veins are hard to thread with this needle.”
“I was just stre— stretching,” he grumbled.
“Stretch yo behind back in this bed, sir. They don’t pay me enough for all this back and forth.”
He snorted, which was close enough to a laugh. Tasha checked his vitals, jotted notes, and stood up, and then a rush of heat swept through her. The room tilted slightly, a small invisible earthquake. She gripped the rail until the feeling eased.
“Whoa,” she whispered. “What the hell?”
“You okay, Nurse Tasha?” The Patient Care Tech asked while she placed a fresh cup of ice water on the bedside table.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she lied, while forcing a thin smile. “Stood up too fast, I think.”
Her stomach cramped, with a dull twist. She eased it down, then finished documenting the chart, and hustled to the next patient.