Black Buck(27)

“What’s good, Wally Cat?” I noticed he was wearing a particularly bright Hawaiian shirt.

“How was your firs’ day?”

“Hard. They got us workin’ on some script, and today we’ll be role-playin’.”

“What those white people even have you sellin’ over there? Whenever I read up on these new tech companies and all that Mark Zuckerwho shit, even my head spins. I know they gotchu on some crazy shit.”

“To be honest, I’m still not sure. It’s like a platform where people can talk to other people around the world to get help with their problems. You know, therapy without all the bullshit.”

He threw his hands up and sucked his teeth. “Without all the bullshit? That shit ain’ made for no Black people, Darren. Tha’s some rich white women shit, nigga. Ain’ no Black people need no therapists, ’cause we don’ be havin’ those mental issues. OCD, ADD, PTSD, and all those other acronyms they be comin’ up with every day. I’m tellin’ you, the only acronyms Black folk need help with is the NYPD, FBI, CIA, KKK, and KFC, ’cause I know they be puttin’ shit in those twelve-piece bucket meals to make us addicted to them. All that saturated fat, sodium. That shit crack, but—”

“Aight, man. I gotta go, Wally Cat. Can’t be late. But thanks for the talk.”

“Aye, I gotta piece of advice ’fore you go. I been on this corner long enough to see tens of thousands of transactions go down. And what I learned is that either you sellin’ somebody on yes or they sellin’ you on no. No matter what happens, some nigga gon’ be walkin’ away worse off than the other nigga, so you gotta figure out how tha’s never you, you feel me?”

Reader: Pay attention to what Wally Cat just said, minus all the acronym BS. Whether you sell someone on yes or they sell you on no, a sale is always made.



“Word, good looks,” I said, dapping him up and heading into the subway. I checked my phone: 7:05 a.m. I’d make it.

It was 7:40 a.m. when I got to 3 Park Avenue, so I figured I had enough time to say hi to my old soldiers.

Carlos mopped the floor as Nicole made drinks. “What’s up, guys?”

Carlos looked up and threw his hands in the air, the broom slapping the wet floor. “Ayo, Darren! What’s good, hermano? Thought we’d never see you back here now that you’re all fancy up in the penthouse, bro.”

“Never that.” I dapped him up and surveyed the area. Everything looked as I had left it except for the cardboard cutouts on the counter advertising a new heart-stopping concoction.

“Darren!” Nicole shouted behind the register. “I’d come and hug you, but I gotta get these drinks out,” she said, wiping sweat from her brow. Part of me missed her—all of them. I missed the familiarity, I missed being the real HNIC with no one else to tell me what to do or hurl insults at me like I was a stray dog.

“All good, Nicole!” I shouted back over the coffee machine’s whir.

But when I was about to head upstairs, I realized something was off.

“Hey, Carlos. Where’s Brian?”

He nodded at the back room. I approached and heard shouting behind the door. I opened it and found Brian sitting in a chair, his face soaked in tears, as Jared loomed over him like an overseer ready to bust his ass.

“What the fuck is going on here?” I asked, looking from Jared to Brian.

“What’re you doing here?” Jared asked, surprised. “You don’t work here anymore.”

“Why is he crying?”

“It’s none of your business, guy,” Jared said, pushing me out of the door.

“Touch me again and I’ll break your hand.”

“Well, maybe you should’ve taught this kid how to make coffee. He keeps burning all of the beans and spilling shit. I don’t know what’s up with him.”

I grabbed Brian’s arm, helped him up, and walked him out, leaving Jared standing in the room.

“What’s going on, Brian?” I patted his face with a napkin.

“I don’t know. It’s just—FUCK! Sorry. It’s just that without you here—” He quickly covered his mouth and held his hand there until he snuffed out the next expletive as if he were suppressing a sneeze. “I’m sorry, Darren. Without you here, it just feels like I’m sort of alone. And I’m just distracted.”

I took a long look at Brian and wondered what would happen to him. When I was the HNIC, my concern stretched as far as making sure he was happy and focused, but I never wondered where he’d go from here. Even so, he’d always looked up to me, which maybe was where part of the confidence I had to pitch Rhett that day came from. I had to be there for him.

I grabbed his shoulders. “Listen, man. I’m just trying to figure out this new job myself, but maybe I could give you a referral or something like that. Once I get settled. I’m not saying you’d get hired, but I could at least put in a good word in a month or two.”

He smiled, exposing beautiful teeth that looked like pearls in black velvet, and his eyes threatened to jump out of his skull like a cartoon character’s. “You would do that for me?”

“Sure, man,” I said, as I patted his shoulders. “I gotta go, but keep your head up. Do your job and don’t get fired.”