The Hate U Give(43)
The trip to the warehouse is hell.
You got all these people pushing big flatbeds around, and them things are hard to push as it is, and you gotta maneuver it while it’s stacked with stuff. By the time we leave, I feel like Black Jesus snatched me from the depths of hell. Daddy does get me ice cream though.
Buying the stuff is only the first step. We unload it at the store, put it on the shelves, and we (scratch that, I) put price stickers on all those bags of chips, cookies, and candies. I should’ve thought about that before I agreed to hang out with Daddy. While I do the hard work, he pays bills in his office.
I’m putting stickers on the Hot Fries when somebody knocks on the front door.
“We’re closed,” I yell without looking. We have a sign, can’t they read?
Obviously not. They knock again.
Daddy appears in the doorway of his office. “We closed!”
Another knock.
Daddy disappears into his office and returns with his Glock. He’s not supposed to carry it since he’s a felon, but he says that technically he doesn’t carry it. He keeps it in his office.
He looks out at the person on the other side of the door. “What you want?”
“I’m hungry,” a guy says. “Can I buy something?”
Daddy unlocks the door and holds it open. “You got five minutes.”
“Thanks,” DeVante says as he comes in. His Afro puff has become a full-blown Afro. He has this wild look about him, and I don’t mean ’cause of his hair, but like in his eyes. They’re puffy and red and darting around. He barely gives me a nod when he passes.
Daddy waits at the cash register with his piece.
DeVante glances outside. He looks at the chips. “Fritos, Cheetos, or Dori—” His voice trails off as he glances again. He notices me watching him and looks at the chips. “Doritos.”
“Your five minutes getting shorter,” Daddy says.
“Damn, man. A’ight!” DeVante grabs a bag of Fritos. “Can I get something to drink?”
“Hurry up.”
DeVante goes to the refrigerators. I join Daddy at the cash register. It’s so obvious something is up. DeVante keeps stretching his neck to look outside. His five minutes pass at least three times. It doesn’t take anybody that long to choose between Coke, Pepsi, or Faygo. I’m sorry but it doesn’t.
“A’ight, Vante.” Daddy motions him to the cash register. “You trying to get the nerve to stick me up or you running from somebody?”
“Hell nah, I ain’t trying to stick you up.” He takes out a wad of money and sets it on the counter. “I’m paid. And I’m a King. I don’t run from no-damn-body.”
“No, you hide in stores,” I say.
He glares at me, but Daddy tells him, “She right. You hiding from somebody. Kings or GDs?”
“It’s not those GDs from the park, is it?” I ask.
“Why don’t you mind your business?” he snaps.
“You came in my daddy’s business, so I am minding my business.”
“Ay!” Daddy says. “But for real, who you hiding from?”
DeVante stares at his scuffed-up Chucks that are beyond the help of my cleaning kit. “King,” he mumbles.
“Kings or King?” Daddy asks.
“King,” DeVante repeats louder. “He wants me to handle the dudes that killed my brother. I’m not trying to have that on me though.”
“Yeah, I heard ’bout Dalvin,” Daddy says. “I’m sorry. What happened?”
“We were at Big D’s party, and some GDs stepped to him. They got into it, and one of them cowards shot him in the back.”
Oh, damn. That was the same party Khalil and I were at. Those were the gunshots that made us leave.
“Big Mav, how’d you get out the game?” DeVante asks.
Daddy strokes his goatee, studying DeVante. “The hard way,” he eventually says. “My daddy was a King Lord. Adonis Carter. A straight up OG.”
“Yo!” DeVante says. “That’s your pops? Big Don?”
“Yep. Biggest drug dealer this city ever seen.”
“Yo! Man, that’s crazy.” DeVante’s seriously fangirling right now. “I heard he had cops working for him and everything. He pulled in big money.”
I heard my granddaddy was so busy pulling in big money that he didn’t have time for Daddy. There are lots of pictures of Daddy when he was younger wearing mink coats, playing with expensive toys, flashing jewelry, and Grandpa Don isn’t in any of the pictures.
“Probably so,” Daddy says. “I wouldn’t know too much ’bout that. He went to prison when I was eight. Been there ever since. I’m his only child, his son. Everybody expected me to pick up where he left off.
“I became a King Lord when I was twelve. Shit, that was the only way to survive. Somebody was always coming at me ’cause of my pops, but if I was a King Lord I had folks to watch my back. Kinging became my life. I was down to die for it, say the word.”
He glances at me. “Then I became a daddy, and I realized that King Lord shit wasn’t worth dying for. I wanted out. But you know how the game work, it ain’t as easy as saying you done. King was the crown and he was my boy, but he couldn’t let me out like that. I was making good money too, and it was honestly hard to consider walking away from it.”