applied for a night stocker position, when some of my old boys drove by. I didn’t have shit, but I wasn’t going to let them see me sweat.
“Breezy, Breeze,” I heard a call from the car. I walked up to them.
“What up, nigga.” They each dapped me up. They were eager to see what was going on with me.
“I’m good.” I nodded.
“What you got going on for the rest of the day?” Mannie asked.
“My schedule is all open. What’s good?” I replied.
“Say no more. Hop in,” he offered. I jumped in and Mannie sped off.
For the next two hours, I rode around with my niggas while they made their rounds doing pickups. It reminded me of my days in the game, riding around, checking niggas on the block and collecting my dough. Yeah, being with those niggas made me miss the game for a split second, but when I thought about those five years and the vow I’d made the night before my release, I ain’t give a fuck about the game. My boys told me what had been up since I’d been gone. They passed the blunt around as we chatted. I declined the blunt but welcomed the information about the streets. I saw this as a perfect opportunity to verify the information I had gotten from Trixy. I asked about some of the dudes I used to roll with: Killa Mike, Cash, and Peady.
Mannie quickly gave me the rundown. “Mike and Cash got shot up during a robbery. These niggas was dressing up like the police and robbing trap houses. It didn’t take long for niggas to catch on. So one night, when these niggas tried to hit a crib, niggas was waiting on them. As soon as they kicked the door in, niggas sprayed their ass. Killa got hit fifteen times, so he ain’t make it, and Cash caught five. That nigga made it, but he paralyzed, shitting and pissing on his self every day. From what I hear, Peady supposed to be doing it big down south somewhere.”
None of that shit Mannie said was really a surprise to me. Since Mike and Cash had snitched on me, I knew those grimey niggas had it coming. As far as Peady, he was my right-hand man, so he knew how the game went. Not only did he have my knowledge about how to get things done, but he ran off with my money, so why wouldn’t he be doing good? Mannie went on to say that a nigga named Mr. Biggs was like Wal-Mart, and everyone in the seven cities was buying from him.
“I’m holding shit down in Norfolk. Whenever you ready, nigga, I can put you back on,” Mannie offered.
“Nah, duke. I ain’t fucking with that.” I declined his offer just as easily as I had declined the blunt earlier.
“All right, Breeze. I hear you, man. You trying to be on that good-boy shit. Every nigga like that when they first hit the bricks, but you know that shit’ll wear off after a while. Once the streets whip that ass real good, you’ll go back to what you know. And it’s this motherfucking white girl you know best, nigga!” Mannie spoke the truth.
Deep down, I knew what Mannie was saying was right. Selling drugs and making street paper were just about the only things I was really good at. I knew it wasn’t gonna be a easy task, but I owed it to my kids, Ma, and my grandma to stay on the right path and live legit this time around. I had expected getting propositions from niggas, so I already had my head straight. A weak nigga would have easily given in. Before the ride was over, each of them hit me off with a few dollars.
I had them drop me off at an old building a few blocks from my grandma’s crib. There was a job there I needed to check out.
“I’m here about the janitorial position you got,” I said as I walked in the front door.
There was a bald-headed black man sitting at a desk, reading the newspaper. He didn’t even look up as he spoke to me. “You got any experience son?”
“Nah, man. I’m just looking for a gig. I know how to clean up, but I ain’t never had no job,” I said, being honest.
I didn’t know what it was about this man, but I just felt like he was from the streets. He reminded me of an O.G. He finally put down his newspaper and looked up at me. He was silent as he looked me up and down from head to toe. “You on parole, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. There wasn’t any sense in lying. I figured my parole officer had already given him a heads-up that I’d be coming by, anyway.
“What you do time for? Drugs?” he asked like he knew me or something.
“Yes, sir.”
“You doing this to keep your P.O. off your back or you really trying to change?” The O.G. asked question after question.
“Man, I’m trying to live right. I lost a whole lot during that five-year bid. I’m just trying to build my life back and do it the right way,” I said sincerely.
“Okay, my man. I’ve been in your shoes. You remind me of myself when I first got out the pen. I’m gonna give you a try, but one fuck up and you’re out the door. Can you start tonight?”
“Yes, sir! I can start right now if you need me to!” I quickly took the O.G. up on his offer.
“Okay. Meet me at Freedom Bank on Granby Street at seven o’clock. If you’re late, you’re fired,” he said as he laid down the rules. “Dress comfortablly.”
“I’ll be there. Thanks, man,” I said, then walked back out of the office.
I rushed home full of excitement. I wasn’t excited about being a janitor, considering I used to have a maid of my own. To tell you the truth, the shit was kind of depressing. But I knew this was one step in the right direction and one step closer to getting my kids back.
I had just enough time to get some lunch and take a nap. While I was coming in the door, Ma and Grandma were watching the news. Ma was standing by the couch looking as if she’d just come home from work, and Grandma was in her recliner, munching on some salted peanuts.
“Hey, Breeze, how did your day go?” Ma eagerly asked.
“It was a’ight. I saw my P.O. and I got a li’l gig,” I announced, nodding my head.
“That’s wonderful. Where is the job?” Grandma inquired after taking her glasses off.
“It’s at Freedom Bank on Granby Street. I’m going to be a janitor working the evening shifts,” I explained.
“When do you start?” Ma questioned.
“Tonight.”
“Breeze, I’m so proud of you. Come give this old lady a hug,” Grandma replied, reaching her arms toward me. “I know it’s not the best job in the world, and it’s not gonna be easy, but at least it will keep you off the streets.”
“Yeah, and now you can start helping out with the bills!” Ma chimed in.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll do my part. Now are you gonna do your part and stop smoking?” I reminded Ma about the deal she’d previously made.
“Oh, shit, Breeze, I forgot all about our deal. Okay, I’ll try my best…right after this pack is finished! This shit cost me almost ten dollars and I’m not about to throw them away!” She chuckled.
“Yeah, a’ight, Ma,” I said, knowing my mom was full of shit.
“Let me fix you something to snack on. We are about to fry some fish,” Grandma suggested as she got up from her La-Z-Boy chair.
After eating dinner, I took a nap, and awoke to the sounds of gunshots. I looked out the window to see a nigga lying in the street and a car speeding off. It looked like a drive-by. Just another reminder I was back in the fucking hood. I glanced at the clock and saw it was already six. I hopped up, threw on my clothes, and headed out the door. I’d never had a job before in my life and I’d never wanted one. Who ever thought Breezy Breeze would be working, and as a janitor? Boy, shit had really changed.
I showed up at the bank fifteen minutes early. The O.G. was just pulling up. I saw this fine-ass chick standing by the front enterance as I was walking