it, Kyle could get it. Kyle was the literal hustle man of the neighborhood and he had his ear to the streets about everything. Nothing got past my brother. Nothing at all. I always thought that could be a good and a bad thing. I was always worried about him out there doing nefarious shit to get money. The world was a crazy-ass place.
“What’s wrong with you?” Kyle asked, immediately sensing something with me. I still thought that shit was amazing, and it had been.
“Damn, you too,” I said, chuckling. “Mama just did the same damn thing when she hugged me. That’s so crazy. Y’all really act like that bond thing is that serious.”
“C’mon, twin. You know better. You know I know shit when you feeling down and out or hurting,” he replied, one eyebrow raised like I should already know this. “I can feel it all up in your body and see it all up in your face. You’re stressed about something. It better not be no nigga stressing you. I will tighten somebody up over you, twin.”
“It is definitely not a nigga stressing me, boy. And, really, what’s going on with me is actually not that big of a deal when it all boils down. My boss giving me shit, that’s all,” I said, not really wanting to elaborate all that much, all over again.
“Who is he? You know I don’t play that. He might be the boss at that job, but I’m the boss in real life,” Kyle said, cracking his knuckles for emphasis and his face going serious.
I laughed a bit and pushed him on the arm playfully. “First of all, it is not a he, it’s a she. And I don’t need you to beat anyone up like when we were kids. She’s just giving me a hard time about my story content. She’s pressuring me for a big story. She’s always putting the pinch on me for bigger and bigger stories. No matter what I bring in, no matter how good it is, she is never satisfied. She wants some kind of scandalous shit that she feels will earn me the spot on TV that I’ve been working for. She is even hurling threats around that if I don’t come up with something soon, she will be forced to let me go . . . blah, blah, blah . . . You know how white people with a little bit of power act . . . like they’re the master and you’re the slave,” I explained.
“Damn, she sound like a real bitch,” Kyle replied. “I know you be out there getting busy with them stories too. Your ass even be going undercover and all that. I remember that robbery at that strip club, while you was under in there trying to get a good story. And what about the time you was faking like a prostitute to find out who was snatching them prostitutes off the street down there?” Kyle recounted. He shook his head in disgust. “What more the bitch want? She want you to sell your soul to the Devil or some shit?”
I shook my head and agreed with what he was saying. I’d been going hard from the day I started working at the station. “I don’t know. She keeps using the word ‘scandal,’ ‘scandal,’ ‘scandal.’ She doesn’t want your run-of-the-mill robbery or missing person. She wants something bigger and better. I’m just at a loss, that’s all I know,” I said, even though I knew that I wasn’t going to get any real feedback from him. He wasn’t big on giving advice. He was more of a listener than anything. But for some odd reason he seemed engaged and concerned. I watched him as he rubbed his chin, just like my mother always did. He looked like he was thinking, and I was shocked.
“Shit, I know plenty of scandals you can report on,” he finally said, taking his hair pick from his pocket, sticking it into his neat Afro, and picking his hair as he spoke.
“I’ve already tried these petty-crime stories. You just said you remember the robbery I almost died trying to report on and the prostitution thing I went undercover for. That type of street shit won’t fly anymore, twin. She doesn’t want any more of those,” I said, lowering my eyes to the floor. “She wants something earth-shattering, I guess. She wants me to be standing over a dead body, or chasing down the killer, or something that will shake up the world,” I said, gesturing with my arms spread wide.
“Don’t discount the shit I know, sis. My shit ain’t all petty-crime stories,” Kyle said like he was a tiny bit offended by my comment. “You think everything I got my hands in is in the hood?” he asked, chuckling. “Think again. They don’t call me worldwide K.Y. for nothing, you dig? I can rub elbows with the best of them . . . from tracksuits to tuxedos, feel me? I know some real scandalous shit involving people you’d never think about being involved.”
I tilted my head to the side. “What are you talking about?” I asked, intrigued now. Maybe he was onto something that I needed to know.
“See, see, now you want to know what I’m talking about,” he taunted.
“Just tell me,” I shot back; my patience had worn thin.
“How would your bitch of a boss feel about a scandal involving the possible future mayor of Norfolk being involved in all kinds of illegal shit?” he asked, rubbing his hands together like he was cooking something up in his mind. “How would that be for an earth-shattering story?”
I moved to the edge of my seat; my eyebrows arched on my face. “What do you mean ‘the possible future mayor of Norfolk’? Like, a candidate that is running?”
“I mean, what if the number one candidate for mayor, Anton Barker, who is currently the defense attorney for some of the most ruthless-ass, drug-dealing killers walking the streets, is running for mayor of Norfolk so he can let all that illegal shit go down and keep getting paid by the criminal clients he’s been defending all of these years. What if I tell you that behind that suit and tie and white-tooth smile, Barker is a two-faced motherfucker pretending to be a politician, but is the biggest criminal walking?” Kyle replied, a wicked little grin spreading over his lips.
“Stop playing with my emotions, Kyle,” I grumbled at first. “Are you making this shit up as you go along? This sounds like something from a TV show or movie.”
“You ain’t got no faith in me? You ain’t learn over all the years we been alive that I don’t play around all of the time?” he asked, shaking his head at me.
“Wait . . . are you being serious? Or are you just talking shit?” I asked, my heart speeding up with excitement. “Because I’m in a real tight situation here with my boss and I don’t have time to play around. That story sounds like exactly what that bitch Christian is looking for.”
“I’m so serious, twin. I can get you that story, but we gotta be careful, though. That nigga Barker ain’t no joke. All of us street niggas know better than to get too close. Only pretty women can get close to him. He got a thing for bad chicks, if you know what I mean. But on the same token, he goes through a lot of shit to hide and protect himself, feel me? He plans on becoming mayor in a few months. That is, unless you break this story and bust up the election, but just know if you do that, you might have to have a lot of protection around you afterward,” Kyle said, his tone getting serious. “Be sure you’re ready to live like that for a while. It would be like being in Witness Protection or some shit. Always looking back over your shoulders.”
I didn’t care about my brother’s warnings. All I heard was “ratings, ratings, ratings,” which equaled to me being on that 6:00 p.m. news anchor desk.
“How? How can I get in on this?” I asked, jumping to my feet. Within seconds I was pacing, which is what I did whenever my mind started racing. I could’ve walked a hole into my mother’s carpet as much as I was moving. I had so many thoughts rotating around my head. I couldn’t figure out if I was coming or going.
“It may take selling your soul, just like your boss expects,” Kyle answered, but then he laughed. “Shit, we both going to sell our souls, for that matter. I would be dragging you into something you might not be ready for. You may have to get inside his campaign office or even push up on the nigga to get closer. Like I said, he has people working for him already and he rubs elbows with all the major players in the game here in Norfolk. I don’t know if you’re ready. He also has cops and judges and the like on his payroll. Let’s put it this way . . . Barker’s friends are all killers in suits. So I don’t know if I even want you involved, now that I think about it.”
“Stop playing,”