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Told them I would be transporting property Thursday evening.
Information only a handful of people knew.
Mills went backward from there.
Old detention records.
Dates.
Times.
Names.
One matched.
Xavier Lawless.
My little fucking brother.
Tyler threw the paper onto the desk.
“I’m killing this nigga.”
“No.”
“Fuck you mean, no?”
“No.”
“Lev, this nigga sent you to fucking prison!”
“I know what the paper say.”
“Seven fucking years!”
“I know how long I did.”
That shut him up for maybe two seconds.
Then he started pacing again.
“That nigga came to see you.”
I looked down at my glass.
“Yep.”
“Sat across from you.”
“Yep.”
“Put money on your books.”
“Yep.”
“Called me asking what you needed. Asked about the fucking club. Came to your welcome-home shit smiling in your fucking face.”
“Yep.”
