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The truth was that I didn’t know what he had planned. He sounded calm on the phone, but that didn’t mean anything. My brother had gotten really good at doing fucked-up shit without giving anybody a reason to expect it. I wasn’t making the mistake of trusting him again. MJ glanced toward the abandoned rides.

“I’ma stay out of sight.”

I nodded.

“Let me talk to him first.”

He looked like he wanted to disagree with the way that I wanted to do things, but I think he understood the kind of spot that I was in. I had grown up with this nigga. I wanted to kill him for Mali and for Mr. Browne, but I also wanted answers. He looked at me for a moment before heading toward the old Ferris wheel while I walked farther into the fairground. I watched him disappear from view near the rusted ride before turning my attention back toward the entrance. There wasn’t much light out there besides what came from the distant road and the moon overhead. It was enough to see somebody approaching, but the shadows between the abandoned attractions made the place feel even emptier than it was.

I reached beneath my hoodie and felt the gun at my waist. I had been thinking about this moment for weeks. After searching for what felt like forever, now he was finally coming to me. And I wasn’t leaving until this shit was finished. A set of headlights appeared near the entrance.

I watched a car slow down along the road before pulling away. A few minutes later, a figure came walking through the opening in the fence. It was no one other than Ghost.

He had a black backpack hanging from one shoulder, and he moved slowly as he looked around the fairground. I stepped away from the old concession stand. He spotted me almost immediately. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he started walking toward me. I watched him approach with caution. I was taking in how different he looked. He had lost weight, his beard had grown out, and there was something tired about his face that I didn’t remember seeing before. Still, it was him.

“What’s up, little brother?” he said when he got close enough.

I didn’t answer the greeting. The sarcasm in his tone had my trigger finger itching for sure.

“What you wanted to talk about?” I asked.

Ghost looked around before bringing his attention back to me.

“Damn. Can’t even say what’s up?”

“What you wanted, Ghost?”

He nodded slowly, almost like he expected that response.

“Aight.”

He lowered the backpack from his shoulder and held it in front of him. I watched his hands. When I say that I didn’t trust that nigga, I meant that shit.

“What are you doing?” I immediately asked.

“Relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax, nigga. What’s in the bag?”

He had some fucking nerve. He unzipped it and turned it toward me. Money. Stacks of cash filled most of the backpack. I frowned.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Everything I got left.”

I looked from the money to his face. I didn’t even think that his ass had a dime left to his name. This right here proved me so damn wrong.

“I want you to take it.”

I stared at him.

“For what?”

“For everything, Trigga… damn.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his head. “I fucked up. I know I did.”

I almost laughed. Not because anything was funny, but because I couldn’t believe this was what he had brought me out here for. I had been looking for his ass for the longest, for it to come to this.

“You brought me here for some fucking money?”