I didn’t sleep much that night. Smoke and Tone did. That pissed me off more than it probably should have.
Crystal had packed a suitcase and left for her mother’s house. I had no idea if she was coming back. I kept checking my phone every ten minutes hoping she’d call, text, anything. Meanwhile, Tone was stretched across my couch snoring like he’d paid the mortgage. Smoke had the spare room. I had the bedroom. Alone. I stared at Crystal’s side of the bed. Her pillow was still there. Her charger was still plugged into the wall. She’d left shampoo in the shower and half her clothes in the closet. That made me feel better. If she’d really been done, she would’ve taken everything. At least that’s what I told myself.
I sent her a text.
You good?
No response. Five minutes later, I sent another.
I’m sorry. Still nothing. I started typing a third one and stopped. What else was I supposed to say? Sorry I let two strangers into our house? Sorry they’re cooking crack down the hallway? Sorry you got pulled over because I had weed in my pocket? Sorry I promised I’d fix everything and then watched you leave instead? There wasn’t a version of the truth that made me look good. So I put the phone down.
Around two in the morning, I heard movement in the hallway. I sat up. A cabinet opened in the kitchen. Then another. I got out of bed. Smoke was standing at the counter drinking water.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He nodded. That was Smoke. Conversation over.
I opened the refrigerator even though I wasn’t hungry. For a few seconds, neither of us said anything. Then Smoke looked toward the hallway.
“Your girl leave because of us?”
I shut the refrigerator.
“She’ll be back.”
“I ain’t ask that.”
I looked at him.
He took another drink.
“She leave because of us?”
“Partly.”
Smoke nodded.
“My bad.”
I hadn’t expected that.
“You ain’t gotta apologize.”
“Still.”
He put the glass in the sink.
“We gone tomorrow.”
“That’s what everybody keeps telling me.”
He looked at me.
“You don’t believe it?”
“I don’t know what the fuck I believe anymore.”
For the first time, Smoke smiled. Just a little.
“That’s probably smart.”
He started toward the hallway.
“Smoke.”
He stopped.
“How long you known Dre?”
He thought about it.
“Long enough.”
“Stack?”
“Longer.”
“What are they into?”
Smoke laughed quietly.
“You already know.”
“I know some of it.”
“That’s enough.”
There it was again. Everybody in this world seemed to have the same rule. Know enough to participate. Never enough to understand.
Smoke went back into the spare room.
I went back to bed.
Crystal still hadn’t responded.
By morning, Tone was awake before me. I walked into the kitchen and found him making eggs. My eggs.
“You hungry?” he asked.
I stared at him.
“Those are mine.”
“I know.”
“You just eating my shit now?”
He laughed.
“I made enough for you.”
That somehow made it harder to be mad.
Smoke was sitting at the kitchen table counting money. Not twenty-dollar bills. Hundreds. A lot of them.
I stopped.
Smoke looked up. Then looked back down.
Tone noticed me staring.
“Don’t worry about that.”
“I’m not.” I absolutely was.
I poured coffee.
Smoke finished counting and wrapped a rubber band around the stack. I’d never seen that much cash sitting on my kitchen table. Not in person. Not unless there was a bank teller on the other side of it.
“How much is that?”
Smoke looked at me.
Tone laughed.
“Man, you really do ask everything.”
“It’s sitting on my fucking table.” Smoke picked it up.
“Not anymore.” He put it in his pocket.
Tone slid a plate toward me.
“Eat.”
I sat down. It was strange how normal it felt. That bothered me. Two days ago, if I’d walked into my kitchen and found two men named Smoke and Tone counting thousands of dollars, I would’ve thought I’d lost my mind. Now I was eating eggs with them. You can get used to almost anything if it happens slowly enough. That was something I learned much later. The phone rang around ten. Dre.
I answered.
“What?”
“Damn, JC. Good morning to you too.”
“What you want?”
“You still crying over your girl?”
“Fuck you.”
He laughed.
“She coming back.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“How?”
“Because girls always come back.”
“That your expert opinion?”
“Absolutely.”
I almost laughed. Almost.
Then Dre said, “I need you to do something.”
Of course he did.
“What?”
“Come pick me up.”
“Where?”
He gave me an address.
“What happened to your ride?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I got Smoke and Tone here.”
“They straight.”
“They’re supposed to be leaving.”
“They are.”
“When?”
“Stack coming.”
I looked toward the kitchen. Tone was eating. Smoke was on the couch now.
“What time?”
“Soon.”
“That’s not a time.”
“JC.”
“What?”
“Come get me.”
I looked at my keys on the counter.
“What’s it worth?”
Silence. Then Dre laughed.
“There he is.”
“What?”
“My motherfucking businessman.”
“I ain’t driving across town for free.”
“Aight. Fifty.”
“Hundred.”
“For a ride?”
“Get somebody else.”
Dre laughed again.
“Seventy-five.”
“Hundred.”
“Fine, motherfucker. Hundred.”
“Send me the address.”
“You already got the address.”
“Send it anyway.”
I hung up. Tone was looking at me.
“What?”
He smiled.
“You learning.”
“Learning what?”
“Don’t do shit for free.”
I grabbed my jacket.
“I’m picking Dre up.”
Smoke nodded.
Tone said, “Grab me cigarettes.”
I stopped at the door.
“You got cigarette money?”
He laughed.
“See? Learning.”
He handed me a twenty. I drove the Grand Prix across town. The entire way, I thought about Crystal. I almost turned toward her mother’s house twice. I knew exactly where it was. I could’ve gone there. Could’ve knocked on the door. Could’ve told Crystal Smoke and Tone were leaving. Could’ve told her I was done letting Dre use the car. Could’ve told her everything she wanted to hear. Instead, I drove to Dre.
He was standing outside a small house when I pulled up.
He got into the passenger seat.
“What’s good, JC?”
“Where we going?”
“Couple places.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“You said pick you up.”
“Yeah.”
“I picked you up.”
“Now drive.”
“That’s not what we agreed on.”
Dre stared at me for a second. Then smiled.
“Look at you.”
“What?”
“Growing balls.”
“Fuck you.”
He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and dropped it into the cupholder.
“There.”
I picked it up.
“This is for picking you up.”
“Goddamn.”
He pulled out another fifty.
“That cover the inconvenience?”
I looked at it. Then at him.
“Where we going?”
Dre laughed.
“That’s my boy.”
I put the Grand Prix in drive. The first stop was another house. Dre went inside alone.
I waited.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen.
Twenty. I called Crystal. Straight to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. Dre came back carrying a plastic grocery bag. He put it on the floor between his feet. I looked at it. He looked at me.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
I pulled away. Second stop was an apartment complex. Dre told me to park near the back.
“Why back here?”
“JC.”
“Aight.”
He got out. This time a guy came down the steps to meet him. They talked for maybe thirty seconds. The guy handed Dre something. Dre handed him something back.
I couldn’t see exactly what. I didn’t try very hard. That was becoming another skill. Not looking. Dre got back in.
“Next.”
“You know Uber ain’t a thing here yet, right?”
“What the fuck is Uber?”
I laughed.
“Never mind.”
He looked at me like I was stupid. I had no idea why I’d even said it. Maybe someday somebody would invent something where strangers drove people around for money. At the time, apparently that was just me. We made three more stops. At the last one, Dre came back to the car smiling.
“Good day.”
“For you.”
“For you too.”
He pulled out another hundred.
I looked at it.
“What’s that?”
“Your cut.”
“My cut of what?”
“The day.”
“I already got paid.”
“Take the fucking money.”
I did. Two hundred and fifty dollars. For driving. That’s how I looked at it. I didn’t touch anything. Didn’t sell anything. Didn’t buy anything. Didn’t even know exactly what Dre was doing. I drove. That was it. Technically. There was that word again. On the way back, Dre reclined the passenger seat.
“You know why Stack fuck with you?”
I glanced over.
“Why?”
“You useful.”
I laughed.
“That’s a fucked-up compliment.”
“It’s the best compliment you can get.”
“How?”
“Everybody want money. Everybody wanna be around. Everybody wanna say they know somebody.”
He pointed toward the windshield.
“But most motherfuckers can’t do shit.”
“And I can?”
“You got a clean car.” I looked around the Grand Prix.
“You got a house nobody knew about.” That one didn’t feel as good.
“You answer your phone.” I kept driving.
“You don’t panic.”
“I panicked yesterday.”
“About Crystal?”
“About all of it.”
“But you ain’t put nobody out.” I didn’t respond. Dre smiled.
“Exactly.”
I didn’t like where the conversation was going.
“So that’s it?”
“What?”
“That’s why Stack likes me? Because I got shit?”
Dre shook his head.
“Not got shit. Can do shit.”
“Same difference.”
“Nah.”
He sat up.
“Lots of people got cars. Lots of people got houses. Difference is whether they’re willing to use them.”
That stayed with me. I thought being useful meant they respected me. It didn’t. Not really. Respect and usefulness can look exactly the same when you’re the one benefiting from both. You don’t learn the difference until the day you stop being useful. But that day was still a long way off.
When we got back to my house, Stackhouse’s car was in the driveway.
“Finally,” I said. Dre looked at me.
“What?”
“They’re leaving.” He smiled.
“You really want them gone that bad?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?”
Dre laughed. We walked inside. Stackhouse was sitting at the kitchen table.
Smoke and Tone had both packed their things. The black duffel bags were zipped. For the first time all day, I felt relieved. Stackhouse looked at me.
“What’s up, Jay?”
“What’s up?”
Dre walked past him.
“JC been bitching all day.”
“Fuck you.”
Stackhouse smiled.
“Girl leave?”
I looked at Dre.
“You told him?”
Dre shrugged.
Stackhouse answered for him.
“Everybody talk.”
“I noticed.”
Stackhouse stood.
He looked toward Smoke and Tone.
“Y’all ready?”
They nodded. Tone picked up his backpack. Smoke grabbed one of the duffel bags.
Dre grabbed the other. Finally. They were actually leaving. Tone stopped beside me.
“Appreciate the hospitality.”
“Yeah.”
He smiled.
“And the eggs.”
“You made the eggs.”
“With your shit.”
I laughed despite myself. Smoke shook my hand.
“Be easy.”
“You too.”
Then they walked outside. Stackhouse stayed behind. He reached into his pocket.
Pulled out another hundred dollars. Held it toward me.
“What’s that?”
“For the trouble.”
“I already got five.”
“Take it.” I did.
Six hundred dollars for the house. Two hundred and fifty for driving Dre. Eight hundred and fifty dollars. In basically a day. I couldn’t stop thinking about that number. Stackhouse watched me count it.
“Feels different, don’t it?”
“What?”
“Money.”
I looked at him.
“Money’s money.”
“Nah.” He smiled.
“Money you work all week for and money you make in a day don’t feel the same.”
He was right. That was the problem. I’d work for money. Real jobs. Real hours. You wake up. You go somewhere you don’t want to be. Somebody tells you what to do. You watch the clock. Then somebody takes taxes out before you ever see the check. This felt different. This felt immediate. Stackhouse walked toward the door. Before he left, he turned around.
“You good people, Jay.”
I nodded.
“Appreciate it.”
“Dre right about you.”
“What he say?”
Stackhouse smiled.
“You useful.”
Then he walked out. There was that word again. Useful. At twenty-three, I heard it as important. I heard trusted. I heard respected. I heard needed. I didn’t understand that those were four completely different things. The house went quiet after they left. Actually quiet. No television. No voices in the spare room. No Dre opening my refrigerator. No Tone talking. No Smoke walking through the hallway. Just me.
I walked into the spare bedroom. The bed was messed up. A couple empty bottles sat on the dresser. The room smelled wrong. I opened the window. Then I stood there looking around. Twenty-four hours. That was all it had been. Twenty-four hours earlier, Crystal lived here.Now she didn’t.Twenty-four hours earlier, I didn’t know what Smoke and Tone did. Now I did. Twenty-four hours earlier, five hundred dollars sounded like enough money to justify letting strangers sleep in my house. Now I had eight hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket and somehow that made everything feel worth it.
Almost.
My phone buzzed. For one second, I hoped it was Dre. Then I realized how fucked up that was.
It was Crystal. I opened the message.
“I need some time. Please don’t come to my mom’s. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
I read it three times. Then I typed:
“Okay. I love you.”
I stared at the screen. No response. I sat on the edge of the spare bed. Eight hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket. An empty house. A girlfriend who didn’t want to see me.
I pulled the money out and counted it again.
One hundred.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Fifty.
I should’ve hated that money. Instead, I loved how it felt in my hands. That’s what scared me when I thought about it years later. Not that Dre forced me. He didn’t. Not that Stackhouse threatened me. He didn’t. Not that anybody made me join anything. Nobody ever did. They didn’t need to. All they had to do was figure out what I wanted. Then pay me for it. My phone rang.
Dre. I looked at Crystal’s message one more time then answered.
“What?”
Dre laughed.
“Damn, JC. You always answer the phone like somebody owe you money.”
“Maybe they do.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about.”
“What you need?”
There was a short pause. Then Dre said something that should’ve sounded like a warning. Instead, it sounded like opportunity.
“I got something for you tomorrow.” I looked down at the money in my hand.
“How much?”
Dre laughed.
And just like that, Crystal wasn’t the only thing on my mind anymore.