I couldn’t pull myself to go home right away, because I didn’t want to go crazy waiting for him, so I decided to pull up on him instead. Ironically, his house wasn’t too far from mine. It was maybe seven minutes away, if that. That was one of the ways I knew he did more than have a cereal bar as his profile described. The homes in my neighborhood were seven figure homes, and even though he owned the only cereal bar in Memphis, I couldn’t see it bringing in bank like that.
But maybe I was wrong. His bar was super popular. It was set up like a typical bar, but instead of liquor it sold a little over fifty different kinds of cereal along with milk and toppings. I thought it was cute to know that Ishmael, a very well-known drug dealer, cleaned his money with something so… childlike and whimsical. When he shared with me his reasoning behind the cereal bar it only made me respect him more.
He shared with me the story about him and his siblings and how cereal and cartoons was their favorite part of their day as kids. He had a younger sister, Dreya, who absolutely loved cereal. We ended up watching Sextuplets together and he told me she was like Russell. Dreya had always dreamed of coming up with her own cereal one day. But, the fucked up thing about growing up in the hood was that you never could say if you’d live to see the next day.
When Dreya was six, she was struck in the head by a stray bullet. Driveby. In the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday. The rest of her siblings were outside in the backyard playing, but she wanted to stay in, watch cartoons, and eat her cereal.
I cried like a damn baby when I found out the cereal bar was his way of honoring her and making sure her legacy lived on.
Outside of Ishmael’s home, I pulled out my phone and called him. He didn’t answer, opting instead to text me. That was red flag number one because Ishmael always preferred calling over texting and face to face conversation over calling. Not wanting to think too much of it, I opened our text thread so I could text him back.
#1: What’s up?
Where you at?
#1: At home. What’s up?
Chuckling, I put my phone in the cupholder and looked in the direction of his home. His car wasn’t in the driveway. At first, I thought maybe he couldn’t talk because he was handling business, now I felt like he was lying to me. Ishmael always kept his car in the driveway not in the garage throughout the day because he was always on the move. He had three homes in Memphis – this one, which was technically in Lakeland outside of Memphis, one in the hood that he used to meet with his workers and connects in, and a townhouse in East Memphis that his family and friends knew about and frequented often.
Immediately, I felt like a fool for even considering giving him a chance to fuck me over and knock me off my square. The last thing I needed was to be running behind a nigga trying to make sure he’s valuing me and being faithful, and if he was lying already, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he was with another woman.
Had he moved on already?
If he did, I couldn’t even blame him.
Last night may have been the first time he vocally expressed his desire for me on that level, but for the past three years, Ishmael had been showing me every time we were in each other’s presence that he wanted me.
Never mind. I’m good.
After sending the text, I started my Mercedes back up and headed to the Japanese spot that was right up the street. I’d been craving Sushi and Ramen ever since watching a random mukbang video last night that popped up on my YouTube feed when I couldn’t get to sleep.
With the shift in my mood, I changed my music too. I went from listening to Summer Walker to Megan Thee Stallion. For the entire short ride to the restaurant I belted out the lyrics to “Pimpin.” It was when I grabbed my phone to get out of the car that I noticed Ishmael had texted me back. I started to use my thumb to clear the screen without even reading the message, but I was curious as to what he had to say.
#1: Fuck you mean never mind? I’m not about to play with yo ass Paradise.
I don’t know why but his text made me smile. Instead of texting him back, I went inside the restaurant and secured my usual booth. The waitress came over quickly, and because I came in so frequently, she already had my Mai Tai. After placing my order, I got onto Instagram and went live real quick. Talking shit and flirting always made me feel better. By the time I was done eating and going live, I had five women in my DM’s asking how they could get on along with twenty-something men trying to shoot their shot.
I sent all the women my email and all the men the link to my app. If they really wanted me, they’d have to pay up. Just that quickly, the thought of normality with Ishmael or anyone else for that matter had entered and left my mind.
Chapter 3
Ishmael
I was in love with a fucking prostitute. She swore she wasn’t a prostitute because she got paid for her time. Said she was an escort, and that was the difference. But I knew some niggas was getting up in that pussy because I was. And out of all the women I could have fallen in love with, my fucking ass chose the coldest bitch I’d encountered in all my life.
And that was saying a lot because I grew up in the hood and the streets raised me. I’d seen a lot of shit at a real young age. Even the most ruthless of women had nothing on Rosalyn Kennedy. Maybe I felt like that because I loved her, but so what?
Take now for instance – she was texting me talking shit like I wouldn’t pull up on her. Them other niggas she dealt with may have let her talk crazy to them, but she had the right one with me. I couldn’t wait to see if she would have the balls in my face that she had over the phone.
After what happened last night, I didn’t know if I was going to see her tonight or not. Since she seemed like she was in one of her moods, I asked her what time she planned to come through just to see where her mind was at. She had the nerve to tell me she wasn’t coming through because she had other plans. The shit pissed me off naturally because I scheduled time with her over a week ago, and she’d never pulled a stunt like this, so I felt like she felt some type of way about last night too.
That was cool. Whatever issue she had, she was gon’ have to talk about it to my face. When I calmed down enough to get out the car. Rosalyn had a way of calming me and pissing me off more than anybody else ever could. Even Jessica.
Jessica was my fiancée a little over three years ago. We were supposed to get married, have babies, and live a normal life. She knew the street life like I did because her father was the plug back in his day. He taught her the game in a way that made her perfect for me.
So perfect for me that she became a target for my enemies to capitalize on. They followed me for days on end and found out where I laid my head. While I was gone, they broke in, raped and beat her, then killed her. To this day, I still carry that guilt around with me. Only thing that made me feel a little bit better was the fact that I was able to hunt each and every one of them down and destroy every thing and person they loved before taking their lives.
What I’d done was on some hood John Wick shit. I became a legend before forty. Hell, before thirty. Now, nobody fucked with me–period. It taught me a valuable lesson, though. One that included having several homes, security and camera systems, bodyguards for those closest to me, and making sure no one knew where I laid my head now. My family didn’t even know about the house I had in Lakeland. Only person who knew about that home was Rosalyn, and that was saying a lot.