Dirty South

69

That dock where Teddy keep that Scarab is empty as hell. Light just comin’ over the edge of the lake while you and JoJo and Bronco look out from the marina at all the places where they could’ve gone out in that black water. JoJo’s old truck parked next to Teddy’s Bentley, right by the edge of all those boats, all faded blue and dented. JoJo looks across Pontchartrain and then over at Bronco, who shakes his head.

“Ain’t no way,” Bronco says. “That’s the biggest thing I ever seen.”

“Where that friend you promise?” JoJo asks.

“He comin’.”

“What’s he to you?”

“He owes me.”

“For what?”

“Whatever he want.”

“Words are nothin’ to a thug,” he says. “This boy don’t sound no different than an animal.”

Just as he say that, his old truck gets swallowed up by five white Escalades and a bright yellow Ferrari where you see Cash float out shirtless with leather pants. He wears sunglasses and got a toothpick cocked out the side of his mouth.

JoJo look over at you and shake his head.

“He got a boat,” you say. “Fast as hell.”

He looks over at Bronco. Bronco nods.

“Have no fear,” Cash say.

You ain’t got no time for no introductions and no time for a lot of words.

“Travers out on the lake,” you say.

“What?” he ask. “You want me to take out my sweet little boat for his ass?”

“Listen, goddammit,” JoJo say, gettin’ in Cash’s face and seein’ Cash ain’t used to that. “You either help us get out on that lake and look for my boy or get back to shinin’ your sissy-ass chains.”

Cash smiles platinum and grunts. “Who you, old man?”

“The man been kickin’ ass before your granddaddy even got his dick wet.”

Twelve of Cash’s Angola crew moan and laugh. Cash look at them, givin’ that mean eye, lettin’ them know to shut that mouth.

“Why you want to help that white boy?” he ask.

JoJo turns. “Come on, Tavarius.”

“Tavarius?” Cash asks, laughin’. “Man, now that’s funny. That your name, ALIAS?”

You look at him, cockin’ that head and lookin’ up into his eyes. “Yeah, that’s my name.”

Y’all walk through the crowd, bumpin’ shoulders with some of those do-rag niggas, when Cash yell: “You wit’ me now?”

You turn and nod.

“Well, let’s get in the goddamn boats. Ain’t never too early for no ride.”

JoJo look back, cuttin’ his eyes straight down the narrow little dock. “What you got?”

Cash flicks his forefinger out – almost makin’ it out like a gun – and point to one of them Cigarette racin’ boats you seen when you down in Miami. Man, you heard them things could run you all the way down to the Bahamas before the hour through.

But this boat don’t look nothin’ like that shit in Miami. This one ghetto hard all the way. It’s purple and gold and got the words BALLIN’ III painted in shiny looped letters at the back and the cartoon head of a pit bull in a diamond collar snarlin’ up front of that sleek, long boat. Look like some kind of rocket ship.

“Y’all take the other two,” he yell to some of his boys.

Down the dock, you see Cash got two more boats that look like the same.

“I designed them myself,” Cash says as y’all walk back. “Only limitation is that imagination.”

“Lord God, help the world,” JoJo said. “Your ghetto ass know how to steer?”

“Sit down, ole man, and strap your ass in, ’cause we headed to the goddamn moon.”

The engine start with a chug, chug, chug and y’all is rollin’ out hard as that edge of the lake, where it look like black glass, is turnin’ all purple with the sky.

Y’all is flyin’, skippin’ over tiny little waves listenin’ to Mystikal tellin’ the world to get out his way. Salty mist hittin’ your eyes. Tastin’ the lake on your lips.

JoJo holds on tight.

Bronco finds himself standin’ right by Cash, lookin’ into the wind.

You see that old man’s smile match the thug’s.