𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬

𝐗𝐗𝐈 - 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧, 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧

***

It drops deep as it does in my breath

I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death

Beyond the walls of intelligence, life is defined

I think of crime when I'm in a New York State of Mind

***

April 27, '01

RACONTEUR

"So, we live together already. You could even pick out a house if you wanna live outside the city, wherever. Our money's all good, all together. We work hard, together or not, you saw that. I just gotta meet your mama now, finally and she gon love me, trust. A nigga know his scripture, a lil bit," he told her, effortlessly reminding Aiyana of how much of her life was already tethered to his.

"But if that's not enough security, if you think I'd be stupid enough to leave yo' ass, if you even thought you was goin' somewhere, then we gon' have to fix that, for real," he emphasized, pulling out the Tiffany Blue Box, gazing at Yana to see her eyes go big, the rest of her face going in shock.

"Marry me, Yana," Michael told her, in his trademark commanding tone as he opened it, revealing a __. He watched and saw tears form in her eyes, her face scrunching up before she covered it to stop him from seeing her.

***

4 days ago...

Michael sat on the edge of a low, rusty, industrial table, having pushed the fabric on it to the opposite side as he debated whether or not to call this next person on the black, disposable phone he held in his right hand, their phone number in the other. 

He was at a custom tailor shop Aiyana knew from working at Mood Fabrics. Well, him, Aiyana, her little sister, Chris and Jada. He'd asked Aiyana for help on styling the 3 teens, but hadn't expected to be dragged along on the mission.

"Can't you just make an order wit the Ying Yangs and be out?," he'd asked her after she'd insisted on staying in the shop, passionately chatting it up with the sewing immigrants in broken Mandarin and simplified English.

"Don't be rude. I have to make sure they don't screw me over and if they like me, I can trust them to fulfill an order next time without having to come back in here."

Yeah, he didn't wanna be there, but he really couldn't contest her point. His girl was smart.

So there he sat, next to a creme colored mannequin sporting a few scraps of fabric, waiting for Aiyana and her friends to decide when they'd be done deciding with Jada which denim and cut was best for her body.

He bit his cuticles as he thought back on Sean's call last night (technically, early this morning), specifically what he'd said about Elijah.

"I just seen Elijah. He's here in Harlem, just walkin' around smilin'."

That bitch ass nigga.

"He's here, Twiggy."

The bitch ass nigga named Elijah done made it out of Cuba. Possibly.

Michael had questions. How? And where? And also, when? But really, none of it mattered. If Elijah was truly in Harlem, really roaming the streets like the good old days, it's that he was up to something. Been up to something.