Coming from a life of drugs, money, and women, Michael "Meechie" Jackson had the world in the palm of his hands. He had power and his business, which he built from the ground up, morphed him into one of the most well-known drug lords in the city.
I...
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Four days worth of luggage was packed. Irish made the final decision to travel to Woodmore, Maryland for her family's thirtieth annual reunion which put a smile on Michael's face. He knew she would change her mind and go. His excitement amused her so much so she teased him about it. The day before, he picked up his Rolls Royce Cullinan SUV that needed some maintenance work done and fueled up afterwards. The following morning, they met Naima and Shahid at Irvin's and Chauncey's home. An orison for safe travels was said before departing to their respective vehicles.
An hour and a half onto the road, music blared from the speakers playing tunes from the early 2000s. Michael had one hand steering the wheel while the other held a blunt in the other. The window was slightly cracked for him to release the smoke as its miasma lingered. The previous song that played from his many playlists ended and the familiar chords along with the voice of Tyrese featured on Chingy's hit "Pullin Me Back" followed up on shuffle.
Every time I try to leave Something keeps pulling me back, me back Telling me I need you in my life Every time I try to go Something keeps telling me that, me that Everything gonna be all right
Michael sung along then paused to take another toke from the blunt. He had been smoking for at least twenty minutes now and felt a little zooted from it already. Thankful for the installed ashtray next to the middle console, he put the blunt out to preserve for later and stored it away.
"It was all good at first, spending money, going shopping, eating at the finest restaurants and if I'm club hopping. She was right there with me, bottle popping, living that life, she just didn't understand my lifestyle and that I ain't like," he rapped, gripping his wife's left thigh with his right hand. Irish, who was scrolling through her phone, glanced up at him with pursed lips to suppress a smile. She loved when he did that, especially when his thumb would caress her skin.
He winked at her before setting his slightly hooded eyes ahead on the road. "We didn't have a worry in the world, gotcha diamonds, gotcha pearls, but I can't help it if Chinga-ling be attractin' all the girls. Say what? Baby, I'ma superstar and that come with it, gotta good nigga on your side, you better run with it." As he rapped the last bar, he grasped her chin in his hand, caressing her bottom lip with his thumb ever so gently.
"You really into this song," she said with a chuckle. "High ass."
Michael broke out into a toothy grin, taking his eyes off the road to look at his wife. "Girl, hush. Chingy did some shit when he made this, and I ain't high either."
"Your eyes are slightly hooded, babe."
Smacking his lips obnoxiously, his gaze diverted to the rear view mirror to see that they were indeed hooded just a bit. "Still ain't high," he repeated, setting his eyes back on the road.
