Gangland.

Chapter 4 - "Bread on the Table."

One thing that Isaiah told me, is that he NEVER does murders in the daytime. He always did things at night so that it would lessen the chance of him being identified. So instead, we decided to relax at the house and eat some pizza that Isaiah had delivered to the home.

"It's funny.." Isaiah laughed as he chewed with his mouth full. "If I ever needed help, I'd call the pizza man."

"Why, fool?" I laughed, not understanding why he said that.

"Because they get here quicker than the police." Isaiah snorted, unable to stop laughing. "Sometimes the police don't even come out here because they know how it be."

"Damn." I sighed, taking another bite of my pizza.

Isaiah stared at me a little longer as he chewed, making the moment slightly awkward.

"Tell the truth, do you think it's bad out here?" Isaiah asked me.

"Oh nah." I lied, shaking my head.

"How, nigga?" Isaiah continued, pasteurizing me. "Do you not see what be going on around here?"

"Nah, not really." I said, lying again. "Why, wassup?"

"Nigga, I seen you jump out yo' sleep multiple times because of the gunshots you heard outside!" Isaiah chuckled. "It's drug dealers and gang bangers that strive in and out of here every other day. You know that it ain't normal, so it ain't no need to lie."

"Alright." I snarled, placing a smile on my face. "I do get a little....nervous at night time.."

"Why come?" Isaiah asked me.

I paused for a while, looking down at the piece of crust I had in my hands.

"Because I ain't used to all of this. I still live in the suburbs." I said in a shaky tone. "I'm not used to not being able to walk out at night. I'm not used to watching people make drug deals out in the open. I'm not used to hearing loud ass pops in the middle of the night. All of this shit is new to me."

Isaiah sighed, looking outside of the window. There, he watched little kids squeal and play around.

"Where do you plan on working?" Isaiah asked.

"Um, probably at a grocery store. The one that's right outside of the complex." I answered. "Why?"

"You wanna make more money?" Isaiah asked. "I can teach you how to cook, taste, and sell."

At first, I thought that he was talking about food of some sort. But then when I thought of his slang, I knew exactly what he was talking about.

Drugs. And I was in NO interest in getting involved in that.

"Oh, nah." I said, shaking my head. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Isaiah smiled. "I could have you making a gran each night."

"I'm cool." I said, still rejecting his offer.

"ISAIAH." Aunt Shay called out from upstairs.

Isaiah growled, looking upstairs in an aggravated form.

"What, ma?!" Isaiah snarled, glancing upstairs.

"Come here."

Isaiah shook his head and set his plate down, jogging up the stairs. When he peeked inside, he seen his mother sitting in her chair, moving through files on the computer.

"Have you bothered to see your son?" Aunt Shay asked.

"Who?"

"Your son, Isaiah! Don't play stupid!" Aunt Shay snapped. "I'm looking at my bills and I see that the court has taken more money out of my account AND that girls mama keep on harassing my home phone. Have you seen your son or not?"