CHAPTER XXVI

09:50

While preparing a "light" brunch, Branson and Yselle caught up on past times and recollections. He couldn't believe she had gone to Binghamton University just Upstate but had never reached out to him.

"You want my brother to kill us both?" she responded when he asked her exactly that.

Don't worry, I'ma do the same thing one of these days. You'll see." She suddenly looked sad and regretful.

"No, please don't. Im sorry, really. But you know my brother."

"I know you!" She pretended to catch a small fit but walked over to him.

"I'll make it up to you, Branson," she said, her titties bouncing up against his chest. He put his hands on her slim waist and then jerked her close, feeling on her booty and even raising the skirt to squeeze and rub her thick ass. They kissed and touched each other for a few minutes before pulling away from one another in heat.

"You better."

She fixed herself and he consciously calmed his hormones down. There were heaps of omelettes on one platter, heaps of waffles on another, smoked beef rib tips in A1 barbecue sauce on yet another platter and varieties of donut holes for dessert. Two thermoses of coffee stood on the counter nearby. Not just any kind of coffee, either. This was Bustello, a type of coffee guaranteed to keep you burning both sides of the wick when the extra energy was needed - you simply would not sleep! Some trays were loaded with food and the thermoses.

There was a large study table by the bookcase and space was made available for deposing of the food and coffee. Yselle had to go back downstairs and get cups, forks, plates and some other items. Branson played it cool and went to sit by Kingson again, listening to the ongoing discussion. Kingson was saying something about one of Chulo's businesses needed as surety for his bond. Branson guessed the issue with Ygritte was concretized. Yselle came back in the room and Kingson went to help her serve. He put a few omelettes and waffles on a plate for Kingson while Yselle served her brother an alarming portion.

"Chulo," said Branson. "You gotta slow down, bro. That's a heart attack just laying in the cut for you." Chulo just laughed as he tore into his breakfast.

"A man must die from something," Chulo opined. Branson just shook his head and turned to Kingson.

"You want some Bustello, twin?" Branson asked his brother. Kingson nodded, but as Branson started getting up Yselle waved him away. "He takes cream and sugar," Branson told her. She held up a thumb. "So do I." Yselle just stared at him. He shrugged, mumbling under his breath. They ate in companionable silence, enjoying each other's proximity and solitude. It was at moments like these that the clearest and sweetest memories were made.

"Bran, you know a tattoo artist that can come this way?" Kingson asked, short swigging his still hot coffee. Branson was destroying some rib tips at the time and put his thumb up in affirmation as Yselle had earlier. "How soon can you get him here?"

"You mean like, today?" Branson asked, finishing off the rib tips and asking Yselle for some more omelettes and donut holes.

"You telling Mr. Rodriguez to slow down, nigga, you been devouring shit lately, too."

Naomi.

Branson paused and really thought about it. In just a few days, he had been eating a lot, thanks to Naomi. Well, that was good, right.

"We gon' work out Saturday anyway," Branson told Kingson.

"Yeah, okay. We'll see," Kingson replied. "But yeah, about the tattooist...".

"He can be here in an hour," Branson assured his brother. Kingson in turn looked at Chulo.

"Ygritte come at 11:00 or 12:00, something like that," Chulo said.

"Holler at your person," Kingson told Branson.

"We can't use our phones here, bro. Let's see the peoples, call whomever we got to and come right back." Kingson mulled it over.

"Sounds good to me, bro, " Kingson told his brother. They both stood. Kingson gave Chulo a side fist dap since their hands were sticky from the food.

"I'm comin' too," Yselle said to the twins. Then she turned to Chulo. "I gotta go do some food shopping, which needs I need means I need money too, big bro." She held out her hands coquettishly. Chulo clenched and unclenched his jaws but he peeled off a stack for her. Speaking in Spanish he told her to let the dogs out of their cages on her way out. The twins waited for Yselle out of the closed and locked gate.

Outside, on the grounds, huge trees that towered over the walls surrounding the house and further occluded clear visibility of the mini mansion. The dog cages were behindin a large, grassy and also arboreal area. It gave new meaning to the rap verse made popular by the battle rapper Cassidy: "even my dog house got a back yard." As soon as she opened the cages, the fully grown Doberman Pinscher and Rottweiler pair bounded for the front of the house because they had smelled strangers around. Nearing the gate, the Rottweiler began growling and barking. The Doberman Pinscher more cunningly observed them while sniffing around and marking its territory but keeping a canny eye on the twins. The dogs got happily excited when Yselle came from behind the house but began barking and whimpering after she made them sit and she went out of the gate, securing it behind her.

"Lemme drive and try it out," Kingson told Branson, who handed him the keys to the whip. They all piled in, Branson riding shotgun and proceeded to the main street, which some intellectual had originally named "Main Street." Roosevelt Island had an abundance of stop signs every forty or so feet. One also couldn't speed up between stop signs because there was an abundance of children and pets and, generally, people who had no concept of jaywalking.

"Yo, Yselle," Branson called her, switching on he and Kingson's phones. She was blowing kisses at her phone and posting pics and short videos on the Gram and FB.

"Si, mi amor?"

"You got kids?"

"Ugh, no! Why would you even ask me such a horrible question!"

"Only because you a young, fine, Dominican mami," Branson replied saucily. Their eyes met in the rearview mirror and she blew a short, silent kiss at him. He winked.

"Y'all niggas must want Chulo to kill y'all," Kingson mumbled. Branson again caught Yselle's eye in the rearview and they both remembered what she had said in the kitchen within the hour. Kingson was shocked and confused when his brother and Yselle suddenly roared with laughter. Their laughter became subdued when Kingson's and Branson's phones began pinging with message Notifications. No sooner had the messages begun pinging in than each of their phones rang.

"Talk about it," Branson said at the same time as Kingson when he also picked up his call. "Y'all just got raided and they locked him up?"

"So how was your morning?"

"At the 28th, right?"

"Word? What she said?"

"Why they ain't show y'all the warrant for his arrest?"

"I hope you ain't let her in the crib?"

"They also supposed to show you a search warrant for the crib and the truck."

"I don't think I'm getting in til this evening. If you wanna wait, that's cool with me. If not, that's cool too. We'll get up anytime you call for me, no pressure."

"Yeah, we on our way." Kingson heard Branson say that glanced over at him. "Okay then. Make yourself comfortable. See you in a few." Kingson hanged up and listened intently to Branson.

"I'm putting you on speakerphone so you could say again what you just said." Branson put the caller on speakerphone. "I-ight, g'ahead."

"All right, so, we were in the crib getting ready to go out when the whole damn police precinct showed up. They broke down the door but didn't show us the warrant, pulled out guns on us, wrecked the place. At first they said they were there for Get Right but they tossed everything up, these fuckin' pigs, yo. I'm so fuckin' MAD right now."

"Where you at right now?"

"In the precinct."

"And where's Imani?"

"She talking to him, giving him food, shit like that. I can see both of them right now, at an angle."

"And why you not over there?"

"Me and Imani got our roles to play, nigga. I love Get Right, and that's my man, don't get me wrong. But I ain't trying to be head over heels for any nigga. I gotta keep my head on straight, for situations exactly like this."

"Hang tight... We on our way, ya hear?"

"I heard. How long?"

"Like forty minutes."

"Bet," Katrina said before hanging up the call.

He put his phone on Airplane Mode and explained a bit more what had happened to Get Right. Yselle's phone rang and she spoke rapidly the first few seconds before handing the phone to a confused Branson.

"Yo, you hear about Get Right?" Chulo asked, concern in his voice.

"Yeah, I just Heard a lotta shit."

"... So what's the plan now?"

"Lemme get back to you, bro."

"Okay, mano, pero I call you in fifteen minutes - even Yselle no get my number."

"No problem. Y uno," Branson said, sounding and feeling fake as fuck when he said that before hanging up. Kingson parked in front of the deli at 575 Main Street with the engine running.

"The first thing is to find out about that warrant as his attorney on record," said Kingson. "So we gotta go to the 28th Precinct and find out all we can." He didn't want to give false hope where there was none but he had a strong feeling that he could get the 28th to release Get Right.

"Minus me," said Branson, mad as fuck.

"Minus you, of course. You'll be waiting outside." Branson just couldn't afford to be anywhere near the police these days.

"We gotta leave the whip with her," Branson said, indicating Yselle.

"Why? I wanna come, too," Yselle protested.

"Nah. And besides, you gotta pick up the tattoo artist when she comes," Branson explained.

"Plus you gotta be there with Chulo and Ygritte," Kingson chimed in. "I'd feel much better if you were there with them." Yselle thought about it and it made sense. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

"But why you leaving me the car, though? We got a couple in the garage."

"'We got a couple in the garage,'" Branson mocked. "Do as you're told. We ain't got time for this." She frowned but at least she didn't pout, which showed the maturity from her teenage years. "One or both of us'll be back and forth as the day goes on. Do your food shopping, go back to the crib and just wait til we call with any updates or shit you can relay tl your brother." To Branson, the subject was closed and he started planning a whole bunch of other shit.

"'Wait til we call,'" she now mocked him. "I'm not nobody's housewife, entiende? You see these fingers?" She help up her hands. No wedding band yet, comprende? So don't be talking to me like I'm some kind of robot or something." Branson calmed himself down before responding.

"Yeah, I know. I know you not somebody's housewife, but, if for nothing else, follow instructions for your brother's sake. Because, right now, his life is on the line, like mine I on the line, like Get Right's is on the line; it's all connected. We are all connected. But you can't see it because you've been fine for some time. Shit done changed, baby." Mentioning Chulo got her attention like Branson knew nothing else would. Kingson slowly pulled into the lethargic late morning traffic of Roosevelt Island and went all the way down and around until they were at the Roosevelt Island Tramway, almost a national landmark and having been featured in so many movies. All three got out of the car and Yselle waited with them the few minutes until the Tram was about to leave. She shook Kingson's hand but flew into Branson's arms. He kissed her forehead and squeezed her ass, a little, at which she swatted goodnaturedly at him but he dodged and laughed, also goodnaturedly. She watched as the Tram doors closed and the electric boxcar slowly took off. Branson blew a kiss at her, which she caught and pretended to eat. She didn't understand what was happening with their friend "Get Right" but she knew trouble was on the way, perhaps had already landed, as sharply opposed to the just taking off of this strange scientific conveyance in the middle of Manhattan.