CHAPTER IV
08:35
Branson watched the elevator coming down; it stopped and held at the seventh, fifth and third floor. He impulsively changed his mind and bounded up the stairs to the tgird floor. The elevator had already gone. He rang Kingson's doorbell. After only a few seconds, Kingson yanked the door open in a wifebeater and slacks with a wide smile on his face. When he saw Branson, the smile changed into a friend. As Branson walked in, Kingson stuck his head outside the door and looked around.
"Expecting somebody?" Branson asked, going to the fridge and taking out a half bottle of what looked like fruit juice. He opened and sniffed it, took a swig. "Okay! That's, what, kiwi and... mango?" Kingson walked over to him and gently removed the bottle from Branson's hand, in an exaggeratedly infantile manner and a dubious grin on his face.
"It don't matter because you can't have any more." He put the remaining juice back in the fridge and replaced it with a Sprite. "Whatchu got in the bag?"
"A business proposition," Branson replied, taking a seat on one of the couches and opening the liter of Sprite.
"Oh?" Kingson responded, pretending to not be interested but after last night, he felt galvanized. He sat on a nearby sofa and flicked through some channels.
"Yo, you hear me?" Branson asked his seemingly distracted brother.
"I'm listening," Kingson answered, lowering the volume . Branson remembered that this was Kingson's way of paying even closer attention than usual: it was when he pretended to be distracted. So Branson laid it out, as far as he knew of the story, everything. Well, almost everything.
Kingson sat back and mulled over the info a bit. Twenty-five thousand dollars was quite a decent start for a case.
"So I'll take care of the two bodyguards before Chulo turns himself in? Is that what he wants? Being a fugitive, they're probably not gonna go for the deal of turning himself in for the freedom of his bodyguards." Branson waited. His brother stood up and began pacing. "No, they'll wanna wait a bit, maybe three to six months, maybe a year or two, before entertaining any release plea deals." More pacing. "But if we pretend like we don't know anything and go in there to ask for the release of both, that bravado will take them off guard." Yet more pacing. Branson watched Kingson, relief flushing through his system because his brother's hyper analytical mind was on the case.
They had no bodies (specifically, the police didn't have Julio's body) and they only had a video of Ygritte or someone who looked like Ygritte being facially and vaginally fucked by Julio, a young Puerto Rican nigga that lived up the street from Chulo. He was reputedly the owner of the neighborhood laundromat, which was likely where he encountered Ygritte. The latter was fallible, like many other women, like many other _people_ and had fallen for the saccharine nothings spewed by an asshole who fucked men's wives when they were out working.
Just yesterday, Kingson's wife, Mia, had confronted him about wanting a divorce. Kingson had queried whether or not another man was involved. Her very reluctance to answer the query was the thing that told him everything. Mama H had later come and woken him from a broken-heart-hibernation like slumber with a plethora of comestibles and fruit juice. Her presence and subsequent "comforting" of him had really helped him get up and even _think_ of working. Kingson wondered if the man knew Mia was married or if she had even ever told him. He also wondered if the guy had driven her silver Rav 4. The day he caught that nigga...
Branson keenly observed Kingson and could guess at the reason his brother's face began to darken in sorrow, anger and frustration.
"Bro, you okay?" Branson asked.
"No, I'm not okay. Do I look okay?"
"My bad, nigga, damn! Why the fuck you getting mad at me for?" Branson retorted, feigning anger. Kingson stood there, angry at this fuckin' beautiful stupid ass bitch that wanted a divorce. He became cool. If it was a divorce she wanted then it was a divorce she would get - useless, ungrateful ass hoe! He took a few staying breaths.
"Yeah, you right, twin. My bad, twin." Kingson focused on the case while Branson unwrapped the money and placed it on a nearby table. "I'ma take twenty to the bank and keep five out and about."
"Whatever you wanna do, bro," Branson said. Kingson grunted, nodding his head.
"Okay, so the first step is locating Bolo and Nut-"
"They'll likely be on the Island," Branson interrupted.
"Or on the Boat," Kingson offered, interrupting Branson. They both pondered on what either destination meant. "Lemme call around a minute, Bran. Hold up a bit." Branson watched how easily it seemed for Kingson to track down the whereabouts of Bolo and Nut. They had been moved to the Boat late last night. Kingson had an idea. He told Branson about it. Branson laughed. He was with it, plus it had been a minute since he and his brother had done something together.
