CHAPTER VIII

13:15

There was silence in the truck again as Branson paused briefly to think. But once he had seen "Unregistered Caller," he had signaled to Kingson to pull over as he answered the phone. Salutations were exchanged and then Branson explained what had happened earlier at Kingson's place and the Boat. When Branson told Chulo that Kingson was there with him, Chulo insisted on speaking to his brother. Branson looked at Kingson questioningly; Kingson shrugged and gave him the thumbs up.

They spoke on speakerphone and Kingson briefly outlined some pros and cons of the case to him, ending with what he believed was the crux of the matter: Ygritte was the key to making all of this go away!

"Can you come and we talk?" Chulo asked. Kingson looked at Branson, who twirled a finger in the air, signifying some time in the future.

"I think tomorrow morning would be fine," Kingson responded. "I have to catch up on my backlog later today and a million other things."

Like prepare for the divorce you caused. Branson fumbled with the phone. Apparently, "The Voice" had returned a couple of days ago after being dormant for some years. Branson had no idea what had triggered its return. Kingson was scrutinizing him.

"Okay, pero mira, this is serious, si?" Kingson couldn't believe Chulo was asking him whether or not the situation was "serious." He didn't know why he still got surprised at his clients' unrealistic expectations. If you committed a crime, expect to do the time, or pay a good lawyer enough to get you off.

"Aside from getting caught with a smoking gun in hand, I would say yes, this is the most serious thing that could happen." Luckily for Chulo, no one had *seen* him do anything and there was no murder weapon. Another silence ensued. The minutes passed.

"Okay, Kingson. I waiting for you mañana." The call went dead. Kingson put the car in Drive again and eased into traffic. They continued downtown.

"What was that all about, nigga?" Kingson asked.

"Hand spasm," Branson replied.

"Uh huh," Kingson murmured disbelievingly. "You going back to the crib, right?"

"Yeah, I'ma do some things today too," Branson answered, manipulating his phone. He went on Facebook to see the latest wahala around the world and to steal a bunch of memes (but observed the unspoken courtesy of liking the posts before stealing the meme). He texted with some of his social media associates and distant relatives there before switching over to Instagram. On the Gram he briefly noted which beauties were trending, which new videos and comedy skits were out- and there she was, resplendent in her golden hued glory! He enjoyed a few more seconds of her gorgeousness before saving, archiving and downloading her recent posts.

While Kingson neared his apartment, Branson switched to YouTube where he caught up on a few episodes of his favorite Dominican comedienne and social media influencer, Naturally Melonie. He also checked out some Kountry Wayne skits, that fine ass Jamie Riley and Desi Banks with his bomb ass chick Candace Wallace. There were some fine women on here. He looked up briefly, watching the Bronx turn into Harlem as they drove along.

Man, there's fine bitches everywhere, he thought.

But everything not for everybody. He went back to his YouTube channel and caught up on this young white Turkish dude who was trending there and on TikTok, a dude called Milad Mirg. Dude worked at his parents-owned Subway branch in New Jersey and he narrated these relatively short videos of himself while making different Subway sandwiches. His narrations went hand in hand with his sandwich creations - there was something mesmerizing about the kid. After about five of Milad videos (leaving courtesy likes), Branson watched some other videos of a hydraulic press crushing various and dense objects.

Quite relaxing.

"Yo," said Kingson, waking him up from his video reverie. "What time we going to see Chulo?" Branson thought a bit.

"Whenever I'm up and going in the morning," Branson replied, thinking about some other things. "Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. You know where pops is, right?" Kingson nodded. "Chulo over in that area." Some small time passed again as Kingson pulled up to the corner of 144th Street and 8th Avenue.

"That's good anyway, because it's past time we visited them.Together!" Branson controlled himself, logging off YouTube and putting the phone away.

"We gon' take another whip."

"Because your Benz is too flashy and my truck..." Kingson didn't finish but Branson wanted to say is also kinda flashy but the real reason being that you my brother and 'they' eyes could be on you too. He said it in his mind and watched his brother mentally cross the t's and dot the i's.

Kingson leaned back in his seat, chin in hand. He knew the justice system and he knew that, while looking for and investigating Chulo, Branson would also light up on the radar. And when they knew about Branson... Realization struck and he looked at his brother, who nodded.

"Yeah, they'll be watching you too. If they haven't been doing so already." Kingson searched his memory for anything recently out of the norm, anyone following him, etc. He could think of nothing. Still, better safe than sorry.

"We gotta get new phones," said Kingson, thinking ahead for any other preemptive measures.

"Nah, you got to. Remember Eddie? Eddie Bozek from 217? Yeah well, he be putting us on to all types of amazing technology that not only prevents our calls from being tapped but it also hides the number of the person you're calling. But if we do that to your phone now-"

"I'll look suspicious," Kingson finished the sentence.

"To say the least." They sat in silence for a few minutes, their thoughts zooming down parallel tracks in a steadily darkening tunnel. But there was light at the end of that tunnel - there would always be light at the end of the tunnel.

Fuck it, thought Kingson, in for a penny, in for a dollar. Yeah, the saying was "in for a penny, in for a pound," but they were Americans and they used dollars, not pounds.

"Right. We do what we do, just more cautiously," said Kingson. "You more so than me, bro."

"Yo man, you know I don't like going over there cuz she always gets agitated when I'm around. The fuck!" Branson let out some of his anger. Kingson understood. Why or how their mother had always preferred Kingson over Branson had been a completely dumbfounding situation to the entire family. They were twins, for fuck's sake! How could she love one and not the other?

Being that Branson had turned out the way he had, perhaps their mother had had a premonition of what kind of business he would turn out to be. However, if she had shown Branson the same kind of love she showed Kingson, the former wondered if he would've turned to the streets or not.

But premonitions of your child becoming a drug dealer should not have been enough to alienate that child - there was more to it than that... but, that was the root cause. Anything that came after could still be traced all the way back to one's childhood. Some dogs were best left lying alone. Kingson took his little brother's hand and held it. All the anger instantly began draining out of Branson. Kingson hadn't used that method of calming down his brother since in years.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll go," said Branson. "But you'll see, it'll be the same agitation all over again."

"Still," Kingson said. "It'll be good for the folks and Cynthia to see us, together." He grabbed his brother's neck affectionately in parting, watching as Branson took his handguns out of the glove compartment and put them on his waist before exiting the truck. As Branson unlocked the front gate to his building, Kingson took off, checking his rearview mirror to see if anyone was tailing him.