The Art Of Hood Love: Shabu

The Art Of Hood Love: Shabu ANTOINETTE SHERELL Copyright © 2023 by Antoinette Sherell All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Contents Foreign Terms Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Foreign Terms Ti frè—little brother Mwen fini—I'm done Konprann—got it Bonswa—good evening Manman—mother Pitit mwen—my child Tout bagay—everything Mèsi—thank you Merite—you’re welcome Gran frè—big brother Sispann, tanpri—stop please Pa kite m—don’t leave me Aye! Don't put ashes on my muthafuckin’ floor!” Shabu glanced over his shoulder with a squint at Relic’s workers. Useless niggas doing meaningless activities flooded the unopened restaurant. Shabu shook his head at the dice game ensuing in the kitchen behind him as he and Relic wrestled with removing the false bottom out of the chest freezer. Against his wishes, his brother hid a portion of his bricks in the restaurant. Shabu deemed the decision dumb and a prime example of shitting where they ate, but he couldn’t tell Relic otherwise. “I know I told this nigga to make sure it didn’t move easily, but shit,” Relic griped, bracing a knee on the freezer ledge before he signaled Shabu to pull. The bottom popped out, and Relic stumbled a foot or so before regaining balance. Shabu scoffed while retrieving the rolled blunt tucked behind his ear. His head tossed as he fished a lighter from his pocket, flicking it against the tip before taking a hard pull. “Dumb ass nigga,” he murmured. “I bet you used all your fucking strength that time,” Relic accused, and Shabu burst into laughter with a hunch of his shoulder. “You shouldn’t have put your leg up there. Where’s the work?” “P has it with him. Pierre!” Relic hollered over the crude lyrics blasting from a nearby phone, drowning out his voice. “Who the fuck is playing that dumb ass music?!” With clenched teeth, Relic stalked toward the dice game and scanned the ground for the nuisance as he stepped over the piled cash in the center of a manmade circle. His wheat Timberland boot stomped on the iPhone next to one of his kneeled workers, and he repeated the act until the music came to an abrupt stop. “P! Bring the bag!” he yelled while glaring down at his soldier. Relic dared him to say a word about the broken device. Shabu blew smoke from the side of his mouth before goading, “The nigga ain’t gon’ say shit. He knows you’ll have me or Pierre blow his fucking top off if he gets slick at the mouth.” He gave the worker a testing stare, waiting for him to speak up. Shabu would respect the nigga more if he did. The soldier glared back at him with a twitching jaw as if he were itching to respond, and Relic squatted so he could look him in the eyes. “You got something you want to say to my fucking brother?” he seethed. The soldier glanced between the two with a head shake and clenched fists. “That’s what I thought. Disrespecting him is like doing that shit to me, and it ain’t gon’ end well for you. I suggest you unclench your muthafuckin’ fist too. If you want to scrap, I got another brother for yo ass.” “Titan will knock that nigga out,” Pierre stated as he meandered into the kitchen with a duffle bag strapped to his shoulder. His cobalt blue sweater was half off, revealing the fresh artwork on his ribcage and the toolie tucked in the waistband of his Levi jeans. “Then, Shabu is gon’ finish his ass off, because you know can’t a soul touch Titan and breathe easy afterwards.” “I’m already knowing. This nigga should, too.” Relic stood and swiped a hand down his Balmain sweatshirt. He adjusted his wristwatch and then twirled the ring on his middle finger while analyzing his team, who kept their heads low and commenced the dice game to avoid his scrutiny. The one who’d been singled out, and still had air in his lungs for the time being, picked up his phone to shove into his pocket before tossing a few more bills into the pot. Relic gave an elusive nod and headed toward the freezer with Pierre in tow. Shabu passed his cousin the blunt as soon as he neared and took the bag in exchange—wedging it between his stomach and the freezer as he unzipped it to remove the bricks of white powder wrapped in clear cellophane, mylar, and industrial tape. He lined the bottom of the chest freezer with the product before turning to Relic. “You wiped down every brick, right?” “How fucking long have I been doing this? I don’t need you verifying shit,” Relic clipped. “I don’t care what you need. I’m gon’ keep checking as long as you’re putting work where Ma will be.” “Both of our moms, and my little sisters,” Pierre included. “I know that, but you know Shabu don’t give a fuck ‘bout nothing but his momma. To hell with Auntie and our little cousins.” “Nigga, you’re saying fuck all of them,” Shabu retorted. He tossed the empty bag onto the floor before picking up the false bottom to reposition back inside. “Don’t try to spin this shit on me because I only named her. Damn right, I’m worrying about Judith. You don’t give a fuck, so somebody has to. Help me snap this shit back in place.” “Aight, momma’s boy.” Shabu shot his brother a fleeting glance but didn’t feed into his bullshit. Relic never cared for his closeness with Judith, and Shabu detested the weird glorification his brother held for Joseph. He had never wrapped his mind around their