Read 5 Minutes and 42 Seconds for Free Online Page B

Smokey.
    Bill deliberated then took a sip of coffee. Paused. “Yes.”
    â€œTommy on Twenty-third?” asked Smokey, barely giving Bill enough time to finish speaking.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat they say?”
    â€œThey’re singing like drag queens.”
    â€œSo what’s taking so long for the arrest.”
    â€œLike I said, it will happen soon. I need to make sure we got this shit closed airtight. Your boss is a very slick man,” said the detective, intentionally reminding Smokey that he wasn’t.
    â€œWhatever. But I just can’t do no time, Bill.”
    â€œAnd you won’t, as long as you continue to cooperate.”
    â€œAnd Fashad can’t find out.”
    â€œStop panicking on me,” said Bill, looking directly at Smokey for the first time. “I’m a professional, let me do my job. We’re almost home, buddy. But you got to trust me.”
    â€œCheck, please?” said Bill. He paid the woman, got up, and walked away.
    Smokey slowly scanned the diner and noticed a rainbow flag outside. Still, all he really cared about was the fact that he was the only black person. Now that Bill was gone, there was no need to stay, yet something made him feel he belonged there as much as he did in the hood. He asked for a fried bologna sandwich, but when the waitress laughed at him, he decided on a ham and cheese instead.

SMOKEY: A CONFESSION
    M y name is Smokey Cloud and when that trumpet sounds, that money is going to be mine.
    I met Fashad when I was just a young buck, still in high school. I’ll never forget that night. I was in the hallway before a basketball game, chillin’ with my peoples. Slangin’ as always. Nothin’ big, just some weed. Half of it was plants from my grandmomma’s balcony, the other half I got as a gift from one of my momma’s boyfriends.
    I remember Fashad’s friend comin’ down the hallway. Danger was his name—for obvious reasons. He walked in, looking like a businessman. I mean a real businessman, like a rapper or some shit like that. He was wearing one of those rich man’s suits, the kind that come in four different colors and look a hot-ass mess if they ain’t on the right person. Two niggas was with him—Brandon and G-Money, I think. I can’t remember, they both got locked up a fewweeks later. I guess they wouldn’t rat. Either that or they were so dark the cops never asked them to. Danger is out in Los Angeles or somewhere—he retired.
    Danger looked right at me and asked, “Who’s runnin’ this spot?” I was scared as hell. I mean, I was packin’, but so was he. He didn’t even bother to hide his piece; this nigga definitely did not play. I could bust my gun, but he could bust back. And I hadn’t never shot no gun before—my shit was just for show, part of my uniform. Like the mascot on a basketball player’s back. I ain’t want to lie, but I wasn’t gonna tell him I was head nigga in charge, neither.
    He grabbed me by my collar right in front of my niggas. That shit was mad disrespectful. One of the niggas he was with grabbed my nigga Rob and asked him who was runnin’ the spot. Rob pointed to me—the faggot! Danger looked at me like he was about to slit my throat right there in that hallway.
    He told everybody else to leave ’cause he said he had to talk to me. Him and his mens took me out to his car. I thought they was gonna whoop my ass. When I got in, he told his boys to leave, and they did. As soon as the car pulled away I tried to open up the door, but Danger told me that it don’t open from the back. He said he fixed it that way just for me.
    He said one of his friends wanted to talk to me. I knew that shit wasn’t true. If the nigga wanted to talk we could have done that shit inside. We drove for about five minutes before Danger got out the car and another man got in. That shit was real suspicious. I