Chapter 194: The Crew (Part 1)

As Jasmine made herself comfortable on her couch, sunlight streamed through the curtains, bathing her living room in a comforting warmth. With her phone nestled between her shoulder and ear, she engaged in a conversation with Alexus, her lifelong best friend.

"Girl, you won't believe what happened at work today," Alexus exclaimed, laughter dancing in her words.

"Spill, Lex. I ain't got all day, girl." Jasmine was job hunting as well.

However, this time, her hunt for a legitimate job wouldn't be the end-all-be-all for her livelihood and that of her children. It was a lot more relaxing to look for jobs when it wasn't the only thing keeping you and your family from being on the streets or able to eat. She was still doing crime as her main job. Even with all the risks involved, the pay was too good to pass up.

As the conversation flowed, they delved into the day-to-day gossip. Discussing everything from self-care routines to the latest gossip to the latest Beetube videos. Yet, in the midst of their chatter, an unspoken tension lingered. Alexus, ever perceptive, sensed something weird about her bestie. "Jaz, you've been dodging my questions. What's really going on with this job of yours? Spill the tea, sis." Jasmine hesitated, her fingers tracing patterns on the worn armrest. "It's complicated, Lex."

"You can't play me like that, Jaz. We don't keep secrets. spill it!" Alexus insisted, her teasing tone underscored by genuine and anxious curiosity.

"Alright, alright. But you gotta promise not to freak out, Lex." Jasmine took a deep breath.

A mischievous chuckle escaped Alexus. "Girl, you know I can't promise that. Now spill before I start guessing wild stuff. You've been acting weird ever since that damn interview. Don't tell me that you've been selling ass on the street or something?" Jasmine sighed, her voice lowering. "Remember that job interview I had a while back?"

"Girl, you never even told me if you got the job or not. Tell me already!" Alexus pressed, curiosity bubbling in her tone.

"That's the thing, Lex. The job, it ain't no regular job. And no, I ain't selling no damn ass," Jasmine admitted, choosing her words carefully.

A beat of silence hung in the air. "Then what the fuck is it?" Alexus was silent for a moment, processing the unexpected turn in the conversation. "Jaz, what are you into? Are you doing some illegal shit or something? I don't see why else yo ass wouldn't tell me. You even told me when you applied to be one of those damn massage people. This can't be worst than that shit. And they didn't even want yo ass because you didn't even know how to give a massage."

Jasmine sighed. "I've been doing things, things I never thought I would, to make ends meet. I'm a fucking criminal, girl." A stunned silence followed Jasmine's confession. Alexus, for the first time, was at a loss for words. Then she started busting out laughing. "You fucking kidding me, right? Jasmine Hall, a criminal? The girl who cried when she couldn't even answer a math question in front of the class in middle school? The girl who cried when she thought she was going to get in trouble for cheating in gym class?! You gotta be fucking kidding me."

Amidst the laughter that spilled from Alexus, Jasmine couldn't help but also crack a smile, the tension easing momentarily. "I wish I was kidding, Lex, but I'm knee-deep in this shit. It's not a joke."

Alexus, wiping away tears from her eyes, managed to compose herself. "Okay, okay. Let me get this straight. Jasmine, my dear, sweet, rule-abiding best friend, is now a criminal mastermind? I've seen it all."

Jasmine rolled her eyes, a playful defiance in her voice. "I'm not a mastermind, Lex. I'm at the fucking bottom. But yeah, I'm tangled up in some shady shit to give Imani and Malik whatever they want and to help pay bills." 

"Girl, I can't believe this. What kind of crime shit we talkin' here? Are you a bank robber or something?" Alexus quipped, a smirk evident in her voice.

"No, not a bank robber. Not yet, I don't think... " Jasmine muttered, choosing her words carefully. Alexus' tone shifted, the amusement giving way to genuine concern. "Jaz, you can't be serious. What kind of risks are we talking about? Are you in danger? Are you shooting niggas and shit? Drive-bys? Or are you selling drugs? Please tell me you're selling drugs or at least making them."

Jasmine hesitated, weighing the words on her tongue. "Nah, nothing like that… I just needed you to know what's going on in case... well, in case things go to shit. If something happens to me…"

"Things go to shit? Jasmine, this is insane! You can't just drop shit like this on me and expect me to act like it's no big deal. What if you get caught? What if something happens to you?" Alexus shouted.

"If something does happen to me, I want my kids to go to my mom," Jasmine said with a heavy heart.

A heavy sigh escaped Alexus. "Jaz, you're my best friend, and I love you, but this is crazy. You gotta promise me you'll be careful. And if things get too out of hand, you get the fuck out of there, okay?"

Jasmine nodded, even though Alexus couldn't see it through the phone. "I promise, Lex. I'll be careful. And thanks for not tearing into my ass for this shit..."

Alexus snorted, "You out of yo' fucking mind if you think I'm not about to tear into your ass for getting into this dumbass shit."

Alexus did as she said and thoroughly chewed out Jasmine for her choice. Sure, she understood why she was doing what she was doing. But that didn't mean it was smart or the best choice. As Jasmine's best friend, it was her motherfucking job to let her know all the dumbass choices she was making and to let her fucking know how dumb it was. If her ass got arrested, what does she think is going to happen to her fucking kids?

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The construction site buzzed with activity as Ricky, or Larky Lark, as his parents unfortunately named him, navigated the loud worksite. The rhythmic pounding of hammers and the metallic clang of machinery filled the air. Larky, however, moved through the scene with a lightness that defied the heavy burdens life had placed upon him. His coworkers, bulky figures with muscles forged by years of manual labor, cast sidelong glances at Larky. To them, he was a weird little freak who couldn't lift 50 lbs on a good day. The jests and jabs followed him like persistent shadows, but Larky didn't give a shit about them. With a grin on his face, he ignored their mockery.

"Larky, my man, you're gonna blow away in this winter breeze!" one of the workers, a towering figure with calloused hands, shouted across the site.

Larky flashed a toothy grin. "Blow it out your ass, Tom." Laughter erupted, a raucous chorus that temporarily drowned out the sounds of labor. Throughout the day, he labored alongside his burly co-workers, lifting bags of cement and steel beams with determined effort. As the sun descended, casting long shadows across the construction site, the boss approached Larky. A gruff man with a perpetual scowl, he regarded Larky with a mixture of annoyance and reluctant acceptance. "You might work slow as shit, but you ain't lazy. Here's your pay."

The boss handed over a crumpled envelope, and Larky accepted it. As Larky pocketed the crumpled bills, a sense of finality settled over him. The rhythmic pulse of the construction site, once a familiar sound that still drives him fucking crazy, was finally going to disappear. With a deep inhale, Larky faced his boss. "I appreciate the opportunity, boss," Larky began, his words punctuated by a sincerity that cut through the gruff exterior of the man before him. "But, damn, I can't do this shit no more. Fuck this manual labor shit. I'm too young to be having back and feet problems already."

The boss was flabbergasted at this. He scowled at Larky, wondering where the hell he was going with this. Larky, fueled by a wellspring of frustration and a determination to break free, launched into a tirade about all the shit he's felt about this job. "I ain't no muscle head, and I sure as hell ain't here to prove nothin' to nobody. I'm not built for this back-breaking bullshit. You can keep your concrete and steel beams. I'm fuckin' out," Larky declared. "But, hey," Larky continued, a smirk playing on his lips, "thanks for the opportunity to realize just how much I fuckin' hate working here. It's been a goddamn blast."

With that, Larky turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the construction site and its life of hard labor behind. The boss, left to grapple with the unexpected departure, watched as the defiant figure of Larky left the worksite. As Larky strolled away from the construction site, the burdens of manual labor lifting from his shoulders, he couldn't help but revel in the sweet taste of liberation. The criminal gig beckoned like a fuckin' siren song. Larky, fueled by a newfound sense of autonomy, pondered the possibilities that awaited him in the life of crime. The city, its skyline ablaze with the falling snow, embraced Larky as he ventured down the streets. 

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Natalie, or Sydney Priscilla, sat alone in the corner of the college library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with books. Her focus was unyielding as she devoured the pages. The hushed whispers of students studying in groups echoed around her. Her dedication to her studies was unwavering, and her commitment to excellence was unshakeable. Natalie had always been driven, pushing herself to take honor classes and absorbing every bit of information presented in lectures.

But as the weight of the expensive tuition and mounting debt pressed down on her, Natalie couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration. Her thoughts always go to the money flowing out of her bank account. Government aid and scholarships provided some relief, but the weight of her college's exorbitant fees was constant.

She glanced around the campus, observing the rich pricks who effortlessly got into this school because of their background. Natalie knew she was an outlier, an exception to the norm. Her admission to one of the top colleges in the country was proof to her intellect, a triumph over those rich assholes. But it also meant she carried the weight of being a maverick, an outsider in a place where high society and generational wealth reigned supreme. Still, Natalie refused to let the obstacles deter her. She had a goal, a vision of a future where her hard work would pay off. Her dream fueled her every step. And she had a secret weapon to help her fulfill this dream—Working for Ethan, a job that provided her with the means to survive.

As she sat in the lecture hall, her pen gliding across the paper during the midterm exam, Natalie's mind was razor-sharp. She absorbed the questions, analyzing and synthesizing information with precision. The weight of her financial struggles temporarily lifted as she immersed herself in the pursuit of knowledge. A week later, the professor stood before the class, holding a stack of graded papers. The room was silent as the time for class already started. As the names were called one by one, Natalie's heart quickened. And then, it happened—the professor's voice rang out, singling her out as the sole achiever of a perfect score, a resounding 100%.

A wave of pride, relief, and intellectual arrogance washed over Natalie. Her teacher's praise felt like a validation of her sacrifices and hard work. She looked around the room, her condescending gaze meeting her peers' surprised, envious, or indifferent eyes. This moment was proof of her hard work, an affirmation that her dedication had paid off. Without the stress of worrying if she was going to be kicked out of school, she could study her ass off!

With a smile playing on her lips, Natalie glanced at her calendar. She knew that, for this month at least, she had enough to cover her expenses. Her work with Ethan had provided a temporary respite from the mounting debt, allowing her to focus solely on her studies. Secretly, eagerly waiting for the next job. As she left the classroom, Natalie's steps were light and purposeful. The weight of her ambitions propelled her forward, overriding the burden of financial strain. Natalie's smile widened as she embraced the solitude that had become her ally. With her head held high, she walked through the bustling campus—the embodiment of intellectual superiority and the exaggerated swagger of a black teen. She was going to become rich and wealthy without having to break her back or suck anyone's dick to do it.

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Tyler, known as Nathan Turner in the world outside crime, stood by the side of the hospital bed, the soft hum of machines surrounding him. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air as he looked down at his mother, her fragile form cocooned in layers of blankets. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was a reminder of the delicate thread that connected her to life.

"Hey, Mom," Tyler whispered, his voice a gentle murmur in the quiet room. "I'm here again. They say you can hear me, even if you can't respond. So, I'm gonna keep talking, okay?"

He pulled a chair closer, settling into it with a weary sigh. The hospital room, with its pure white walls and the bright lights, felt like a world unto itself—a world where time stood still, and the only reality was the battle his mother waged against the illness that threatened to consume her.

"You know, Mom, I've been doing some things. Things I never thought I would, but I had to. You're sick, and these dang hospital bills keep piling up. I can't just stand by and watch you suffer." Tyler reached out, his hand gently resting on his mother's motionless one. The chill of illness replaced the warmth he sought, but he clung to the connection nonetheless. "I got involved in some stuff, Mom. Things I'm not proud of, but I'm doing it for you. I doing it because I can't bear the thought of losing you. The doctors say... they say we're running out of options. But I can't accept that. I won't."

"I'm working hard, Mom. Trying to make enough money to get you the best treatment. There's this doctor, they say he's the best. But he's expensive. Real expensive. But I don't care about the money. I'll get it, somehow." Tyler's words hung in the air, a pledge forged in the crucible of desperation. "I know it's been tough, but your son isn't a quitter. College, bills, and now this. But I'm not giving up, Mom. I can't. You're the strongest person I know, and I'm gonna make sure you have the chance to be even stronger."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss on his mother's forehead. The scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint fragrance of the flowers he had placed nearby. "I'll be back soon, Mom. Keep fighting, okay? We're gonna get through this together. I promise." With one last lingering gaze, Tyler rose from the chair. The hospital room embraced the stillness once more, cradling the hopes and fears of a son determined to defy the inevitable for the woman who had given him everything.