KuJoe’s voice was harsh and grating in my ear when I called him from my cellphone, and I gritted my teeth to stop myself from cursing him out. “I’ve got your goddamn money, motherfucker,” I said. “You better watch who you talkin’ to, Tyler,” KuJoe retorted snidely. I snorted. “I know who I’m talking to, Kushawn,” I replied, using his real name. “Ay, don’t be using my real name like that,” he barked at me. I jumped slightly at the policeman’s hand touching me and looked at the officer next to me in the van. The broad-shouldered black man gave me a slight shake of his head, and I sighed. I knew I shouldn’t be antagonizing KuJoe, but I couldn’t help it. He deserved it. Bastard. “Look. KuJoe, I’m sorry, okay? But I’ve got the rest of your money. All of it. Where do you want me to meet you?” I asked. KuJoe laughed. “You got all of my money? Damn, baby. You musta been on yo’ knees fo’ hours and givin’ up dat ass, doing all kinds of nasty ass shit.”
