I Ain't Like Them Other Niggas 2

By: LaToya Charmain



I watched as the man listened intently to whatever the waitress told him, then stood up. He was heading in our direction, as two men, who I assumed were his bodyguards tried to follow behind him. With a wave of his hand, he stopped their advance from following him.

Nisha, seeing the man heading our way, slid closer to me into the booth. I could tell she was nervous by the way she grabbed my hand under the table, but I wasn't nervous at all. I was ready for this muthafucka to try to make a move. I would have his carotid artery cut the fuck open before he could even speak, without even letting go of Nisha's hand. Being a field agent in the counterintelligence division in the Army for ten years had taught me well. I was extensively trained in hand-to-hand combat. I knew how to use my surroundings as weapons. Eyeing my bottle of Remy on the table in front of me, I knew that I could use the bottle as a nice formidable weapon, or perhaps I could use one of the bobby pins in Nisha’s pinned up hairstyle to stab this nigga in his eyes for staring at me so hard.

As I watched dude approach, the first thing that I noticed was that he was a lot younger than what he appeared from across the room , which took me by surprise considering how I noticed everyone in his little group seemed to center around him.

"Oye papì, no disrespect. I want to say sorry for my nephew disrespecting your lady. He is very young and drunk, as you can see. Today is his birthday, and unfortunately, it seems that he has celebrated a little too hard." The Mexican man said apologetically, when he approached the table.

The man couldn't be no more than 25 or younger. He had dark curly hair with a deep olive skin complexion. He was maybe 5 feet 9 inches tall, 185 pounds soaking wet; he wore a black tailored suit with a black Fedora, which caught me off guard because of his young age. Most men his age would not be in a club dressed so formal. Additionally, despite his young appearance, he spoke with a sense of authority. I peeped over his shoulder and seen that his bodyguards looked a little anxious being so far away from their master, but the young man before me didn't looked fazed.

Sizing up the way the man appeared and seemed to carry himself with a sense of power, and the type of company he kept looking over at the goons at his table across the way, I knew that he had to have ties to the underworld.

”No need for apologies partner. Just keep your nephew away from me and my wife." I replied dismissively, not really feeling the bullshit that he was kicking.

"Please accept the bottle for your inconvenience," he said with a Mexican accent, trying to hand me the bottle I just sent back to his table.

“I'm good homie. I can buy my own drinks. You can give that shit to someone else," I replied brushing him off. I didn't give a fuck who he was or what the fuck he did to make his bread, but I didn't need no other man buying me or my lady drinks. Fuck I look like accepting that shit like some kind of fuck boy? This muthafucka must’ve thought that, because I was white, I was some kind of pushover that wanted to squash shit, but that wasn’t me at all. Once a nigga did me wrong, I always got revenge.

“If you won't accept my bottle, please take my card," he said, reaching inside his jacket pocket slowly, realizing that I was ready to jump into action if needed. "I assume you are visiting my great city, and if there is anything that I can do to make it more enjoyable for you, please don't hesitate to call.”

I looked at his card, briefly, while keeping my eye on him just in case he tried some shit. The card was printed on thick quality paper with ornate writing that read--Raphael Montoya Business Entrepreneur and CEO of Montoya Holdings LLC. "Thank you, Mr. Montoya, but we good," I replied, placing the card on the table in front of me. “I didn’t realize such a young man could claim a whole city as his own.”

“Just a figure of speech,” Raphael replied, dismissively, but I knew exactly what he meant by the statement “my city”. This nigga wasn’t fooling no one. "Suit yourself, Mr. Justice, but I have already taken the liberty to refund your money for tonight to the card that you used to reserve this table. Once again, I apologize for my nephew’s bad behavior." He said, with a slight tip of his hat in Nisha's direction and with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You own this club?" Nisha asked shocked, speaking up for the first time.

"Si, Mamita, and several others here in Miami, so if you’re interested in visiting any other clubs, call me, and I'll make sure to get you VIP service in any spot."

Squeezing Nisha's hand under the table, I put an end to their brief conversation. ‘We appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Montoya, but that is not necessary. I have no problems paying my own way."

“I'm sure that you don’t, but what type of businessman would I be if I allowed guests at my establishment to be disrespected. Enjoy the rest of your stay here in Miami." With that, he turned and walked away leaving the bottle and his business card on the table.

Although I had to admit that I liked the young man's style, I wasn’t really a forgiving type of nigga. I know I heard his name before, but I couldn't place it at the moment, which irritated me. I needed to get out of this loud ass club to be able to think in peace. I didn't like the fact that dude knew my whole government, but I couldn't place his name or his face.

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