Decide First

Chapter One

The loud shattering of the glass rang through the quiet of the kitchen but didn’t disrupt the stillness in the air. Malik was still alone in the house, and the three overdue bills were still staring back at him, waiting for payment. Throwing the cup of water he’d been drinking across the room didn’t change that, in fact it just gave him one more thing to do before his mother got home from work. Malik did the calculations in his head as he made his way towards the broom closet. By the time the last shard of glass was swept up he knew there was no way he’d be able to come up with $80,000 within the next month. There weren’t enough shifts at the late night dinner, nor was there enough time in each day for him to sell the amount of weed it’d take to make that. He’d have to figure something out. And he’d have to do it quickly.

Andre would need another treatment soon, and the hospital wouldn’t lift a finger to do much more without some kind of payment. Malik tested the sound of the amount aloud, hearing the nearly suffocating weight of it in his ears. The number alone was a mouthful, almost choking him as he spit it out. He thought it devilish, the price these strangers put on saving Andre’s life. It didn’t matter though, devilish or not there was nothing he could do but pay. The amount wouldn’t change and there was no way Malik would let his brother die, especially not the slow painful death that would be waiting for him if he went much longer without treatment.

The fridge was mostly bare but Malik’s stomach conveniently missed the memo, growling at him to eat. There was bread and peanut butter, no jelly but it’d have to be enough. Malik made himself a sandwich that he’d eat on his way to work. The combination made a thick paste that stuck to the roof of his mouth with every bite but it filled at least a bit of the emptiness in his stomach. He’d fill up the rest of it throughout his shift, stealing a few french fries and onion rings off of each plate he carried out into the dining room.

Half the shift passed by achingly slow. There wasn’t much money to be made when the diner was only three tables away from empty. Malik was busy stuffing his face with the meatloaf the kitchen staff managed to overcook just as he felt a tap on his shoulder. “That guy is back for you.” It was Shirly, the hostess, who cut off a piece of his meatloaf using his knife, popping it into her mouth before continuing. “The cute one, not the one with the jerry curl, and he’s got some friends with him again. Table ten.” If DeShawn was there with his prep school homeboys Malik would make at least $50. He knew how DeShawn liked to show off when he brought them down here periodically to remind them that he truly is one of them despite what he looks like. Malik didn’t mind that DeShawn felt the need to throw his money at him in hopes that the white guys he lived around would respect him more for it. In fact he wished people would come in and throw money at him to prove points more often.

Malik wiped his mouth with a napkin, muttering a quick thanks to Shirly as he grabbed his notepad and headed toward table ten. He already had a practiced smile on his face by the time DeShawn and his entourage came into view. DeShawn was perched at the edge of the booth, leaning back like he owned the place, his gold chain glinting under the dim diner lights. His friends—two guys in polos and one girl with a ponytail so tight it looked like it hurt—were laughing at something DeShawn had just said, their postures all slightly uncomfortable in the worn-down vinyl seats.

“Yo, Malik! What’s good, man?” DeShawn’s grin stretched wide, genuine and toothy. It was the kind of smile Malik had heard people call “contagious,” people like Shirly at least. Too bad Malik had an immunity to it.

“What’s good, DeShawn?” Malik replied, his voice light, easy, like they’d been tight since day one. He slid the notepad into the crook of his arm for a moment, knowing this was less about ordering food. “Didn’t think I’d see you down here twice in one week. You trying to turn this place into your new hangout or what?”

DeShawn laughed, a rich sound that made his friends join in, even though there wasn’t a joke in sight. “Nah, nah, I was just telling them about you. My boy Malik, hardest-working dude I know. Gotta support the homies, you feel me?” The rest of the guys murmured in agreement as the girl just stared at Malik like he was something she’d never seen before.

Malik nodded, leaning his weight on one leg as he crossed his arms, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Appreciate it man. So, what can I get y’all tonight?”

One by one all the guys started ordering damn near everything on the menu. Shakes and extra sides. Malik’s pen flew across the little pad of paper, jotting down everything. Baby blue polo ordered for the girl too as she continued staring like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Anything else before I put this in for y’all?”

DeShawn leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel conspiratorial. “Actually, I was hoping you’d stop by a little party I’m throwing tomorrow night. Big vibe, real exclusive, you know how I do. You should come through.”

Malik pretended to hesitate, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man. Got work, bills stacking up... you know how it is.”

DeShawn slapped a hundred-dollar bill onto the table, sliding it toward Malik with a grin. “Come on, just swing by. Even if it’s just for an hour. You need to loosen up, my brother.”

The money practically glowed on the table, and Malik couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking to it, even though he tried to play it cool. He knew what he’d do the moment DeShawn opened his mouth. A party like that meant plenty of opportunities—loose wallets and plenty of people looking to blow cash on something to elevate their night. Something Malik would happily sell them. He would walk out with more than a hundred bucks by the end of it, guaranteed.

“Alright,” Malik said, grabbing the bill and folding it into his pocket. “Guess I can stop by for a bit. A couple hours can’t hurt too bad.”

DeShawn laughed like Malik had just told the funniest joke in the world, dapping him up, their hands connecting like real friends. “That’s my boy! You won’t regret it.”

DeShawn thought they were real friends, but Malik didn’t have friends. He had family and opportunities, and DeShawn was the latter of the two. If the party could help him scrape together even a fraction of the money he needed for Andre, that was all that mattered. Everything else? That was just noise.

Chapter Two

The bass thudded through the walls of the house like a second heartbeat. Malik wove his way through the crowd, sidestepping clusters of people crammed into every corner. DeShawn’s party was in full swing—red solo cups in hand, laughter, and smoke clouding the air. It was loud, chaotic, and perfect for business. Malik kept his smile in place easily at the promise of good money as DeShawn led him through the throng.

“Ay, Man!” DeShawn shouted over the music, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let me introduce you to some people.” DeShawn’s charisma was on full display as he hopped from group to group, dapping people up and dropping jokes that had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. Malik, despite feeling like he was being paraded around, played along, nodding at names he’d already forgotten, laughing at jokes he didn’t find funny. He wasn’t here for them—he was here for the hustle.

Eventually, they ended up by the back patio where a group of stoners sat cross-legged in a hazy circle, some passing around a blunt and others taking drags from a bong. “Yo, this is my boy Malik,” DeShawn announced. “If y’all need anything, he’s the guy to hit up.” Malik offered a casual nod, hands tucked into his pockets. The group muttered greetings, a couple of them already eyeing him with interest. DeShawn leaned in close, lowering his voice. “They’re cool people. They’ll take care of you.”

Malik gave a quick thumbs-up, and DeShawn clapped him on the back before disappearing into the crowd. Alone now, Malik slipped into his role with ease. One by one, people approached him, their hushed voices mixing with the music as they asked for dime bags and ounces. He pocketed cash quickly, his practiced movements seamless.

It was an hour or so later when DeShawn called out to him again. “Yo, Malik! Come here, man!” He was by the stereo, surrounded by a small group of girls. They were laughing and dancing, swaying to the beat, their faces flushed from the heat of the packed house. Malik approached slowly, nodding in greeting, his smile wide and genuine now that he had money in his pockets.

DeShawn leaned in discreetly. “That one right there,” he said, tilting his chin toward a girl dawning acid wash jeans with curly hair framing her face. “She’s been asking about you all night.”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Yeah, man. Go handle that.” DeShawn winked before stepping back into the group, giving Malik the floor.

The girl turned toward him, a coy smile playing on her lips. “So, you’re Malik?” she asked, her voice smooth and warm.

“Depends,” Malik said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Who’s asking?”

She laughed, leaning in slightly. “I am. Name’s Natasha.”

They fell into easy conversation, her flirting obvious but not overbearing. Malik enjoyed the attention and the slight distraction. He let the charm roll off his tongue, even though his mind was still half elsewhere. Natasha grabbed his hand at one point, pulling him toward a couch on the far side of the room. They sank into the plush velvet cushions, her body leaning into his as their conversation grew quieter.

Soon enough, her lips brushed his, and they were kissing, her perfume mingling with the faint tang of liquor on her breath. Across the room, DeShawn caught his eye, throwing him an exaggerated thumbs-up. Malik rolled his eyes but kept kissing Natasha. Her lips were soft and smooth but Malik was just going through the motions. Her lips felt good but they weren’t enough to keep his mind from wandering. They weren’t lining his pockets with cash.

It was when Natasha started talking again, her voice soft in his ear, that Malik’s eyes caught movement outside the window. His gaze sharpened as he focused on the scene unfolding in the dim glow of the porch light. Two men stood near the edge of the driveway, one holding a duffle bag. Malik’s breath hitched as he saw the bag being unzipped, revealing stacks of money. The other man handed over a medium-sized package wrapped tightly in plastic.

Malik’s stomach tightened. That much money for whatever was in that one package—it was the kind of payday he never even imagined possible. But now he was watching it happen right before his eyes. His mind raced, the weight of a million possibilities pressing down on him. 

Natasha was still talking, her voice a faint hum in the back of his mind. Abruptly, he sat up, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Hey, uh, I gotta take care of something. I’ll be back.” She blinked, surprised, but before she could respond, Malik was already moving. He slipped through the crowd, his pulse pounding in his ears as he made his way to the door. The man with the duffle bag was heading toward the street, and Malik wasn’t about to let him disappear without finding out more. 

This was it. This could be his chance to get out from under the weight crushing him—and maybe, just maybe, save his brother in the process.

Malik couldn’t get in his car fast enough. As soon as he shut the door he took off after the gold Cadillac the man disappeared into. He didn’t know where the man was going, nor what he’d say to him when they got there. All he knew was that he needed in on whatever it was that made a duffle full of money.

The countless turns had the streets blurring together in Malik’s mind. DeShawn’s house already wasn’t in Malik’s neck of the woods but now he was completely lost. Nothing looked familiar in the slightest. 

It was a tight street tucked away where the Cadillac finally pulled over, tall brick buildings lining the street on each side. The man climbed out of the driver's seat and Malik’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach as the man headed straight for him. His fingers twitched on the steering wheel and his knee jerked but Malik was frozen. In his head he was stuck, all he could do was watch. Watch as the man approached with purpose. He came up to Malik’s window and when he went to tap on the glass it wasn’t with a balled fist or a finger, but a gun. It wasn’t merely a tap on the glass either. The window shattered over Malik as the man wrenched the door open and pulled him out of the car. Malik muttered pleas for the man to wait, to listen, to understand but all his words fell on deaf ears. 

A loud CRACK rang through his head as the gun met his temple. He shuttered with the pain for just a second before he didn’t feel anything at all. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, up becoming down, and then all turned black.

Rope rubbed the skin of Malik’s wrists red and raw. He was tied to a chair in the center of a great big yard. His eyes open to only slits, he could make out a pool to his right and floor to ceiling windows lending visual to a luxurious living room to his left. The whole place wreaked of money and Malik knew only two roads laid before him. On one hand he’d leave there with a way to make money of his own,  on the other he wouldn’t leave at all.