She stole my daughter’s birthday present! Stop that girl right now!
“The Cue Stick,” Nia Gaines said, reading the neon sign that flickered above the entrance. It was a low-slung, cinder-block building on the less-traveled side of Pine Creek, past the hardware store and the laundromat. The kind of place you didn’t just stumble into.
We parked a block away, under the dim glow of a streetlamp. “This is where Big Ray operates,” she explained, pulling a small camera out of her bag. “He owns the place. Runs the largest informal credit network in town out of here.”
“Credit network?” I asked, my brow furrowed. I knew Big Ray, or at least his reputation. He was the kind of man whose name was whispered, whose presence commanded a quiet respect, or fear, depending on who you were. He wasn’t violent, not openly, but everyone knew he ran things.
“Think of it as an alternative banking system,” Nia clarified. “For people who can’t get traditional loans. He lends money, collects on debts. Stays out of the police’s way, and they mostly stay out of his. It’s how a lot of cash transactions happen in this town.”
She looked at me. “My investigation suggests Barksdale is using these informal loans to fund his schemes, and possibly even using Big Ray’s name to intimidate people into signing over their property.”
“So he’s using the street’s muscle without the street’s permission?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” she said. “I want to see if any of Barksdale’s property records match up with Big Ray’s known associates. Or if I can get a glimpse of their tax ledgers.”
The air inside was thick with cigarette smoke, cheap beer, and the rhythmic clack of billiard balls. The jukebox was playing something soulful and slow. It was surprisingly crowded for a Tuesday night, mostly older Black men, hunched over tables, cue sticks gliding.
Nia moved slowly, discreetly, toward the bar, pretending to examine the framed sports memorabilia on the walls. I stayed near the entrance, trying to look casual, my eyes scanning the room.
And then I saw him. Jerome Barksdale. He was seated in a shadowy booth in the back, away from the main pool tables. He wasn’t playing. He was talking, his head bent low, to two men built like brick walls. They weren’t locals I recognized. Not the usual Pine Creek crowd. They had the hard, watchful eyes of enforcers.
One of them, a man with a shaved head and a faint scar above his eyebrow, gestured emphatically with his hand, then leaned back, watching Barksdale’s reaction. Barksdale, for all his usual slick confidence, looked nervous. He kept glancing around, his expensive suit looking out of place in the grimy pool hall.
He wasn’t just working for Brenda. He wasn’t just a corrupt appraiser. He was in deep. And the men he was with weren’t the kind you could reason with using a notarized deed.
My gaze locked with Nia’s across the room. She was watching me, a question in her eyes. I gave her a subtle shake of my head, indicating I’d found something.
This wasn’t just about the church garage or my mother’s house anymore. This was about Barksdale using Big Ray’s name, Big Ray’s reputation, to pull off his shady deals. The thought of Big Ray, a man who valued order above all else, having his name dragged through a county-wide forgery scheme gave me a chilling realization.
This wasn’t just about legal battles. This was about street law. And if Big Ray found out Barksdale was using his name without permission, things would get a lot more dangerous than a court summons.
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