The Best Man Games

Jessica A.
Aug 6
8 min read

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Peanut

“Aight niggas, Listen up. Choc got six bridesmaids, and I got six groomsmen. But I can’t choose a best man–”

“Yes you can. You just don’t wanna hurt these niggas’ feelings,” Shad interrupts me, jutting his thumb toward Set.

“What makes you think you’ll be Best Man?” Set quips.

Shad shrugs. “Everyone loves Shaddy. And you’d rather walk down with Brina, who isn’t Dal’s Maid of Honor.”

“This ain’t about Choc’s order; this about me. And y’all muthafuckas gon’ walk with whoever I say! Interrupt me again and you’re disqualified.”

Set and Shad mumble some shit under they breath, but they get the picture.

I grin, glancing around my man-cave. “Now, like I was saying, I can’t pick my Best Man because, I fuck with all y’all. Set, you my cousin. Turk, Reem, Ty, y’all my lil’ bros. Rico, you my Ace. And lil’ Shaddy is my son.”

“Aww,” Ty’s dumb ass swoons, but he clams up when I narrow my eyes.

“So, I decided to have y’all compete for it. That way it’s fair and square. It was gon’ be Dominoes–”

These niggas start groaning as Turk’s lips spread like the Cheshire Cat.

“But, I know Turk ass be cheating. So instead, we gon’ take it back to Tryouts.”

“This nigga,” Reem mumbles, no doubt remembering that amazing Labor Day weekend where we solidified our bond and committed dozens of crimes.

“Now, you all have your specialty. In the hat are names of contracts I accepted. Whoever you pick, use yo specialty to take ‘em out, but it needs to be recorded. Camcorder, not digital–can’t have y’all niggas going to jail. Then, I’ma have the girls review and rate the footage. The nigga with the highest score will be my best man.”

“Haze can’t judge, she knows our specialties, too,” Ty’s ass pouts.

They weird blasé attitude toward each other always rears its head at the most random times, but he is right.

“Fasho. It’ll be Brina and Wynter.”

Rico scoffs, but still murmurs his agreement.

I grin, and pass the hat around.

“Aight. Y’all got a week. Happy hunting, niggas.”

Two weeks later

“You got the popcorn?” Wyn asks as Brina and I walk deeper into my movie room.

“Yup.” Brina’s big ass wobbles over to the couch, handing over the big ass bowl of popcorn before trying to make herself comfortable.

She’s finna pop any day now, and I’m praying it’s not at my crib. My couch is authentic suede.

“Aight tramps. We watching six different videos of six different niggas dying. You’re going to rate them and then I’ll pick my best man like that.”

Wyn snorts. “And you couldn’t do a coin toss because…?”

I wave her annoying ass off. “This is more fun. Don’t piss me off, Wynter. I still don’t know how yo ass is even in my wedding.”

She throws some popcorn in her mouth, shutting up.

“C’mon, P. Let’s start. My tummy is feeling tight.”

I’m up with a quickness starting the first videotape.

Let me hurry up and get this fertile lady out my house.

Contestant 1:

The video starts with the Kenton downtown cityscape. The sun is rising, indicating that dawn has just started.

The video begins to zoom in slowly. All of downtown can be seen. Then only the tallest buildings. Then the two tallest buildings. Then the Coastal Credit Union building. The scope moves to the fifty-third floor, then zooms in more until the normally reflective window is clear enough to see a man shedding files in his corner office.

If you blink, you’ll miss it. The bullet-sized hole that appears on the screen. The man slumped over his desk. The dark liquid sprawled against the opposite wall.

“Gotcha bitch,” a distorted voice garbles before the camera cuts.

“Sheesh! What he do?” Brina asks, glancing at me.

“Don’t matter,” I say, getting up to change videotapes. “Don’t ask no questions. Don’t try to guess who it is. Just take mental notes.”

Contestant 2:

The video opens with gloved hands picking the lock to a house. Once the lock is disengaged, the gloved hands open the door and the cameraman creeps into the darkened house.

The cameraman must know his way around the house, because he bypasses the stairs, going around them to a door just off of a bathroom. Pushing the door ajar, the camera looks down at the glock 19 with attached suppressor, before shifting the view back up in time for a gloved hand to push the door fully open.

Three steps inside. Aim at the forehead. Two to the head.

Camera cuts off.

“Oh, he’s taking it!” Brina’s freak ass groans, licking her lips.

Wynter cackles, chomping on more popcorn. “So I guess you think that’s Set?”

Brina waves her off as she readjusts herself on the couch. “I know my man’s hands anywhere.”

“They were gloved!”

“And?” She replies, rubbing her belly.

“You really a tramp. If you give me nieces, I’m taking ‘em. Ain’t gon’ be identifying nobody by no concealed appendage around these parts!” I bark, changing videotapes.

“I can’t wait until Lil Mama–”

“Girl, please don’t get us kicked out. We not even halfway done!” Wynter says, palming Brina’s belly. Because she’s a weirdo, palming her belly actually calms her down, so the girls are always touching her.

Contestant 3:

The video begins with harrowing screams as the picture clears. There’s a man suspended from a giant anchor. He’s naked, with dirt, grime, and blood covering nearly every inch of his skin.

There’s a message carved into his distended belly.

“Is that…”

Indeed. It is.

D + P inside of a heart.

A machete flies into the screen, the momentum wedging the blade deep into the plus sign. Bloor pours out of the man’s mouth as his eyes glaze over. A sinister laugh echoes before the video ends.

“Well, anyone but him,” Wynter spits as I begin to change the videos.

Brina snickers. “You know who that is and no body parts were even shown. Now who’s a tramp?”

Wynter stuffs more popcorn into her trap so she doesn’t have to answer, and even I have to chuckle.

That may have been a little too easy. Hopefully the next contestant isn’t. I need this shit as unbiased as possible.

Contestant 4:

“Y’all know the rules. No rounds. Last one standing. Go!”

The referee backs out of the ring before a cage lowers, enclosing the two fighters. Both of them seem tall, with one man only wearing shorts and taped wrists.

The other man is completely covered from head to toe. A luche libre mask in black and forest green. White long sleeve compression shirt. Black taped fists. Olive green shorts. White compression leggings. Even his feet are taped with black athletic tape.

The covered man flexes his hands and cracks his neck. As soon as the bell rings, he’s on him.

His wingspan is impressive. He doesn’t let up, one fist after another reaching the other man through his defensive stance.

Most of the time, fighters will try to conserve their energy. Not the covered man.

His energy doesn’t seem to ever deplete. He keeps going, and going, until a vicious right hook to the other man’s temple drops him like a sack of dirty laundry.

The camera zooms in at the man as his life oozes out of his eyes and mouth.

The cage lifts and the referee climbs back in, grabbing the covered man’s wrist and lifting his arm up.

“Winner–”

The camera cuts off before the name could be given.

“Well, that could be anyone. All of them can fight,” Wynter mutters, rolling her eyes.

“Even Shad? Have you seen him fight?”

Wyn turns to Brina, grabbing her hands. “The way you truly believe Rahshad Kaleel Washington is a sweet baby angel is just… please keep that version of him in your head. I will not be the one to taint it.”

“You a fool foreal Wyn,” I chuckle, shaking my head.

She beams at me, winking like I made her day.

Contestant 5:

The video opens with buildings zooming past the scope.

“Nigga, slow down,” a garbled voice rumbles in the background.

“Tighten up, nigga!” another garbled voice replies, as a rifle appears at the bottom of the screen.

The camera seems to be moving so fast. Entirely too fast for an accurate shot.

But the rifle fires before being pulled off-screen, and distorted whoops let the viewer know the target was hit.

The car stops so harshly that the tires burn rubber, smoke wafting up the scope.

The camera turns and zooms in. There’s a man on his back on the sidewalk, bystanders screaming and trying to take pictures of the car the cameraman is in.

“Aight, I got the shot. Let’s go.”

The cameraman turns but the video cuts off before a clear shot of the cameraman in the rearview mirror could be seen.

“I would guess who that is but it wasn’t any gagging or throw-up so I’m stumped.”

“You’re such a bitch,” Brina snorts. “Okay, last one. Hopefully not the least.”

Contestant 6:

Static clears to a stationery shot of a one-story midcentury home with a Mercedes station wagon parked in front. The front door opens, with a man rushing toward the car. He’s called back to the house, but he waves off the woman, and begins to yell at her.

The woman flinches, hunching into herself before closing the front door.

The man looks like he’s ranting, though he could barely be heard. He gets into the car, and checks his phone for a little bit, even getting on it.

His conversation seems much more positive than the interaction with the woman in his house. He’s smiling, laughing, even licking his lips.

He places the phone down, finally pushing the ignition to his car.

The Mercedes bursts into a ball of orange, yellow, and white.

The woman runs out of the house screaming before rushing back inside, right before debris hits the lawn.

The car burns for a few seconds before the video cuts out.

“Aight tramps,” I say, turning off my tv. “We gon’ go through them again, and then I’ll give you the day to discuss who’s your pick, one through six. I’ll tell the winner this weekend at our game.”

“One thing’s for sure, all of them are crazy as hell,” Wynter says, shivering in her seat.

“No, foreal.”

“Bitch, you crazy, too!” she squeals, before slapping hands with Brina.

“Aww, y’all warming my heart. It seems like it was just yesterday y’all was fighting over dick.” I cover my heart with my hand, trying to convey sincerity, but a snicker wins when they both launch my couch pillows at me.

“Fuck you,” Brina hisses.

“Just for that, I’m telling B about the time you wiped your ass with poison ivy in the woods. I never deleted the picture.” Wyn sticks her tongue out before taking out her phone.

Brina’s pregnant. She not. So it’s nothing for me to march over there and start tickling her dumb ass for her phone.

“Can’t stand yo tramp ass!” I grit as I snatch her phone. I delete that damn picture of me looking like an idiot with my red ass out and tears in my eyes.

“The fact… you think… that’s my only copy is hilarious,” she says grinning.

God gave me the most annoying ass sisters, I swear.

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