The Bed You Make: An Urban Hood Drama

by Tamicka Higgins

  “You need to get the fuck outta the front of my sister’s place!” Jasmine yelled. “You need to get the fuck up on outta here, bitch, before I beat that ass.”

  Maya, with her fists dangling at her side, rushed up onto the sidewalk and up to Jasmine and Imani.

  “Come on, Imani,” Jasmine said, looking into Maya’s eyes. “This bitch is all by herself, now. Come on, girl.”

  Boldly and bravely, Jasmine and Imani walked up to Maya and simply started swinging. Since they were working together, they just pummeled Maya as much as they could. However, Maya had experience fighting two chicks at the same time. Sure, the chicks got a couple of hits, but it wasn’t long before Maya had hit Imani so hard that she went flying back and into the grass. Maya took this chance to grab’s Jasmine’s hair and pull her head down to the ground. Her arms flung about as she struggled, but Maya only laughed. With her grip tight, she held Jasmine’s head down in the grass and smeared her face in it.

  “Bitch, don’t come walkin’ up to me like you can fight me!” Maya told her. Maya held her head in place and slammed her numerous times across the face—so many times her wrist eventually started to hurt. By this time, Jasmine felt the world spinning around her. Maya turned around and focused on Imani. She’d just gotten up and was already charging at Maya. “Come on, bitch!”

  “Bitch, I fuckin’ hate you!” Imani said, swinging again. Within seconds, Maya had struck Imani several times across the face and knocked her down to the ground. Maya quickly jumped on top of the girl and punched her face at least a dozen times, until she moved slowly and her head jerked back and forth.

  Jasmine jumped on Maya’s back, and Maya stood up. For the first time during the entire fight, Jasmine had the upper hand against Maya. She’d managed to put several scratches on her face, as well as pull some of her hair out. This was enough to drive Maya truly mad. In a deep rage, she got ahold of Jasmine’s hair and pulled her toward the ground. She struggled, trying to break free of Maya’s ultra-masculine grip. Maya stomped down on Jasmine’s arm and Jasmine shrieked, her arm going limp.

  “Come on over here real quick,” Maya said. She tightened her grip on Jasmine’s hair and pulled her over to a nearby tree. Keeping control, she rammed Jasmine’s head into the tree several times before letting go and letting her knocked out body fall to the grass. She turned around and looked at Imani, who’d gotten up again. “This bitch ain’t gon’ learn,” she mumbled.

  Maya looked out at her parked car in the parking lot. She waved, motioning for one of her girls to step out of the car. When she did, Maya yelled, “Get y’all phone out and tape this shit!”

  Imani, finally being able to gain some standing, looked out at the parking lot in terror. The last thing she wanted was to get her ass beat on camera. Quickly, she turned away and made her way toward the townhouse, yelling to her nephew to get the phone and call the police. Maya quickly caught up with her and grabbed the flailing chick’s hair. She cried, begging Maya to stop.

  “Naw, come on out here,” Maya said. “Bring that ass out here.”

  Imani was stuck bent over and being pulled by her hair; she swatted at Maya’s arms as she pulled her over toward the parking lot. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t get free from Maya’s grip. “Maya, you ain’t gotta do all this!” Imani yelled. “Bitch, you crazy! You ain’t gotta do all this.”

  Imani’s heart jumped with terror as Maya drug her over toward a friend holding her phone out. Maya looked into the camera then down at Imani. “This bitch was fuckin’ around on my brother and now she wonder why she gettin’ that ass beat so bad,” she said. “This bitch right here ain’t shit.” She looked down again and pulled even tighter on Imani’s hair.

  “Okay, okay!” Imani yelled, swinging her arms in air. Tears rolled down her bruised face. “Stop, please! Fuckin’ stop!”

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch!” Maya yelled. With Maya’s friend holding her phone steady, Maya took her sweet time holding Imani in her place and pummeling her in her face over and over and over and over and over again.

  When Maya felt her arm getting tired, she pushed Imani down to the ground. Imani turned over and looked up, trying to put her hand over her face to hide it from the camera. She pleaded for it all to stop, feeling as if she was going to die. Maya struck Imani so hard across the face that she was knocked out, her arms lying down at her side. Maya looked at her girl.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Make sure you get that shit. We gon’ put that shit on Worldstar or some shit like that and make sure the video got your whole name.”

  ***

  As if Race’s birthday hadn’t started off on the right beat by him getting some sloppy morning head, the rest of his day was pretty nice. So many chicks that he’d messed around with over the years hit him up, be it through text or on Facebook, to wish him a happy birthday. Cousins called, as did his mother and stepfather.

  Race wound up taking a nap during the afternoon and then got up that evening to get ready. He’d given some thought to the situation with John, even though he told himself that he was just going to enjoy his birthday party and wonder about all of that later. He wished he could think of a way to find out what happened, if anything, to that Camron dude. It’d been a couple of days since he’d gone over to his house and left him knocked out cold on the kitchen floor. As soon as everything was out of the way for his birthday, he was going to get back after John. If John truly thought that having to walk home naked in the middle of the night was the only punishment for being caught smashing his chick, then Race was going to be sure he understood otherwise.

  As to be expected, Drew called to make sure that Race was going to be at the club at the arranged time. “Hell yeah, nigga,” Race said. “I know you don’t think I’m about to pass up on some big-booty bitches bendin’ it over and makin’ it clap for me.”

  “Okay, okay, nigga,” Drew said. “You know how you get. Be gettin’ caught up in shit and then be forgettin’ that you was fuckin’ supposed to be somewhere and shit. I was just makin’ sure.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Race said. “Nigga, I swear these bitches betta not have no busted faces and shit. You know I ain’t try’na see no ugly bitches dance and shit. And sometimes you be likin’ them ugly chicks and shit, I swear.”

  “Yeah, yeah, nigga,” Drew said. “Nigga, I showed you the pics. Just make sure you get there when you supposed to get there.”

  Race finished his conversation with Drew and got ready. He hung around for a bit, allowing himself chill out some after the hot shower he’d taken. He headed out to his car, with his heat in his pocket, knowing that he needed to watch his back. He wouldn’t put it past John to come rolling by and trying to start something again. There was no doubt in Race’s mind that he probably hadn’t learned his lesson from seeing what happened to his boy Camron.

  Race bumped Meek Mill’s latest mixtape as he headed over to Blue Light. When he pulled up, it was nice to see that several cars he recognized had already pulled up and parked. Music blared from inside the club, the blacked-out windows making the place look mysterious. He parked his car and walked into the club. Upon entering, and being looked over by the guards at the door, he looked up toward the small stage. A thick-booty girl swung around on the pole for a small crowd of dudes standing around at the front.

  “Damn she got a fat ass,” Race commented. He made his way across the club, saying hello to various people here and there. He came over to the side that had been reserved for his party, finding Drew socializing with people. “Nigga, wassup?” he asked when he stepped up to the table. “I know you thought I wasn’t gon’ come.”

  Drew jumped up, hugging his boy and wishing him a happy birthday. Race took the time to speak to everyone, even seeing a couple of guys he’d known in high school. And, as promised, their section was roped off with two strippers walking around. Some guys had come with their girls, so they tried to act rather composed when the asses would go walking by. However, for the guys who had come on their
own, it was a completely different story. They reached and grabbed and smacked. One even pressed his face into one of the stripper’s ass, biting at the cheeks when he pulled away.

  Race’s party was turning out to be a good time. Off and on, there was a stripper up at the front of the club dancing. When there wasn’t, music played and couples would dance out in the floor, paired up. For the guys who came alone, they made their way around the room and harassed any woman who didn’t appear to be accompanied by a man. Drinks flowed at Race’s table with people still coming through the door, coming over to wish him a happy birthday. Getting so much love from everybody really let Race know how much he was respected.

  Around midnight, the party was in full swing. Everybody was either a little high or buzzed off of the alcohol. The strippers were very friendly, especially toward the birthday boy. Drew checked the time then smacked the ass of a dark-skinned chick who was probably the baddest chick walking in the entire club. He glanced toward the back of the club, letting her know that it was that time.

  The stripper walked over, heading to the back. Her ass bounced up and down with each step, grabbing Race’s attention and holding onto it. Race shook out of it once she disappeared into the back then leaned over the table to tell Drew, “Damn that ass is fat as fuck. The dark skin chick. I might have to take her home tonight. You know how I like them chocolate chicks with the bodies and the pretty eyes. And she definitely got both.”

  “Glad to hear that,” Drew said, nodding. “Nigga, wait till you see this cake. Nigga, you gon’ like this shit.”

  “Damn, nigga,” Race said. “How fuckin’ old is we that you got me a fuckin’ cake?”

  “Nigga, you never too old to have some cake,” Drew said. “Just chill the fuck out.”

  Drew got everyone around’s attention, even one of his friends that he’d invited who worked at Target. She had a soft spot for Race and had her eye on him the entire night, but she still kept her distance since she wasn’t really close to him like that. Race sat there, his body humming in anticipation, talking and drinking. A few minutes later, the dark-skinned chick came walking out with the cake. People came over to join in singing Happy Birthday. Race, like a kid turning ten and wondering how much money he’d gotten in the cards, smiled and looked around, in a very bashful way.

  “All right, nigga!” Drew yelled as everyone clapped after singing Happy Birthday. The cake was shaped like a big ass—chocolate flavored. Everyone got their phones out to take pictures of Race blowing the candles out.

  He smiled for the cameras then looked down at the big ass-shaped cake. His head shook and he said, “Nigga, you stupid for this shit.”

  Everyone snapped pictures as Race prepared to blow the candles out. Just as his cheeks had expanded, there was shouting at the front of the club. The bouncer at the door was telling someone that they couldn’t come in. Everyone then saw the bouncer holding his hands up and backing into the club, looking as if he was scared for his life. Race looked on, confused. Then, out of nowhere, three dudes dressed in all black came running out of the back of the club. At the same time, three guys rushed in through the front. One started fist-fighting with the bouncer, pummeling his head against the side of the bar. When Race squinted his eyes, he realized what was happening. The football-built dude giving it to the bouncer was one of John’s boys—one of the dudes that had rolled up that night and started shooting at him as he got into the car.

  “What the fuck is these niggas doin’?” Drew asked. “Shit, is that?”

  “Mmhmm,” Race asked, sliding out of his seat. Thankfully, as they’d arranged, the guard at the front had been instructed to let Race get into the club with his gun since it was his birthday and he was the kind of guy who would never start anything. Now that the shit was hitting the fan, he was glad he had a little something with him. He pulled his gun out of his pocket as the six guys rushed into the club, pointing their guns and causing people to scurry in all directions.

  Gunshots fired, causing woman to scream and run off in their heels. People ducked under tables. Strippers, with their asses jiggling for dear life, rushed toward the back of the club for safety. Five of the guys, as one was on the bouncer, spread around the club. One of them yelled, “Find that nigga Race! Find that nigga Race!”

  Drew looked at Race, feeling helpless as he hadn’t brought his heat with him. However, he’d been friends with Race long enough to know that he’d get everybody out of this situation. He wasn’t the kind of dude that would just let anybody get away with anything. Drew watched as Race fired a couple of shots at the four guys who’d come through the back. However, his one gun was no match for their four. Drew and Race dove underneath the table where they’d been sitting when bullets sprayed. Before either of them knew it, they were at the mercy of three men who had their guns pointed under the table.

  “Come on out, nigga!” one guy dressed in all black said. “Bring that ass right on out here. Come on out, nigga.”

  Drew moved first but then went flying back as a foot kicked his face. He grabbed his face, feeling to see if his nose had been broken.

  “Naw, nigga!” the guy snapped, waving his gun. “Not you, nigga. We talkin’ about that otha nigga.”

  Race looked on in terror, but didn’t move an inch. Reluctantly, he slid out from under the table and stood up. With a cold expression on his face, he looked at the five guys with guns. He looked to his left and saw that one of them was John. John smiled and nodded his head.

  “Happy Birthday, nigga,” he said, sarcastically. He looked around the club. “How you gon’ have this party and not invite a nigga?”

  Race chuckled. “You real bold, nigga,” he said. “Real fuckin’ bold. I give you your props, though. I give you your props, I fuckin’ swear.”

  John lunged forward and struck Race across the face, causing shrieks to slip out of nearby mouths. “Come on out in the middle of the floor, nigga,” John commanded, waving his gun. “You think you all bad and shit, nigga, then come on out in the middle of this floor.”

  Everyone watched on in horror as Race walked out into the middle of the floor, keeping his hands in sight. One of the guys standing over to the side—Camron’s cousin—rushed over and grabbed Race’s gun. Race didn’t want to let it go and they had to practically pull it from his hand. Putting his now-free hand to where his head was bleeding from when he’d been pistol-whipped, Race glared at John. “What, nigga?” he asked. “What?”

  “Shut the fuck up, nigga!” John snapped. “I ain’t fuckin’ tell you to talk. Why the fuck you talkin’ if I ain’t tell you to fuckin’ talk? Huh? Why the fuck you talkin’?”

  Race snickered and shook his head before his expression changed to one full of rage. “Okay, okay,” he said.

  “Nigga, what the fuck I say?” John asked. He struck Race across the face with his gun again.

  Race nodded his head, biting his bottom lip in order to maintain control, as it was taking everything in him to keep from jumping forward and jumping on John. He was well aware that if he were to do something like that, he’d get pumped with bullets from all directions.

  “This nigga right here really fucked up!” John yelled, talking in such a way to where he made sure that every person in the club could hear him. “This nigga did some real fucked up shit and now he gon’ have to pay.”

  “Nigga, you ain’t gotta do all this shit here with all these people and shit!” Drew yelled. “You coulda fuckin’ killed somebody.”

  John looked at Camron’s cousins, who were standing over to the other side of the roped off area. He nodded, signaling to them. Everyone watched as the four guys pulled Drew from underneath the table.

  “Fuck y’all niggas!” Drew yelled. “Y’all ain’t shit.”

  John stood in place, keeping Race under control at gunpoint, as two of Camron’s cousins drug Drew over to the wall. Everyone winced as they watched the two guys bang Drew’s head into the wall. Like a bobble head, his head practically bounced off of the wall and
back into the fists that had sent it into the wall in the first place.

  Race hated that he wasn’t in control, but there was nothing he could do. Soon enough, as everyone watched, Drew was knocked out. He crumpled to the ground, ending up flat on his back. Race turned his attention back to John, who stood there looking very emboldened.

  “What, then?” Race asked. “Nigga, if you gon’ fuckin’ kill me on my birthday, then go ahead and kill a nigga then. Shit, fuck it. Do what you gon’ do.”

  “Naw,” John said, shaking his head. “I ain’t gon’ kill you nigga. I ain’t that cruel. But you gon’ pay for that shit you did to me that night. How the fuck you gon’ get mad at me because your chick had me over at your place, enjoyin’ this dick that I guess you can’t give her. Nigga, take your clothes off.”

  Everyone looked on in confusion, not wanting to move. They all wondered why this guy—John—had demanded that Race take his clothes off. But Race and John knew exactly why all of this happened.

  “Nigga, you can’t be fuckin’ serious,” Race said, shaking his head and looking around. The last thing he wanted to do was get naked in front of everyone. After all, some of the people sitting around him were good friends as well as family members.

  John, deciding that he needed to send a message that he was serious, fired into the ceiling and grabbed a woman standing nearby. She cried, begging for her life, as she felt the barrel of the gun pressed against her scalp. “Now, nigga!” John yelled. “Get your fuckin’ clothes off before I kill this bitch and y’all niggas will really be sorry and shit.”

  Race did as he was told, fearing for the life of one of his cousin’s friends, who was the girl in John’s grip. He took his shirt off, exposing his nice, tattooed physique to everyone. Then, hesitantly, he slid out of his shoes and took his pants off. He stood in the club floor, feeling degraded in front of everyone, wearing nothing but boxers.