Down by Law

by Ni-Ni Simone

  “Lies! This is sweat. I ain’t neva pissed on myself! I was just nervous. Caught off guard. That’s all! But now I got my mind right.”

  “I hope so. And I hope when you go to one-two Aiesha, you don’t miss.”

  Chills pricked through me and I heaved at the thought. “Is you crazy? Don’t be sayin’ that! Don’t be jinxin’ me! I ain’t gon’ miss!”

  “But Aiesha’s hella big. She’s like ten feet.”

  I sucked in a corner of my bottom lip and pulled in a vision of Aiesha. I could clearly see her, from her stacked blond bob to my sneakers on her feet. She wasn’t exactly ten feet. More like nine. I rolled my eyes. “And? She still can’t beat me. And anyway, it ain’t about size. It’s about heart.”

  “Is you really gon’ cut her?”

  I ran my tongue alongside the blade I had flush against my jaw. Truthfully: I was more comfortable with a gun. All I really knew how to do with a blade was talk without cuttin’ up my cheeks. Queenie had taught me that. But I’d never thought about using one. Until now.

  “Am I really gon’ cut her? If she don’t gimme back my stuff, I’ma slice her throat.”

  Yvette hesitated. “Maybe we should take it to her friends first.”

  “Beatin’ down herbs ain’t the move.” I pointed into Yvette’s lap at the padlock-filled sweat sock that Queenie had given her. “You better swing that thing at the head beast in charge. Plus. You already know Queenie gon’ kill me if I come back home with nuffin’.”

  Yvette nodded. “Word.”

  “A’ight, then,” I said, as the bus approached our stop. I inched out of my seat, reached up, and yanked the corded buzzer. A few seconds later the bus came to a complete halt. “Time to get off. Come on, Yvette.” We walked out the bus’s back door.

  I did my all to brush off any feelings of nervousness that crept up on me as we walked into the park.

  “There they go,” Yvette whispered, pulling me behind the bushes.

  I gasped, eased my head over the shrubs, and spotted Aiesha sitting on a swing: profiling my chain, rocking my Shell Toes, and sucking on a lollipop like she was a dime. And her two baldheaded friends each flossed in three of Yvette’s jelly bracelets, like they bought ’em.

  “This. Is. My. Jam.” Aiesha hopped up and did the snake, her boom box blasting my tape. Her dumb posse laughed and, as if on cue, this whack tramp switched from the snake to the Alf dance.

  I swallowed.

  Yvette sniffed.

  My stomach flipped.

  Yvette groaned, “Issssssisssssssssss.”

  “You better shut up and straighten yo’ back!” My heart raced and a sudden urge to piss threatened to drown the seat of my panties again.

  Shake it off.

  You got this.

  We stepped out from behind the bushes and walked over to Aiesha. “Excuse you.” I placed a hard right hand up on my hip, stabbed an index finger into the air, and sent a piercing look through her. “You need to be giving me back my stuff. Now!” I cocked my neck to the left and parked it there.

  Aiesha’s face lit up. She looked me over from head to toe, then fell out laughing. She laughed so hard that her body rocked and tears of joy fell from her eyes. “Ciara, Pam,” she called out to her friends. “You see this?” She pointed to me and Yvette. “Somebody better get these lil girls ’fore they get they feelins hurt again and catch another beat down.”

  “Or before we jack ’em again.” Pam laughed and pointed to my feet. “’Cause them lil purple kangaroos she got on is stupid fresh.”

  Aiesha agreed, “They is kinda dope.”

  My heart thumped and dropped to the bottom of my stomach. Who is Isis Carter? Yo’ rep is everything. You let some hos disrespect you? I’ma peel the high yellah black offa you.

  I cleared my throat. I hated these tricks. And I hated that they was laughin’ at me.

  Takin’ me for a joke.

  I ain’t no joke.

  And I wasn’t gon’ let these broke-down project skanks play me in the middle of the park for one. Otherwise, I’d never be able to show my face again. And I wasn’t about to let that happen. Besides, if I went home empty handed I already knew Queenie was gon’ slit my throat. And I’d scalp these bimbos before I let that go down.

  It was all I could do not to piss on myself. I pressed my thighs tightly together and tried my best to fight off the edge. “I don’t know wassup witchu and yo’ pet alleyway-skeezers, but I ain’t da one. Now, gimme back my stuff—”

  “Or what?” Aiesha snapped. “’Cause you ain’t ’bout to do nothin’. Matter fact, take off them sneakers and gimme them two-tone Lees you got on too.” She and her crew moved in closer to me and Yvette. I could hear Yvette stealing quick sips of air.

  I swallowed and squeezed my thighs tighter. My stomach flipped, ached, and bubbled. But. I had to handle my bizness and let ’em know the worst mistake they ever made was comin’ for me. ’Cause if I didn’t, then er’ punk and er’ lil chickenhead lookin’ for a come-up was gon’ try and fly by effin’ wit’ me.

  I had to put an end to that now.

  Right now.

  “You got me messed up!” I spat, hatin’ myself ’cause my voice was tremblin’.

  Aiesha and her crew roared in laughter, leavin’ me and Yvette wit’ no choice but to sneak ’em.

  Whap!

  Crack!

  Bam!

  Slice!

  “AHHHHHHHHH!”

  “Hold up, cuz!” some unknown dude said, skidding backwards across a plank of cardboard, getting away from me and Yvette. All the little kids scattered and er’body else stood back and watched.

  Aiesha fell backwards to the ground. Her bloodcurdling screams shrieked through the air as her friends jetted outta the park, leaving her there.

  “AHHHHHHHHH!” Aiesha continued to scream and ball up like a baby.

  “Stank ho!” I kicked her in the head and then spit on her. “You better not never”—I took my chain from around her neck and snatched my sneakers off of her feet—“come for me again!”

  “Ever!” Yvette swung her lock and sock, hitting Aiesha straight in the stomach. Then she yanked Aiesha’s smashed bamboo earrings outta her ears and roughly wrestled the four-finger name ring from her hand. Once Yvette secured her goods, she said, “Isis! Your tape.”

  I smiled in admiration that Yvette was putting it down and making sure I didn’t forget a thing. “No,” I said. “I’m not gon’ just take the tape. I’ma take the boom box too!”

  And once we got all of our stuff and half of Aiesha’s, I hit her in the head with one last kick. “Trick!”

  3

  Eight million stories

  Me and Yvette was on top of the world.

  Officially thorough.

  After we showed Queenie that we’d gotten all my stuff back, plus some more, she told us she was proud and that now our rep was clear: You come for us. We come back even harder for you. Fair exchange. No robberies.

  I closed my bedroom door, lit some Black Love incense, and then placed the boom box we took from Aiesha on my bedroom window sill. Afterwards, I pushed play on my tape and turned the volume up. All the way up, ’til the bass made my Super Nature and Whodini posters shake.

  “This radio is bangin’!” I said as I did the wop and flopped across my bed.

  “Yop. But I betchu it ain’t fresher than this.” Yvette smacked her lips, cocking her neck from one side to the other, showing off Aiesha’s earrings and her four-finger name ring.

  I reached in my nightstand drawer, took out a pack of E-Z Wider and a bag of weed. “Only thing is: that ain’t yo’ name on the ring.” I emptied the bag of weed onto the back of my Kurtis Blow album cover.

  Yvette shrugged. “So. I’ma still rock it... unless you think she gon’ run to five-oh and I should throw it away?”

  I shuddered. Shook chills off. Aiesha snitchin’ had never crossed my mind until now. “I don’t think she gon’ do that. But if she does: first was a slice to the
face. Next stop is the throat.”

  Yvette took the E-Z Wider, rolled a joint, and licked it close. “You left her jaw wide open though. She might drop dime on you for that.” She sparked up and took two pulls.

  “If she tells on me,” I said as Yvette passed me the joint, “best believe she gon’ tell on you too. And I ain’t afraid of doin’ time. What about you?” I blew a slow and steady cloud of smoke toward the ceiling and waited for the lie I knew Yvette was ’bout to tell.

  “Scared? What is that? I handle mines at all times. You seen my work.”

  “Umm-hmm. Yeah, I seen it. You shakin’ frames up.”

  I passed Yvette the joint and she took a pull. I could tell by the way she rocked her head and her eyes hung half mast that she was feelin’ good. “Isis, can you show me how the game go again? Please.”

  “What game?” I reached in my drawer and pulled out a brown paper bag full of candy and Crunchy Cheez Doodles.

  “You know what game. The pimp game.” She mashed the joint in the ashtray.

  I tossed a cheese doodle in my mouth. “Daaaaaaaaaaang. Why you always sweatin’ that?”

  “ ’Cause I’ma be a pimp just like Mr. Zeke. I’ma be hella rich. You seen how fly y’all apartment is? Mph. I want some of this. Now come on. Please show me.”

  I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, stared at my New Edition poster for a quick minute and then locked eyes with Yvette. “First of all and forevermore, I keep telling you that a broad can’t be no pimp. She can only be the ho, which is why you need to dream up another hustle.”

  “That ain’t true! My teacher, Ms. Mansfield, said a woman can be anything she wanna be!”

  “Ms. Mansfield is stupid. She the same one be around here buying crack from my daddy. That’s why y’all always got a substitute, ’cause she stay high. In a minute he gon’ have her beatin’ that concrete. Trust me.”

  Yvette sucked her teeth. She loved that chickenhead teacher of hers. “Whatever. You gon’ show me or not?”

  “Okay. I’ma show you. But only ’cause you my homegirl.” I jumped off the bed. “Let’s say you a pimp and you spot a new chick in town. She just got off the Greyhound.”

  “The Greyhound? Why would a pimp be at the bus station? Er’body know they rollin’ in Cadillacs.” Yvette reached in my candy bag and pulled out a pack of Pop Rocks.

  “No. What er’body know is that a pimp gotta go where the weak broads go ’cause they the easiest to turn out. The bus station is where my daddy got Queenie from.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah. Queenie ain’t from around here. She from Down South. Norfolk. Now, could you be quiet and let me talk?” I huffed. “Now back to the bus station. So let’s say you spot fresh meat. And as a pimp, it’s yo’ job to know that all hos is runnin’ from somethin’. Might be a mama who threw her out. A daddy, her mama’s man, her uncle, brother, cousin, or a granddaddy. And probably one or all of ’em can’t keep they hands offa her. Or maybe she just got outta prison and don’t have nobody. Could be eight million different stories. But now, if I’ma fly pimp, then I’ma set it up where I accidentally bump into you. And then I’ma say, ‘Ah ’scuse me, sweetness. I didn’t see all this greatness.’”

  Yvette’s bloodshot eyes danced in delight and her mouth fell open.

  I continued, “And the ho gon’ smile just like you smilin’ ’cause ain’t nobody never told her she was great befo’. And when she smiles, that’s your cue to keep on talkin’.”

  “So whatchu s’pose to say?” she asked.

  I leaned back on my left leg, pushed forward with my right, dipped across the room, and stopped at the Sheila E. poster I had taped to my closet door. “You step up to her in your clean lavender, lime-green, or sunshine-yellow suit and matching gators. A pimp always gotta be sharp. Then you wink your eye and say, ‘Ah ’scuse me, but you fine as wine. Soft like butter. Pretty as a Georgia peach. What’s a beauty like you doin’ out in these mean streets? You need me to take you home? You can’t stay out here ’cause the wolf will eat up somethin’ this sweet. Are you hungry? Let me buy you something to eat.’ You never let her answer. You just slide her a couple dollars.”

  “A couple dollars? Word?”

  “Word. That’s called an investment.”

  Yvette shook her head and her box braids swung over her shoulders. “I ain’t givin’ no money away. Not me. ’Specially not to no ho.”

  “She ain’t your ho yet. And anyway, once you slide her some dough, she gon’ immediately drop her head down and smile, like they all do. That’s when you lift her chin.” I cupped Yvette’s face in my right hand. “You ask her name, and no matter what she tells you, you change it.”

  Yvette slapped my hand from her face. “Change it? Why?”

  “You gotta break her in. Make her be what you want her to be. And you start by changin’ her name.” I flopped back down on the bed, grabbed the Right On! magazine from my nightstand, and in between looking over at Yvette, I leafed through the pages and blew kisses at Kurtis Blow’s picture.

  “How you know what name to come up with though?” she asked.

  “If you a righteous pimp, like my daddy, then whatever name you give her gon’ stick and she gon’ like it. You think Queenie’s name is Queenie?”

  Yvette gasped. “It ain’t?”

  “Heck no.” I carefully ripped out a LL Cool J poster from the center of my magazine. “Queenie’s name is Beverly. My daddy said when he saw her pretty red skin, deep dimples, and those soft freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, he knew she was gon’ be queen of these streets. And she is. Well, she used to be. Now she stay home and sling rock. She always trippin’ though. Don’t know how to be quiet, she stay outta pocket and Daddy stay gettin’ her together. But nothin’ he does will get Queenie to listen.”

  “Why won’t she listen?”

  “I don’t know.” I hunched my shoulders, got off the bed, and taped my new poster over my nightstand. Then I leaned back and smiled at it.

  “Maybe she tired of your daddy beatin’ on her.”

  Wait... what? I whipped around toward Yvette. Oh no, she didn’t! “See. You ’bout to blow my high and that’s why you ain’t gon’ be no pimp. How you gon’ say somethin’ like that? Any pimp worth his salt in the game ain’t gon’ let no new ho, old ho, or ex ho shine on him. And anyway, since you all in my daddy’s bizness, know this: My daddy is a family man. Er’body knows Queenie is special to him and once she learns to listen, he’ll stop pulling his belt off. Now don’t talk about my daddy no more.”

  “I wasn’t talkin’ about your daddy. Mph, at least you got one. All I got is Nana and she makes me babysit while she chase the Holy Ghost er’night.”

  I shook my head, feeling sorry for Yvette. She really didn’t have anybody. Her mother had three babies with my uncle Ray, my daddy’s brother. Uncle Ray and Yvette’s mother left Yvette and the kids they had together with Nana. So I guess you could say Yvette was family, but not really family. “Who’s your real father, Yvette?”

  She smacked her lips and opened the last pack of Pop Rocks. “A question mark and the only person with the answer is my mother. And you know she on a drug run.”

  “That’s messed up. Yo’ mama need to take a chill pill. She just jetted and Nana done practically made you a slave. Always babysittin’.” I sat in my wicker throne chair. “They not yo’ kids. Yo’ mama needs to come off her drug run and handle her scandal.”

  “I know.”

  “Matter fact. You need to run away. Come live with me. We don’t go to church and ain’t no lil kids to babysit.”

  Her face lit up. “Word?”

  “Word. Besides, Queenie ain’t gon’ care.”

  “Yo’ daddy?”

  “He won’t even notice.”

  “Okay. I have to ask Nana first, though.”

  “Ask her? What kind of runaway asks to leave?”

  Yvette’s eyes grew wide. “I have to ask.”

  Whatever. That runaway plan was the dum
best I’d ever heard. “Well, let me know how that works out for you.”

  “I will . . .” Yvette said, getting up from the bed and walking over to the window. She pressed her face into the pane and the end of her nose smudged the glass. She pointed out into the courtyard. “I wanna tell you a secret, but you gotta promise not to tell anybody.”

  “Who I’ma tell? You already know I don’t have a big mouth.”

  “I know.”

  “So tell me.”

  “You know who I think is cute?”

  “Face?”

  “That’s not a secret.”

  “Well then, who?”

  She stared at me, her eyes sizing me up. “You better not tell nobody.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Cross your heart and hope to die.”

  “Just tell me!”

  “Cross your heart.”

  “Okay, okay, cross my heart. I’m not gon’ hope to die though. It’s too many suckers gettin’ killed around here so I ain’t jinxin’ myself. Now tell me.”

  “Flip.” A smile bloomed across her face. “And he told me that he liked me too but—”

  I almost spat on my floor in disgust. I dry heaved and air hurled. “Yoooooo, that’s gotta be the nastiest mess that I’ve ever heard in my life. Ill! He is old as dirt!”

  “No, he’s not. He’s only twenty-eight years old and—”

  “That’s like Jesus old. He older than Moses. And he nasty. He be out there looking at all the young girls’ butts, tryna get wit’ er’body. Don’t fall for that. He’s a cavity creep. Yuck muck.”

  “Would you calm down? I just said I thought he was cute. I didn’t say I liked him back.”

  “I hope not. Plus, I heard he on dust.”

  “Psst, please. He is not on no dust and anyway, I don’t wanna talk about it no more.”

  “So what you wanna do?”

  “I want you to come on so I can go to the store and steal me some more jelly bracelets.”

  4

  License to ill

  “ ’Ey, yo, where you been?” Face’s grill was blurred behind a cloud of weed smoke as he brazenly sat on the edge of my bed and knocked off the last of my roach. The same roach me and Yvette had plans to come back in here and finish. And yeah, Face was my favorite brother, but still, I was two seconds from puttin’ my size sixes in his chest.