Tasha could see the pain in his face, but before she could explain herself, the lights from the police cars flashed as the police approached.
Joe began to back away from Tasha.
She reached out her hand to him and screamed through sweat and tears, “Please don’t leave me! Joe, please! I’m sorry! I love you!”
Joe was filled with pain. He loved her more than he loved himself, but she was dirty. She had set him up, and that wasn’t something he was willing to forgive.
The more steps he took toward the back door, the more her heart, stomach, and mind ached. She could feel her heart beat in her throat, and her stomach felt as if it had a bowling ball sitting in it.
Joe wanted desperately to grab her hand and take her with him. A part of him loved her more than anything, was willing to forgive and forget, and still wanted to take her in his arms and make her his wife. But another part of him, the part that had been raised by the law of the streets, wanted to smack the shit out of her for her deep betrayal, if not kill her. Her disloyalty had cost them both the love they shared. That part of Joe would not allow him to love Tasha. If he did keep her around, he would just treat her like a ’hood rat, and he knew deep in his heart that she deserved better than that. Joe thought about all these things in a split second. He looked at Tasha one last time, and then took off through the back entrance.
She stood in the middle of the warehouse, helpless and in despair as the police rushed in, their guns drawn. “Freeze!” they yelled at her. “Where is he?”
Tasha pointed to the staircase at the front of the room. “He went up to the roof.” She knew that would give Joe enough time to flee the scene.
As the swarm of officers ran up the stairs in pursuit of Joe, Tasha ran toward the front door. Just as she stepped out, Troy Smith was waiting for her.
Troy knew she had sent his officers on a wild goose chase. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Troy grabbed her arm. “Where is he?” he yelled.
When Tasha didn’t reply, he turned her around and applied his handcuffs to her small wrists. “Bitch, I hope he was worth it. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law . . .”
Tasha sat in the police precinct waiting to be fingerprinted, and her emotions were running wild. She was hurt and lonely, but most of all, she was scared. Getting arrested was freaking her out.
After a two-hour interrogation, Tasha was sure the police did not have anything on her. They can’t pin this on me. There were no fingerprints left at Keys’ house. It’s my word against his. Those pictures don’t prove anything. They won’t hold up in court. For all they know, Keys was alive when I left. For all the shit we went through, I would never rat on any of my girls.
Troy walked out of the interrogation room with a big smile on his face. Tasha even smiled back, knowing he didn’t have enough evidence against her or any of her girls. He walked over to Tasha and bent over to whisper in her ear, “I got you!”
Tasha looked him dead in his eyes and remained silent.
Troy told one of the policemen sitting at a desk, “Issue an arrest warrant for Amra Rodgers—accessory to first-degree murder!”
Tasha’s eyes shot open, and she jerked her head up at the sound of her best friend’s name. Her heart began to pound, and a lump formed in her throat. How did he find out about Amra?
Troy had a cocky look on his face. He laughed. “I see you don’t have all that lip now.” He told one of his fellow officers, “Tell the witness in the Keys murder case she’s free to go.”
The officer nodded his head and walked over to the interrogation room. He opened the door, and Tasha couldn’t believe what she saw. Honey walked out of the interrogation room, shook Troy’s hand, and was walking out of the police station with a smirk on her face.
Tasha whispered to herself, “What da . . .” Honey had snitched on her. The tears started to form in her eyes, and a single tear fell as she lowered her head and prepared herself for the inevitable, regretting the day she’d stepped foot in the murder capital, Flint, Michigan.
Epilogue
I told you that you wouldn’t be disappointed in my story. It’s kind of fucked up how it all ended between us, ain’t it? We were the original Manolo Mamis, the baddest bitches in the game, taking niggas for everything they got. We were living the fast life until things started to catch up to us. Through this experience, I have learned that everything you do in life has a consequence. For every one of your actions, the world has a reaction just waiting for you. I had to learn this the hard way.
An eight-year sentence in a state prison is hard to adjust to, but hey, that’s karma for you. I knew robbing Keys was wrong, but I did it anyway. It wasn’t for greed though. I can honestly say that. I was just in a bind and needed some fast cash, and Keys was the only man in town who had the type of money that I needed.
Ms. Pat was depending on Amra, and Amra was depending on me. I never thought anybody would get hurt. I definitely didn’t think that anyone would die. That one night was when my life started to spiral out of control and gave Detective Troy Smith what he needed to blackmail me. It’s what made me set up Joe . . . Jamaica Joe.
When I think about him, my heart aches. I loved him so much, but more importantly, he loved me, and I almost got him arrested. I’ve written him many letters, but they always go unanswered. I do still love him though, with all my heart. I do. I just wish he could understand that I didn’t have a choice. By the time I realized I’d made a mistake, it was too late. I tried to fix it, I really did, and I’m doing time to prove it. I didn’t snitch because I’m a real bitch, point-blank. I could have let Troy arrest him, but instead, I took the fall. Now my pretty ass is in prison.
It’s crazy how things turn out. I guess I had two consequences: One, I’m rotting in this cage; and, two, I lost the one person who I could depend on. Some of you might say that I deserve what I got, that I had it coming to me. I don’t know. I just know that if I could go back, I would do things a lot differently. We all would.
Amra was my girl. When I think about her, it always brings tears to my eyes. She was my best friend and the most beautiful person who has ever graced this earth. She was hardheaded though, and made a lot of bad choices, which may have cost her her life. I remember telling her time and time again to slow down. I tried to tell her that there were other ways to get money, and that she didn’t always have to tempt a man with sex. She didn’t listen though, and sometimes I wish I’d paid more attention to her. Maybe I could have stopped her before she started getting out of control.
One thing I can say about Amra though, is that she loved life. She rode that mu’fucka until the wheels fell off. Her wheels just fell off a little earlier than most. She had sex with more men than even she could keep track of. Amra contracted HIV, and caught it so late that it progressed quickly. She died of AIDS at the tender age of twenty. God rest her soul, she died a couple of months after my arrest. I didn’t even know she had it.
I guess I always saw the signs—the sore throats, the fatigue, the sores on her legs. Maybe I just didn’t want to face the reality that my best friend—no, my sister—was dying. Her death hit me hard. It was like my world had filled with water, and I was struggling to find air, to take one deep breath.
Mimi was my girl too. A hustler at heart, she was the originator of our lovely phrase, “Fuck me, Pay me!” I have to admit, at first I was a little bit skeptical about befriending her. It seemed like she was shady, but she was actually the exact opposite. She was just a real chick. Mimi never really did much. When I first met her, she had a dream of owning her own salon, but it seemed like the more I got to know her, I realized that her dream was just that . . . a dream. She never really had a hustle plan to get herself out of the ’hood. It’s where she felt most comfortable, where she belonged.
Mimi was a ’hood rat. I’ve seen her count out thousands of dollars, but today she is working for Manol
o. Even though she ain’t doing nothing but tricking, the bitch stays paid. Manolo has to watch her back though, because with all the niggas we robbed, she has made a lot of enemies. And even though she stays on her grind, it doesn’t lead her anywhere. Mimi’s lack of ambition would forever keep her in the ’hood.
I’ve talked to Manolo a couple of times since my arrest. He keeps my commissary straight and says he’s got a job for me when I get out. I think he wants me to run the Manolo Mamis. I just might take him up on his offer.
It seems like Honey could have helped Mimi out. I mean, that’s her cousin and all. Word on the streets is that Honey is sitting on bread. After that bitch testified against me, rumor has it that she came across a lot of money. Grimy-ass bitch!
Honey was the one who introduced us to the game, always the one with fly clothes and jewelry, and we listened to her when she bragged about how she had gotten some dude to buy it for her.
Life can be so unfair sometimes, especially from where I’m sitting. Honey never really received a consequence for all of the dirt she’s done. It seems like she got off easy. I don’t know. Maybe everything hasn’t caught up to her yet. She was once like a big sister to me. It seemed like she was always looking out for me, always protecting me. I thought that we had mad love for each other, but she is like so many other bitches in the ’hood; you never know what hidden agendas they have up their sleeves.
So she’s living good now, but hold up! You haven’t heard the most fucked-up part about it. The bitch is fucking with Joe now! I heard she got his name tattooed on her back and everything. Supposedly she’s pregnant by him. I guess she found her meal ticket. Dirty bitch! I always knew she was a little bit too interested in my nigga.
Please believe me, you reap what you sow. She just hasn’t gotten what’s coming to her yet. Karma is real, and eventually everybody will have to face it. I know what’s coming to Honey though. The bitch is hiding out in Detroit, while Jamaica Joe handles his business in Flint. I still can’t believe she ended up with my man, but I guess I’ll see her when I see her.
I go in front of the parole board next week, and my lawyer is sure that I’ll be released early for good behavior. I’ve been in here for four years. I think I’ve served my time.
I can’t wait to get out in these streets. I’m gon’ make this money by helping Manolo groom a new generation of Manolo Mamis. According to Mimi, those bitches think they the shit, but they need to learn the game, and I’m just the one to teach it to them.
I tell you what, though. There will never be a group of bitches like us—Tasha, Amra, Mimi, and even that bitch, Honey. We had the game on smash.
Anyway, that’s my story, so until next time . . . One!
Urban Books, LLC
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A Girl from Flint copyright © 2010 Urban Books, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-5998-3144-2
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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