The Kat Trap

by Cairo

  I heard Chanel’s loud-ass mouth comin’ from down the hallway. I hung my jacket up in the closet, then headed toward the kitchen. When I got to the doorway, a cloud of weed smoke hit me in the face. Chanel and Iris were sittin’ at the table eatin’ shrimp and gettin’ their drink and smoke on. There was Rémy, Hennessy, Alizé, Absolut, Patrón, and weed for days all on the table.

  “Bitch,” Chanel started. “It’s ’bout time you got here. I called ya ass three times.”

  “Well, I’m here now,” I said, goin’ to the sink to wash my hands. “What you bitches drinkin’?”

  “Pick ya poison,” Tamia said, handin’ me a glass, “’cause we’s ’bout to get lit the fuck up.” She started dancin’ in the middle of the floor when Cassidy’s “I’m a Hustla” came on.

  Iris handed Chanel the blunt. She took two pulls, then passed it to Tamia. I raised my eyebrow. When Tamia tried to hand it to me, I shook my head, wavin’ it away. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Oh, you ain’t smokin’ with ya bitches tonight?” Iris said.

  Yeah, I’m smokin’, I thought. I just ain’t smokin’ that. “I ain’t fuckin’ with you fiends like that right now.”

  “This bitch always on some extra shit,” Chanel said, laughin’.

  “So what’s good with you, Iris?” I asked, pourin’ myself some Rémy, then sittin’ at the table next to her with my back toward the wall. I made sure I sat facin’ everyone since I knew it was a matter of time before I started flippin’ the script. Just in case shit popped off, I needed to be on point. These my girls ’n all, but after a few drinks and a couple of blunts, a bitch’ll be ready to jump when shit gets heated. And since I’d changed my mind when I walked through the door and decided I was gonna bring it to these hoes, I knew it might get messy, especially since some bitches can’t handle the truth.

  “Shit,” she said. “Just chillin’.”

  “Really?” I asked, reachin’ for a plate and pickin’ up four jumbo shrimp. “I hear ya pushin’ shit for some nigga on Long Island, what’s good with that?” I pulled a napkin outta my bag and discreetly spit my razor out. Yes, a bitch keeps a razor in her mouth at all times, and can spit it out and put it to a bitch’s throat with a quickness. Fuck what ya heard. I never leave home without it.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Bitch, I ain’t stutter,” I said, dippin’ my shrimp in some cocktail sauce, then poppin’ it in my mouth. I shot her ass a look. “You heard what the fuck I said. So, is the shit true or not?”

  Tamia and Chanel looked at each other, then at Iris, waitin’ for her to answer.

  “Yeah,” she said, takin’ a pull from the blunt. “I’m doin’ a little sumthin’. Why?”

  “Bitch, is you fuckin’ crazy?!” I snapped. “What the fuck is you thinkin’?”

  “I’m thinkin’ a bitch got bills, and a bitch tryna make some paper. What, you gotta problem with that?”

  “No, ho,” I replied. “I gotta problem with how you makin’ it. Outta all the muhfuckin’ hustles out here you gotta be transportin’ shit for some nigga. That shit is crazy to me.”

  “Well, that’s you,” she said. “I’ma do what I gotta do.”

  I shook my head, poppin’ another shrimp in my mouth. “Does Justice know?” I asked, wipin’ my mouth.

  “Nah, that nigga don’t know. And he ain’t gonna know. Anyway, he ain’t my muhfuckin’ man. He’s just somebody I’m fuckin’. I’m ’bout to give him his papers, anyway.”

  “You’se a real dumb bitch, for real,” I said, rollin’ my eyes. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you. We used to laugh at them bitches, and now you one of ’em.”

  “Whatever.”

  “So what’s good with you and that other nigga you were fuckin’?” I asked.

  “Please,” she said as she reached for the Patrón, “he’s just some side dick. Ain’t nothin’ poppin’ with him and me.” She filled her shot glass, then tossed it back. She set the glass back down on the table and continued. “As long as I can get into the clubs for free with my girls, then the nigga serves his purpose.”

  “Girl, you know I understand a bitch tryna do her,” Chanel said, “but I’m with Kat. That shit’s crazy. If shit gets hot, you know that nigga will hang ya ass to dry.”

  “It ain’t even like that,” she stated, gettin’ all defensive ’n shit.

  I sucked my teeth. “Why, because you fuckin’ him?”

  “Yeah, we fuckin’ ’n all. But he ain’t even on it like that. On some real shit, the nigga asked me to do him this solid. He’s diggin’ me, and I’m diggin’ him. Real talk.”

  If that wasn’t the dumbest shit I ever heard this bitch say. No nigga who is really feelin’ you, or tryna wife ya, is gonna get ya ass caught up in some shit like pickin’ up and movin’ his packages. Fuck that. He’s gonna try to keep ya ass outta that shit. Get his muhfuckin’ niggas or some trick to handle that shit. I don’t give a fuck what ya say. Now I might carry a nigga’s gun into a club or some shit like that, like I used to do when I was fuckin’ with Naheem, but that extra shit…you can kiss my beautiful round ass!

  “Bitch, please,” I said. “Like he’s diggin’ the other six bitches he got runnin’ shit for his ass. Girl, the only thing that muhfucka is diggin’ is ya back out. That nigga don’t give a fuck ’bout you ’cause if he did, he wouldn’t’ve asked ya ass to do no shit like that in the first place. So fuck what ya heard.”

  “You don’t know what you talkin’ ’bout.”

  “Yeah okay…if you say so. But I know all that nigga is doin’ is usin’ ya silly ass. And you too stuck on stupid to see it.”

  Tamia chimed in. “Kat, you always comin’ outta the side of ya neck with shit. Iris is a grown-ass woman, so let her do her. If the nigga is tryna play her, she’ll peep it, and in the end his ass’ll get played ’cause that’s how we do ours.” She lifted her drink toward Iris. “Girl, I’m with you. Get that paper. Just know when to dip out.”

  “Exactly,” Iris said, clickin’ her glass with Tamia’s.

  “Bitch, fuck that. If we ’posed to be girls, then girls check each other when shit ain’t right. And this shit don’t sit right with me, so, I’m sayin’ somethin’. But at the end of the day, I know the bitch is gonna do what she wants. But that still don’t mean I ain’t gonna call her on it.”

  “And you know I appreciate it, but I know what I’m doin’.”

  I stared at her ass like she had six heads and a dick hangin’ outta each one of her mouths. “Humph. Yeah, okay. Who is this nigga, anyway?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry ’bout that,” Iris replied, suckin’ her teeth. “You don’t need to know all that right now.”

  “Aww, shit,” Chanel said. “So now we keepin’ secrets from each other?”

  “I’m not keepin’ secrets. I need to keep this on the low for now. But, this bitch here,” she said, flickin’ her thumb in my direction, “tryna put me on blast ’n shit.”

  “Because I care ’bout what happens to ya dumb ass.”

  “Don’t worry. I got this.”

  “Well, I tell ya what, Miss I Got This. When the nigga turns his back on ya ass, you make sure you got enough bail money to get ya dumb ass outta Rikers, and enough money for a lawyer to keep ya ass from bein’ sent up the way, ’cause Tamia’s broke ass ain’t got it to help ya ass since she wanna be on ya team ’n shit.”

  “Whatever,” Iris said. “I know you ain’t talkin’, bitch. You the biggest secret keeper up in this piece and ain’t none of us ridin’ ya clit tryna find out how you makin’ ya paper.”

  “I ain’t bein’ no nigga’s mule,” I said, frownin’. “That’s what the fuck I’m not doin’.”

  “Well, answer me this,” Iris said, takin’ another blunt from Tamia. She took three pulls and passed it to Chanel. When Chanel tried to pull me into the rotation, I told her ass, again, I was good. “Is how you makin’ ya ends legal?”

  “Ho, what I do or don’t do has nothin’ to do with ya dumb ass runni
n’ drugs for some nigga. Don’t try ’n flip this shit on me.”

  “Bitch, pass me the blunt,” Iris ordered Chanel, who’d held on to it three tokes too long for Iris’s likin’. “Your trick ass holdin’ onto that shit like it’s a dick or some shit.”

  Chanel took another toke, then exhaled. “Ho, bite me,” she said, laughin’, “with ya fiend ass.”

  I had had ’bout enough of this back ’n forth bullshit. Fuckin’ with these hoes was startin’ to give me a headache. A bitch needed a blunt! I reached into my Gucci bag and pulled out my stash. “Hand me a light,” I said, lettin’ out a deep disgusted sigh.

  “Oh, bitch, what…you too good to smoke with us?” Tamia asked.

  Chanel tossed me her lighter.

  “Basically,” I said, sparkin’ up.

  “Since when?” she asked with ’tude.

  I eagerly took two pulls, then held the smoke in my lungs before lettin’ it swirl up into my nose, and out of my mouth. Okay, this was startin’ to remind me of that game Truth or Dare. See, a bitch who ain’t ready to face the truth would rather be dared to do some off-the-wall shit, instead of facin’ shit dead-on. But a real live bitch is gonna give ya ass the truth and even take the dare as a bonus. Tamia’s raggedy-ass ain’t gonna do either ’cause the ho ain’t real with hers.

  “Since I don’t know where ya nasty-ass mouth’s been, that’s when,” I answered, blowin’ smoke up into the air.

  “Bitch, and I don’t know where yours been either,” Tamia stated, cuttin’ me the evil eye. “But that ain’t never stop us from blazin’ together before. And now you wanna be on some new shit. Fuck ya snotty ass, then.”

  “Ya right. You don’t know where my mouth’s been. But you ain’t never heard no shit ’bout me either. You, on the other hand—”

  “Wait a minute, bitch!” she cut me off. “What the fuck is you tryna say? You ain’t heard shit ’bout me.”

  “Humph. We mighty defensive, aren’t we?”

  “I ain’t defensive ’bout shit,” she snapped.

  “Ain’t that special. Word on the streets is you got herpes,” I said, takin’ a long pull from my blunt. Everyone in the room almost chocked on their drinks and smoke.

  “Get the fuck outta here,” Chanel said, coughin’ and wavin’ the thick smoke outta her face. “Where’d you hear that bullshit?”

  “Naheem called me last night and said some nigga up there got peoples on the bricks sayin’ she gave it to ’em.”

  “Fuck that lyin’-ass nigga,” Tamia said defensively. She poured herself another drink. “He don’t know what the fuck I got.”

  I eyed her. “Well, what do you have?”

  “The same shit you got, bitch. Fuck is you talkin’ ’bout, tryna come at me on some bullshit. I’m real with mine, bitch.”

  “I seriously doubt it, ho!” I yelled at her. “You can say whatever the fuck ya want. But like I said before, you ain’t never heard no shit ’bout me from no niggas or bitches. Believe that. But you, bitch, ya name has always been all up ’n down the streets. Ya name was floatin’ all through the projects, ho. And you know it. So, please! You the one who had to start fuckin’ with them Queens and uptown niggas ’cause most of Brooklyn had already ran up in you. Then when ya name started floatin’ outta them niggas’ circles, you crossed over the water and started fuckin’ Jersey niggas. So, bitch, don’t even clown. If the Centers for Disease Control ever got word on how much dick mileage ya pussy got on it, and the number of nuts dumped up in it, they’d have ya ass up on the Most Wanted Hoes list, so you can front if ya want.”

  “Fuck you, Kat!” She slammed her drink down onto the table. “You act like ya ass is so fuckin’ on point. You got dirt under ya nails and rug burns on ya back, too, bitch.”

  I laughed. “Uh-huh, I sure do. But I don’t have blisters on my pussy, bitch. See, the difference between you and a bitch like me is I know how to move. And, you, you real sloppy with your shit. Because you rockin’ a few labels now don’t mean shit ain’t still poppin’ off ’bout ya nasty ass. But I tell ya what. Since you so real with yours, ho, how many niggas used ya fuckin’ throat to plant their nuts in, huh, you dirty bitch?”

  “That’s none of ya muhthafuckin’ business.”

  “Oh, really?” I asked. “Since when? It never stopped ya ass in the past. Now all of a sudden who ya fuckin’ ain’t nobody’s business.” I started laughin’. “Trick, please. You always been a walkin’ billboard for sex on the go. You been poppin’ dicks in ya mouth like Tic Tacs since the sixth grade. And now you tryna be brand-new. And the funny shit is that after all the dicks ya ass done sucked and swallowed, you still on the bottom.”

  She started shiftin’ her eyes and twistin’ her ass in her seat. That’s how I knew the bitch was lyin’. My moms always said, “Watch how a bitch acts when you confront her ass ’bout somethin’. If the ho ain’t lookin’ you straight in the eyes and if she starts actin’ all fidgety ’n shit, then the bitch is lyin’. And if the bitch grabs her shit to leave, then she done told you what you already know.” And that is somethin’ I’ve always lived by.

  “You know what, bitch!” she said suddenly, gettin’ up. I slipped my hand down in my purse and grabbed my ice pick just in case this ho got froggish and tried to leap. Although I had my razor in my napkin, a know-it-all bitch like her needed to have some sense poked up in her a few times instead of bein’ slashed up. “I’m sick of you always thinkin’ you betta than somebody else. You ain’t shit, bitch. Just because ya moms came into a little paper and moved ya conceited ass outta the hood don’t make you no better, bitch! Just because you gotta little shine, that don’t make you no better than me. Yeah, you might be bubblin’, but you still a project bitch. But a bitch thinks she’s too good for the hood now.”

  I looked at this bitch like she was half-crazy, tryna figure out what the fuck me movin’ outta the hood had to do with her nasty ass. I bust out laughin’. “Yeah, tramp, I’m a project bitch, alright. Always was, always will be. But I ain’t ever been no dirty one. Can you say that ’bout ya slutty ass?”

  “Won’t you bitches chill the fuck out,” Iris jumped in. “Ya’ll ’bout to fuck up my high for real for real with all this ying-yang, okey-doke bullshit.”

  “Nah, fuck that,” Tamia said, snatchin’ up her bag of weed and her Phillies and Dutches. “I’m out. This bitch done fucked up my mood.”

  I laughed. “Ho, run from the truth if ya want. But ya cruddy-ass just proved the shit is real. If ya pussy’s flamin’ and ya burnin’ niggas, keep it real. That’s all I’m sayin’, ho. Be a real bitch ’bout it.” The room got real quiet. Iris was shootin’ me some serious rocks, like I really gave a fuck. I knew she didn’t really want it ’cause if she did she woulda leaped. “What the fuck you ice-grillin’ me for?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fuck you, bitch.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I said. I took another toke from my blunt, leaned back in my chair, and held that shit in my lungs.

  I guess the tramp had a change of heart ’cause she tossed her shit back down on the table. “I’m goin’ to the bathroom,” she said, stompin’ off. I knew the bitch was heated that I pulled her card. Oh well.

  I slowly exhaled the smoke into the air, glancin’ at Chanel. “Make sure when the bitch leaves, ya toss her glass in the trash and burn that toilet seat,” I said. She rolled her eyes. Iris sucked her teeth. I picked up my glass and sipped the rest of my drink, smirkin’.

  “You know you dead wrong, Kat, word,” Iris said, regulatin’ another blunt. “That’s some real foul shit. You know we ain’t never let no niggas or dick or who’s fuckin’ who come between us. We’ve always been down for each other. Why the fuck you come at her neck like that?”

  “’Cause if the bitch got herpes then we need to know. She got us smokin’ and drinkin’ behind her nasty ass. That shit ain’t fuckin’ cool. And I’ma keep shit real. Muhfuckin’ girls or not, if the bitch really does have that shit, and I catch it…I’ma shut her lights
out. And I put that on e’erything I love.”

  I took another deep pull from my blunt, held it in my lungs, then let the smoke twirl around my tongue.

  Iris and Chanel stared at me, shakin’ their heads. But I bet them bitches put down that blunt they’d been passin’ back ’n forth all night.

  “Don’t stop now,” I said, laughin’, stickin’ both hands up and crossin’ my fingas. “Ya’ll bitches done got the cooties.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  On some real shit, the other night had me lookin’ at shit sideways. I mean, I got love for my girls ’n all. But, the more I was around them bitches the less I was feelin’ ’em, especially Iris’s and Tamia’s triflin’ asses. I guess my mental was much deeper than theirs. A bitch like me was lookin’ at shit outside the fuckin’ hood, while these broads were tryna stay chained to it. That ain’t my flow. Don’t get it twisted. I love the hood and all that it brings. But I ain’t tryna live and breathe the shit every damn day, feel me? But I also knew that no matter where the fuck I went, I was takin’ me with me. If I didn’t change, then nothin’ changed. But how can a bitch ever leave her past when the shit is constantly starin’ me right in the fuckin’ face? Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, how can I ever forget where the fuck I come from when I gotta constantly keep comin’ back to it? Fuck what ya heard. The hood is always gonna be in my blood. But what’s wrong with a bitch wantin’ something better? Is it really so wrong? Hell fuckin’ no!

  I don’t know why the fuck she still gotta live here, I thought as I pulled my truck up in front of my old buildin’. I flipped down my visor and checked my face, then watched as a group of kids came walkin’ down the street—three chicks and four dudes, all ’bout thirteen, fourteen, passin’ ’round what looked like a blunt as they walked and talked. They seemed to be havin’ a live discussion, cursin’ and laughin’. I glanced at the digital clock: 11:17 a.m. I smiled, rememberin’ the days Chanel, Tamia, Iris, and I would be walkin’ to catch the number 2 train to Flatbush Ave. to chill while gettin’ lifted ’n talkin’ shit. We’d be fresh to death in our matchin’ wears, rockin’ the crisp Nike Uptowns or Stan Smiths in our little bootie shorts and T-shirts knotted in the back. Our hair would be pulled back in tight ponytails with the bangs and we’d have our bamboo earrings or doorknockers swingin’ and our gold name plates danglin’ ’round our necks. And e’ery now and then we’d rock our matchin’ gold fronts. Ugh! But you couldn’t tell us bitches nothin’.