RedBone
Page 1
RedBone
T. Styles
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue - Present Day
Chapter 1 - Many Years Earlier
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10 - Two Years Later
Chapter 11 - Present Day Mooney s House
Chapter 12 - Seven Years Later
Chapter 13 - One Month Later
Chapter 14 - A Week Later
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74 - Present Day Mooney s House
Copyright Page
I dedicate this to Charisse Washington.
Thanks for holding me down.
Always.
Acknowledgments
To Charisse, thank you for always keeping me lifted. Writing can be a tough job, but I am blessed to have you on my team. To Carl Weber, thanks for tapping me on my shoulder. I hope you enjoy my contribution to your literary camp. I admire you. To Seven, thanks for always being in my corner! To Angel, thanks for always reading my work first, and giving me your stamp of approval. It means the world to me. To Terese, thanks for being the best friend a writer could have. To my grandbaby JR, my son Kajel and his wife Sonya, take care of one another. To Metha and Kim, you guys are the best. We love having you on the team. To Lakisha, you make me proud for holding Cartel business down. Thank you. To Luh Rod and Michelle Turnipseed, I could never forget you babies either. Your energy is contagious!
Last but not least, thanks to every T. Styles fan who loves a little something different. If you guys weren’t in my life, I am afraid to think where my sick mind would have sent me. I hope you enjoy my twist on street fiction. I love you all, and welcome to my crazy-ass world!
T. Styles
www.facebook.com/authortstyles
www.twitter.com/authortstyles
www.thecartelpublications.com
Prologue
Present Day
Mooney sat in front of her open window, trying to wash the shitty taste of cigarettes and black coffee from her mouth with a glass of cheap bourbon. From sunup until sundown, being a spectator was her daily ritual. Although it was only the beginning of October, the weather outside resembled a cold winter’s day. She pulled the belt on her blue robe, as her brown eyes peered outside at the situation brewing with a group of rowdy children from her building. In her opinion, the things she witnessed outside of her small apartment in Washington DC were better than anything available on television, so she didn’t own one.
Eyes locked on the group of screaming girls, she zeroed in on the leader of the pack—thirteen-year-old Cutie Tudy. Mooney could hear Cutie’s screeching voice loud and clear, as she screamed at the top of her lungs. The tight waist-length pink coat she wore was opened low enough for the boys hanging on the sidelines to see the top of her budding breasts.
“You ain’t nothing but a ugly black bitch, Seona! You and your twin!” Cutie Tudy said, screaming in her foster sister’s face. Her light-skinned cheeks were flushed red from all of the excitement. “I saw you in my fucking room last night ... and now my shit missing!” Trying to entertain her six-member crew, she placed her index finger on Seona’s warm nose. She wanted her to do something, anything, so that she would have an excuse to push her to the ground and kick her in every available place on her body. But Seona knew the routine, and stood as still as a Macy’s store mannequin. The warm tears rolling down her face, and into the corners of her mouth, were the only indicators that Cutie’s meanness was getting to her. “What you gonna say, huh? What you gonna do?”
Seona Taylor wanted to run but knew they’d all chase her, push her to the ground, and beat her in places she couldn’t imagine. In her opinion it was better to stay where she was and get beat down by Cutie alone than to be jumped by many. Seona’s dark walnut-colored skin was loaded with tear streaks.
“Punch that bitch, Cutie! You know she stole your iPod!” one of her screaming friends said, begging to see a fight. Trying to get things started quicker than fire to gasoline, she stepped behind Seona and pushed her closer to Cutie. “Oh shit! She stepped to you now!” Cutie’s crew crowded around them so tightly they couldn’t move if they wanted to, and spectators on the far outside stepped closer to catch a view.
“Why you steal my fucking iPod, blackie?” Cutie taunted. “You shouldn’t even have been in my room.”
Seona had no idea what she was talking about. She stayed as far away from Cutie as possible when they were home, but she knew her answer wouldn’t matter. She could still taste the vinegar from the pickle she was eating on her front step before Cutie approached her, as she thought of what to say. “I didn’t do it,” she whispered. “Please don’t hit me.”
With tightened lips, Cutie drew back her fist and slammed it into her nose and mouth. Blood splattered on her coat, two of her friends, and all over the grey concrete beneath them. Seona fell to the ground, curled up in a ball, and covered her head. Fashionable shoes kicked and stepped on her, leaving her brown coat covered with dusty footprints.
“Cutie, get up here!” Mooney yelled from the window. “Now!”
Hearing Mooney’s voice caused everybody to shudder. Very few people heard her speak, and as far as most knew, she was on the run from something or somebody, and found refuge in the projects. In her five years there, she’d seen everything from a man getting shot, because he didn’t want to turn over the keys to his car, to Homeless Henry dying from hypothermia in an abandoned truck due to last year’s winter storm. She wouldn’t speak to the cops no matter how much they asked, believing silence was the best policy.
With everyone staring at Mooney, the crowd around Seona opened up, and she dodged into the building for shelter. Cutie looked up at the window, put her hands on her hips, and said, “What you want with me? My mother said I can be outside.”
“I didn’t ask you that. Come up here now. I want to talk to you.”
Cutie passed
her friends with their quizzical stares. She wondered what the strange woman wanted, and why she would embarrass her in front of her crew. When she knocked on the door, Mooney opened it up and Cutie trudged in and plopped on the sofa. It was the same place she sat whenever her foster mother asked Mooney to watch her for a few hours. During those times, she couldn’t wait until she was thirteen so she would be allowed to watch herself. Even back then she believed she had an understanding with Mooney: you don’t say shit to me, and I won’t say shit to you. So what had changed?
“What you want with me?” Cutie said, her arms folded angrily over her chest. “My mamma say I can watch myself now. I don’t have to be sitting up in here looking at you watch little kids.”
From her brown leather recliner by the window, Mooney examined the little girl. She could see herself in her and that wasn’t a good look. Mooney’s light skin was covered in an array of brown freckles, in different sizes and shapes. Although she was a little over forty, these days she resembled a sixty-year-old woman. Placing a cigarette in her mouth, she held the lighter to its tip and flicked it until it glowed with a speck of orange. She could feel Cutie growing agitated, and it was what she wanted.
“Can you tell me what you want with me?” she said, pushing her medium-length hair out of her face. “I wanna go back outside to play with my friends, dang!”
Mooney, on her own time, took two puffs of her cigarette and said, “Hang your coat up.” She nodded toward the rack at the door. “Over there.”
Cutie turned her head to look at the rack before she faced Mooney and said, “No. I wanna keep it on. I’m not gonna be here long anyway.”
Mooney could see right through her. The tough-girl exterior she presented was fake ... a façade.
“I just wanna go back outside.”
“You’re not wearing a shirt under your coat, are you? Mooney asked, removing the cigarette from her lips, placing it in the glass ashtray. “You’re outside, being loud and crazy to get attention. All for a bunch of boys who don’t give a fuck about you. You look ridiculous.” She laughed. “I bet you don’t even know who you are, do you?”
With her lips poked out she said, “I’m Cutie Tudy from Southeast! I know who I am.” With multiple neck rolls she continued, “All the boys like me because I’m light skinned and I can fight.”
“I didn’t ask you what you look like. I asked you do you know who you are?” She frowned. “You can’t even tell me without talking about your outside appearance. Which can be taken from you in an instant.” She snapped her fingers. “Trust me, I know if it doesn’t fade first.”
Cutie was embarrassed and tried to buck at the woman to ruffle her feathers the way she’d done hers. “Fuck do you want with me? You ain’t nothing but a washed-up-ass bitch!” She giggled. “And everybody around here know it, too.” She paused. “Anyway, I done already told you my mamma said I can watch myself now.” She got up to walk away.
“Sit the fuck down,” Mooney said. “Now.” Cutie took a seat. “Why did you hit that little girl?”
Cutie blew out a puff of air, fell back into the seat, and took her iPod out of her pocket, with the white headphones attached, before stuffing them in her ears. She still had the blood of Seona on the front of her secondhand pink Baby Phat coat. Growing irritated, Mooney stood up, pulled the belt harder on her robe, and snatched the iPod and ear set away from her. “I asked you a question! Why would you strike your foster sister?”
“I did it because she stole my shit!” she lied.
“You mean this iPod?” she asked in a monotone voice, completely void of emotion. Mooney threw the device in a box on the floor next to her. “You hit her in the face for something she didn’t do? I know Melinda has her shit with her, but where did you learn to be so cruel?”
The troubled teenager, caught in her lie, felt her stomach juices swirling around. “Leave me the fuck alone!” she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She was as done as a piece of burnt fried chicken. “You ain’t supposed to be taking my stuff.” Her fingers moved quickly over her phone as she sent a group text to her friends:
Please tell mi Y this bitch just took my shyt. I’ma tell my motha when she get home from work and she gonna fuck her up 2.
Dee Dee responded:
Well hurry back outside. We talkin bout jumpin that bitch tmo at skool!
Mooney looked at the tight jeans Cutie had on, the small traces of blush on her face, and the cleavage spilling from her coat, and felt sorry for her. Tudy Ranger, aka Cutie Tudy, had stayed in Melinda Sheldon’s foster home longer than any other child. Usually the government never allowed children to stay with her long, because of past complaints. Most stayed no more than six months to a year, mainly because she would spend the money allocated for their care, and kick them out when they complained. It was obvious that although Melinda was unfit, she had a soft spot for Cutie. The damage being placed on her young mind bothered Mooney, and for the first time ever, she was going to tell someone the story that had been burdening her for years.
Mashing the cigarette out in the damp ashtray, it sizzled. Rubbing her left elbow she said, “You remind me of somebody.”
Cutie looked at her and then focused back on her phone. Small dings rang out every time she received a text. “Let me guess, you gonna tell me I was like you when you were a kid? Right?” she said in a sassy voice.
“You could never be me,” Mooney said. “You remind me of somebody who was so focused on outside shit, they became something else ... just to fit in.”
Cutie rolled her eyes and continued to stab at her keypad. “I don’t want to hear about it, because whoever you talking about wish they could be as cute as me.”
“Well, you gonna hear it anyway, otherwise I’m gonna tell the cops you hit that girl, and they’ll take you away. I know how much you love your foster mother.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t do that!”
“I can do that and more.” Mooney rubbed her left elbow again. “When you were outside, before you hit that child, you called her an ugly black bitch. Why?”
“Because she a ugly black bitch, and not cute and light skinned like me, that’s why!”
“What makes you think she’s ugly, because she doesn’t have the same complexion as you? How are we that different?”
Cutie sighed, looked at the ceiling, and said, “Everybody knows red bones are cuter than dark-skinned girls. That’s just life.” She shrugged. “Most of the boys at my school are on Team Light Skin ... that’s what they call it anyway. Cutie sounded so ignorant but she didn’t know. Her young mind was infiltrated with the opinions of stupid adults, and she didn’t have an opinion of her own. When she tried to read Mooney, she said, “I don’t know why you mad at me, you light skinned too.”
Mooney sat down. “The story I’m gonna tell you is about a girl just like you.”
“This ain’t no Halloween story is it?” She stabbed at her keypad again. ’Cause I ain’t got time for all of that, ’cause nothing about me is gonna change.”
Cutie was suddenly inundated with texts but Mooney didn’t worry, because she knew when she heard the craziest story never told that she’d have her complete attention.
Chapter 1
Many Years Earlier
“Mamma got it wrong about what happened behind the school.”
—Farah
Twelve-year-old Farah Cotton was stunned silent, as she looked at her classmate being handled so roughly by the people she loved most.
“Hold his arms, babies! Hold ’em tight, too!” Brownie ordered her children Mia and Shadow, as they stood behind a bush in the back of Farah’s school. “I want him spread out like he Jesus on the cross!” A maniacal grin covered her chocolate skin, and her pink tongue hung out the side of her mouth. There was nothing more in life she loved than inflicting pain on others and the sight of blood. “That’s good. Just like that,” she coached. “Get ready, Farah. ’Cause I need you to pull his shorts down.”