Street Divas

by De'nesha Diamond

  “As a matter of fact, you will have to pass a drug test.”

  “Are you for real? I’m fuckin’ pregnant. I ain’t on no drugs.”

  “Ha!” She rolls her eyes. “Like that makes a difference. If you saw half of what I see roll up in here, you wouldn’t have even said nothing like that to me.”

  I suck in a deep breath. This shit is already giving me a headache.

  “How far along are you?” she asks, picking up a pen.

  I place a hand over my belly. “What? You eyeballin’ this one, too?”

  She lifts her brows as a silent answer.

  “I don’t believe this shit. Humph. I’m startin’ to think that I shouldn’t have bothered to come up in here.”

  She shakes her head and lowers her pen. “Nobody has a gun to your head. You’re more than welcome to leave. And when you do, I will type in the system for this case to proceed with your children being eligible for adoption.”

  I feel trapped.

  “But if you’re serious . . . I’m willing to work with you. I can file an extension and we can set up a goal for reunification.” She tosses up her hands. “It’s up to you.”

  Fuck! I blink back a few more burning tears and sit there like a dummy.

  “What do you want to do?” she presses.

  “Fine. I’ll take the damn classes.”

  She nods and gives me a weak-ass smile. “Good. Now let me get some updated information on you.”

  For the next hour, I sit there while the woman gets all up in my business. Of course she looks at me cross-eyed when I tell her I don’t exactly have a job no more, and she doesn’t want to hear about how much money I have. If I want my kids back, then I have to get a J-O-B. Preferably, one that hands out W-2s. By the time she stops handing me pamphlets and listing all this shit that I have to do, I really do have a massive headache.

  Outside, I hop into my new silver Terrain and suck in a deep breath. When that feels good, I do a few more. Can I really do all this shit? I don’t have an answer. At long last, I start the car and pull out of the parking lot. Not until then do I reach underneath my seat and pull out a much-needed blunt. It’s not until I get that first good toke that I even begin to relax.

  17

  Lucifer

  I stroll into the Pink Monkey, unrecognizable in a leather skirt so short that both my ass cheeks are poking out the bottom of the muthafucka. My long legs are greased with the right amount of baby oil and cocoa butter while I glide on a pair of six-inch heels like I was born with the damn things on my feet. Every nigga up in this grimy-ass hole-in-the-wall damn near twists their heads off tryna get a good look at my brick-house curves. No. I don’t like dressing like this, but it’s not like I don’t know I’m blessed with a banging body. I do—and for tonight’s mission, it’s going to come in handy.

  “Goddamn!” One nigga approaches, having a hard time tryna decide whether to focus on my perky 34C-cup titties or my hypnotizing onion booty. “Please, please, please tell me I ain’t dreamin’.”

  “Depends,” I tell him with a fake smile. “Is your name Treasure?”

  “My name is any damn thing you want it to be.” His gaze rapes my frame while his face twists like he’s about to bust a nut at any second.

  “Then why don’t I call you Get Ghost?” I step past him.

  “Aw, shawty. You ain’t got to be like that.” He places his hand on my shoulder, and before his ass can even blink, I have that muthafucka on his knees with his arm twisted behind his back.

  “Did I give you permission to touch me, muthafucka?”

  “Ow. Ow. Shit. Damn, shawty. I’m sorry.”

  “Keep your muthafuckin’ hands to yourself.” I twist his shit harder.

  “Owwww. Shit. All right!”

  I reel in my urge to break his shit but give in to the impulse to plant my heeled foot in the center of his back and kick his ass to the floor. Niggas at the bar hoot and holler at the extra entertainment. A few of them even wave dollar bills in front of my face. I just roll my eyes and work my way over to the bar.

  “Buy me a drink,” I tell this big Mufasa-looking muthafucka with dreads.

  He turns his huge, dusty head toward me, and though his eyes are hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses, I know his ass is checking out the goods. “A’ight, Ma. I’d say a peek at those sweet titties is worth seven-fiddy.” He signals the bartender. “What will it be, Ma?”

  “Martini—apple.”

  “You heard the lady.”

  Not only is this muthafucka allergic to soap and water, but also apparently he has never met a toothbrush or mouthwash his ass liked. Somehow I manage to smile and not throw up.

  “So where you from, baby? You work here?”

  “Not yet. I’m hoping to get something, but I ain’t been able to catch up with the owner yet,” I lie.

  “Humph. You might be waiting a while,” he laughs.

  “Why you say that?”

  “Shit. Where you been at—under a rock? There’s a fuckin’ war going on, Ma. Those fake paper gangsters are gunning for our man. The streets are hot. That nigga gonna be ghost until we got this shit handled with those grimy Vice Lords.”

  “We? You GD, too?”

  He tosses back his head and laughs. “Fuck. You better act like you know. I stack that long green all day and pop caps in those VL pussies like it’s a part-time hobby. You feel me?”

  My eye twitches. “Is that right?”

  “You know it, baby. Treasure goes for his shit.”

  My brows cork up. “Treasure, huh?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He turns toward me. “As in, you show me your private treasure and I’ll show you mine.”

  That fuckin’ line actually works on silly bitches? “Tempting,” I lie with a straight face. “Especially if your treasure is as big as I think it is.”

  “Fuuuuck.” He grabs his dick in his baggy clothes and flashes me two perfect rolls of yellow teeth. “You can give it a test feel now, baby girl. I ain’t shy.”

  Without missing a beat, I reach over and grab his shit. To my surprise, the muthafucka is walking around with an anaconda in his pants.

  “Think that you can handle that shit, Ma?”

  I wiggle in my seat. “The real question is whether you can handle me, Daddy.”

  “Fuuuuuuck.” Then he hits the guys on the arm sitting next to him. “Yo, Mario! I’m going to have to catch up with you later.”

  Mario? “Why don’t you invite your friend?”

  Mario jumps up so fast that his stool falls out from underneath him. “Fo real?”

  Treasure’s cocky smile dips.

  “Why not? I’m always down for a double stuffing.” I wink and give his cock another good squeeze.

  “Well, all right now. This must be our lucky night.” He stands, giving his boy a quick fist bump.

  “I know that shit’s right. Where in the fuck have you been all my life?”

  “All that matters is that I’m here now. So, are we going to do this?”

  “Fuuuuuck yeah,” they chorus like a ghetto version of Dumb and Dumber.

  “Then let’s go.” I turn from the bar and take my time strolling and working my hips toward the exit. The moment we make it outside, Treasure’s hand is underneath my skirt and his middle finger is injected into my dry pussy.

  “Damn, baby. We’re going to have to get you ready for Big Papa or this shit is gonna hurt.”

  I grind my teeth together. “You want to do this in the back?”

  “Here?” He looks around. “You don’t want to go to a hotel or nothing?”

  “Maybe I like doing it outside. You complainin’?”

  “Fuuuuuuck no!” He wiggles his finger around. “I’ll watch you slob on my nigga while I get up in this fine ass. My shit is already fuckin’ hard as a brick.”

  “I had my mouth watering for you first, baby.”

  His lips hitch up higher. “A’ight. Shit. Whatever.” He removes his hand, and I make a mental note to do
uche as soon as I get my ass home.

  Once we reach the back, Treasure looks around, laughing. “All right. Let’s get this shit started.” He unzips his pants and pulls out this long, black and brown cock and gives it a couple of strokes. “Let’s see what you’re working with, Ma.”

  “Absolutely, baby.” I spread my legs and proceed to bend down while twerking my ass up in the air.

  As Mario moves behind me to pull out his shit, my hand slides beneath my right hip and withdraws my Browning hunting knife. I take Treasure’s erect cock and pull it to my lips. “You ready, baby?”

  “You know it.” He thrusts his hips upward, greedy and anxious to get this show on the road.

  Smiling, I pull his cock with my left hand and slice upward with my right.

  Treasure’s eyes bug out of his skull at the same time I hear Mario gagging and choking on his own blood. I don’t have to look back to know that Bishop is in the middle of removing Mario’s neck from his shoulders.

  “What the fuuuuuuuck?”

  “How about you suck this yourself, muthafucka?” I take his detached cock and shove it hard into his mouth. “By the way, Profit and Ta’Shara send their love, nigga.” With one quick slice, I split Treasure’s throat open. He gags, his eyes wide as fuck as he hits the concrete like a falling tree. Now that he’s down, I straddle his body and squat down so I can carve an upside-down pitchfork into the center of his head. I completely miss watching the light go out of his eyes, but the vision of him with his own cock in his mouth is priceless.

  When I’m done, I cock my head and try to admire my work. “Do you think that’s crooked?”

  “Uh, we ain’t got all fuckin’ night, Willow,” Bishop barks.

  I jerk my head back at him. “What’s with this Willow shit again?”

  He shrugs and twists up his face. “You’re the one who’s dressing up like a girl all of a sudden. What did you expect ?”

  I stand back up, sheath my bloody knife, and tug my skirt down so that it covers my ass. “Fuck you.”

  Bishop laughs.

  18

  Momma Peaches

  “Peaches. Peaches! PEACHES!” Josephine screams, and pounds on my front door.

  I hear her, but I ain’t paying her ass any mind since Cedric is back to trying to pound the lining out of my pussy. But when I’m like three strokes from busting my latest and greatest nut, Cedric’s hips stop their jackhammering. “Who the fuck is that now?”

  “Who gives a fuck?” I throw my ass back on the dick and get two good strokes in before Josie straight up sounds like she’s the muthafuckin’ police.

  “PEACHES, I KNOW YOUR ASS HEARS ME. GET THAT DICK OUTCHA ASS AND COME AND ANSWER THIS DAMN DOOR!”

  “Oh no, this bitch didn’t!” Pissed, I slide my wet pussy off this fat chocolate log, grab my prosthetic leg and robe, and march my ass to the door. This fuckin’ lack of privacy is seriously getting out of control. “If it ain’t one thing, it’s another,” I mumble under my breath as I stomp my way to the door.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  “PEACHES! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!”

  I snatch open the door and don’t wait two seconds before I bust Josie in the mouth. Her head reels back and shifts her wig off center. Unlike me, Josie’s fine brick-house curves have long morphed into a big-ass brick wall. She has more fat rolls around her neck, waist, and ankles than she knows what to do with.

  “What the fuck is wrong with your ignorant ass?!” I glance up and down Shotgun Row and see bitches creeping out onto the porch, and that causes my blood pressure to jump a few more notches. Lawd, this bitch is gonna cause my ass to catch another case out here.

  Josie pulls out a small travel-size pack of Kleenex and tries to catch the rest of the blood that’s squirting all over my front porch. “What the fuck? Are you crazy?”

  “You hammering on my door like the po-po and you got the nerve to fix your face to ask me if I’m crazy? Bitch, you must’ve lost your mind out here.” I start looking around. “Where it at? Huh? Where it at?”

  To double down on this foolishness, Josie charges back at me. I guess to try and run me over because that’s really all that a Mack truck can do at the end of the day, but my next punch nails the center of this bitch’s throat, and it shuts her ass down. I don’t know why from time to time niggas forget who the fuck I am and try to test me.

  “Slow your roll, baby girl.” I step out onto the porch while Josie struggles to wheeze in some air. “Now, I’m gonna assume that your big ass is over here because you’re upset about that little piece of drama that went down over here with your grandbaby.”

  Wheeze. Wheeze.

  “And you know what? I’m gonna let you have that because I can respect it. I’m having a little bit of trouble with my own blood right now. You want to protect him. I get it. But what I can’t and won’t abide by is you rolling over here and disturbing my peace—putting my business all out on Front Street.” I bend over and make sure that we make eye contact. “You feel me? I don’t pop up at your prayer meetings, Bible studies, or whatever else you’re doing to try to convince God to let you into the pearly gates after all the hell you done raised and all the fucked-up shit that you did to try to break up my marriage. So I’m not gonna have it. You hear me? If I feel like fucking your children, grandchildren, or even dig up your dead husband for a damn dick ride, that’s just what the fuck I’m gonna do. Is we clear?”

  Wheeze. Wheeze.

  I reach over to lift her head back up and temporarily forget that she’s wearing a wig and snatch the muthafucka off. “Shit!” I blink at that head of wiry silver curls smashed down by a sheer nylon wig cap. The shit makes her look closer to ancient. “Now that’s a damn shame. Girl, where’s your pride? Get your shit fixed.” I toss her two-dollar wig back at her, but before I can go back into the house to get tangled back into my bedroom sheets, police sirens fill the air—and not just one or two but the whole damn squad blazes down Shotgun Row, looking like a blue army.

  “What in the world?” Josie pants, pulling herself up and struggling to shove her synthetic wig back onto her head.

  Niggas jump out of the street and then scurry about like cockroaches tryna get out of the way. They don’t go too far because let’s face it, we’re some nosy muthafuckas on this street. But I know what’s up.

  “Oh, fuck,” Josie says, forgetting all about her busted lip. “Is that who I think it is?”

  Captain Melvin Johnson. His ass springs out of the first patrol car, looking like a black hurricane as he bears down on Python and LeShelle’s place.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Now let’s get it straight. Python getting arrested is nothing new. Shit. I have a hidden safe in my closet specifically set up to bail his ass or any other family member out of jail. But this shit—getting caught with a missing child, who happens to be the grandson of Memphis’s supercop—has the potential of putting my favorite nephew on death row.

  A fresh wave of guilt attacks my conscience. Wasn’t my raising Terrell supposed to save him—give him a fighting chance to survive in a world that didn’t have any love for the black man? Or is this another one of my fuckups in a long line of fuckups?

  I move to stand next to Josie and watch with bated breath as the police rush the door with a battering ram. Two seconds later, they bust it down. Knowing Python and LeShelle’s Bonnie and Clyde’s tendencies, I’m not surprised that in the next second gunshots rings out.

  RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT! RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

  RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT! RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

  Niggas duck.

  It sounds like a fucking firing range out here.

  But as fast as those muthafuckas ran into Python’s place, those pig bastards come running right back out.

  “Fuck! Shit! Shut the fuckin’ door,” Melvin yells. “Someone get Animal Control down here. This house is crawling with snakes!”

  A smile hooks the side of my lips, and I’m able to breathe a sigh of relief. Now all I have to hope
for is that Python comes to his senses and drops Christopher off at a hospital or fire department. If not, Captain Melvin Johnson is gonna stay on his ass like white on rice. Just as that thought drifts across my mind, Captain Johnson’s gaze cuts in my direction.

  “Aw, shit.” I roll my eyes. The last muthafuckin’ place I want to be is on this nigga’s radar. The next thing I know, his ass is on the move toward me. “This day keeps getting better and better,” I grumble.

  “Look, girl. I’m gonna catch you later,” Josie says, wiping her mouth and damn near tripping over her feet to get off my porch.

  I don’t respond because it ain’t like I issued her ass an invitation over here in the first place. The only thing I have time to do is tighten the belt on my robe before Captain Johnson is in my face.

  “Peaches.”

  “Melvin.” He eyeballs me like my ass calling him by his first name is just cause to haul my ass downtown.

  “Where is he?” he barks.

  “Who?”

  “You know damn well who. Your gangbangin’ nephew Terrell. Tell me now and I might go easy on him.”

  “First of all, Terrell is a businessman. What he does around here is handle his business. And do you mean by going easy that you won’t beat him down and plant shit on him before you arrest him?”

  Melvin takes another step and is standing so close I think he’s about to French kiss my ass. “It’s more like I might not put a bullet in the center of his forehead before I slap the cuffs on him.” For emphasis, he plants his fingers in the center of my head and pushes me backward. “Especially since locking you Carvers up is a complete waste of time and taxpayers’ money.”

  My eyes narrow, but I hold my tongue.

  “Of course, your husband would probably like a little company in the big house. Who knows, maybe if they were both there, you’d find the time to stop in for a visit every now and then, and Isaac wouldn’t have to resort to cracking niggas’ asses open to get that nut you used to give him?”

  “Get off my porch,” I hiss.

  Melvin’s face inches down toward mine till our noses touch. “Or what? You know I can haul you in on general principle. I’m sure if I get you in the interrogation room for about five minutes, I can get Terrell’s whereabouts out of you or you can at least slob on my dick like you and your sister used to. You remember those days, don’t you? Pussy in exchange for bail money. Thanks to you, I’ve grown quite fond of one-legged bitches.”