Around here, we may point and whisper, but for the most part we minded our own damn business. Besides, not too many niggas even knew or met they damn daddies, so if any nigga wanted to lay claim, we figured you should consider your ass lucky. Now I didn’t have a damn daddy.
I pulled my gaze away from Dribbles and swung it toward Cousin Skeet. It was hard for me to stop my lip from curling in disgust. Now more than ever, he had his gaze locked on my momma’s ass throughout this ceremony. He must’ve felt the weight of my stare or something because he at long last shifted his gaze in my direction. When he smiled, I cut my eyes away and returned my attention back to Smokestack.
Twenty minutes later, he stuck a cork in it and we walked back up to the closed casket to say our final good-byes. As we marched forward, I saw tears gathering in Juvon’s eyes again, and I almost wanted to sock him in the face and tell him to cut that shit out. Real niggas don’t cry.
Period.
Marching up behind Juvon and Momma, I copied Smokestack’s smooth, confident walk, kissed two fingers, and then pressed them in between the blanket of flowers Momma dug out of her garden. I stopped for a moment and waited to feel something. I wanted to. Believe that. But it never happened.
When we all returned home, the sun had come out and there was a huge feast and even more people waiting for us. That was when I knew that this was probably going to be one of the longest days of my life. What made people think that at a time like this, we really wanted their asses all up in our faces? It really didn’t make no kind of sense when you got down to it. After like the hundredth person asked me how I was doing, I took my ass outside and plopped down on the back porch. At least today I knew Momma wasn’t going to give me no shit about messing up my dress. In fact, this was going to be the last day I was going to wear one of these damn things. What was the point? I only wore them because my daddy liked them.
I had exactly two seconds of peace before the yard was suddenly filled with other kids. No doubt their selfish-ass parents sent them out here so they could get their loud asses out of their hair.
“Bang! Bang! Bang! Nigga, you’s dead,” Andre shouted, using his hand as a gun.
“Nah-uh. Nigga, you missed me!” Dominic pulled the gold scarf off from around his face. “You know your ass can’t shoot anyway.”
“I shoot better than you—you stank-breath, cross-eyed, Urkel wannabe,” Andre shot back.
Like a flash of lightning, another kid ran up behind Dominic and planted his two-finger gun in the back of his head and shouted, “POW!” And for an extra sneaky move, he swept his foot underneath Andre and then smirked when the stunned kid hit the ground hard and busted his top lip. “Now your ass is dead, muthafucka!”
My interest perked up at the unusual bass pouring out of a kid so small.
With so much blood gushing from Andre’s lip, we all waited to see if his ass was going to start hollering like a baby or brush that shit off.
“Fuck!” Andre complained, and then spat out a mouthful of blood and dirt. “Fuck. Nigga, we weren’t even playing with you.”
The kid kicked him square in his ass and made him eat another mouthful of dirt. “Don’t you know what the fuck dead means, stupid muthafucka?”
That shit cracked me the fuck up, mainly because Andre wasn’t used to someone putting their foot up his ass. Once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. It felt good to laugh, especially since I’d been surrounded by crying people for three days straight.
Andre’s bully looked up and glared over at me. “What the fuck are you laughing at, bitch?”
I blinked at his rudeness, but then decided to match him attitude for attitude. “First of all, your momma is a bitch and I’m laughing at y’all fake-ass niggas playing paper gangstas. Shit. You’d probably piss in your pants if y’all was in any real do-or-die situation.”
This miscellaneous nigga scrunched up his face. “Who in the hell are you calling fake?”
Folding my arms, I swirled my neck around like my momma did whenever she got mad. “I’m looking at you, ain’t I?” His punk-ass gaze raked me up and down, and I could see that he’s debating on whether he’d fight a girl, so I tried to push his buttons some more. “Now what?” I asked. “Whatcha going to do about it?”
“Maybe I’ll punch you in your damn mouth,” he said, strolling toward me and staring me down.
If he thought I was going to flinch or get up and run into the house all scared and shit, he had the wrong bitch for that shit. “Try it, nigga. There’s plenty of time to squeeze in another funeral today.” To prove how bad I was, I thrust my chin up and dared his ass to swing. At this point, I’m thinking that it might feel good to hit something—or someone—right now. And this muthafucka was as good as the next.
“Nigga, you better walk away,” Mason said, stepping out of the house and shaking his head. “Trust me. You don’t’t want none of my girl Willow. The girl is a devil in a dress.” He chuckled.
Had he just called me his girl? That crazy fluttering started again in my stomach as I cut my gaze over to Mason. Gone was his black suit. He was now back in his signature jeans and white T—but more importantly, he looked like that mean muthafucka who even grown niggas didn’t want to fuck with.
The fact that he was giving me high praise wasn’t escaping these niggas, because that was something he rarely did. If I wasn’t so busy staring this nigga down, I might’ve smiled.
“What’s going on out here?” Juvon asked, stepping into the yard with a paper plate loaded down with food. As usual, his ass was a day late and a dollar short.
Mason laughed as he folded his arms. “This brand-new nigga on the block thinks he can take on your sister.”
“For real?” Juvon laughed as he shoveled in a mouthful of macaroni and cheese while he peeped out my opponent. “What rock you climbed out from, brah?”
This nigga started to look real nervous.
Mason’s and Juvon’s faces twisted like a pair of disrespected twins.
“Nigga, you can’t talk?” Mason asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun.
I’m shocked, but I don’t act like it. Where in the fuck did he get a gun from?
“Well?” I asked, barking at this deaf-mute muthafucka all of a sudden. In his face, I could see he’s calculating on how to back up out of this corner he got his ass into without losing face. I didn’t see how that shit was even possible.
Mason cocked his gun and every nigga in the yard froze.
A part of the boy’s face twitched. “You really want to fight me, huh?”
I shrugged. “It’s something to do.”
He stood there for a long time. My ass got tired of waiting, and I cocked my fist back, mindful to keep my thumb outside of my balled right hand—just like my daddy taught me—and I sent that muthafucka flying.
Crack!
This nigga dropped like a stone.
“Oh, shit,” Mason laughed, covering his mouth with his fist.
Juvon nearly dropped his plate, cracking up.
Every nigga in the yard followed suit, laughing and pointing as blood gushed out of this muthafucka’s busted mouth. In two seconds, this weak bitch’s eyes swelled with tears.
“Niiiigggggaa,” Mason howled. “I told your ass!”
My face remained blank, though I was smiling inside. I didn’t need no crystal ball to know that I was going to get mad respect over this shit here. The surge of power was heady and potentially addictive.
This nigga scrambled his ass up off the ground and took off running when a tear leaped over his lashes and streaked down his dirty face. What was with these niggas crying all the goddamn time?
Once our little excitement died down, I returned to my spot on the porch. That’s the best way I figured for these loud-ass niggas to leave me alone. But Mason ignored my leave-me-the-fuck-alone sign I had flashing on my forehead and sat down next to me.
“Shit, Willow. I was blowing smoke up the nigga’s ass. I didn’t know those damn bony-ass arms could real
ly knock muthafuckas out like that.” He flashed me a smile, and his chubby cheeks dimpled at the corners.
“Fuck. I knew,” Juvon said, dropping down next to us and then tearing into a chicken leg like he was afraid the muthafucka was going to try and run off his plate before he could get a taste. “She wails on me all the fucking time. My shit be black and blue, for real.”
“Is that right?” Mason smiled at me like he ain’t never seen my ass before, and though I’m trying to hold on to my mad face, I get that funny ticklish feeling in the pit of my stomach again.
“What? You can’t talk to me?” Mason said, leaning against me and flashing those damn dimples.
“Nigga, get off me.” I leaned back, not because I thought he had cooties but because I was afraid that he was going to hear my heart pounding against my chest. I sniffed the air. “What the fuck you got on?”
Mason’s smile spread wider. “You like that shit? I borrowed some of my father’s cologne. Since he’s a big pimp with the ladies, I figured I’d try to steal a little of his shine.”
My nose started twitching faster. “You know you ain’t’t supposed to bathe in that shit.”
“Ha-ha. You know you love it.” He leaned in again and winked.
I rolled my eyes, unimpressed.
Juvon twisted up his face. “Nigga, stop trying to hit on my lil sister. That shit ain’t cool.”
Mason eased back. “A’ight, play all you want. But on the real tip, you know I had your back with that lil nigga, right?”
“Uh-huh. Where in the hell did you get a gun at?”
“Yeah. Is that a real gun?” Juvon asked.
Mason puffed out his chest. “What the fuck? You think that I’m going to be working these streets with some fake shit in my pocket? I ain’t looking to get white-chalked out here.” Then, remembering the day’s events, he looked guiltily over at me. “No offense.”
“None taken,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. My gaze locked on his weapon a second before I reached out to touch it. “Where did you get it?”
“Are you kidding me? My dad has crates of them all over the house. He ain’t going to miss this one.”
In my head, I replayed those niggas gunning my dad down. I wondered how different things would have played out if he had had his gat at the ready. “You think you can get me one?”
“Say what?” Juvon choked.
Mason twisted up his face. “You? What, you tryna be a gangster now?”
Juvon laughed and shook his head. “Knocked one muthafucka out and now she wants to rule the muthafuckin ’ world.”
“Fuck y’all.” I rolled my head away. “I can get my own shit.”
“Oh, shit. You serious?” Mason asked after staring a hole into the side of my head.
I turned until our eyes connected. “Don’t I look serious?” He took his time, gazing into my eyes. “Yeah. I think you are serious.” His lips hitched up. “A’ight. I’ma hook you up.”
“What?” Juvon muffled around his chicken.
I flashed my first smile since the day my daddy died. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, bobbing his head. “And I’m even going to teach you how to use it. You’ll be a stone-cold killer by the time I’m finished with you. Niggas everywhere is going to be calling you Lucifer. Watch and see.”
My lips hitch up into a smile as I pull my mind from those good-old days. I reach for Mason’s hands, and then my heart drops at how cold and stiff his fingers are to the touch. I shake my head in an effort to ward off the pessimist inside me and embrace the hope my brother is clinging to. In the end, I think it’s better for me to concentrate on doing what I do best—killing those muthafuckin’ Gangster Disciples.
Knowledge
23
Momma Peaches
Things ain’t been right between me and Python for a while now. Mostly because we ain’t exactly seeing eye to eye on this whole situation with Christopher. Yes, I know he’s his child. Hell. One only has to look at both of them standing side by side to know that shit. But the boy is also the grandson of Memphis’s own supercop, who thinks he has a cape flying out the crack of his ass. Shotgun Row is still crawling with police, and the FBI have been through this muthafucka a few times themselves.
Python is gonna have to show his face to these muthafuckas sooner or later, ’cause their asses just ain’t going away. Cedric has been riding my ass on what I know about this shit. He can’t, or won’t, believe that I ain’t got nothing to do with this right here. I understand. He doesn’t want to get caught up in the mix in fuckin’ bullshit. And since I got a record a few miles long, he ain’t too quick to believe any of the bullshit that I’m spitting his way.
That’s all right. He’ll be all right.
Though from time to time, he thinks the best way to get shit out of me is to put me on dick restriction. He doesn’t understand why that shit is funny until I told him that dicks come a dime a dozen—if that much. The itch that his ass won’t scratch, another nigga will—gladly. He knows that shit is true. He doesn’t have to go no farther than my front porch to see Rufus patrolling outside, waiting to see if I’m going to break his ass off a piece before the end of days gets here.
Cedric came around, and now he’s hitting my G-spot like it’s a part-time job. He knows his ass is addicted to this good shit, showing up in the middle of the night with his eyes as big as his balls and pinching on my titties before he’s even in the door good.
This morning, I catch a clip of a teary-eyed Victoria Johnson on a cable news show. She looks like a wrecked, hot mess, clinging to her husband for support in front of the camera. My heart gets all twisted up in my chest because I know exactly what she’s going through. When Mason disappeared, my ass looked just like her—crying, begging, and snotting up. The frustrating part is knowing that niggas are sitting on information because they are all bound to the code of the streets. Nobody sees or hears shit.
Times like these, you reach out to that one snitch to do the right thing. Normally, you can’t stand their asses—but when it’s you or your family that has been wronged, there’s nothing you won’t do for that snitch to crawl out of the gutter and spill his guts. Nothing.
“Sad, ain’t it?”
I jerk around to see Cedric, leaning against the wall and staring at the television.
“Yeah. This muthafucka is crawling with sad-ass stories. What’s new?”
He stares at me for a long second before his lips start curling up. “You know that you don’t have to be so hard all the time. At least not with me.”
My brows nearly leap off my forehead at this shit. “Is this the part when you tell me not to worry because you’ll never hurt me?”
His lips stretch wider. “If I do, is that where you laugh in my face?”
He’s so fucking cute. I can’t help but stroll my ass over to him and let him slide his arms around my waist. “See? You’ve danced to this song before, too.”
“Never with someone I wouldn’t mind dancing with for the rest of my life.”
I sigh. Here we go again. “If you’re thinking about making an honest woman out of me, you’re too late. I’m married, remember?”
“Divorces happen all the time. Haven’t you been reading the papers?”
I cock my head. “Well, look at your cocky ass.” I try to push my way out of his arms, but he ain’t having it.
“Personally, I would’ve never left something as precious as you chillin’ on ice.” Cedric shakes his head. “No way. Not ever.”
My panties are drenched. Yeah. This is definitely Manny’s lil man, talking this fat, smooth shit, trying to get my heart tangled up in some emotional bullshit that I ain’t got no business feeling.
“What? Your man got a good dime left?” He pulls me even closer. “There’s plenty of time for me to snatch you away from that hustler.” He leans forward and kisses the tip of my nose. “Plenty of time.” While his hands slide all over my ass and I’m hypnotized by his green eyes, I’m thinking .
. . maybe?
Stretching my arms behind his neck, I push his head down and take my time sucking and running my tongue along the bottom of his lip.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I close my eyes and groan. “What the fuck?”
Cedric laughs. “Must’ve been feeling good to you.” He releases me and then slaps me on the ass as I turn toward the door.
“I ain’t never denied that shit.”
“All right, then. Get rid of whoever that is and meet me in the bedroom. I’ll grab the strawberries and whipped cream.”
“All sukie-sukie now. Make sure that you get the bottle of honey, too.” I laugh all the way to the door. However, the minute I open it and see Kookie standing on the other side, my eyes damn near roll out of the back of my head. “Why every time I’m about to get my back straight, someone is banging on my door like the muthafuckin’ police?”
“Oh. Sorry, Momma Peaches. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“How the hell are you going to knock on someone’s door and then claim that you didn’t mean to disturb them?” My question clearly throws her off, and for a few seconds, she just stands there and blinks at me. “Child, what do you want?”
She holds up a cup. “I, uh, wanted to borrow some flour.”
I look around the porch. “Is there a sign out here that says this is the muthafuckin’ grocery store?”
“Uh—”
“Girl. Get on in here.” Rolling my eyes, I turn around and shuffle to the kitchen. “This shit is getting ri-damn-diculous. I know if I start shootin’ first and asking questions later, then y’all muthafuckas are going to be lookin’ at me like I’m wrong.”
Kookie twists up her face. “Sorry, Momma P. I didn’t mean to set you off or nothin’. I just needed this lil favor.”
“Uh-huh.” I shake my head. “And since when has your ass started cooking? I know I ain’t never smelled no cooking going on over there.”
“I can cook,” she lies defensively.
I ball my hands onto my hips and stare her down. Why these young bitches try to play me stupid I don’t know.
Street Divas Page 16
