Street Divas

by De'nesha Diamond

  “He’s here,” Bishop shouts.

  We sigh in annoyance.

  “We’ll continue this conversation a little later,” Mason promises.

  “A’ight.”

  He leans forward again and kisses me deeply. No shit, I wish that we could lie in this bed forever. We have business to tend to, so we pop out of the bed and rush for a quick shower.

  Strolling outside so we can head over to his place a few doors down, we don’t quite know what to do with our hands or even know how to behave.

  “This shit is going to take some getting used to,” Mason says.

  “You ain’t never lied,” I joke.

  “There you two are!” a voice booms as we approach Mason’s driveway.

  My stomach clenches, but this time in disgust. I hate it when we have to do business with this muthafucka.

  Mason allows Captain Melvin Johnson to throw his arms around him while I stand back. When the pig shifts his gaze to me, his smile twists slyly.

  “Hello, Willow.” He throws open his arms. “Where is the love for your old cousin Skeet?”

  42

  Yolanda

  Ticktock.

  I’m paranoid like a muthafucka and peeping around every nook and corner like a crazy bitch now. I thought I was ready for this fight to knock Python’s wifey off her throne, but it turns out that I’ve highly underestimated LeShelle. She has made it clear that she isn’t afraid to toe-tag any bitch who gets in her way, and my stupid ass couldn’t leave well enough alone. Now what am I supposed to do, walk around with a gat strapped around my big belly everywhere I go? Would she really come at me though I’m still under her man’s protection?

  Why not? I went at her.

  My cell phone buzzes, and when I look down at the screen, I see: Ticktock.

  Oh, this bitch is fucking with me now.

  Should I call Python and tell him what’s going down, or will that have me looking like a whiny bitch who can’t handle my own problems?

  Better a whiny bitch than a dead one.

  You’d think LeShelle would have better things to do now that her sister is in a mental hospital, drooling and staring at a fucking wall. If the shit that’s buzzing on the street is to be believed, that bitch is foul for orchestrating her own lil sister’s sex-in into the Queen Gs. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s clear that the bitch will do anything to stay on top. What the hell was I thinking putting myself in her crosshairs?

  Ticktock.

  I feel like a beach ball as I walk up and down the grocery store aisles, looking for something to satisfy all my sweet and sour cravings. And what I end up lugging out of the store is enough junk food to send my ass into a diabetic shock. As I step out into the dark parking lot, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Someone is watching me.

  My nervous gaze darts around, but I don’t see anyone lurking in the shadows. I remain paranoid as I head over to my car. I need to stop making these late-night trips. This city isn’t safe when the sun goes down. I climb into my SUV and lock the door. I feel a little safer knowing that I have my new gat tucked under the driver’s seat. There’s a loud bing from my purse. Before pulling out of the parking lot, I scoop out my cell phone and check the text message.

  Ticktock.

  “This fuckin’ bitch is getting on my nerves.” I toss my cell phone aside and shift the car into gear. But I’m not on the road for more than two minutes before that feeling comes back over me. Now there’s a strange anxiousness, and my blood seems to be speeding through my veins, leaving me light-headed. My gaze shoots to my rearview mirror and then to the side mirrors. There are a few cars on the road, but I’m suddenly suspicious of all of them.

  “Calm down. This bitch got you tripping.” I readjust my sweating hands on the steering wheel and concentrate on hurrying up and getting home. However, no sooner do I shove my paranoia to the back of my head than the black SUV behind me speeds up and rear-ends me.

  I jolt forward; my belly rams against the steering wheel. “What the hell?” I look into the rearview when the muthafucka hits me again. “Fuck!” Instead of pulling over, I jam on the accelerator. I almost shit myself when someone springs up from my backseat and presses a gun to my head.

  “Ticktock, bitch.”

  Shocked and scared shitless, I shoot my gaze to the rearview mirror. A pair of dark, sinister eyes glares back at me from beneath a black wool ski mask.

  “Pull this muthafucka over,” the woman hisses.

  Blinking, I don’t react. I was expecting it to be LeShelle, but it isn’t. “Who are you?”

  “I’ll splatter your brains all over the fuckin’ dashboard if you don’t pull this muthafucka over right now!”

  I don’t doubt her ass for a minute. I ease my foot off the gas and pull the vehicle over. Two things I don’t do is beg and cry. Once I’m on the side of the road, the other SUV pulls up behind me.

  “Look, I don’t know what you want, but if you let me go, you can take my purse, my car . . . whatever.”

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

  My door flies open, and the next thing I know I’m being shoved over into the passenger seat. “Ow. My baby. I’m pregnant!”

  “No shit,” the woman in the backseat says a second before wrapping duct tape around my mouth. After that, she shoves some kind of cloth over my head and presses a gun against the back of my head again. The bitch next to me binds my hands with plastic cuffs that bite into my skin, as someone climbs behind the wheel. By the time we peel off from the side of the road, I can no longer hold back my tears.

  They just want to scare me. No way would LeShelle enlist these girls to actually hurt me, especially while I’m still carrying Python’s child. That would be too crazy even for her. I rethink that shit after we drive for a long time. These two bitches haven’t said another word. A few more minutes pass, and we turn off the main road and onto a rocky path.

  A few more minutes tick by and my full bladder bursts. I sit in a puddle of piss while tears stream down my face. The car stops. My two kidnappers jump out and then open my door. I tumble and fall onto sharp rocks. Pain explodes through my body, but I’m unable to scream or push myself up. Are they planning to leave me out here like this—in the middle of nowhere?

  I hear tires crunch over the gravel. It must be the other SUV. I’m full-on crying as two women pull and tug me onto my knees.

  “What the fuck?” A car door slams and a third woman’s voice shouts, “Have y’all done her yet?”

  Oh, shit! My mind races as I struggle to get to my feet, but I’m shoved back down. I scream, “Please don’t do this,” behind my taped mouth to no avail.

  “I ain’t knocking off a pregnant woman,” one says. “That shit is foul. The baby ain’t done shit to nobody.”

  “Count me out, too,” another voice says. “Shit. I didn’t know this bitch was this far along. I don’t understand why we’re doing the Queen Gs’ dirty work anyway.”

  Relief sweeps through me but then is snatched away when the third woman says, “I owe that bitch LeShelle a favor for getting rid of Essence, and I pay all my debts. So we’re going to do this, but we’re going to take some insurance.”

  “What type of insurance?”

  “We’ll cut the baby out and take it with us.”

  My eyes bulge beneath the bag, and I double up on my efforts to get away, but I’m completely and utterly defenseless.

  “Hold this bitch down!”

  No! No! No!

  Cold steel is stabbed into my flesh. My scream breaks through the duct tape, but I drown in a sea of pain as this bitch’s blade carves around my belly. Before I slip into nothingness, I hear my baby’s cry.

  43

  LeShelle

  You can’t keep a good bitch locked up and babysitting miscellaneous bastards. So after strapping Christopher to his bed, I roll over to Memphis Mental Health Institute. I’ve put off this visit to see Ta’Shara for months, and now that Essence’s double-snitching ass is p
ut out of commission, I can refocus my attention on my other problems, two of them being my sister and Profit.

  Profit. That lucky muthafucka. I still can’t believe his ass is not only alive, but also awake and talking. That’s okay. A bitch like me ain’t never scared. I’ll be waiting for that ass.

  Strolling into the hospital, I sign my name on the guest list at the front desk. I’m halfway expecting the bitch behind the counter to take one look at my name and sound off an alarm. Instead, the chick doesn’t even pull her eyes out of the magazine she’s reading.

  “Which room is Ta’Shara Murphy in?” I ask, pressing my luck.

  “You’ll have to ask one of the nurses at the station,” she says, flipping through pages.

  Rolling my eyes, I stroll past this lazy bitch and go in search of my sister. It doesn’t take long, but when I approach her door, my gaze lands on Tracee. I slow up and roll my eyes. I can’t stand this fucking bitch. The last thing I want to do is deal with her ass right now, and if I walk through this door, it’s going to be a situation and some fucking furniture moving.

  Instead of turning around and walking my ass back out of here, I stand there and watch this bougie bitch bump her gums about nonsense while she knits some crazy-looking thing in her lap. Every once in a while, she looks up at Ta’Shara and strokes her hair as if she were some life-sized doll. Watching the two of them churns my stomach, but still I can’t look away.

  After a while, tears streak down Tracee’s face and she puts her knitting down and rushes toward the door.

  I jet toward another room until Tracee blazes past me to get to God knows where. A poke my head out first, glance around to make sure she’s gone, and then dip back into the hallway and head into my sister’s room.

  “Hello, Ta’Shara,” I say, closing the door behind me.

  She doesn’t respond.

  Cocking my head, I take a closer look at her. I try to see if I can catch this bitch faking this shit. I ease closer. “Surprised to see me here?”

  No response.

  Cautious, I move all the way over to the chair Tracee had been sitting in and move her knitting to the bed. Now that I’m up close and personal, I lean into Ta’Shara’s face so that I can block her view out of the window.

  Nothing. Ta’Shara looks straight through me. It spooks me, and I lean back out of her face. Unexpectedly, guilt rushes through me like a freight train, but then I try to derail that muthafucka by shaking the shit off. “I’m not going to feel guilty about this shit,” I tell her. “This is your fault. You pushed and pushed.” I roll my eyes and suck in another long breath.

  Silence.

  “I mean, what the fuck did you think was gonna happen, huh? You thought that I was gonna ignore that you were sleeping with the enemy? I mean, I fuckin’ ask soooo little of you, and you . . . you just had to show me your ass.”

  Silence.

  “Whatever. It is what it is,” I tell her. “This shit ain’t on me. I ain’t gonna feel guilty about none of this. And as for your lil nigga, if his ass wants to continue where we left off, that shit is fine with me, too. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I’m scared of a fuckin’ hook. If he wants to get at me, then he can find my ass right where I belong—at the muthafuckin top.” I flash my ring in front of Ta’Shara’s face. “Choke on that, bitch. I got my family now. I don’t need you anymore.”

  Silence.

  “You hear me? I. Don’t. Need. You.” I lower my hands and then ball them at my sides. I fight the urge to knock her out of that damn chair.

  I want her to acknowledge what I’ve accomplished on my own. I want her to see that no matter what, my ass is going to land on top. After the silence stretches too long, I move in on her again. “You know what? Maybe you sitting in here like a vegetable is the best thing for me all the way around. At least this way you’re out of my hair. I don’t have to look after your ungrateful ass anymore.” Clenching my jaw, I suck in an angry breath. The guilt I felt earlier is now a low, simmering anger.

  “You got just a lil taste of what I’ve been through in the past. Just a little taste—and what do you do? Check out? Shrink into your lil shell.” I tap her on the side of her head. “Hello? Anybody in there?”

  Silence.

  “Look at you. Weak. How in the hell are we even related?” My eyes narrow. “If the roles had been reversed, you wouldn’t have lasted one day out here on the streets. Not one fucking day.”

  Silence.

  “Oh. And don’t be looking for your lil girlfriend Essence to come around here anymore. I took care of her disloyal ass—just like I’m going to take care of your man, Profit, once and for all.” I flip Ta’Shara’s hair into her face and then turn toward the door.

  I don’t get more than two feet before I hear this deep, guttural voice behind me.

  “You fuckin’ bitch!”

  Stunned, I turn around and barely comprehend Ta’Shara charging toward me or those two large knitting needles swooping down and plunging into my chest.

  “Aaaaargh!”

  We fall to the floor as Ta’Shara jerks the needles out and then jams them back in, over and over while her scream rings in my head.

  “DIE, YOU BITCH! DIE!”

  44

  Lucifer

  Melvin Johnson stands proud while our people open crate after crate of new weapons for tonight’s bloodbath. As usual, I hang back while Mason and Cousin Skeet discuss business. During the entire time they’re talking, I can’t help but steal sideway glances at them and wonder.

  Could they be?

  The idea doesn’t sit too well with me because that would mean that this whole time Mason was fuckin’ his . . . no. I don’t even want to think no shit like that. But it’s not impossible. I knew Skeet got around, my mother and Aunt Nikki were testimony to that shit. But damn.

  I’d long thought Skeet was just slumming in Ruby Cove. Skeet and Smokestack had the perfect setup—one brother neck-deep in the game while the other ran the police department and made record busts on our main enemies the Gangster Disciples. To complete his double life, Skeet raised and kept his perfect, bougie family on the other side of town. That was another reason why I couldn’t stand his ass. His family was too good for us, including this Gangster Disciple–fuckin’ daughter.

  Irony.

  You’d think with my ass giving him Python’s name for plugging his daughter that he could’ve at least dragged his ass in for questioning, but as usual, if the Vice Lords don’t hand shit to him on a silver platter, he’s worthless.

  So tonight we’re going to handle this shit ourselves.

  Street justice.

  I think that’s what Skeet wanted this whole time. He wants Python dead, not behind bars.

  Tonight, we’re hitting two hot spots to let the street know that we’re taking this shit to another level. Dressed in my usual Grim Reaper black, I turn to join up with my peoples on Ruby Cove. We have seven black Escalades lined up with plates off. Mason dubs them the Murder Train.

  It’s fitting.

  When Mason and Cousin Skeet slap palms together, shoulder bump and separate, it’s time for us to roll out.

  “Looking good, Willow,” Skeet says, shooting his handgun at me and hopping into his vehicle.

  I glare at him while he rolls out and then disappears down the Ruby Cove.

  Mason strolls back out from his crib, in his own black gear and with his flag draped around his neck. My heart starts hammering at how good he looks and how well he’s walking. “Let’s do this!”

  Niggas break and head to their vehicles.

  “Yo, Lucifer,” Mason calls out. “You ride with me.”

  I stroll to the front of the line and climb in with Mason. “I’m honored.”

  Mason starts up his shit. “You know you’re my right hand . . . and my fucking lucky charm.”

  “ ’Bout time you recognize.”

  “Oh, I’ve recognized that shit. Didn’t want your head to get any bigger than it already is.” He reache
s over and surprises me by taking my hand and squeezing it.

  Smiling, I slip on my shades. “If that’s your backhanded way of telling me that you can’t live without me, then I guess it’ll have to do.”

  “Hard-ass.” He slips on his own shades and then pulls away from the curb. It doesn’t take us long to reach our first spot: the Pink Monkey.

  One by one, we all pull into the parking lot and block entrances and exits. Next we jump out, armed to the teeth and ready for the slaughter. Half of us march toward the door. The bouncers inside take one look at our asses and go for their weapons. That’s the last muthafuckin’ thing they do on this earth. My new .22 LR semiautomatic blows the biggest muthafucka back nearly ten feet.

  Bitches scream and run, but their naked asses get blasted, too. What the fuck, I’m an equal-opportunity killer. The only time we get some exchange of gunplay is when some niggas come running out of VIP, but other than that, this shit is an easy hit. We’re in and out in less than four minutes.

  Heading back outside, there are a few more bodies facedown on the concrete. They must’ve tried to escape out of the back door but were picked off by our soldiers who remained outside.

  “Cutty, man. Do you,” Mason yells.

  “You got it, boss.” Cutty gives a mock salute and then runs into the building while we all load up again and roll out.

  Three minutes down the road, we hear Cutty’s bomb explode.

  “That eyesore is officially out of business.” Mason chuckles as we hug a right turn. Our next stop: Goodson Construction. If Bishop is right, tonight Python will be doing his weekly pickup with his connect. There should be two armed cars from his connect and two cars loaded with Gangster Disciples—we would still overwhelm them by three.

  “You ready for this?” Mason asks.

  I’m not used to his ass asking me such a question. “I was born ready.” His gaze lingers on me, and after a while I become self-conscious. “You want to pay attention to the road?”

  “About what we were talking about earlier—”

  “When?”