Life After Wifey

by Kiki Swinson

  LIFE AFTER WIFEY

  Copyright © 2007 by Kiki Swinson

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions.

  For information address:

  Melodrama Publishing

  P. O. Box 522 Bellport, New York 11713-0522

  Web address: www.melodramapublishing.com

  e-mail: melodramapub@aol.com

  author’s email address: kikis7673@yahoo.com

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2007900803

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual events, real people, living or dead, organizations, establishments, locales are products of the author’s imagination. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously.

  EBook Edition

  DEDICATION:

  In spite of all the obstacles & the people who have interfered in my life and tried to tear my world apart, I have to thank my Father in heaven, for interceding & giving me the strength to keep moving on.

  &

  Shaquira, Lil John & Kamryn, thanks for showing mommy what true love is. You know I’m gonna always have y’all back, right?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

  To my Publisher/Agent Crystal Lacey Winslow, you have always made sound business decisions for me and you never let me down, so I want to thank you for it.

  To all my family & friends, I love you all! To the book clubs like: The Beauty Shop out of Virginia Beach, VA (Trina, April, Kim & Tiggy), Chapter II Chapter out of

  N.C. (Charisma, Kesha & the rest of the ladies), & OOSA online book club (Nardsbaby & Toni), thanks ladies for the love, but most importantly your constructive criticism. Also to the D.C. Bookman, (I carry your words with me all the time, “It’s not a game!”)

  To my new family over at Kensington/Dafina, watch out because I am coming! And when I come, I’m coming hard! (smile). And last but not least, to all my peoples on lock: Charles “Silk” Dunn (FCI Elkton), Leonard “Bolo” Marshall, Andrew King, Reggie “Lee” Spears, Leshawn Pullie & Kevin “Ron” Jones. Keep your heads up!

  To everyone else I didn’t mention, just know that I do love you & respect the hell outta’ ya!

  A note from the author:

  I want to thank all my readers for their love and support. You guys mean everything to me. The loyalty y’all have for me is amazing. I never really knew what that word meant until it was displayed by all of you. I must also add that I got some mixed reviews on my novel “The Candy Shop.” While most were saying that they enjoyed it & can’t wait for the sequel, I was also told by a lot of you that you loved my “Wifey” series more because you can’t relate to the whole heroin addict scene. So I say, it’s really entertaining to read about a ride or die chick & her baller husband and how they live their lives driving hot whips and spending thousands of dollars on expensive diamonds and furs. But what about the people who suffer & lose everything so that the ballers and their wives can have that glamorous life? Being a drug addict is no joke. So I wrote that story for one purpose: to let you see what heroin does to these people. It rips their lives apart and it doesn’t take very long to do it. So, if you know anyone who has an addiction, pick up “The Candy Shop.” It’s both informative and entertaining. I guarantee it!

  Thanks a bunch,

  Kiki Swinson

  PROLOGUE

  Barely a second after I walked through the front door of my apartment, my cell phone started ringing. I threw all of my things down on the floor and retrieved my phone from my handbag.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Hey, where you at?” Nikki asked me.

  “At home. Why?” I asked and then I took a seat on my living room sofa.

  “I’m on my way over there.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Syncere did it!”

  “Did what?”

  “I just found out he was involved with Mark getting killed.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “Because when he was in the shower this morning, I went through his Sidekick to see if he had any messages from any chicks and that’s when I ran across an old message he had received the same night you and Mark got shot.”

  “What did the text message say?” I asked as my heart sunk into the pit of my stomach.

  “It said, ‘Squad leader was with his broad, so we had to plug both of them. We got his heat, his jewels and his dough, so holla at me when you want me to make the drop.’”

  “Oh, my God,” I screamed. “We gotta call the police.”

  “I know, but what are we going to tell ‘em?”

  “We are going to tell them that muthafucka had my man killed,” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  “But, we have no proof.”

  “Where is his Sidekick?”

  “He has it.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause I’m gon’ call the police anyway.Ain’t no way I’m going to let that bastard walk the streets as a free man after today!”

  “Will you wait until I get there?”

  “You better hurry up.”

  “I will. Give me about thirty minutes, ‘cause I’m way out here in Newport News.”

  “Well, I’m going to jump in the shower, so you better come on.”

  “Okay,” she replied and then we both hung up.

  I was pissed off once again and hurt that Syncere was the one who had Mark killed. What was I going to do? How were we going to prove the allegations? We had no murder weapon or motive, as the police would say. Our best bet was to get that T-Mobile Sidekick away from him, which is going to be very hard to do. But I guess we would figure something out. I owed Mark at least that.

  I got undressed and hopped in the shower because my body needed it badly. The hot water piercing the tender parts of my muscles felt great, so I took my time and bathed every inch of my body.

  When I was done, I turned off the water and flung back the shower curtain.

  There, was a man pointing his gun directly at me. I wanted to scream. But before I could let out a single cry, he said, “Don’t say a fucking word” There was no expression in his voice at all.

  “Okay,” I said, my voice barely audible, with my hands partially covering my mouth.

  “Here, take this,” the guy told me as he handed me a newspaper clipping.

  I reached and grabbed it like he instructed me. He said, “Papí wanted me to give you that, so you can see that he took care of Russ.”

  Hearing this man tell me that this article was about Russ made me want to read it.

  The article was printed in black ink in the Washington Post’s Metro section. It was about the execution-style murder of a Russell Hastings. He was found in his bed at one o’clock in the morning, shot in the head three times. Police detectives had no suspects at the time.

  “This is Russ?” I asked the guy.

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “So, can I ask you why you got that gun pointed at me?”

  “Because my job isn’t finished.”

  “Wh-wh-what do you mean?” I began to stutter, trying to figure out what this man was talking about.

  “I heard you talking on the telephone about calling the police and that’s not good.”

  “But it was about something else, ” I tried to reassure him.

  “I heard you. I know you were talking about your husband’s murder.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I swear.”

  “Why
are you lying to me when I already heard everything you said?”

  “Listen, it’s not what you think. I promise you that I wasn’t talking about my husband’s murder. I could care less about that muthafucka.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t matter anyway because you took money from Papí.”

  “But I didn’t ask for it. He just gave it to me.”

  “You took it though. When you did that, you let him know that you were weak and could be bought at any price. So, now you got to go, too.”

  “Wait,” I screamed because I wanted to explain myself. But it was too late because he had already pulled the trigger. That meant that my life as I knew it was running on empty and my soul began to emerge from my body.

  1

  Choosing Sides

  Nikki Speaks

  From the time I jumped into my car and left Syncere’s house until the time I pulled in front of Kira’s apartment building, I wrecked the hell out of my brain trying to rationalize and make sense of the text message I had just read on Syncere’s T-Mobile.

  The message was clear but I could not bring myself to believe that my man had something to do with Mark’s murder, not to mention the fact that Kira had gotten caught up in the crossfire and lost her baby. I didn’t want to sound stupid or naïve, but there had to be an explanation behind this whole thing. I needed to find out what it was and how involved Syncere was before Kira blew the whistle on him because whether she realized it or not, I needed my man. So, I was not letting him go that easy.

  Immediately after I got out of my car I stood there on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. After I exhaled, I put one foot forward and proceeded toward Kira’s apartment to confront the inevitable. Knowing she was going to bite my head off the moment I jumped to Syncere’s defense was something I had prepared myself for. As I made my way down the entryway to her building, this fine-ass, older-looking Hispanic guy wearing a dark blue painter’s cap and overalls came rushing toward me, so I didn’t hesitate to move out of his way. But, what was really odd about him was when I tried to make eye contact and say ‘hello’ he totally brushed me off and looked the other way. Being the chick I am, I threw my hand up at him and said, “Well, fuck you too! You ol’ rude muthafucka!” I kept it moving.

  Patting my right thigh, with my hand, to a rhythmic beat as I walked up the last step to Kira’s floor, I let out a long sigh and proceeded toward Kira’s front door. Upon my arrival, I noticed that her door was slightly ajar so I reached over and pushed it open. “Girl, did you know that your door was open?” I yelled as I walked into the apartment. I didn’t get an answer, so I closed the front door behind me and proceeded down the hallway toward her bedroom. When I entered into her room and saw that she was nowhere in sight, I immediately called her name again and I turned to walk toward the master bathroom. “Kira, where you at?” I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

  “Oh, my God,” I screamed at the top of my lungs the second my mind registered the gruesome sight of Kira’s body slumped over the edge of the bathtub, while her head lay in a pool of her own blood. I couldn’t see her face because of the way her body was positioned. I rushed over to her side, got down on my knees and crawled over next to her. My heart was racing at the speed of light and my emotions were spiraling out of control as I grabbed her body and pulled her toward me.

  “Kira, please wake up!” I begged her and began to cry hysterically. She didn’t move so, I started shaking her frantically. “Kira, please wake up!” I screamed once again. “Don’t die on me like this,” I pleaded. Out of nowhere, her eyes fluttered and slowly opened. Over-whelmed by her sudden reaction, my heart skipped a beat and I pulled her body even closer. “Oh my God, thank you,” I said in a joyful manner and cradled her head in my lap. “I almost thought I lost you,” I told her and wiped the tears away from my eyes. Meanwhile, Kira struggled a bit to swallow the blood in her throat and then she tried to speak. I immediately leaned forward and positioned my ear about two inches away from her mouth so I could hear what it was she had to say.

  When she finally moved her lips, the few words she uttered were just above a whisper and barely audible. I was about to ask her to repeat herself and she started choking. I panicked. “Ahh shit! Don’t do this to me. Take a deep breath,” I instructed her as I began to massage her chest. Then it suddenly hit me that I needed to call an ambulance. I retrieved my cellular phone from the holster on my right side and dialed 911.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “My cousin’s been shot,” I answered with urgency.

  “What’s your cousin’s name?”

  “Her name is Kira Walters.”

  “And what is your name?”

  “My name is Nicole Simpson.”

  “Okay Nicole, I need for you to stay calm. Can you tell me if Kira is conscious?”

  “Yes, she’s conscious. I’ve got her lying in my arms.”

  “Okay, tell me exactly where Kira’s been shot.”

  “In the left side of her head, right above her temple.”

  “Is that the only place she’s been shot?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Nicole, I’m gonna need you to give me the address to where you are located. In the meantime, I’m gonna need you to remain calm and grab something like a sheet or a towel and press it against Kira’s head to stop some of the bleeding. Has she lost a lot of blood?”

  “Yes, she has,” I assured the woman. Shortly thereafter I gave her the address.

  The operator stayed on the phone with me until the police and the paramedics arrived. Covered from the waist down in Kira’s blood, I was ushered out of the bathroom and into the kitchen by this short, white, female police officer who had a ton of questions for me. I only answered the questions I knew the answers to. Once our little session was over, another detective - this time a white male - came in and asked me almost the exact same questions as the female officer did. I found myself repeating everything over again.

  My back was turned when the paramedics took Kira out on the stretcher. By the time I realized that she had been taken away, she was already in the ambulance, headed to the nearest emergency room. The white, male detective informed me where they were taking her so I immediately called my family, told them Kira had gotten shot and that they needed to meet me at Bayside Memorial. After they assured me, they were on their way, I hung up with them. On my way out, I noticed at least a dozen detectives and forensics investigators combing every inch of the apartment to collect evidence so there was no doubt in my mind that they were going to find her killer.

  I got to the hospital in no time at all and to my surprise my mother, my father and my grandmother arrived shortly afterward. We all sat and waited patiently for one of the doctors performing the emergency surgery to come out and give us an update on Kira’s condition. In the meantime, my grandmother had a few questions for me to answer.

  “Nikki, are you sure Kira was conscious when she left with the paramedics?” she asked as if she was making a desperate attempt to find the answer in my eyes.

  “Yes, she was,” I replied in a reassuring manner. “She even tried to say something, but I didn’t understand her. When I asked her to say it again she started choking and that’s when I called the paramedics.”

  “Well, how was she breathing when they took her out of the house?” “I don’t know, Grandma. I was in the kitchen when they carried her out,” I told her and then I put my head down in despair. Knowing that my cousin was in surgery fighting for her life and I couldn’t do anything to help her put a huge strain on my heart. Not to mention the fact that if I would’ve gotten to her apartment a little sooner this probably would not have happened to her. In a sense I felt like her getting shot was partially my fault. Which was why I was feeling so terrible right now.

  “What in the world do y’all got going on?” my father interjected as if the sight of me made him cringe.

  “What are you talking about?” I looked at him with an expression of uncert
ainty.

  “What kind of people are y’all mixed up with?”

  “Come on now, honey, I know you’re upset but this is not the time or the place,” my mother spoke up.

  “Yes, your wife is right,” my grandmother agreed trying to keep the peace.

  But my father wasn’t trying to hear them. Their comments went in one ear and right out the other. “Whatcha trying to do, end up like your cousin in there?”

  “What kind of question is that?” I snapped.

  “Just answer the question,” he commanded.

  “No, I’m not,” I replied, irritated with his questions.

  “It’s hard to tell,” my father snapped back. “Because every time I turn around, somebody’s either getting shot or killed. And if you keep walking around here like you ain’t got the sense you were born with, then you’re gonna end up just like your cousin back there.”

  “Alright now, that’s enough! I don’t want to hear another word,” my grandmother whispered harshly with tears in her eyes. Her tone sent a clear message to my father that she was sincerely pissed and he’d better, not utter another word.

  But, knowing how much my father loathed when people told him what to do, the chances of that happening were slim to none. The moment she closed her mouth and rolled her eyes at him, he parted his lips and said, “You know what, Mama…”

  But fortunately for us he couldn’t finish the thought because we were interrupted by an Asian doctor dressed in green hospital-issued scrubs, walking toward us. “Are you the family for Kira Walters?”

  “Yes, we are,” I eagerly replied.

  “I’m Dr. Ming and I was called in to perform emergency surgery on Ms. Walters.”

  “How is she?” my grandmother asked.

  “Yeah, how is she? Can we go in and see her?” my mother asked.

  “I’m sorry to inform you but Ms. Walters didn’t make it.”

  “What do you mean, she ‘didn’t make it?’” I screamed in disbelief.

  “Ma’am,” the doctor began in the most apologetic manner, “believe me, we did everything in our power but she was non-responsive.”