by Meesha Mink
An eye for an eye.
She turned down Eastern Parkway and made the right onto her street. She was just slowing down as she neared her house when she spotted a tall and broad figure with a bald head walking up her driveway. The darkness soon covered his figure but Naeema would recognize Red’s crazy ass anywhere.
“Sarge,” she whispered behind the visor of her helmet, alarmed that her actions would bring harm to him.
Naeema didn’t have time to think of just where she had shown her true hand to them, as she continued up the street and paused at the end of the drive to lay on her horn. Red stepped out of the darkness and came running down the driveway at full speed.
Damn that big bitch is fast, she thought, revving the bike to speed away.
A car’s passenger door opened just as she reached it and Naeema screamed out as she tried to brake in time not to collide into it. She felt like her heart leapt out of her chest, while her body was propelled forward over the handlebars of the bike and the open car door until she landed against the asphalt of the street. Her head slammed against the inside of the helmet and her body ached as she rolled to a stop on her stomach.
A pair of deck shoes came to a stop right next to her and Naeema kept blinking to regain clarity.
“Just who the fuck are you . . . Queen?”
Bas.
He tapped his toe against her helmet just before she felt someone lift her up and carry her, then roughly drop her on the rear seat of a vehicle. She winced and lay on her side. She heard the two front car doors close.
“I told you that bitch was foul,” Red said. The car lurched forward and he drove away.
She felt a little relief that they were leaving the house and Sarge behind. And the gun. It’s in the saddlebag. Shit.
“Her mail says her name is Naeema Cole,” Bas said, tossing the stack of envelopes over his shoulder onto her like she and it were trash. Obviously he’d swiped it at the house.
Naeema looked through her visor at Red behind the wheel and Bas on the passenger seat.
“You think she’s undercover?” Bas asked, glancing back at her, his jaw squared up with anger.
“She’s not wired,” Red assured him.
Bas tapped cocaine out onto the back of his hand and sniffed it. “Regardless, she know too much.”
“True,” Red agreed.
What the fuck am I going to do? No weapon. Body bruised and aching. Head pounding. Two men against me. Think, Naeema, think.
“Who else knows?” Bas asked.
“Just you and me.”
“Good.”
They rode in silence. Naeema didn’t know how far they traveled away from her house. The car slid to a stop and Bas climbed out.
The passenger door opened. She looked up as Bas took her helmet off and dropped it in the street. Just behind his shoulder she could make out the garage door leading into the church. His eyes were glassy and there was powder still clinging to the edge of one of his nostrils. He wiped his hands over the top of his head as he looked down at her.
“Nelson killed my son, Brandon. I wasn’t coming for you. I don’t give a fuck about whatever y’all got going on. I’m not a fucking cop. I just wanted to know who killed my son,” she said in a rush, knowing her only chance to stay alive was the truth. She held up her hand and showed them Brandon’s ring on her finger.
“Nelson?” she heard Red say in disbelief.
“What sucking my dick gotta do with any of that?” Bas asked with a laid-back shrug.
“Word?” Red asked before he chuckled.
This is the most I ever heard that motherfucker talk. Damn.
“Kill the lying bitch,” Bas said cold as fuck.
A chill raced over her body. “Bas,” she said, pleading with her eyes as she held her pounding head up from the seat.
He reached in to massage her ass and thighs. “Damn shame. You got some bomb-ass pussy too,” he said, before he stepped back and slammed the door closed.
Naeema dropped her head down onto the seat and closed her eyes.
An eye for an eye.
“Oh well,” Red said, all motherfucking blasé, before he pulled off and turned up the radio.
She knew things were finally over when she put one in Nelson’s dome, but she didn’t know this would be her last night alive too. Fuuuuck.
Every pothole he hit caused her body to rise a bit and fall back down on the seat, aggravating the injuries she already had from the motorcycle crash.
“Don’t do this, Red,” she called from the back of the SUV. “It’s not worth it.”
“I got the last song just for you, Queen,” he said, as he pushed buttons on the touch screen.
The opening notes of Biggie’s “Ready to Die” played and Naeema couldn’t front that she was about a second away from shitting herself.
“As I grab the Glock, put it to your headpiece . . .”
Naeema pushed her hands against the seat of the vehicle and tried to sit up. Red looked over his shoulder and then turned back to face the road but reached back to box her with his fist as he rapped along with Biggie: “The Q-45, Glocks and tecs are expected, when I wreck shit . . .”
Naeema cried out from the sharp pain that radiated across her jawline. She cut her eyes up to glare at the back of his head. Killing Nelson had shaken her a little bit and that had been all about revenge. But Red gloating about killing her made her want to put a Glock to his dome and fire off all the rounds until everything in the vehicle—including her—was covered in his blood and brain matter. Ugly motherfucker.
He turned the music down. “What the fuck?” he snapped as he slammed on the brakes.
Naeema’s body rolled forward off the seat and slammed against the back of the front seats just before she heard Red jump out of the SUV. At the sound of raised voices she sat up and looked out the windshield. Her mouth fell open at the sight of one of Tank’s SUVs blocking the street.
Red posted up and raised his gun to fire at the vehicle.
POW. POW. POW.
“Shit,” Naeema swore, her eyes big as shit as she ducked down, trying to avoid the bullets she thought would bounce off Tank’s bulletproof SUV back toward her.
When that didn’t happen, she peeked her closely shaven head up just in time to see Red turn to stride back toward his own SUV. Naeema eyed the door that was still sitting open. “Oh, no, motherfucker,” she said, quickly climbing over the armrest to slide down into the driver’s seat and lock the doors.
Red’s face twisted with rage as he raised the gun.
Naeema’s eyes shifted to watch Tank race from his SUV and come running full speed at Red, tackling him to the ground just as the shot fired.
POW.
The dirt and grass lining the sidewalk next to Red’s SUV flew up when the bullet entered it.
Tank and Red both fought for control of the gun until Tank precisely punched Red’s inner wrist against the asphalt and his grip loosened around the handle. Tank spared a second to push it away with force before he delivered a round of ferocious blows to Red’s face and shoulders.
Naeema’s breath was caught in her throat like thick spit as she eyed the gun go spinning down the street like a wild top before it stopped on top of a sewer grate.
Tank cried out.
Naeema shifted in the seat to look through the driver’s-side window. Red was pressing his hand to Tank’s neck just enough to slide his fist up against his chin. Tank’s head snapped back and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, even as he maintained his death grip on Red’s own neck.
Red head-butted him and Tank stumbled back long enough for his opponent to jump to his feet and deliver a blow to the side of his head. Naeema opened the door. Tank was a proud man who wouldn’t want her help, but if she had to double-deuce Red from behind to make sure he whipped Red’s ass, then she gladly would.
Tank shook the hits off before he stood up tall and walked straight up to Red, avoided the next blow to his face with a swift duck, and grabbe
d Red’s neck and jerked his hands in different directions.
Naeema’s mouth fell open as Tank held up his hands and Red’s body drooped to the ground with his head twisted at an odd angle.
Yo, Tank broke that fool’s neck.
There was no coming back from that.
Tank motioned for her to get out of the truck before he bent to flip Red’s body over his shoulder. He walked over to his own SUV. She frowned at the way Red’s eyes stared off into space and his head bounced like a bobblehead against Tank’s back.
One down. One to go.
Kill the lying bitch.
There was no coming back from that shit either.
Naeema tapped her fingernail against her teeth as she watched Tank toss Red’s body into the back of the SUV like he was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. I gotta do this. That fool ordered me dead.
She threw the car in reverse just as Tank looked up at her through the windshield.
Naeema didn’t stop until she was near the sewer grate. She hopped out quick as hell and picked up the gun before she climbed back in and did a fast K-turn. The tires squealed as she turned the SUV in the opposite direction, back toward the church and as far away from Tank as she could get.
• • •
Naeema removed the clip to make sure it was still loaded with bullets as she waited at a red light not far from the church. She took the turns to drive by the parking lot. The only vehicle still sitting there was Nelson’s Caddy.
Bas wasn’t there.
“Unless he was waiting for Red to swing back through and pick him up,” she said aloud.
“I need a gangsta bitch . . .”
Naeema looked down at Red’s cell phone at the sound of his ancient-ass ringtone. Still wearing her gloves, she picked it up. On the screen was a picture of Vivica butt naked with her legs spread wide and a lollipop in her ass. Dumb bitch.
She took off one of her gloves to be able to swipe and sent Vivica’s call to voice mail. “Lawd, why didn’t I tell Red that she let a kid eat her out before his neck got snapped?” she asked as she checked his text messages.
Overlooking Vivica’s long row of incoming texts steadily asking him where he was, she was checking if he and Bas ever texted.
They did.
Naeema started typing a text to Bas using the same fucked-up lettering that Red seem to prefer but before she could hit Send the phone sounded off with the old-school classic ring. BAS was displayed on the screen, without a picture, naked or otherwise. Thank God.
That would’ve been too suspect and the last thing she needed to top off the night was knowing the same dude that licked her ass was licking his homeboy’s too. O-kay?
DONE?
Naeema laughed bitterly at the text, wishing she had taken one of the many opportunities she’d had to truly fuck Bas up. “Oooh, motherfucker,” she said, backspacing the text she had typed to simply put: ouTsiDE.
She pulled around the corner and parked outside the garage door entrance where Red had dropped his wannabe mafioso ass earlier. He would be able to see the SUV on the surveillance equipment in the office but she already knew the tint was 5 percent and usually used for privacy glass so Bas couldn’t see inside. She hoped she’d waited long enough for him to leave the office and be traveling across the church to the garage, then she grabbed the gun and eased the door open enough to squeeze out. Her pulse was racing as she stooped down to wait at the back of the SUV.
The familiar scraping of the door against the sidewalk echoed against the night as she stepped from behind the truck with the gun raised. “Surprise, motherfucker,” Naeema said, her voice as cold as the stare she leveled on him while she stepped up onto the sidewalk.
The look on his face was worth a million dollars.
She turned the gun sideways and kept her grip steady as she stood before him and pressed it against his chest. “So . . . my sucking your dick and swallowing shouldn’t have nothing to do with this right here, right?” she asked sarcastically, motioning in the air between them with her free hand before she backhanded him across his pretty-boy face with it.
He turned his head back slowly to glower at her until his eyes seemed lined with red anger.
She circled his body to pat him down although she knew Bas rarely carried a gun.
“Go inside,” Naeema told him. They had all taken too many chances with their violence in the middle of the streets of Newark like there were no witnesses lurking to see their shit.
Bas turned and opened the garage door and walked inside. Naeema kept the gun pointed at him as they made their way through the church and into the sanctuary.
God forgive me.
She pushed him down onto one of the dusty pews.
“Where’s Red?” he asked, leaning forward and pressing his elbows onto the top of his knees as he looked up at her.
“Dead as a motherfucker,” Naeema said. “Just like Nelson.”
He squinted his eyes at that but his face remained expressionless.
She stood in front of him. “I told you I wasn’t coming for you. I just wanted whoever killed my son . . . and I got him. All you had to do was go on with your life, but no, you want to be the godfather and order motherfuckers to kill me, right?”
“And you woulda killed me if you thought I killed Brandon.”
Naeema nodded vigorously. “It woulda been a waste of good dick . . . but yeah, I woulda.”
He eyed her with a deliberate pause at the warm vee above her thighs in her skintight jeans. He shook his head before he hung it with a little sardonic laugh. “You ain’t fake all them nuts. That’s probably the realest shit I know about you . . . Na-ee-ma.”
“Probably,” she agreed.
Bas sat up and slouched back against the pew. “So you’re the MIA mother not in his life?” he asked with a lick of his lips.
Bastard.
“You don’t want to talk about mothers,” she shot back.
His entire body went stiff and his coolness evaporated into a look that thankfully had no power to kill. “If you knew the truth about that, you wouldn’t have come back for me,” he said with a momentary tightening of his lip—an inadvertent reflex of the anger she stoked.
Naeema eyed him as she shifted the gun from one hand to the other, keeping it pointed at his heart. She raised it up until the barrel was pointed at the spot just between his eyes.
More brain matter and blood splatter.
“I would have dealt with Nelson myself if you just told me,” he said.
She smiled sadly and opened her eyes wide a few times to keep tears from pooling. “You know what, Bas . . . I believe that,” she finished with a softness to her tone that surprised her. “He was jealous of Brandon taking his spot with you.”
Again his eyes squinted a bit but his expression never changed.
Her finger stroked the trigger. She came to kill him, not to chat or listen to riddles about his mother’s death. Shoot him.
His eyes were locked on her. Steady. Unwavering.
Shoot this motherfucka.
Naeema straightened her arm and stroked the trigger again, softly.
He never flinched.
He’s a killer . . . but so am I.
“I was right. You wasn’t what you seemed,” he said, his tone slightly accusing.
You ain’t what you seem, Queen . . . just like me.
• • •
Naeema walked up to stand before him with her legs spread wide. She put the gun to his head and raised her other gloved hand balled into a fist and displaying the ring. “Kiss the ring and ask me to forgive you for wanting me dead,” she said, keeping his steady stare.
Bas pressed his lips to the gold. “Forgive me, Queen,” he said.
She arched her brow at his use of her alias. Stepping back from him she shook her head. “For whatever we shared that I know was real,” she said. “And for whatever love you showed my son. I forgive you.”
Naeema backed away from him with the gun raised. “Stay awa
y from me and I’ll stay away from you. I got just as much dirt on you as you got on me.”
She pushed back against the swinging doors of the sanctuary. She gasped when Bas ducked down and pulled a gun from under one of the pews and pointed it at her. Damn, I led him right to a damn weapon.
POW!
“Ah!” Naeema cried out as the bullet pierced the flesh of her shoulder and the force knocked her back against the wall, even as she fired back.
POW!
Her aim was better.
The bullet landed in his heart and the force caused his body to curve out as his arms and legs came forward. The gun fell out of his hand and he landed back atop the collection table.
Wincing from the burning pain in her shoulder, she came over to stand above his body. Blood spread across his sweater from just above his heart.
“I forgave you,” she said. “But you still were going to kill me?”
Blood filled his mouth. “I killed my own mother.”
If you knew the truth about that, you wouldn’t have come back for me.
“You really think I ever gave a fuck about you?” he said, the blood in his throat already thickening his words.
His body began to convulse and his eyes rolled back in his head until she saw nothing but the whites.
Naeema raised her gun and shot him in the head.
POW!
She put him out of all of his miseries.
17
Everything feels different.
Naeema raised her head from the pillow and looked over at Tank asleep on the floor in a sleeping bag with one of her pillows pushed under his head. His snores filled the air like a long and loud chainsaw. His mouth was slightly open and she smiled, thinking of a mouse crawling into it.
Tank.
She let her eyes linger over him. Her anger at him had faded last night when he killed for her. Even at the worst moment in their relationship, he had been her savior. She was alive because of him. And I love him still.
Her head whipped around at the sound of a short snort. She winced in pain at the soreness of her right shoulder as she eyed Sarge, sleeping, sitting in a chair pushed up against the front door with his arms crossed over his chest and a machete in his hand. He must have come up sometime during the night after Tank had carried her in the house and tended to her bullet wound. Her heart tugged.
