“Yeah, girl. Python told me about what happened. Sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks, girl. The shit has been rough—and now Pit Bull. The streets are changing.”
I shake my head, saddened by the number of bodies that been stackin’ since I’d been in the hospital.
“Dem dirty Vice Lords, they’re gonna get what’s coming to them. One good thing though is that nigga Fat Ace fell off his throne. I keep dreaming of popping a cap in that Lucifer bitch’s ass.”
“Who hasn’t had that dream?” I chuckle. “Meanwhile, something also needs to be done about those Grape Street niggas—and fast. They’re filling in where we’ve fell off, ya know?”
“Yeah. Who ever thought that Shariffa’s ass would be right back on top.”
“What?”
“You didn’t know? She married the head nigga in charge over there a while back. Some are saying that she’s the brains behind her man, Lynch. Her shit against GD is personal—and I can’t say that I blame her. Python did her dirty.”
I’m stunned by the shit flowing from my girl’s mouth. “Since when are you a Shariffa fan?”
“Look, don’t take it personal. All this shit was before your time—but frankly, I never had no problem with the girl. She was cool. She just got caught up and sloppy when she decided to creep with that nigga King Loc.The way she saw it, Python was splashing off on every bitch that would stand still—so why shouldn’t she do the same thing?”
I shift around in my seat. “Whatever.”
“Yeah. It don’t matter now. If she’s flagging for those Crips that officially makes her the enemy. It’s hard out here. We’re battling VL on our right and Crips on our left. The streets are sloppy as shit right now. But I hear Python is bringing some reinforcements soon.”
“Oh yeah?” I steal a second toke. “Where did you hear that shit?”
“FabDivas. Where else?”
I roll my eyes. Those bitches at that hair salon never could keep their mouths shut.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Is it true?”
I give her a dismissive shrug and then glance around the club.
Kookie laughs as she grabs the blunt back. “Oh, you gonna play me like that? A’ight then.”
“Nah. It’s not like that—it’s just . . . I don’t like the idea of new niggas rolling through.You feel me?”
Kookie nods.
“Python wants to hand the reins to his cousin, Diesel, ‘temporarily,’ but I ain’t feeling that shit.”
“Diesel? No shit?” Kookie’s voice fills with awe.
“Get the stars out of your eyes. I ain’t feeling this worth a damn.”
“Yeah. I see what you’re saying. Your ass has fought too hard to get on the throne.”
“See? You know what I’m talking about. I didn’t make all these power moves just so I can be some figurehead. Fuck that shit. Python needs to get his mind right—and quickly.”
“Well, he’s been through a lot. With that FBI and cop shit, Momma Peaches, the loss of the Pink Monkey and his construction site—”
“Damn bitch. I don’t need to run a goddamn checklist. I get it.” I snatch the blunt back.
“Fuck. Sorry.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Pour me a drink.”
Kookie grabs the chilled bottled of Dom. “Didn’t mean to get you heated.You know you’re my bitch.With Pit Bull gone, you know we gotta hold each other down.”
“Yeah.You’re right. It’s just that, I got my own pile of shit to deal with, too.”
“Ta’Shara?” she asks.
I grind my teeth at the damn mention of her name. “Most definitely that bitch. Believe me, I’m gonna reach out and touch her ass real soon.”
Kookie snickers. “I wouldn’t want to be that girl right now. You know that she’s out of the mental hospital, right?”
I choke over my toke of weed. “WHAT?”
Kookie nods as she grabs the blunt. “Yep. She’s been out for a few days now. That’s what I heard at the salon. Her foster parents took her home the same day we busted you out of the hospital.”
“And the same night her man came gunning for me and Python.”
Kookie bobs her head while blowing out a long stream of smoke.
This news bumps Qiana out of the number-one spot on my shit list.
“Well,” I say, grinning. “What would it look like if I didn’t welcome my baby sister back home?”
Vengeance
45
Lucifer
Juvon “Bishop” Washington
April 12, 1990–October 30, 2011
Another day. Another funeral.
I stand dry-eyed above Bishop’s casket with my 9mm burning a hole in my pocket. Gray clouds hover above the large crowd while a thin sheet of rain sprays against our defiant faces. The preacher rattles off the same sermon that I’ve memorized over the years. Hell, there’s even the same cadence in his voice. This shit is just a gig to his ass. He didn’t know my brother. We haven’t rolled up in his church since we were kids. Why Momma insisted on using him is beyond me. Does she really think that after the lives we’ve lived and the hell we’ve raised that God, if there really is a God, will welcome my brother through the pearly gates? Is Mason up there, too?
Despite my mental state, hope still blooms where my heart is supposed to be. At long last, the preacher stops talking and I can feel every eye shift to me. They’re all expecting me to say a few words. I can’t back out of the shit like I usually do. I cast a look around and see someone side-eyeing me like they think my ass has something to do with this shit.
Fuck them. I draw a deep breath and force my feet to move one at a time. Once I’m front and center, I can’t help but be grateful for the closed casket. Even then, the words I’ve spent the last three days practicing in my head vanish in a puff of smoke inside my head. My iron spine and steel stomach morph into Jell-O oozing into my knees.
You can do this. You can do this.
I lift my head and zero in on one of the friendly faces in the crowd: Tombstone. “As most of you know I’m not one for making big speeches. I’m a woman of action and very few words.” I lick my dry lips while I suck in another deep breath. “For as far back as I can remember I’ve always looked up to my brother. I wanted to do what he did, be where he was—mainly because that was usually where all the action was. I can promise you that Bishop didn’t always want me to tag along, but what can I say, I can be persistent.”
A few chuckles disperse throughout the crowd.
“This doesn’t mean that I’ve always gotten my way with Bishop—just most of the time.”
More laughter.
A smile eases across my face, but it’s time to address the hard shit. “I’m not going to lie, the last couple of months have been the hardest between Bishop and me.” I lick my lips again, unable to keep them hydrated. “I’ve heard every rumor that’s been floating around . . . from muthafuckas that should know better. Whatever disagreement was between us, at the end of the day, family meant the world to both of us. We always looked out for one another whether the other wanted it or not.”
My smile inches wider while my eyes burn.
“Bishop and I may have been different—in a lot of ways—but our love for each other is and will always be strong and the niggas who pulled this hit will soon feel the steel kiss of my blade. That shit is a fuckin’ promise.”
The guns come out and full clips are emptied into the gray clouds above. I don’t know if I’ve won over any doubters and frankly I don’t give a shit. I’ve lost my brother and with every breath the shit becomes more real than the second before. I step away from the casket for the next soldier to say a few words. By the time all the speeches are through, the light drizzle turns into fat pelts, drenching everyone from head to toe.
As we head to the line of limousines, I lean over and make my excuses to my mother. She clutches my hands and hisses back, “Are you about to go after those assholes
that did this to my son?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She clutches her jaw so tight that the muscles start twitching along its line.
I help her to the backseat and then switch directions.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Cousin Skeet says, rushing to flank my side.
“That’s because I have nothing to say to you.” I keep moving without sparing him a look.
“What the fuck? You need me,” he hisses, reaching for my hand.
I yank my shit back and round on him. “Let’s get something straight. I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. That stunt you pulled in not telling me that bitch, LeShelle, was awake only proves that I can’t trust you.”
“What? I was going to tell you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Wait. Wait. We’re in this shit together.”
“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter.You need me more than I need you.”
“What?”
“Look. I heard about your suspension. LeShelle made a fool out of you.You should have let me put her down when I had the chance. Now she’s out there playing Bonnie to Python’s Clyde.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Cousin Skeet grabs my hand and whirls me around to face him.
“Oh, yeah. You probably don’t know that shit, either. Python is alive. Maybe it’s past time for you snatch that ‘S’ off your chest, Supercop.
“Your little gang in blue is never going to find Python and his bitch and those FBI fuckers are only going to put in face time and then pack their shit up and go chase after something that’s going to get them better headlines other than this gang-on-gang shit. We’re your last hope for you to get revenge for your slut daughter and her bastard son—who is probably Python’s kid any damn way.”
Cousin Skeet’s face twists in outrage. “Who in the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
I get up in his face. “Something that crawled out from beneath my fuckin’ shoe.”
“Little girl, you don’t want to make me your enemy.”
“Actually, I relish the idea.” I give him a hard glare and then step around him. I’m tired of fucking with him.
Tombstone opens the back door to the SUV and then slams it shut after I climb in. Inside, Hennessy and Cutty are slamming new clips into multiple guns.
“Lucifer!”
I jerk around at the sound of my name and see Profit jogging his way over to me. At least he had the good sense not to bring Ta’Shara to Bishop’s funeral. Ruby Cove has been buzzing ever since he brought her home a couple of nights ago. It’s not like it was before when he brought her over and most people on the block didn’t know who her people were. I don’t know why she’s here or how long she’s staying but the shit is only going to cause more problems. It’s just another headache that I have to deal with.
“I want to come with you,” Profit announces when he reaches the door.
“No. This isn’t your battle.”
“The hell it isn’t,” Profit barks. “Bishop was my friend.”
“Thanks, but I got this.” I power up the window. “Let’s do this.”
Tombstone climbs in behind the wheel and then peels us out of the funeral line and floats out to the other side of town. By then the sky has gone from gray to black.
We step out of the vehicle and blend into the night, not even a gold flag waving from our back pockets. I have no trouble shifting into soldier mode.The small tattoo shop has a single neon sign advertising that they’re open. I’m the first one through the door, jingling a gold bell.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” a voice shouts out from the back.
Tombstone locks the door behind us and pulls down the shades.
I circle around with my index finger. My soldiers split off to do a body count within the shop.
“I’m looking for a dude name Crunk,” I holler out. “Heard he was the best tat-artist in the city. Is this his joint?”
“Sure is,” the voice yells over the steady hum of a tattoo machine. “Take a seat and I’ll be out in a minute.”
I ignore the directive and follow the sound of his voice. I coach my heartbeat to slow down because I want to enjoy the next few minutes. Behind me, I hear a few muffled shots and know that my men are putting down whoever else is in the shop. I don’t break my stride until I’m standing in front of a black curtain. Pushing my emotions aside, I swipe the curtain back. Crunk is bent over some big brothah’s back, inking on some huge masterpiece.
Huffing out an exasperated breath, Crunk eases off the foot pedal, shutting off the machine. “I told you that I’ll be out in a minute,” he snaps, whipping around in his chair. When our gazes crash, the color drains from his face.
“I take it that no introduction is needed?” I ask.
Now that the machine is off, I can clearly hear the soft snore coming from the giant in his chair.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” he asks, looking two seconds from pissing in his pants.
I’m disappointed to see this pencil-thin nigga tremble and bitch out like this. I want a fight. The messier, the more therapeutic—for me.
“I-I, uh, don’t know anything,” he stammers, hitting the dude next to him to wake him up. “I don’t know what you’ve heard.”
Pathetic. I take aim and fire a single bullet into the back of the sleeping giant’s head to shut up all that snoring. “Do you remember anything now?”
Crunk jumps up out of his chair and backs up into the station behind him, knocking over needles and tubes of ink. “Oh, shit. Please, don’t kill me. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
I can’t hide my disappointment any longer. “What kind of soldier are you?”
“I’m not,” he whines. “I’m just an artist, man. I ain’t into none that street banging. I swear.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
“So what’s a shitty artist like you doing driving the getaway car after that hit on Da Club three nights ago?”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, nigga. Oh, shit.” I step farther into the room, pocketing my gun and retrieving my knife. I make sure to pull it out real slow so that I can watch his eyes widen like a cartoon.
“Wait. Wait.” He makes a T with his hands like that is really going to call a time out. “I know that shit looks bad, but I didn’t shoot no-damn-body.You can’t put no bodies on me.”
“But you can tell me the name of those bitches who pulled the job.”
Crunk’s entire body collapses, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s going to snitch long before I make my first cut.
“All right. All right. If I tell you their names will you let me go?”
Chuckling, I cock my head at the dude and ask, “What do you think?”
Tears skip down his face. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“That about sums it up.” I take the blade between my thumb and middle finger and then launch it into his right shoulder.
“Aaaaaargh!” Crunk falls onto the floor like a drama queen.
The performance is so bad that I roll my eyes as I walk over to his crying punk-ass and squat down to yank my shit out of his shoulder.
“Aaaargh!”
“Stop all the hollering before I cut your dick off and make you blow yourself.”
He shuts up, but the foul stench that follows tells me his Fruit of the Looms are no longer white.
“I’m going to make you a deal,” I tell him, already bored with the game before it even starts. “You tell me the names like a good little boy and I’ll kill you quick and easy.You won’t feel a thing.”
Crunk whimpers.
“But if you drag this shit out, I’ll gut you in a way that you’ll spend the whole damn night watching your guts spill out of you.”
More whimpering.
“Sooo . . . what’s it going to be?”
46
Alice
Car lights flash across the window at the same time I hear a car’s engine pull up into
the driveway. Instead of being nervous, I’m extremely calm in what I have to do. A minute later, I hear a key rattle around in the front door before it opens and closes. Next comes the flipping of a light switch that refuses to work.
“What in the fuck?” the voice growls.
A smile touches my lips as I listen as the man’s steady, heavy footsteps head toward the downstairs study. I remain still as the door squeaks as it opens, and there’s another flipping of a light switch.
“Damn. Does none of the lights in this bitch work?”
On cue, I twirl around in the executive leather chair behind a mahogany desk. “Need a little help?” I lean on over and click on a lamp.
Big, bad police captain Melvin Johnson jumps back and goes for his gun.
“Ah. Ah.” I lift up my gun with an extended muzzle. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
We engage in a staring contest until his hand drifts away from his hip.
“Who in the fuck are you? What are the hell are you doing in here?”
Laughing, I lean back. “C’mon. Surely I haven’t changed that much over the years.”
Melvin frowns and then squints for a better look. I’m thrilled when recognition kicks in. “You gotta be shitting me,” Melvin swears.
“Ah. So you do remember me. I feel a little better. After all, you did put a baby on me.”
“Oh, fuck. Not this shit again,” Melvin says, rolling his eyes. “I thought I made it clear to you not to bring your ass out to my house again.”
“Yeah. I remember how you didn’t like anyone disturbing your precious wife about your criminal life, right, Cousin Skeet? I flash him a smile. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about anyone bugging your wife ever again.”
Melvin’s expression evaporates. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Ask her yourself.” I nod for him to turn around.
Instead of following my direction, he stares at me.
“Go ahead. Look.”
Finally unable to resist, Melvin does a slow turn toward the leather sofa behind him. There sits his precious wife,Victoria, slumped over with a bullet hole in the center of her forehead.
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