Natural Born Hustler

by Nikki Turner

  Just then Francine walked in. “Oh my God, Famis. Thank you, Jesus,” she said, her hands clasped together. “I was so worried about you.”

  Fame gave his mother a smile, then started laboring with the pad and pen again to resume the shaky writing.

  “What’s he doing?” his mother asked Desember.

  “He can’t speak yet,” said Desember, “so he’s writing what he wants to tell us.”

  This time Francine read the note:

  Need ur help.

  “Anything, son, you know that. What is it you need?” She was so excited that he was awake that she wanted to run out and get his siblings, but then she remembered that the doctor had made clear that no more than two people were allowed in Fame’s ICU room.

  They were both watching as Fame continued to scribble on the pad. This was the longest message yet. It took him awhile to complete it.

  D is n danger. Watch her back. Nothing can happen 2 her.

  I love her 2 much. It will kill me.

  Francine knew that Fame probably had a gut feeling that his brothers already had the girl’s grave dug. She slowly nodded, with tears in her eyes, and then she took her seat by the bed as Desember stood at Fame’s side. For the next couple of hours she watched as Desember administered tender loving care to her son.

  Desember was gently wiping Fame’s brow when he reached up and grabbed her hand. She had thought he was asleep.

  Instead, Fame had been thinking about who his attacker might have been, but the exercise proved futile. He had gotten out on too many people, and now someone had caught him slipping. It was part of the game. Once he regained his strength, if he could put a face to the person, or persons, who had tried to assassinate him, he would look for his get back on general principles. But right now, while he lay helpless, his concern was for Desember.

  He picked up the pen and paper and started to write again. When he finished he watched as Desember read the note.

  U gotta get out of here. Not safe.

  Francine read it with her. “I think he might be right,” she agreed with her son. “I will keep in touch with you.”

  Desember knew that Francine wasn’t in her fan club, and Fame could see the hesitancy on Desember’s face. He looked to his mother for reassurance.

  “I will keep in touch with you, but it really isn’t safe for you to be here.”

  Desember felt as if Francine was saying that for her own selfish reasons, but deep down in her heart, Desember knew it was the truth. It wasn’t safe. They were unsure who had done this to Fame or if the same people would come after her, not to mention the police and his family.

  The last note read:

  Trust no 1!

  D spent a little more time with Fame and then kissed him good-bye, not knowing if that kiss would be their final one.

  13.

  Daddy’s Little Girl

  As she exited Fame’s hospital room, D had to face reality. She called her mother.

  “Mom,” she said when Angie answered the phone, “Fame’s been shot … I’m okay … He should be okay too … I know you did, but now is not the time to remind me … Thank you … I just need you to come pick me up from the hospital.”

  About twenty-five minutes later a silver Volvo SUV pulled up in front of the hospital. Desember walked to the truck, got in and closed her eyes. She was dead tired.

  “You okay, honey?” Angie was concerned. Desember looked a mess, like a runaway orphan who had been through fire.

  “I’m not sure.” Desember didn’t look at her mother and spoke in a monotone. “Fame’s afraid that the people who tried to kill him may come after me.”

  “Oh, my God. You have to tell the police about anybody that would want to hurt him. Maybe they can pick up these killers before they try again, or even worse.”

  “What can be worse, Mom?”

  Angie took a deep breath, then said, “They come after you.”

  “Maybe I don’t care if they come after me.” Desember raised her voice to her mother. “How about that? Maybe I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Then you’re a stupid little girl. And I’ve known you to be a lot of things, but stupid was never one of them.”

  “I’m not stupid enough to marry a drunk asshole who beats on me anytime he gets the urge to drum on my face.” Desember immediately felt bad for the low blow, but she wasn’t going to sit back and let her mother verbally shove her around without pushing back.

  “I’m the same stupid mother that always did whatever it took, even if it meant having her face drummed on, to make sure you never wanted for anything,” she said solemnly.

  “Everything but my real father,” Desember countered, refusing to give in.

  Angie ignored the statement—it was an old argument—and said, “I’ll be the same mother that’ll bury her daughter before her time.”

  They both had tears in their eyes now. It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other. Sometimes two people could look at the same picture and see different images. Position determines perspective.

  “We all have to die one day.” Desember was looking straight ahead, in deep thought. “It’s one of the only guarantees in life,” she said.

  They were nearing the house when Angie said, “That’s true, but only a fool would intentionally rush the process. It’s not natural for a daughter to go before the woman that gave birth to her.”

  It was the longest forty-five-minute drive either of them had ever taken. When they turned onto Angie’s block, there was a police car in front of her house. Joe ran out to the car the moment they pulled into the driveway. “Somebody broke out almost every one of the downstairs windows. This shit is fucking ridiculous!” he said at the top of his voice. “The police think that whoever did it may have been trying to send a message to your daughter.”

  Joe seems more upset about the property damage than Desember’s safety, Angie thought to herself.

  Desember got out of the Volvo, walked up the steps and went in the house. There were two officers standing in the great room.

  “How are you, Ms. Day?” one of the officers said. “If you don’t mind, we would like to ask you a few questions.”

  “It won’t take long,” the other added. He looked like he would rather be somewhere eating doughnuts.

  “Whatever happened here, I know nothing about it. I’ve been at the hospital all day, as I’m sure you probably already know. All I want now is to take a hot shower and get some rest. So you can go direct your questions to someone who may have some answers for you, because I have none.” D stepped past the cops and went to her room.

  Twenty minutes of tears mixed with the shower water made D feel slightly better, but she was still exhausted. She dried off and padded to her bedroom.

  She could hear Joe and her mother arguing about what they should do. She guessed that with all the commotion, it must have slipped Joe’s mind that the day before she’d held a knife to his throat.

  “Do you know how much it’s going to cost to get these windows replaced? They’re top of the line,” Joe said to Angie.

  “Whatever the price, insurance will cover it. That’s what we pay it for.”

  “We don’t pay nothing; I pay.”

  “Whatever, Joe,” Angie said, sounding frustrated.

  “But she’s bringing too much—”

  “That’s my daughter, not some—”

  It went on for another ten minutes or so as Desember got ready for bed. She pulled the covers back and placed a small .22-caliber pistol under her pillow. She heard her mother talking to someone on the phone, but she couldn’t make out what Angie was saying. Desember was too worn out to care, and her body only wanted to sleep.

  Just as Desember was about to doze off, Angie came in her room, cutting on the light.

  “Well,” Angie said with a strange look on her face, “you’re finally going to get what you’ve wanted.”

  “Right now, Mom, all I want is sleep.”

  Angie handed her a piece of
paper with a name and an address on it. “Enough is enough. You’re going to Richmond, Virginia, to live with your real biological father and his family until things cool off here.”

  Desember was stunned. “I’m going to live where?” She was sure she had misunderstood.

  For as long as she could remember, she had been dreaming about the day she would finally meet her father. “Who is he, mom?”

  Angie took a deep breath. “I don’t know what he’s doing these days, sometimes he’s a hustler, sometimes he’s a killer and, most recently, I heard he’s a preacher.” Angie sighed. “Everything you want to know about him he’s going to have to share it with you himself. I haven’t seen him in a long time. But you’ll be safe with him.”

  Angie walked out of the room, but then turned around to add one more thing. “But I do know this for sure: throughout your life people could never understand why you had that innate need to hustle in you. Everyone knew that it didn’t and could not have come from me. Clearly you got that from Des,” Angie admitted as she chuckled a bit. “The truth of the matter is, you are a Natural Born Hustler.”

  To be continued …

  Acknowledgments

  My grandmother Margaret L. Scott used to often say, “Every day with God is sweeter than the day before,” and my life proves to be a living testament, the way God keeps blessing me beyond my wildest dreams. I have to thank God; it is because of him that I’m here, blessed and highly favored.

  My two children—you are both growing up so fast—I truly am proud of you both and the young adults you are turning into. I thank you for being so understanding—and always a part of my “solution”!

  Thanks to my family and friends who are supportive; you know who you are. Mom, the older my children get, the more I do understand and appreciate you and your sacrifices as a parent. My Craig—my ride or die! Aunt Robin for giving me insight about any and everything medical; Aunt Yvonne for always having my back—whether I’m up or down and most of all always having positive words … NO MATTER WHAT! My friend Mia Upshaw, for always being so understanding; Kia, for keeping me up on what I need to watch on reality TV. Tim Patterson, always keeping me level headed; EEM—your patience with me has earned you eternal respect and love. Marc for connecting the dots, and Melody for allowing me to take this from a brainstorm to pages. The entire Ballantine team for being so excited about the bridge that we have built!

  To my undyingly loyal readers, thanks from the bottom of my heart for keeping my dream, hope, characters, and a world that I’ve created alive and vibrant! Without you none of this would be possible.

  About the Author

  NIKKI TURNER is a gutsy, gifted, courageous new voice taking the urban literary community by storm. Having ascended from the “princess” of hip-hop lit to the “queen,” she is the bestselling author of the novels Relapse, Ghetto Superstar, Black Widow, Forever a Hustler’s Wife, Riding Dirty on I-95, The Glamorous Life, A Project Chick, and A Hustler’s Wife, and is the editor of and a contributing author to her Street Chronicles series. She is also the editor of the “Nikki Turner Presents” line, featuring novels from fresh voices in the urban literary scene. Visit her website at nikkiturner.com, or write to her at P.O. Box 28694, Richmond, VA 23228.