Riding Dirty on I-95

by Nikki Turner

  Walking past C-Note, Mercy could feel his eyes glued to her body. She didn't make eye contact with him, but she knew he could smell the faint scent of her Victoria's Secret Rapture.

  As Mercy stood in line with her items, a man in front of her called out numbers to the clerk, a tiny little Chinese lady, to punch into the lotto machine's computer. C-Note finally caught her eye, looked her up and down, and then locked eyes with her.

  “Whad'up?” C-Note said to Mercy.

  Mercy saw Brianna gritting on her, so she worked the moment like it was a cow, milking it for all it was worth. She looked him up and down and in a very seductive voice replied, “Hey, boo, how you doing?”

  “Not as good as I could be, and you?”

  With a little sexy laugh, Mercy said, “Not as good as I should be.”

  “I can't tell. But later with all that. What's yo' name, boo?” he asked. Brianna's mouth dropped, shocked that he was even entertaining Mercy.

  “Mercy,” she said in a sure but confident way to give him a smile.

  “Let me guess, that's short for Mercedes or something, huh?”

  “Nope. It's just Mercy.”

  C-Note mumbled under his breath only loud enough for Bri-anna to hear him. “Damn, but I sure hope she rides like a Mercedes.”

  The smile that Mercy dropped on him had C-Note feeling like an M&M, only he was melting in the palm of her hands, not in her mouth. There was no way C-Note could hide or handle it. He might as well have written all over his face that he wanted to be Mercy's candy man.

  “I don't know what you smiling up in his face fo'?” Brianna got up in Mercy's ear and said. “He don't fuck wit' no Reebok broads.”

  “There's an exception to every rule,” C-Note said with a slight cockiness. “Besides, I make the rules around here.”

  Mercy laughed like it was something funny, but she did not want to get in a verbal war with Brianna right then.

  “Bitch, I don't see nothing funny,” Brianna spat. “You got a nerve to be laughing. Get yo' teeth fixed before you start laughing and smiling up in somebody's face!”

  “I'm not even going to stoop down to your level,” Mercy responded, and laughed again in Brianna's face.

  “It'll be too hard for you to, you too-tall, linebacker-looking-ass bitch. Bitch, you can't get on my level.”

  “Whatever, but I know I ain't about to be too many more bitches. And when you wanna address me as a bitch, make sure you address me as a real bitch, you hear me?”

  “A real bitch with a retarded baby?” Brianna laughed.

  “Ho-ho-ho, wait a minute. Yo, enough is enough. Fo' real,” C-Note said, getting in between the girls. He could see that the argument was about to escalate to something physical.

  “Look, ladies, chill,” he told both of them. He then pointed to Brianna. “You can't talk about nobody's baby being retarded. Yo, that shit ain't cool.” He then looked at Mercy. “And you got too much going on for yo'self to be out here fighting.”

  “I'm cool, trust me,” Mercy said. “You want a piece?” She offered him a piece of gum.

  “You know I do,” he said, taking the gum.

  Mercy paid the clerk for her items. “Can you triple-bag my stuff, please?” Mercy asked the clerk. “I'm walking, and I don't want them busting through the bags.” She then gestured toward Brianna. “I would've offered that thing a piece of gum, but this kind of gum ain't for no gorillas.”

  “That was a good one, shawdy,” C-Note said laughing with her.

  “Laugh now, cry later, beyatch!” Brianna said under her breath. Brianna was madder than ever, but she wasn't going to try anything with C-Note, the king of the projects, right there. Mercy walked out of the store, and C-Note followed behind her.

  “You gon' be a'ight, shawdy? I can take you home,” he offered, wanting to showcase his new whip.

  “I'm okay, trust me,” Mercy said. “She's the least of my worries. Her bark is worse than her bite.”

  “What make you say that?”

  “Because that's all she does, don't you know? Her and her girls always be joking on my baby niece.”

  “Oh, that bitch is foul.”

  “I usually don't say nothing because my lil' niece be with me, but not today.”

  At that moment, the store clerk came to the door and called C-Note to inform him that his food was ready.

  “Hold up,” C-Note said to Mercy. “I'll be right back. Don't go nowhere, now.”

  “I won't,” Mercy responded with a smile, but just as soon as C-Note entered the store, Mercy started walking home.

  Before Mercy knew it, out of nowhere, Brianna was in her face. “Oh, bitch, you want to play with me?”

  Mercy knew what time it was, and she didn't give Brianna a chance to say or do anything before she hit her with a quick left hook and a hard straight right using the cans inside of the bag as her weapon, gripping it tight. Brianna neither saw nor expected it. The hook caught Brianna on the jaw while the straight right hit her on the chin, knocking Brianna straight to the ground. Mercy grabbed her by the braids and dragged her for a split second, then kicked her in the face four times before Brianna's friends jumped in to help her.

  One of the girls hit Mercy from the blind side, and Mercy hit the ground hard. They tried to advance on her. She was too quick for them, though. Since she was mentally prepared for the fight, she would not let them take her. In a blink, Mercy reached for the bag with her ravioli cans, gripped it tight in her hand, and came up swinging. Mercy hit one chick on her hip, and she fell like a bad hairdo. The other girl was still throwing a bunch of quick baby punches at Mercy, looking like she was in fast-forward mode her licks were coming so quick. It's too bad she had no idea that she was about to get the hell beat out of her, courtesy of Mr. Franco-American Raviolis. Mercy swung the cans in a wide upward loop, coming down across the girl's head, sending her into la-la land. She continued to beat the heifer until she realized the girl was out cold. She threw her cans in the big Dumpster and was about to throw in the towel until she saw Brianna scrambling, trying to get up off the ground. She could not resist. Mercy knew what she had to do. Brianna threw her hands up in defense; all the fight had been taken out of her. Mercy didn't give a damn that she had just knocked Brianna out one time; she had to give her a bonus round. She reached out and grabbed Brianna's braids and yelled, “This is for my niece, bitch!”

  Brianna tried her hardest to fight Mercy off, but there was no hope, especially when Mercy head butted her. Not once, but four times. Mercy had fought with so much emotion that she had not realized that her shirt had come off. She had blanked out and was living out her dream of being the heavyweight champion of the hood. She had no idea just how much damage she had done to her foes or herself. Mercy too was bleeding and in need of a few stitches.

  It's funny how in the hood everyone can be in the house, but let a fight break out and people come out like the roaches do when the lights are turned off. But when the police come, they scram like roaches when the lights are cut on. Luckily, somebody had told Ms. Pat about the fight. Equipped with her butcher knife, she showed up in just the nick of time. It was only by the grace of God that she was able to get down to the corner and pull Mercy off Brianna, leaving the police clueless as to who was the gangsta-ass chick who had punished the neighborhood troublemaking bitches.

  Ms. Pat drove Mercy to the hospital to get stitches and a wrist brace. When Mercy woke up the next morning, she had a headache that would not quit, every bone in her body was hurting, and her right eye was swollen shut. She got up and walked into the kitchen, where her friend, Chrissie, who had been with her in the group home, and Deonie were having cereal.

  “Hi, Auntie,” Deonie said. She then looked up at Mercy and scrunched up her face. “I don't like that makeup on your face.”

  Mercy snickered. “I don't either, baby,” she said, smiling at her niece.

  “Girl, you look like shit,” Chrissie said.

  “I feel like it, too,” Mercy
replied.

  Just then there was a knock at the door.

  “Damn, I hope that ain't none of these nosy hoes coming to borrow shit or being fucking nosy,” Mercy said, groggy

  “Who is it?” Chrissie screamed.

  “Damn.” Mercy held her head to try to ease the pain that ran through it at the loudness of Chrissie's voice.

  The visitor at the door screamed back, “Where Laila Ali at?”

  CHAPTER 4

  In da Joint

  “What in the hell you want, man?” Chrissie asked, protective of her girl as she swung open the front door.

  “Damn, shorty, chill. I'm looking for Laila Ali. I want to see if the champ is a'ight.” Chocolate Smooth spoke through the screen as he used his tongue to play around with the toothpick in his mouth.

  Mercy came into the living room with her pajama short set on. After her brawl with Brianna, she felt like her head was about to implode. The slightest whisper was amplified by a thousand. Surprised, but not wanting to let on, she said, “What the hell you want? And why you showing up at my shit unannounced? I haven't seen you since my days at the hotel.”

  “I just happened to be around here taking care of something and saw you from a distance. You went into the ring before I got a chance to say hi or get your number. And I came over to check up on you,” he said.

  “I'm living. And?” Mercy said, folding her arms.

  “Look, ma, don't give me a hard time. I had to bribe some little kid to show me where you live.”

  Chrissie had her arms folded, looking Chocolate Smooth up and down. He did the same to her.

  “Damn, y'all sure are some hateful-ass women in this house. I ain't come here for no fight, because I know it ain't no win. Y'all some ruff necks in disguise for real!” Chocolate joked.

  “Let him in, Chrissie,” Mercy said, walking over to the green, faux-leather sectional sofa that she had gotten from a secondhand furniture store. Chrissie unlocked the screen door so he could come in. “But don't get too comfortable,” Mercy added.

  To Mercy's surprise, when Chocolate Smooth walked in, he held a giant basket of fruit and a gift box in his hand. “For you, champ,” he said, winking and handing them to Mercy.

  Looking at the fruit basket, Mercy showed the beginning of a smile, “Oohhh, this is cute. What's in here?” she asked before slightly shaking the wrapped box.

  “Open it and see,” he said proudly, as if he knew he had picked out something she would like. Then he walked over to the couch and sat down next to Mercy.

  She eagerly tore through the mystery box as Chrissie stood by the sofa, just as eager to see what was in it. Mercy pulled out a pair of boxing gloves with a card inside that read: “Let's go a few rounds.” Mercy laughed out loud.

  “Ma, for real, I want some boxing lessons. You fight like Muhammad Ali. No bullshit. I'm from the rough, and I ain't never seen a girl fight like that.”

  “Looks to me like Mercy did more than a lil' fighting. Look at her eye,” Chrissie interrupted.

  “She do look like Popeye, don't she?” Chocolate Smooth chuckled.

  “I was basically fighting for the respect of my niece,” Mercy said in a serious tone. “Even if I would have gotten my ass kicked, I still wouldn't have lost because I was fighting for her. I love her that much. Shoot, she's all I have.”

  “I respect you for that,” he said. “I really do.”

  A pair of eyes peeped around the corner from the kitchen.

  “Hey, cutie pie,” he said. Deonie ran and hid. A couple of seconds later she peeped around the corner again, smiling at Chocolate. He started playing peekaboo with her. That went on until they all heard someone blowing his European-sounding car horn like crazy. Chocolate ran to the window and looked out and saw the Richmond Police Department racing up to the door. Before he could prepare himself, the police were banging at the door.

  Mercy told Chrissie to take Deonie to the back and then glared at Chocolate, certain that they were there for him.

  “I ain't gonna hide in here or none of that, because I know your niece is in here. Just open it.”

  Mercy opened the door and stood there with the nastiest disposition, but it was one that the Richmond Police got on a regular basis when they went to someone's house to start some drama.

  “Yes?” Mercy said, with a confused look on her face.

  Chocolate could tell that the po-po was about to trip on Mercy, and to avoid a scene he stood up and basically surrendered. “Yo, yo. Let's just take this outside,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “Let's just take this outside.”

  “Who are you?” one of the officers asked Chocolate.

  Chocolate walked towards the door as Chrissie walked into the front room.

  “Hold it right there,” another officer said, drawing his gun. “We're looking for a Ms. Mercy Jiles.”

  The room fell silent as both Chocolate and Chrissie turned their attention to Mercy.

  “I'm Mercy Jiles.” Mercy hesitated. Before she knew what hit her, the police were slamming her against the wall and handcuffing her.

  “Hey, hey,” Chocolate said, and started to go towards Mercy.

  “Hold it right there, mothafucka,” an officer said, “unless you trying to take a ride with her.”

  “I'm cool,” Mercy yelled over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Deonie walking down the hall. “Chrissie, get Deonie. Keep her out of here.”

  The police began reading Mercy her rights as they led her to the squad car. “You are under arrest for aggravated assault …,” they informed her.

  “What?” She scrunched up her face. “What the fuck?” Mercy yelled as she started jerking away from the cops.

  “You wanna add resisting arrest?” one of the officers snapped.

  The police proceeded to try to take Mercy out of the house in her pajamas. But with all of the confusion and commotion going on, Ms. Pat came running right over and talked to one of the officers, and they let a female officer go with Mercy to her room so she could slip into something else. Once Mercy was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, they led her straight out of the house to the police car.

  “Don't worry about it, ma,” Chocolate yelled out the door to Mercy. “I got you. Don't worry, you'll be okay. Just don't say shit, because they'll use it against you. They some real pigs, too. They eat they own shit. Just look at them with these smiles on their faces. So keep your mouth shut, and I'll be right down there to get you. Believe that.”

  A couple of the officers shot Chocolate dirty looks. Mercy just nodded to let him know that she heard what he was saying, but he hadn't said anything she didn't already know. After all, she had been raised by the thoroughest of the thoroughbreds. Her father was a stand-up type of dude straight out the gate, and it didn't stop there; the genes had been passed on to his daughter.

  Mercy couldn't believe this was all happening as the police car pulled off. Not once had it crossed her mind that Brianna and her low-life friends would go and file charges against her. After all, it was a mutual battle, and Brianna had asked for it. When Mercy got down to the Ninth Street Station to be booked, she was charged with three counts of aggravated assault, malicious wounding, assault with a deadly weapon, and two attempted murder charges. Bail was set at fifty thousand. She needed five thousand ninety-five dollars to get out with a bondsman.

  Now where the fuck am I going to get that money from? Mercy wondered. I know Chocolate ain't gon' come up off all that for my black ass, and I ain't got shit. I can't believe these cave-rat bitches. They been fucking with me and my niece for months now, and when I beat them down, it's a damn problem. What kind of shit is that?

  The bullpen was cold and smelled like piss, shit, vomit, and menstruation mixed together. She couldn't figure out if it was the stench seeping through the cracks of the concrete or the woman that was balled up in a knot over in the corner shaking. It could have been the old lady wearing the twisted wig who kept running to the toilet to hurl. Mercy could tell she was a dope fi
end and prostitute. As she observed all of the women around her, tears started spilling out of Mercy's eyes.

  “Don't cry,” a girl said to her, placing her hand on Mercy's shoulder. “It's not that bad.” The girl paused, waiting to see if she was going to get a response from Mercy. Mercy wiped her tears, but said nothing. “What you in here for?”

  Mercy looked up at the girl, and easy on the eyes she was not. Her hair was a mess. She had been forced by the prison guards to remove the tracks of weave from her hair. It was evident that they'd been painfully ripped out. There were traces of brown hair glue clinging to her hair and scalp. Her skin was a little rough, but it wasn't nothin' that a little makeup couldn't cover up. Mercy looked at the girl's hand that was resting on her shoulder and noticed that two of the five nails on her hand were on point, like the Koreans had just finished airbrushing them. The other three were chipped up or broken down to the skin. And those nails were acrylics, so Mercy knew that shit had to hurt. She frowned when she thought of the broken nails and the pain they inflicted. For some reason, even though they were both in the same predicament, locked up, Mercy pitied her.

  “Assault,” Mercy answered, making a long story short.

  “I don't know why they got you in here. From looking at your face, it looks like the other person should be in here. Did yo' nigga beat you up or something?” she asked, observing Mercy's eye.

  “No,” she said with a whimper. Her head was still pounding.

  “Girl, don't worry. You'll be okay.”

  “Shit, I don't know where these motherfuckers at?” another girl interrupted. When Mercy first saw this girl, she could have sworn she was on the wrong side. She could have easily been placed on the men's side of the lockup. The girl had on some brand-new Timbs, and a sweat suit sagging off her butt. She was a little chunky and even walked around the holding tank with a slight pimp, cupping her private area like she had a nut sack. Her hair was braided in zigzags like Allen Iverson. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out: She was as gay as a bird.