by Cash
She was in the kitchen fixing dinner.
“Yo. I want you to check out something and tell me if you like it,” I interrupted Juanita’s dinner preparations.
“Okay. Let me turn the oven down some.” I smelled the aroma of homemade turkey pot pies wafting from the oven when she opened the oven door to check them and adjust the heat.
Juanita bobbed her head and tapped her foot to the beat coming out of the headphones, as she listened to “Ghetto Drama.”
“Play it back,” she said after it had gone off.
She had me play the song for her three times before she took the headphones off.
“Boo,” she said, “that’s real good!”
“You like it for real?”
“For real!” Juanita maintained.
“Even though it’s gangsta?” I asked.
“Yeah. And even though the lyrics are gansta, there’s still social consciousness in your message. Especially the hook, and in the third verse. Plus the beat is really good!” Juanita commented, giving me props.
I told her she would give me props even if the shit was wack. I was her nigga.
“But I wouldn’t lie to you,” she said. “I don’t think you’d want me to do that. You’ve got skills; I’m not gassing you up.”
I laughed. “What you know about ‘skillz’ and ‘gassin’ somebody up?’ You spittin’ slang now, huh?” I said cracking up.
“Hey,” Juanita said, hands on hips, bobbing her neck like hood girls do. “I’m from the pro-jects, too.”
Shawdy couldn’t have been gassin’ a nigga up, ‘cause some days she’d take the song with her and listen to it in the car on her way to and from school. I had dubbed her a copy, so she wouldn’t play the words off of mine.
Feeling good about “Ghetto Drama,” I decided to do a whole CD.
Time passed, and with it came good news. Juanita was carrying my seed. That really wasn’t a huge surprise since she didn’t use contraceptives, nor did we use protection when we made love. And, of course, I’ve always been a potent nigga. So we both knew that it was just a matter of time before she conceived my seed. I had kept it real with her, reminding her that life together could never be normal. Nor could I promise that I wouldn’t have to jet away without her and my seed, never seeing them again if my past started closing in on me. I questioned if I was interfering with Juanita’s goals or possibly strapping too much weight on her back if I had to bounce, and left her with a child to raise without a father?
“No, baby,” said Juanita. “Nothing short of death will stop me from completing my studies and reaching my professional goals. If the worst happens and we have to be without you, know that I’m going to raise a strong black man, a god. And it’ll be your blood in his veins, nothing can ever change that.”
“True. And I believe you’ll hold it down if I ever have to bounce,” I said.
“You know I will, baby.”
“So, you already know it’s a boy?”
“Um-hmm. I found out last week, but I waited to tell you because your mood wasn’t so bright last week. Are you happy?”
“As R. Kelly in an all girls’ middle school,” I said.
Juanita hugged me. “You so crazy!”
“Seriously though,” I told her. “I am happy. I wish I could take you out somewhere to celebrate. I know you gotta hate living like this. I can’t go nowhere with you and shit.”
“No, baby. I could never hate anything concerning us. True, at times I wish it wasn’t this way, ‘cause I’d be proud to go in public on your arm. However, I understood the situation before today. You were up front with me from the start. I chose to get involved with you anyway, and I haven’t regretted it so far.”
Since I couldn’t take Juanita out to dinner to celebrate, I surprised her with a candlelight dinner that weekend. Now, you know the only cooking I could do was grilled burgers or chicken breasts on a George Foreman grill. Today the occasion called for something better than that.
I used the Yellow Pages to call around until I found a catering company that could hook me up a special meal. From over the phone, the caterer described several dishes that they could prepare. I chose the grilled wild duck marinated in lemon-mustard and honey sauce, served with wild rice, stuffed grilled tomatoes, wild green beans, and a fresh baked whole loaf of bread. That was the main course, the entrée. The appetizer would be broiled lobster tail, shrimp cocktails and a three-cheese salad. Dessert was chilled cinnamon apricot hearts. The caterer offered to send a server along to set up table decorations and to serve. I told the person on the phone that I’d handle the decorations and serving myself as long as they sent all the necessary utensils and stuff.
Like I’ve always maintained, everyone has a routine, so I knew that once Juanita left the house Saturday evening, she wouldn’t be back until nine or nine-fifteen. She would be bringing home fish dinners from a seafood place not too far from where we lived. That was her Saturday routine. Only I would surprise her this Saturday.
A few minutes after nine, I heard the Cressida pull into the driveway next to the Ford Explorer. A few minutes later I met Juanita at the front door and took the Styrofoam trays from her. True to form they were fish dinners.
“You must be starving,” Juanita said after greeting me with the customary kiss. “I’m hungry too. Let me have those back, I’ll put the food on real plates.”
“No, boo.” I stopped her from heading to the kitchen. “You go get dressed as if we were going out to dinner. I have a little surprise for you.”
“What? You want me to take a shower and get dressed up?” She couldn’t hide her excitement.
“Yep,” I said. “But be quick.”
While Juanita used the shower in the master bedroom to get ready, I used one of the others to do the same. Needless to say, I was showered and dressed a half-hour before Juanita. Of course, all I had to do after getting out the shower was lotion down, splash on some cologne, and put on the silk Coogi pajama set Juanita had bought for me months ago. I put Jaheim’s CD on and the music played at a soft volume throughout the house. Once the candles were lit, all I had to do was wait for my beautiful shawdy to appear.
She came out the bedroom in an earth colored silk wrap-around dress that flowed down to the floor with a matching head wrap—an Egyptian Queen. Wood bangles on her wrists. The diamond inter-locking hearts pin, pinned above her heart. Perfume that she mixed herself.
I put my elbow out for her hand and led her into the dining room. Two twin sets of candles burned in holders on the table. I pulled out a chair for her at the table, then handed her a long-stemmed rose that I had in a vase near the china cabinet. Jaheim set the mood while I served the appetizer. The main course remained heated in aluminum serving trays with little fire canisters that burned under them, supplied by the caterer.
After the appetizer, I used the CD remote to change Jaheim to Lyfe, and served the main course of the night. The roasted duck was bangin’, along with the wild rice and vegetables and the hot loaf of bread. I had Asti Spumante with my dinner. Juanita didn’t drink alcoholic beverages so I had ordered some type of fruit-flavored water that came in an elegant bottle for her. We both were too stuffed to do anything more than taste dessert.
Shawdy thanked me for the dinner, then got up and began removing our dishes from the table.
I stopped her. “Sit down, boo. It’s all on me tonight.”
Juanita smiled as she watched me clean the dishes from the table, put the leftover food in Tupperware and into the freezer. She knew it wasn’t my steelo to do anything domestic, and I think she appreciated that I’d do it for her.
When I was done, I joined Juanita in the living room on the couch, clicked Lyfe to Carlos Santana, one of Juanita’s favorite jazz artists. After the food had settled and the jazz music worked us into an even more relaxed mood, we slow danced record after record. It wasn’t that I had turned into a romantic-ass nigga. I was still a G at heart. I was just trying to do something special for my shaw
dy, to let her know that she was appreciated.
My surprise romantic evening must’ve had an effect on Juanita, because that night she was all over me in bed and being the aggressor wasn’t her style. I wasn’t complaining though.
“Do that thang, girl,” I teased when she straddled me.
“You so bad,” she blushed.
CHAPTER 20
“Hello,” Inez said after taking the call a coworker had told her awaited on line three, “this is Miss Patterson.”
“Miss Patterson, this is the gentleman that services your car. How are you today?”
“I’m fine, thank you. And yourself?”
“Fine. How’s your car holding up?”
“Very well. It’s no longer running hot.”
“Good,” I said. “Listen, can you drop off my tools at your mother’s house when you get off work today?”
“Huh? Oh….oh…yeah…yes, I can. I’m sorry for not leaving them in my garage,” Inez recovered and followed my code-talk. “Would you like me to drop them off on my lunch break?”
“No. After work will be fine.”
“Okay.”
“Goodbye.”
I didn’t know if Inez exactly understood my message but a few minutes past six o’clock that evening she came pouncing through her Ma Dukes door.
“Mama! Has anyone called for me yet?”
Then she saw me in the living room—lights out, curtains drawn closed—holding Tamia. She squealed, and then caught herself. In an instant she was showering my face with kisses.
I stayed until it was dark out, then I kissed Inez and Tamia goodbye, put on my overcoat and my disguise—fake beard and eye patch, checked my gats and slipped away the same route I had used to slip in.
Keisha picked me up from Ma Duke’s crib in her brand new Humvee.
“What’s up, shawdy?” I slid in the passenger seat.
“You! Damn, nigga, it’s good to see you!” she beamed.
When we got down the street, she pulled over to the curb and parked. I reached at
my waist for my burner.
I know this ho ain’t ’bout to cross me!
She peeped my reaction.
“Nigga, it ain’t even like that. I’d die before I would sell you out. You don’t know?”
“What the fuck you park for?”
“So you can give me a hug. I didn’t wanna ask for one back there. I figured your girl might be peeking out the window,” explained Keisha. “Now quit trippin’ and give a bitch a hug.”
After we hugged, Keisha said, “Dayum, I wanna fuck you,” as I was pulling off from the curb.
“Ain’t Angel keepin’ you happy?” I teased.
“What? That bitch is too through.”
“Say what?”
“Yep. I don’t fuck around like that no more. Shit had got crazy. She had gotten so possessive I could hardly breathe! I had to bust a cap in her, just to get away from her Fatal Attraction ass!”
“You shot her?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yep. Butsted that hoe in the arm for tryna strong-arm a bitch, and in the leg for always kickin’ that stupid shit.”
I laughed like hell. “So what’s up? You through fuckin’ with chicks?”
“Yeah, that shit was just a phase with me. I got a big-head college boy that I’m fuckin’ with.”
“A college boy? I thought you liked thugs?”
“I do, but until I meet one as thorough as you, I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, you raping the game or what?”
“Got it in a chokehold.”
As we drove on Keisha explained how she was puttin’ it down, but then we began discussing my true reasons for returning to the ATL.
Rich Kid had resurfaced.
Keisha had informed me of his reappearance through Inez.
She had copped a four-bedroom ranch-style crib out in Fayetteville to get away from wolves that were privy to her come up, and were salivating at a chance to jack her. She had flipped the dope I left with her. Now she had a regular connect [o1] .
“But Rich Kid stepped to me a few months ago about shopping with him,” she said, as we went inside her crib and sat down in the living room.
“Don’t he know you used to fuck with me?”
“Naw. Remember, he was off the scene when you were frontin’ me work. And nobody knows you left me all that shit. Niggaz still tryna figure out how I came up so lovely. Rich Kid asked the same thing. I told him loose lips lead to indictments.
“Anyway, he’s just gettin’ back out there like that, so he needs somebody to shop with him ’cause most of his old customers got new connects while he was out of the game. Plus I heard some of his people hit him for an ass of dope while he was laid up. You know how the streets talk.”
I nodded, indicating that I knew exactly where she was coming from.
“Anyway, as soon as the nigga stepped to me I started rockin’ his ass to sleep, waiting for you to get at Inez so we could let you know the business. I done fucked and sucked the nigga, keepin’ him close until I could deliver him to you.”
“That’s what’s up,” I said. “But the Rich Kid I knew ain’t nobody’s fool. You can’t just call him up and tell him to come to your spot. And if he does come, won’t he be rollin’ with his goons?”
“Naw, baby, ever since you tried to get at him, and then his people crossed him, that nigga don’t fuck with dudes like that. Really, I think he done fell off some, ’cause he straight roll dolo.”
“Nah, that nigga ain’t hurtin’, he paid. He just livin’ by the code: Trust No Man. But fuck all that, how you gon’ deliver that nigga to me?”
“On a silver platter, baby boy.”
“I’ma love that.”
“I know. It’ll be my way of thanking you for trusting a bitch. That was a lot of work you left me with. And for real, I didn’t even know I could handle it,” she admitted.
“I knew you could. Now gon’ make that call, but don’t press him. Trust, he ain’t stupid.”
“Man, relax, I got this ”, she said picking up her cordless house phone.
I listened on a second cordless phone that Keisha handed me from off the end table next to the couch we sat on, as she talked to Rich Kid.
“We might be able to do some business but we need to talk numbers,” Keisha said after Rich Kid brought up the subject.
“Not over the phone,” he cautioned.
“Okay, get at me when you wanna talk. But make it soon, I gotta eat,” she replied.
“I’ma holla,” he said before hanging up.
He seemed to be taking the bait.
Since I expected to have to stay in ATL a few days, I sent Keisha to go scoop Inez. I knew that the Feds could easily be watching her, but I just took a chance, figuring ain’t no way in fuck they could watch her 24/7. I had been a fugitive for over a year.
Inez and I spent a passionate night together in one of Keisha’s guest rooms. In the morning, we said a heart-wrenching goodbye, then Keisha dropped Inez back off at home.
Later, around seven-thirty that evening, Rich Kid pulled into Keisha’s driveway unannounced.
Dolo.
I listened from the adjoining room, crouched down behind a bookcase. Keisha let Rich Kid in and offered him a seat in the living room.
“Would you like a drink or something?” she asked.
“Nah, I’m short on time. Let’s talk business. How much work you tryna fuck with?” he cut straight to the chase.
“That depends on the price,” she responded.
They were saying some other shit, but I didn’t really hear them. The fury inside of me had muted the conversation. All I heard was Rich Kid’s voice echoing, Bitch nigga, you missed! I didn’t.
This punk mafucka had my precious sister murdered and had called me up to boast about it! Tauntin’ me like I was too small of a nigga to get at his ass.
Now, nigga, what? Even the strong and mighty can get caught slippin’.
&nbs
p; “Well, the price is negotiable,” he was saying to Keisha.
“But your life ain’t, nigga!” I replied, stepping into the living room, a burner in each hand, locked and loaded.
Rich Kid’s head snapped around towards my voice as he jumped up from the couch, ready to take flight. When he saw my face he seemed to shrink, and a whine escaped from his mouth like a bitch.
This hoe ass nigga definitely didn’t pull the trigger. He had someone else kill my fam, just like he used to pay me to murk niggas. He ain’t no killa, he’s a bitch. A bitch with dough.
“Man up, punk!” I spat as I moved in just a few feet away from him, both burners ready to go the fuck off.
Keisha stood up from the sofa, sliding a .380 from under the cushion. She pointed it at Rich Kid’s chest.
“His enemies are my enemies,” she exclaimed.
I expected him to reach for his waist, ’cause he had to know it was a do-or-die situation. But like I’d said time and time again, Rich Kid wasn’t a killa. He’d always paid a mafucka to do his dirty work. Now that it was time to bust his guns, the nigga smelled like pussy.
“Y’all hold up!” he cried, throwing his hands in the air.
To think I ever respected this bitch!
“Hear me out!” he pleaded.
“Toi was my heart, mafucka,” I said real calm-like. “Our beef wasn’t hers.”
“Man, you drew first blood! What the fuck I ever do to you to make you gun at me?” he cried.
“Bitch nigga, you ain’t in no position to ask me shit! Die wondering!”
Blocka! Blocka!
He reached out for my arm.
Blocka!
When he crumpled to the floor, his melon leaking, Keisha came over and pumped two in his chest.
“Damn, shawdy, when did you get so trill with it?” I asked, looking at her with my mouth hanging open.
