After snatching the key from her, I got my ass up out of that office in a hurry. I had made a trip to Walmart earlier in the day and had bought a few pairs of jeans, some shirts, underwear, toiletries, and snacks. The struggle was real, and I longed for my belongings. I couldn’t go back to my apartment, though, because I just knew that Rae would be there waiting for me.
I found my room, and after popping a whole Lortab, I took a quick shower, turned on the TV, and got under the covers. My mind drifted as I thought about my situation. What the hell was I going to do? I couldn’t go back to work at the Blue Flame, and I knew that fifteen hundred dollars wouldn’t last long. At the moment my face was all busted up, and I couldn’t go looking for a job like that. Then I thought about going back to Pistol for help, but I couldn’t. When I finally drifted off to sleep, my slumber was filled with nightmares about Rae.
*
“Where the fuck you at, bitch?” The sound of Rae’s voice on my voice mail made me quiver with fear the next morning. I deleted the message and then listened to his second voice mail.
“You fuckin’ that nigga? Why the hell he feel the need to step in our business? I knew you was up to no good, you fuckin’ sorry, thot-ass bitch!”
He’d left me ten threatening messages since yesterday, and I deleted each one, then plugged my phone in to let it charge. I also decided to block his number.
It was crazy that I was once again in a position where I was all alone. Becoming attached to the wrong men was my problem, and I had to learn to be by myself rather than with a fucked-up-ass nigga. This habit stemmed from my childhood, I guessed. My parents had been married when I was born, but then my dad had left my mom for another woman when I was four. He’d visited me frequently at first, but then his visits had become rare events. Eventually, he’d stopped coming around completely. Rumors had circulated that he wasn’t my real father. After my father left, my mother had changed for the worse. It was like she had had a midlife crisis.
My mom had been the manager of a nice Courtyard Marriott in downtown Atlanta, but eventually, she was fired because of her drinking. After that, she was just reckless as hell. She was locked up for DUIs and was always fucking around with a different man. Not only that, but she dressed inappropriately and was all loud and wild.
We had to move to the projects when I was seven, and then shit got even worse. There were times when my mom wouldn’t come home for days, and when she did, some man would be with her. That shit made me feel so uncomfortable. My mother never, ever cooked, so I had to learn to fend for myself early as hell. In no time I was running the streets with Kevia at all times of the night, getting high and shit. My mom just didn’t give a fuck, and neither did I.
When I would bring a boy over, she would flaunt herself around him and flirt. It got to the point where I stopped bringing my guy friends around her. Then my senior year in high school, I dated this guy named Anthony. He was twenty, and I was eighteen at the time. One day he dropped me off at home after school. My mother happened to be outside, and she started acting a fool, like always.
“Damn, baby. Who is this fine-ass mu’fucka!” she asked. She had on the shortest shorts that I’d ever seen. They were like jeans underwear. My mom had a banging body, though, but she was a mother, and I felt that she should dress accordingly.
“Mom, this is my … friend Anthony. Please—”
She cut me off. “Calm down, bitch. I ain’t tryin’a take yo’ man.” Her speech was slurred. It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, and she was sloppy drunk already.
I felt so ashamed, but Anthony had a sly look on his face. His eyes were glued to my mother’s breasts.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Anthony,” I told him. I actually had to hint that it was time for him to leave.
“Oh yeah,” he said, looking preoccupied. “Uh, it was nice meetin’ you, miss …”
“My name’s Jackie, baby,” my mother told him.
“Jackie,” he repeated as he grinned in her face.
“Bye, Anthony,” I stated firmly.
I shook my head at my mom as he turned to leave. “Why do you have to always be drunk and disrespectful?” I snapped. I shook my head again and then stormed off to our apartment.
Less than a week later, I came home from school early because we had a half day. When I walked in, I caught my mom on her knees, sucking Anthony’s dick right there in the living room.
After that, I couldn’t trust my mother anymore. I vowed that as soon as I graduated from high school, I was leaving. It didn’t even take that long. Kevia’s apartment was my sanctuary, and I spent more time over there with her family than with my mom. She didn’t seem to care for me, anyway. In her eyes, I’d been only a hindrance in her life. She reminded me of that often.
I got a job and my own place after graduation and never talked to my drunken whore of a mother again. Knowing people in the hood had come in handy. I had someone make up some fake documents for me to get approved for my apartment. Not having any siblings, aunts, uncles, or living grandparents made it easy for me to pull away from my mom. Last I heard, she was in Decatur, but I had never bothered to contact her. I didn’t want to. That bitch had ruined me.
Chapter 4
Pistol
“I’m on my way to get the heat,” I told Mike over the phone.
“Good, ’cause we gotta make sure everything’s in place within the next few hours,” he said.
“Oh, believe me. Shit’s gonna go smooth. I’ll be over there in an hour or so. Then we can really talk.”
“Bet. Later, man.”
I hung up the phone and looked at my GPS. My destination was only five minutes away. I tried to clear my head, but it was hard. Daisha was all I could think about. Where had she run off to, and why hadn’t I got her number when I could? Damn it! I wanted to make sure that she was okay and that that nigga hadn’t harmed her again.
My phone rang. It was that nagging ho Niya, so I sent her to voice mail. She was only good for one thing, and at the moment, I didn’t want my dick sucked. The way she had acted the night before, I didn’t want to have shit to do with her crazy ass.
Of course she sent me a text message.
Niya: I know you see me callin’ you, nigga.
My frustration with her was building. I didn’t have the time or patience for that bitch. Responding to her would only add fuel to the fire. A nigga in my position had more important shit to think about. Like the lick that would be going down later that night. Or the fact that I was on the run and about to risk my freedom once again. Not only that, but I hadn’t seen my mother in months. I loved her with all my heart and knew that she was worried about me.
The thing was, I couldn’t even let her know where I was. I’d called her when I touched down in the A to let her know that I was okay, and I talked to her on a regular basis, but she had no idea where I was. All she knew was that I’d caught a case and needed to get away. I was sure that she believed that I was in Atlanta with Mike and Dank, but I hadn’t confirmed it, and neither had they. She was down for a nigga and constantly told the cops she didn’t know where I was.
That was why I didn’t tell her where I was. She didn’t need to lie to the cops for me. That would result only in a perjury charge for her. My mother had always been there for me, and in return, I’d only disappointed her over and over again. I felt horrible, because she had two sons who were younger than me. There was no way I’d been a good example for them. You would think after my father was shot to death doing street shit when I was eight that I’d be a good role model for my brothers, but instead, I had done the opposite. I had decided to follow in my father’s footsteps.
The only difference was that I wasn’t a drug dealer. I robbed the drug dealers instead. I’d keep the money and give the product to my homies to sell. They’d give me a cut, of course, so a nigga was in the money. Later on, my operation evolved into more complex jobs. I began robbing banks, and I even did a few jewelry store heists. I loved the rush that
I felt when I took something that was valuable in no time. It was like in a matter of five minutes, I could have a year’s salary. Shit. I even loved the way a gun felt in my hand. It was like second nature to me, and even if I tried to defy it, that shit would just call me back.
“Your destination is on the right,” my GPS said, interrupting my thoughts, and I pulled up in the driveway of a small wood-frame house. It was painted an off-white and looked innocent enough. However, I knew what was going on up in that spot. It was definitely nothing nice.
Walking up the walkway, I surveyed my surroundings and kept my guard up. My strap was in the waist of my black True Religion jeans, and I was ready for war, if need be. Honestly, I didn’t really trust that nigga I was about to do business with. There was something sly and sneaky about him. We’d done business before, but there was just something about dude. Then add the fact that I wasn’t from the A and really didn’t know what to expect from these niggas out here.
Shit. I couldn’t even trust my best friend and partner in crime. We had run the streets together, robbing motherfuckers, for years. With one promise of less time, he’d rolled on me like a damn pair of skates. That shit was fucked up. If I couldn’t trust that rat-ass nigga, who the fuck could I trust? Nobody but my damn mama.
I rang the doorbell and waited. As I tapped my foot impatiently, I checked my black-face Rolex. It was a little after ten in the morning, and I was hungry as fuck. I’d been running around all morning, handling business. When that nigga finally cracked the door open, he looked around like I had the cops or some jack boys with me. He just didn’t know that I was just as paranoid as he was, since I had just as much to lose.
“C’mon in, man,” he said. He was still looking around outside after I walked in. After he was sure that the coast was clear, he closed the door and then secured about ten different locks and dead bolts. Okay, he had that shit secure as hell.
I took in my surroundings as he led me downstairs to the basement. That was where he kept all the high-powered weapons that we were going to need.
“So, what you lookin’ for?” He glanced up at me, with a thick cigar in his hand. After he lit it, I immediately smelled the sweet, robust aroma. “Want one?” he asked, referring to the cigar.
“Nah, I’m good. Uh, I need some heavy-duty shit and a couple of handguns.”
With a nod, he pulled a white bedsheet off one of the tables that displayed the range of guns he had. He also had knives, ropes, first-aid kits, chloroform, wire cutters, and all types of shit that niggas in the crime business needed. I was going to need a little bit of everything, but the weapons were first on the list.
Despite the tension, that nigga wanted money, and I needed the necessary tools to do the job. It was mind over matter for both of us, and we continued the transaction, because business was business. After deciding on three AKs, three .45 caliber handguns, a hot-ass silver Glock nine-millimeter, ammunition, and a bunch of miscellaneous shit, I paid that nigga and waited as he put my merchandise in a huge black duffel bag.
“Damn, man. You ’bout to do some grand shit, ain’t you?” he said. He seemed impressed, because I’d bought only one tool from him before today.
I chuckled, then didn’t give him too much information. “I’m just makin’ sure I’m good. It’s real in them streets.”
He smirked at me like he didn’t believe that shit. It was obvious that I was about to rob a mu’fucka or commit a murder plot. That nigga wasn’t stupid, and he was in business because of criminal-minded-ass niggas like me.
“A’ight, man,” was all he said, having decided to drop the subject.
I walked outside with the duffel bag and looked around nervously, just like he had before. If the cops were around, they sure had enough shit to lock me up for life. After making my way to my car without any incident, I opened the trunk and threw the bag inside. Then I got behind the wheel and peeled off. Shit, I thought when my stomach rumbled. I had a taste for some jerk chicken, rice and peas, and cabbage. Oh yeah, the Jamaican spot up the street was where I was headed. A nigga had to eat.
Instead of getting my food to go, I decided to eat at the restaurant. That was because I knew that I wanted my food to be hot and fresh. And I also knew that if I drove to my cousins with takeout, I wouldn’t have any time to grub. So I was nice and full when I got to Mike and Dank’s trap spot at about one.
“Damn. What the fuck took you so long, nigga?” Mike asked. He looked pissed off.
“I got hungry, nigga. Damn. What the fuck is your problem? We still got time before the shit goes down,” I replied.
“I just want everything in place, man.” He had calmed down. “Where the shit at?”
“In the trunk. So, what you need me to come over so early for?” I stood there waiting for my cuz to fill me in on why he needed to see me over eight hours before the lick was going to go down.
Dank spoke up instead as he broke up some Kush in a Swisher. “We need you to do a hit for us.”
Another hit, huh? It was like those niggas were good only for moving dope. They obviously didn’t have the killer instinct. Did I really want to do a lick with them? To be honest, since I’d been there, it was like I was doing all their dirty work. In six months I’d done at least five hits for them.
“For y’all to have the operation that you do, you seem mighty damn amateur,” I had to admit. “Don’t y’all got mu’fuckas in place for that shit?”
Mike really looked like he was mad as hell then. “It’s just that the nigga don’t know you. That’s all. We gon’ have your back, like always. We just need you to roll up on him so he won’t suspect that shit.”
I shook my head. “You know I ain’t scared to dead a nigga. I’m just sayin’. Y’all niggas don’t think cats’ll get suspicious when they see a strange-ass nigga rollin’ up on the block? Y’all ain’t new to this street shit, but you sho’ actin’ like it.”
Mike stepped closer to me, and Dank stood between us. “Look, man. To be honest, you’re a better killer than both of us,” Dank said. Shit, I already knew that. Dank looked back at Mike and then at me. “And yeah, we got mu’fuckas in place for that shit, but this time, we need you to do it. Blood is thicker than water. Right?”
That made me think. “So, what the fuck am I really doing, and why didn’t y’all mention this shit earlier? Somebody else owe you money? Stole yo’ shit?”
“Dank, you can move, man. We straight,” Mike said before looking at me. “Nah, this is different.”
That really sparked my interest. “Different how?”
Mike scowled. “He’s fuckin’ wit’ my baby mama and—”
A sarcastic chuckle escaped my lips. What the hell? That was some personal shit. “Why the fuck should I kill the nigga that’s fuckin’ your baby mama, man? I mean, damn. Did he do something to you?”
Mike cleared his throat. “You didn’t let me finish.”
I nodded. “Go ’head.”
“My baby girl told me that he’s been … touchin’ her.”
“What? He’s been molestin’ your daughter, my nigga?”
“Yeah, and I need you to run up on him,” Mike told me. “If he sees me, he gon’ know what it is and start shootin’ before I can. We was beefin’ way before my shawty told me ’bout that shit. If he see me or Dank, he gon’ start bustin’. If you do that shit, it’ll go down smooth and shit. We gon’ be wit’ you. I need that nigga to bleed. This is the best time to do it, ’cause that nigga by hisself. He ain’t never by his fuckin’ self when he in the streets, so this the best time to get him.”
Damn. Mike’s daughter, Mikayla, was only six years old. What the fuck? Why did grown men think it was okay to violate a child? I was ready to dead his pedophile ass, but he was only one nigga. Why were they afraid of him shooting at them first? If it was my daughter, I’d want to do that shit myself.
“Let’s get that nigga,” I said. Then I led him and Dank to my car without even asking.
Chapter 5
&nb
sp; Daisha
“Where you at, girl? You good?” Kevia asked as I literally inhaled a chicken wing from Popeyes.
There was a small kitchenette in the motel room, but I didn’t have the strength to cook, so I’d gotten some Popeyes and taken it back to the room. It felt like I’d been run over by a big-ass truck. The Lortabs were running low, and I knew that I was going to need more painkillers soon. Shit, maybe my ribs really were broken. I had a little bit of weed left, but eventually, I was going to need to go back to the hood. I didn’t know anybody where I was, and I was not about to ask a strange nigga for shit.
However, I didn’t want to run into Raekwan or any of his homies. So I’d decided it would be best if Kevia just got me what I needed and met me somewhere to give it to me. I couldn’t take the chance of Rae finding out where I was staying, so I’d come up with a place to meet Kevia.
“Uh, I’m at the Courtyard Marriott on Lavista,” I lied. “Can you come meet me here? I need some pain meds and some weed. I’ll pay you. Oh, and I need to give you the money to put my stuff in storage. Did you find out how much it’ll cost?”
I stared at my face in the mirror across from the bed and cringed. My eye and cheek needed to be iced again. The swelling was going down, but the bruises were getting even darker. It crossed my mind to get my ribs checked out, like Pistol had told me to, but I didn’t want anybody at the hospital to ask me what had happened. I was just grateful that Rae hadn’t found me.
“Okay, girl. What kinda meds you need? Oh, and don’t worry ’bout that or the storage. I feel like I owe you for introducin’ you to my bastard-ass cousin.” Kevia’s boo, Rock, was the go-to nigga for OxyContin and shit like that. That wasn’t really my thing, but I was desperate for the pain to go away. Not only the physical pain, but the mental pain too.
“Look, get whatever you can from your boo. I don’t care.”
“You sure?” She sounded hesitant. “That shit’s addictive.”
Love's Grip Page 3
