I want and need to believe that Ta’Shara was just at the wrong place at the wrong time and that she and that nigga have nothing to do with the war between the Gangster Disciples and the Vice Lords. Sure, a few Queen Gs who attend Morris High School dropped dime that the two have been creeping around for a hot minute, but none of those bitches made it clear to me that that nigga was Fat Ace’s little brother. What the fuck? His family? That’s some violation shit that could get me caught up. My so-called sister couldn’t have taken a bigger knife and twisted it in my back. How the fuck is Python going to react when—not if—he finds out? Because my nigga eventually finds out about everything. Every muthafuckin’ thing. Hell, this kind of stuff could have niggas looking at me sideways and questioning my loyalty to the Folks Nation. I don’t need or appreciate this bullshit in the slightest.
I glance around the busy street and expect the police to show up at any second. Of course, a shooting at Morris High School hardly shocks or constitutes an emergency nowadays.
Ta’Shara jerks open the passenger door and plops down while Essence climbs into the backseat. “You wanted to see me, Your Highness?”
“Don’t you dare try to fuckin’ clown me! Not today. I ain’t in the fuckin’ mood.” I jam my foot on the accelerator and peel away from the curb like a bat out of hell. “Start talking,” I demand.
Ta’Shara clamps her jaw tight and folds her arms under her breasts. “What do you want to talk about, the weather?”
Seeing red, I smack this smug bitch so hard her head rocks to the side and hits the window with a THUMP!
“Owww. What the fuck?” She places a hand against the side of her head.
“You think I’m fuckin’ playing with your ass? You think this shit is a game?” I yell. “Trust that if you were any other muthafucka right now, I would put a goddamn bullet in the center of your fuckin’ forehead. Please believe.” I jerk the wheel and cut off some little old lady who’s rolling at least ten miles an hour below the speed limit. “Shit. Why the fuck they let these old muthafuckas drive? I swear to God.”
Still rubbing her head, Ta’Shara glares at me.
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re mad right now. You better scratch your ass and get glad.”
Ta’Shara just pushes her bottom lip out even farther.
“I’m fuckin’ waiting,” I say, dead serious. “TALK.”
Ta’Shara expels a long breath, but when she starts taking too much time, my hand comes back up. She ducks her head and puts her hands up to try and block the next blow. “All right. All right. Stop. Damn.”
I return my hand to the steering wheel. “How long have you been fuckin’ around with Fat Ace’s brother?”
“Almost seven months,” Ta’Shara mumbles.
“WHAT?”
Silence.
I pull my gaze from the road and stare at my sister. “Please, Lord, say this bitch ain’t just said what I think she said.”
Silence.
“Oh. So fuck me. Is that it?” I snap. “Fuck my muthafuckin’ position or my muthafuckin’ life when niggas find my sister is balls deep with Vice Lords. Is that it?”
Again this bitch is giving me the silent treatment.
“Oh, you ain’t got shit to say about that, huh, ho?” I shake my head as my hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I swear to God, Ta’Shara. You don’t appreciate shit. I should’ve had my bitches bust you in this game long time ago—make you earn the protection you’ve been taking for granted.”
“I’ve never asked you to do shit for me.”
“You didn’t have to, did you?” I pound a hand against my chest. “It’s my fuckin’ job. It has always been my job to take care of your ignorant ass—even though it’s very clear to me now that you don’t fuckin’ appreciate the shit.”
“Yeah. Whatever. You need any help carrying that cross, LeShelle?”
Angry, I whip the car into a Walgreen’s parking lot and then slam on the brakes. Ta’Shara pitches forward and slams into the dashboard, while Essence damn near flips over the front seats. “END IT!”
Our gazes crash.
“Profit is not—”
“Don’t say that nigga’s name to me.” I whack her on the head. “I said, end it!”
“Owww. Stop it. It’s not funny,” Ta’Shara barks back.
“Does it look like I’m laughing, bitch? This shit can blow back on my ass—not that you really give a fuck. You got your perfect little parents, living the high life in your bougie neighborhood and forgetting where the fuck you came from. I’m your fuckin’ people. I’m your fuckin’ flesh and blood, and it’s my ass that makes sure that muthafuckas leave you alone while you fill your head with bullshit ideas like being a muthafuckin’ doctor. I’ve always had your back despite you giving me the back of your hand a couple of years ago.”
“That is not how that went down and you know it.”
“End it,” I growl again, tired of the bullshit. “You seriously think that Python…” I glance back at Essence. “Get out!”
Essence blinks.
“GET THE FUCK OUT! Don’t you see I’m having a fuckin’ private conversation with my sister?”
Knowing better than to argue, Essence jumps out of the car.
I wait until the door slams closed before continuing my argument with Ta’Shara. “Python is not going to like hearing that my own sister is fuckin’ a Vice Lord,” I hiss. “My muthafuckin’ neck is on the line. You got that?”
“Oh, I’m supposed to live my life according to the gospel of Python?” Ta’Shara challenges, squaring around in her seat and looking entirely too grown. “I’m not a gangsta bitch, okay? That’s your bullshit. I’m not going to live my life according to a bunch of street rules that I never agreed to. And by the way, neither will Profit. He’s not in the game.”
“Oh, so my eyes were just deceiving me when I saw him kill three members of Python’s crew? MY CREW. That shit alone means death.”
“Memory serves me that y’all were the crazy muthafuckas who showed up shooting up a goddamn hospital in the middle of the night—like that’s the muthafuckin’ thing to do.”
“You goddamn right. Fat Ace started this bullshit. I took a fuckin’ bullet because of that grimy muthafucka.” I jerk up the sleeve of my blue T-shirt and show my sister my bandaged arm. “So hell yeah, I went to that fuckin’ hospital to return the fuckin’ favor. Instead, I get there and my sister plants a knife in my back—again!”
“That’s not—”
“END IT!” I yell. “I ain’t asking—I’m telling you. End the shit or I’ll end it for you. And trust me, you won’t like it if I have to do it.” I stare my sister down. Blood or not, I’ll take this bitch out to maintain my spot. She needs to believe that shit. “Now get the fuck out of my car.”
Ta’Shara glances around. “But we’re—”
“I said get the fuck out. You can think about what I said while you walk your ass home.”
19
Melanie
“Think, Officer Johnson. Are you sure you can’t remember anything else?” Lieutenant Maddow of Internal Affairs presses. He leans forward in his chair with his brows knitted together and his dark, troubled eyes begging me for any golden nugget that would help solve the murder of my partner, Officer O’Malley.
I lower and shake my head. “I’m sorry. Everything happened so fast. O’Malley took off running down the alley, and I got pinned down behind the patrol car. I took fire for at least a good minute before some punk hopped in behind the wheel and took off. By the time I rushed down the alley to see if I could assist my partner…” I let the sentence hang and opt to stare down at my interwoven hands and twirling thumbs.
“I think that’s enough,” my father, Captain Johnson, says, stepping forward and placing a supportive hand on my back. “She’s been at this for hours. She’s answered all our questions. I must insist that we end this now. Let her go home and get some rest.”
Maddow looks as if he wants to refuse the request,
but then finally glances at his watch. “All right.” He draws a deep breath. “I’m going to recommend you take a seven-day leave of absence.”
“I’m being punished?” I ask, looking from Maddow to my father.
“Not punished,” Maddow clarifies. “Just think of it as a mini vacation. I would like the opportunity to talk with you further, say maybe tomorrow, after you get some rest. Plus, I’d recommend that you speak with Dr. Woods—”
“The police psychiatrist?”
My father squeezes my shoulder. “You might think you’re fine now, but these sort of traumatic episodes have a way of sneaking up on you.”
I suck in a deep breath but clamp down the protest that’s seconds from falling from my lips.
“Trust me,” my father continues. “I’ve seen officers too afraid to ask for help. They usually end up eating a bullet. I don’t want to see my own little girl going down that same road.”
I cut my father a look that wills him to shut the fuck up. The last thing I want is for him to start treating me like I’m some fragile china doll. I’ve worked too hard for my colleagues’ respect, and I’m not about to let him just sweep all that away.
My father seems to have read my mind. He lowers his hand from my shoulders and steps back.
“Really, Lieutenant Maddow, I’m fine,” I say.
“You probably are.” Maddow smiles. “But I’m going to have to insist.”
I stand, not quite sure how to feel about being forced to take some time off. Right now I’ve been up for nearly thirty hours, and I can use some sleep. It wasn’t too hard to stage O’Malley’s murder, being that one of his victims lay right behind him. The scene just looks like the perpetrator had squeezed off a shot before he died. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better opportunity to get rid of that loudmouthed, racist muthafucka. As far as I’m concerned, I did the department—and mankind—a huge favor.
By the time our backup had arrived at the crime scene, Python had removed the blue flags from his fallen soldiers, promised that he would catch up with me later, and then took off into the night. There was nothing wrong in letting Python think that I’d dusted off O’Malley for him—because I would’ve had he asked. In fact, there is very little that I wouldn’t do for him.
For twelve hours, I told my version of what had happened behind Goodson’s Auto Shop. I’m certain the extensive questioning isn’t because they doubt my account of what transpired, but because the department takes extra precaution to dot i’s and cross t’s whenever a cop is killed in the line of duty. In this case, the department had lost two cops in one night, and I had been on the scene for both of them. Add to that the horrendous shooting at the Med and now half the squad responding to a shooting over at Morris High School, it is no wonder the department is anticipating a public backlash about the growing violence in the city.
“I guess that’s that,” I say, eyeing my superiors and hesitating before walking out of the office. “You know how and where to reach me if you have any more questions.”
“I’ll walk you out to your car,” my father says, placing his large captain’s hat onto his head and then opening the office door. “After you.”
I draw a deep breath and then march out of the office. As I thread my way through the precinct, a few officers who were on desk duty or processing perps toss a few sympathetic and supportive glances my way. I give most of them a slight nod but for the most part keep it moving—especially since my father is pulling up the rear.
Outside, I open the door to my red Ford Explorer and climb inside.
“Now, are you sure you’re all right?” my father asks, trying to catch my darting gaze.
“Yes, Dad.” I hedge a bit. “Or at least I will be,” I add so I can look more shaken up about O’Malley’s death.
Silently, he shuts the door and then leans against it as if he’s waiting for something.
I try to ignore his penetrating stare by hurrying up and starting the car, but when he doesn’t back away from the door, I have no choice but to meet his inquisitive stare. It’s a mistake, because he immediately starts trying to read me like he used to when I was a kid.
“What aren’t you telling us?” he asks bluntly.
My heart drops. “What are you talking about?”
He leans in close, as if he’s afraid someone might overhear us. “Is someone threatening you? Do you feel safe to go home?”
I blink, not sure what to make of the question or even how to respond.
“I know you, baby girl. I know when you’re not telling me everything,” he says. “You say the word and I’ll wrangle up a couple of officers to stake out your place and—”
“That’s not necessary.” I shake my head. “I’m good,” I insist, and finally pull my gaze away.
However, my father keeps staring at me with his weight pressed against the door.
“I gotta go, Dad,” I say, needing to end this standoff before I do something stupid like start confessing all my sins. “I really need to hit the sack.”
He nods but is slow to step away from the car. “I have a press conference to get to. Your mother and I will keep Christopher as long as you need us to. You get your rest. I’ll swing by and check on you tomorrow.”
Great. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
He pats the car door and finally backs away.
I waste no time shifting the vehicle into reverse and backing out of the parking space. Even as I pull off, I can still feel my father’s heavy gaze following me until I disappear out of the precinct’s parking lot. It’s another ten minutes before my heart stops trying to pound its way out of my chest and I can release my death grip on the steering wheel.
My history with Python is long and secretive. We attended Morris High School together, at least until Python dropped out in his junior year. It wasn’t love at first sight or anything. In fact, Python teased and picked on me mercilessly because of who my father was—and the fact that he was always in the paper for busting a lot of his homeboys on the block.
I rebelled at being viewed as a square, so I set out to prove that I was as down as the next chick. I drank, smoked, and partied harder than any of my friends. At home, I stole, lied, and just flat out made my teenage years a living hell for my parents, all for the sake of changing my image.
Much later, when I ran into Python at a block party that I’d snuck out to in my parents’ car, he had no choice but to look at me differently. In just the one year since he had left school, I had filled out with enough tits and ass to make every nigga I walked past take notice….
Music was bumping all up and down Shotgun Row. I never hung out that deep in Gangster Disciple territory, because shit was known to pop off on the regular down there. The minute I’d walked through Momma Peaches’s door, I caught a few people looking at me sideways, but I kept it moving with my homegirl Shariffa.
In the middle of the living room, I spotted Momma Peaches grinding all up on some young nigga like the fucking rent was due in the morning. Niggas was clowning him, but he was letting the older woman have her fun.
“Damn, girl. How you get all that ass in those jeans?”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Python’s best friend, KyJuan, checking me out and licking his lips. I rolled my eyes and laughed in his face.
“What the fuck so funny?” he asked with his chest all swelled up.
“You,” I say matter-of-factly. “Running the same tired-ass line on every chick you come across.”
“Girl, I—”
“Please.” I threw up my hand like a stop sign.
KyJuan twisted up his face and raked me with a nasty look. “Damn, girl. You rude as fuck. A nigga was just tryna holler at you. I—”
“Hey, man. Fall back.” Python’s deep baritone floated into the conversation. “I got this.”
“Man, if you can thaw this frosty bitch out, you’re a good one.” KyJuan tossed his hands up and then quickly turned his attention to the next girl with a fat ass. “Yo, shawty, what
your name is?”
I whip my head back around. One look into Python’s hard, menacing face and my stomach started fluttering like a muthafucka. A lot of bitches were afraid of Python. They thought he was a bit hard on the eyes, and his love for snakes freaked them out, but not me. Everything about him turned me on, and I had a sneaking suspicion that he knew it.
“Now what the fuck is supercop’s little girl doin’ hanging out in the hood after dark?” he asked, inching so close to me that I was sure he could hear my heart beating.
After anticipating this moment for what seemed like forever, I was horrified when I couldn’t actually bring myself to say anything now that I was standing in front of my secret crush.
He smiled and then took his time, looking me over. “You sure have filled out in all the right places since the last time I saw you.” He reached out and boldly gripped my thick ass. “Must be eatin’ a lot of red beans and rice, girl.”
There were a couple of things I should’ve done at that moment: slapped his hand away or cussed him the fuck out. Instead, I stood there and blushed like the naïve schoolgirl I was.
Cocky, Python squeezed my shit a little tighter and then pulled me along his hard body so that I could feel his cock press against the bottom of my pussy. “You feel me, lil ma?”
I swallowed and bobbed my head.
“Good, because I’m definitely feeling you.”
At that moment, nothing and no one else existed in that house. Python was every good girl’s fantasy: dangerous, mysterious, and powerful. For the rest of the night, I trailed behind him, sitting on his lap, laughing at his jokes, and, much later, following him to his room.
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