“Uh-huh.”
I roll my eyes but then crack up at our ridiculous argument. I just played myself.
Old throwback cars line the curbs and driveways like Ruby Cove is just one huge car lot. Music blasts from all directions as every car and house crank up the bass. I try to take in the crowd, but there’s so many niggas flagging and littering the yards that I just give up.
“Now there he go. Lil man and his lady,” Fat Ace says, strutting slowly toward us from the yard in a Michael Jordan jersey and lily-white sneakers.
Just like last time, my heart damn near stops when I see Fat Ace’s thick, muscled legs eat up the space between us. I still can’t get over how massive and intimidating this man is. It’s clear that he has mad respect, because every nigga’s eye turns and head nods as he strolls by. I step closer to Profit and draw in a deep, steadying breath while the brothers exchange dabs.
“What’s up, fam? I see you finally made it.”
“Was there ever any doubt?” Profit cheeses and looks around the yard that’s chock-full of Vice Lords. “We mobbin’ deep today, huh?”
“All day, every day.” Fat Ace takes off his shades, and his mismatched eyes shift in my direction. “What’s up, lil lady? You can’t speak?”
My face burns with embarrassment as I squeeze out a nervous “Hi.”
Fat Ace laughs. “Don’t be nervous. Chill. Make yourself at home, girl.”
He plucks me from behind Profit and wraps a large arm around my shoulders. I feel like a puny no. 2 pencil getting ready to snap. “Drinks are in the house, and my nigga Bishop is burning it up on the barbeque. Trust me, he got mad skills.”
I just nod along while the big man half walks and half drags me across the yard and introduces me to Lucifer, the pretty chick I saw the night of the hospital shooting.
“Trust me,” Fat Ace brags. “Ain’t no nigga’s gangsta tighter than my girl right here. She saved my life that night at the hospital.”
Lucifer nods her head toward me, but a smile doesn’t crack her lips. She sort of reminds me of a taller Laila Ali: just as beautiful as she is tough. I’m introduced to a few more people in their crew as Profit’s “lil lady” and can’t help but blush every time. With everyone’s eyes following Fat Ace, it also means everyone is looking at me, too. Then I see Qiana’s ass glaring at me from across the way. I ain’t seen her ass since I sliced her up at school, and no lie the bitch looks fucked up. The gashes on the sides of her face are black with these weird jagged stitches. It makes me wonder if she’d bothered going to the hospital or if she stitched the shit up herself. When she leans over and whispers to a couple of girls next to her, I get nervous again.
A few minutes later, I’m being handed a plate of some bomb-ass barbeque ribs, chicken, potato salad, and baked beans. “I can’t eat all of this,” I whisper to Profit. “I’ll bust open.”
He just laughs. “Wait until you taste it. You’ll be back over here begging for more.”
We find a pair of patio chairs in the backyard. Brothers constantly try to lure Profit into different card and domino games, but he refuses to leave my side. An hour later, I’m full, relaxed, and am getting only an occasional side eye when I pass up toking on the various joints that are being passed around.
Droopy, named so because his eyes are always so low that he looks like he’s sleeping, tries to insist. “C’mon, girl. You better get yourself some of this here. This is some of that Super Skunk. Shit’s smooth. It’ll have your ass feeling like you’re a muthafuckin’ astronaut.”
“No thanks.” I smile and huddle closer to Profit.
“What, man. Your girl a square or some shit?”
“Nah, Droopy. Just go on with that.” Profit brushes a kiss across my forehead and then passes me some mysterious punch in a red plastic cup. “You having a good time, baby?”
“Yeah. It’s cool. Um, I gotta go to the bathroom.”
“Bottom floor, down the hall. You need me to go with you?”
I want to say yes, but I don’t want it to look like I need to be treated like a child. “Nah. I got it. I’ll be right back.” The minute I walk away from him, I feel like a dead woman walking. Every bitch in my line of vision is following my every step. For a couple of seconds, I think about holding my piss and just asking to leave, but then I think about what LeShelle would do in this situation, and I know her ass would just thrust up her chin and dare any one of these bitches to say shit to her. I stiffen my spine, copy my sister’s swagger, and enter the house.
Nobody says shit to me. In the bathroom, after I empty my bladder and wash my hands, I take a few seconds to assess myself in the mirror. I look good with my MAC makeup still looking boss, my titties high, and my round ass filling out my jeans nicely. Real talk, I look better than the majority of the girls here. Smiling, I walk out the door and run straight into Qiana.
For a moment we’re like two bitches in the Wild Wild West, staring each other down and waiting to draw our blades. I know this bitch is just itching to make a move by the slight twitch under her right eye.
“Is there a problem back here?” Lucifer barks.
When we don’t answer, she turns down the hall and strolls toward us. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Everything is cool.” Qiana steps back but her eyes tell me that the shit isn’t over—not by a long shot.
“Yeah?” Lucifer glances at me.
“Yeah,” I confirm. “We were just catching up.” I step around both Qiana and Lucifer and take my time switching my ass back out to my man. However, in the yard, everyone has formed a ring around Profit and some thick redbone nigga who is taking his shirt off. “What’s going on?”
“Your boy is finally about to become a man, nahwhatImean?” Droopy pounds his chest and puffs out a cloud of smoke. “It’s about fuckin’ time if you ask me.”
My heart drops. Is Profit about to get jumped in to the Vice Lords? I push my way through the crowd, determined to stop this, but I don’t get more than a couple steps before Fat Ace effortlessly pulls me to his side. “This don’t concern you, lil lady.”
“Don’t concern me? Everything about him concerns me.” I try to push out of his arm, but of course it’s useless.
“I hear what you’re saying and it’s cool that you’re feeling my brother like this, but ain’t nobody here twisting his arm. He knows he can’t ride my coattails forever. A nigga on these streets need protection and a street family. And that some real shit. Profit could’ve got some real time over what happened at the hospital that night, and in the joint, blood carries you only so far. Niggas got to have they own connect—they own reputation. You feel me?”
I push and shove, but it’s the sound of bone hitting bone that draws my attention back to the circle. Profit holds his own for a few swings, but it’s soon clear that he’s outmuscled by his opponent. Now, instead of trying to shove away from Fat Ace, I’m actually wincing and clinging to him.
The crowd whoops and hollers, and it looks like at any moment Profit is going to go down…but he doesn’t. He takes punch after punch, but his legs refuse to fold. Tears stream down my face. How long does this have to go on? As more punches fly, there’s a shift in the energy. There’s clear, growing respect for the punishment Profit can endure.
At long last, Fat Ace finally ends the fight. I race over to my baby and wrap him in my arms. “You’re so stupid. I can’t believe you did that. You’re so stupid.” The whole time I’m saying this, I’m raining kisses all over his face, grateful that his ass is still breathing after that vicious beating.
Profit chuckles while his eyes swell shut. His lips, too, are busted to hell and back. “All I want to know is, do you still love me?”
I laugh as I smother his face with more kisses. “Of course I love you. You stupid, stupid boy.”
25
Melanie
“Fuck Python.” I disconnect the call on my cell phone and then throw the damn thing against my bedroom wall. I can never get that nigga on t
he phone when I need him. His visits have gone back to being too few and far between, which means that he’s added another bitch to the dick Rolodex. Why the fuck do I keep doing this to myself?
Just remembering all that bullshit about him loving me and making me his wife has me feeling ashamed and stupid—again. I must have Boo-Boo the Fool stamped on my forehead. There’s no other explanation. Terrell Carver is never going to change.
Things at the department have eased up a bit. No red flags have been raised over O’Malley’s murder. But every once in a while, I catch my dad making a point to see me, but he never really has anything to say. It’s odd and making me paranoid.
O’Malley received a hero’s funeral, and I was assigned to desk duty until Internal Affairs was satisfied with my four visits to the department’s shrink. Now that that stint is over, I’m back on patrol but currently without a partner.
“Mommy, am I still going to Grandma’s house?”
Struggling to rein in my temper, I cut a hard look over to the door to see Python’s mini-me staring wide-eyed back at me. It hurts to admit it, but I hate the fact that Christopher looks so much like his father. It’s nothing but a constant reminder of the man who continues to fuck me over at every possible chance he gets. “Yeah. Hurry up and go get dressed,” I snap.
Christopher lingers at the door. Undoubtedly he senses I’m angry about something, but he’s too afraid to ask me about it because he doesn’t want to get his head taken off. However, when he doesn’t move, I explode anyway.
“I SAID GO GET DRESSED!”
Christopher races from the door.
Instantly I’m ashamed. “Fuck,” I mumble under my breath. I don’t chase after him to apologize, mainly because my temper needs a cooling-off period. Yet, it’s hard to cool off when I still feel like a fool for falling for the same lies time after time.
Suddenly my stomach lurches. I slap a hand across my mouth and race to the adjoining bathroom. The moment I remove it, my breakfast splashes across, around, and then finally into the toilet. My face is hot while my stomach muscles clench as tight as a Charlie horse while it empties every little morsel it can find. Even after that, I dry heave until I’m begging God to end the torture.
When it is finally over, I pull myself up off the floor, stagger over to the sink, and splash cold water onto my face. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. I shut off the water and then pat my face dry before glancing at my reflection in the mirror.
“You dumb bitch.” The tears come next, pouring from my eyes as if some invisible dam broke. I try to stop but then just give up and allow myself this one weak moment. Twenty minutes later, I end my pity party and clean up before rushing to finish getting dressed.
A few minutes after that, I go to check on Christopher, and I can’t help but smile at seeing him all dressed up in his church clothes. Despite being just seven years old, Christopher is a meticulous dresser. His small black shoes shine, his suit is pressed, and his clip-on tie is straight.
“Now, aren’t you handsome?” I ask, swiping away a tear.
Christopher smiles and turns away from the mirror, but the moment his small eyes sweep up to my face, he blinks. “Have you been crying, Mommy?”
I’m on the verge of lying when I feel one last tear slide down from my wet lashes. “Just a little bit.”
My sensitive son rushes over and takes my hand. “What’s wrong?”
Guilt washes over me. Just a while ago I was hating how much my son looks like his father, and now I realize that I don’t deserve to have such a sweet and loving kid. “Nothing’s wrong, baby. Mommy is all right.” I lean down and press a kiss against one of his chubby cheeks.
Christopher looks as if he doesn’t believe me.
“Are you about ready to go?” I ask, ready to change the subject.
He nods and then takes my hand.
I smile and rush us both out to the car. One glance at the car’s clock and I know that my mother is likely throwing a fit, because she’s now going to be late for church—something she hates. My days of attending church ended the Sunday after I moved out of my parents’ house for good. I never forgave the whole congregation for turning up their noses at me and my family when I got pregnant. Many of them had the teenage pregnancies, the drug addicts, and a host of other bullshit up in their own families, yet they sat up on their high horses and were just as giddy as flies in shit casting judgment on me. That is also part of the reason I never admitted to who Christopher’s father was—it would have made things worse, especially with my father.
If only I knew then what I know now.
By the time I roll up into my parents’ driveway, they are waiting outside and pacing next to the car. To spare myself a good tongue-lashing, I stay in the car. “Give me a kiss,” I tell my son.
Christopher unbuckles his seat belt and leans over the armrest and kisses me.
“Be good,” I warn, watching him turn and climb out of the SUV. I wave to him and then to my parents. True to form, my mother just rolls her eyes and then ushers Christopher into the car. A few minutes later, I pull up into the Pink Monkey. There are just a couple of cars in the parking lot. I didn’t intend to come here, but what can I say? A part of me is still a glutton for punishment.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
I turn toward a grinning McGriff. “Now, why aren’t I surprised to see you here?” I ask, returning his smile.
“Because some things never change,” he says. “I’m guessing you’re looking for the big man?”
“Is he around?”
McGriff’s lazy gaze drifts over my curvy figure. “Remind me why we never got together?”
I roll my eyes.
“Nah. Check it,” he says, moving into my personal space. “Other than that pig’s badge you be toting, you still got it going on.”
“Uh-huh. Better not let your boy hear you talking to me like that.”
“Please.” McGriff laughs while his eyes roam freely over my tight curves. “That nigga got too many bitches as it is now. He needs to start spreading the love. NahwhatImean?”
I clench my jaw and ball my hands at my side. “Where is he?”
McGriff’s eyes light up. He knows he’s struck a nerve with me. “In his office. I’m sure that he’ll be happy to see you.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He steps aside and allows me to walk toward the back of the club. Sad to say, I know my way around.
Storming past McGriff, I take a deep breath. And as I approach Python’s office, I’m still not sure whether I’m about to cuss Python out or just drop the news on him and keep it moving. However, the decision is taken out of my hands when I open the door and see Python ramming his dick into a woman on her knees and clutching at a belt that’s wrapped tight around her neck.
“TAKE THIS DICK. TAKE THIS DICK, BITCH!”
The blond-haired black ho’s eyes are rolling to the back of her head, and she’s getting ready to pass out.
Python is so wrapped up in what he’s doing, he either doesn’t see me come in or he just doesn’t give a rat’s ass.
“AH, SHIT. I’m gonna come in this ass,” he brags. “THIS MY ASS, BITCH. YOU HEAR ME? THIS MY ASS FROM NOW ON!”
The woman chokes and gurgles while one of Python’s beloved corn snakes slides up between her full breasts.
Python roars and pulls out; his thick, gooey cum shoots out against the woman’s round ass, back, and even in her hair. When he releases his tight hold on the belt, his plaything collapses, wheezing and gasping for air.
“What the fuck, McGriff? Are you taking notes?” Python pants and then turns toward the door. “Melanie…”
“Yeah. I’m taking a lot of notes, muthafucka!” I reach over and grab some heavy metal statue of some kind and hurl it straight at his head. The muthafucka ducks and the damn thing takes a chuck out of his desk. After that, I just turn and storm out.
“WAIT! MELANIE!”
I take off because at any minute I’m going to start crying again, and I can’t have that shit. Not here. Not now.
“MELANIE!”
McGriff folds his arms as he watches me race by. “Make sure to come back and visit us again, Officer.”
I hop into my vehicle and tear out of the parking lot without a backward glance. Two blocks later, the dam breaks again. Tears flood my eyes and make it impossible for me to see straight. “Fuck that muthafucka.” I slap my hand against the steering wheel. “FUCK HIM! FUCK HIM! FUCK HIM!”
Up ahead, I see a Walgreens and I suddenly know what I have to do. I whip into the convenience store and buy another prepaid cell phone. Back in the car, I dial and then punch in my code. After that, I wait.
Two minutes later, the phone rings.
“Hey, it’s me. I need to see you.” I sniff.
“Is there a problem?” the rough, gravelly voice asks on the other line.
“I need to see you.”
There’s a long pause and I find myself compelled to add, “Please?”
“All right. You know the spot, right?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Can I come over now?”
“Sure. I’ll let the boys know my girl is rolling through.”
“Thanks.” I disconnect the call and start the car again. This time I drive in the opposite direction, toward Elvis Presley Boulevard. Ten minutes later, I pull into J. D. Lewis & Son Funeral Home. The parking lot is crowded with mourners for a late-morning service.
I remove my gun and place it in the glove compartment before climbing out of the vehicle. I keep my head down as I shoulder my way into the lobby and then work my way toward the back of the building.
“This must really be important.”
I look up to see a familiar person dressed immaculately in a man’s black suit, black tie, and polished shoes. The only odd thing about it is this person is clearly a woman.
“You clean up well,” I say just for shits and giggles.
She cocks one corner of her lips while her onyx gaze remains flat. “Follow me.” She turns and pushes through an exit door just as “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” cues up in the parlor.
Hustlin' Divas Page 19
