“And let the church say ‘amen and amen,’” Rufus shouts, waving his hands in the air.
Chantal and Python crack up.
“Boy, you can have these niggas out here thinking I won’t bend your big ass over my knee if you wanna, but me and you know the real deal. Don’t we?”
Python laughs and just heads on into the house.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I follow behind him. “Now what’s up? You hungry? I have some gumbo warming up on the stove from last night.”
“You always trying to feed somebody,” he says, plopping down at the table.
“That didn’t sound like a no to me.” Grabbing a bowl out of the cabinet, I quickly fill it up. “Besides, I like feeding folks.”
“That explains why niggas are always running in and out your house.” His eyes light up when I set the steaming bowl and a cold beer down in front of him. “Thanks, Momma.”
“Uh-huh. You need to send LeShelle over here so I can teach her how to boil some water. Maybe that way you can keep your ass out of so many women’s houses.”
A pained look flashes in his eyes for a brief moment. “There you go. All up in my personal business.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but wasn’t that you out on my porch telling me to break some nigga off some pussy?” I pop him on the back of the head.
That has him cracking up again. “A’ight. You got me on that shit.” He shovels down a few mouthfuls of gumbo.
“Does she cook at all?”
“She cooks where it counts,” he says, twitching his eyebrows.
“Clearly that ain’t enough to keep your ass at home.”
“Here we go.” He sighs. “Check it. I love LeShelle. No chick come harder or is willing to go to the max for her man like my boo. In return, I take care of her and make sure she don’t want for nothing. You feel me? But I’m a man, MommaP. We prey, hunt, and conquer pussy. That’s just what the fuck we do. And Melanie just gotta understand that shit.”
“Melanie?”
Python tosses down his spoon, props his elbows up on the table, and starts shaking his head. “Melanie rolled by the club this afternoon. She sort of caught me with, um, one the dancers.”
I’m rolling the name around in my head. “You mean that cop’s daughter you had a thing for back in the day? You are still messing with that girl?”
“She’s raising one of my seeds,” he says, shrugging.
“She and how many others?”
“Nah, nah. It’s just…”
“Damn. You sprung on a cop’s girl? Wait. Ain’t she a cop, too?”
“If you start laughing, I’m gonna be out this bitch.” He looks me dead in the eye. “For real.”
Good thing he said that shit just before I really got going, because I find this shit absolutely hilarious. “Boy, I ain’t gonna laugh at you.”
Python takes a deep breath and holds my gaze for a while. Then he starts glancing around the house like we ain’t the only two up in this son of a bitch. By the way he’s acting, I’m expecting him to tell me he shot the president of the United States or something.
I reach out across the table and cover his hand with mine. “Terrell Jerome Carver, spit it out.” Before you give me a heart attack or something.
“A’ight.” He finally eases back in his chair. “Yeah. I still got a thing for her. You know, she was sort of my first love and shit. But circumstances and politics being what they are…” He shrugs his large shoulders and shakes his head. “Plus, her old man put so much heat on me back in the day. Word must’ve gotten to him about me and his daughter and that his grandson is my seed, because suddenly he was riding me and my niggas so hard we had to wave a white fuckin’ flag. It was either that or let him drag our black asses down to the station each time we step outside. Don’t you remember that shit?”
I nodded, remembering supercop Melvin Johnson and his men policing Shotgun Row so much it started looking like a fuckin’ precinct down in this muthafucka.
“Was that what all that shit was about?”
“Fuck yeah. We couldn’t move shit. Supplies dried up, customers took they asses to blocks the Vice Lords and the Crips were holding down. Shit. You know crackheads ain’t got no loyalty. So I had to get that nigga off my neck some kind of way.”
“So you had to stop seeing her?”
“Yeah. At least for a little while. Now I creep over there when I can—to see Christopher and shit. But for the most part I try to stay off that muthafucka’s radar. You feel me?”
“Did you ever tell her?”
“Fuck naw. Melanie thinks his ass don’t know shit. She would’ve just confronted his ass, and I would’ve been right back where I started—in the precinct Monday through Sunday, forced to stand in every fuckin’ lineup for every fuckin’ crime in the city. You know I got to be about this paper, staying on top of this game.”
“And where does Yolanda fit in all this?”
“Yolanda?”
“Look. Normally I don’t give a damn about which one of these fast girls you done run up on, but Yolanda—Yo-Yo? You know the kind of shit that girl has been through. And I ain’t all that sure she’s right in the head.”
“Who said anything about my ass being with that girl?”
Leaning back in my chair, I give him the who-in-the-hell-you-think-you’re-fooling look. “I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Shit don’t stay quiet in these streets.”
“A’ight. Yeah, me and Yo-Yo hook up now and then. We both grown. But it ain’t no thang. She know the deal, and she gonna play her position.”
I don’t know about that, but I’m the last one to be preaching. “So…Melanie walked in on you and Yolanda? That’s what’s behind the long face?”
“Nah…Yes. Fuck. I don’t know. These damn bitches…I mean women.” He glances at me and clears his throat. “Anyway, they just stressing me. It’s gonna work out, though. I’m just gonna give Melanie a minute to calm down, and then I’ll roll by and settle the shit.”
“All right. But let me tell you—eventually women get tired of being sick and tired. You have my word on that. And when she does the little bit of hell you putting out, ain’t shit on what a woman can do to you. Personally, the one I’d be watching if I was you is LeShelle. That girl ain’t the fuckin’ type to cross.” I hold my nephew’s gaze, hoping my message will sink in, but like all men, he’s hardheaded and he’s going to have to learn the hard way.
“The Chronic” starts blasting and Python scoops his cell phone out of his pocket. “Holla at me.”
Since I’m not all that interested in his business, I get up from the table and fix my own bowl of gumbo and something to drink. When I return to the table, Python’s face appears to be even more troubled and I have a sneaking suspicion it don’t have shit to do with women. When he finally meets my gaze again, he’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him.
“Problem?”
“Datwon,” he spats.
“Your cousin?”
“Yeah. The muthafucka done turned fed.”
29
Melanie
A few hours later, I return to my parents’ place to pick up Christopher. Fat Ace had wanted me to go back to his crib for a private celebration, but I had to take a rain check. I’m trying to convince myself that I feel good about my decision in telling Fat Ace about the baby, but the truth of the matter is, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that the baby is his. And unlike Python, Fat Ace doesn’t have a whole bunch of babies sprinkled all over Memphis.
I met Fat Ace when I was slapping handcuffs on him at a BP gas station. I didn’t quite appreciate having to chase his ass for seven blocks, but he seemed impressed that I could even catch him. I wasn’t attracted to him or anything, but after he posted bail the next day, he didn’t waste any time calling and hounding me for a date. At first I didn’t pay any attention to his advances, but Fat Ace wasn’t a man used to taking no for an answer. Three weeks later, I caved and then fucked him on the first night. He satisf
ied an itch during a time when Python was slithering from one bitch to another.
I shut off the engine to my SUV and took a moment to draw a deep breath. In my mind, I can still see Python fucking that girl, and I just barely stop a rush of tears from pouring down my face. “I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry.”
Once I collect myself, I climb out of the car and head toward my parents’ two-story brick home. Like every house on the street, the yard is emerald green and neatly manicured, as if everyone is in some silent competition to make the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.
I enter the house without knocking and holler, “Mom?”
“In the kitchen,” she yells back.
My mother, Victoria, prides herself on being the perfect homemaker. Her home is her pristine castle, and cooking and gossiping about everybody in the church is her life. Unfortunately, today the smell of fried chicken and collard greens has my stomach churning.
“What’s the matter with you?” my mother asks, looking up from stirring her homemade mac and cheese.
“Nothing,” I lie, but I’m unable to stop my nose from trying to twist off my face.
She just gives me a look and opens the oven to slide in her crackling and corn bread. “Your father wanted me to tell you he wants to see you in his office upstairs when you got here.”
I groan. The last thing I’m in the mood for is my father’s long-winded stories about what’s going on at the department. Unlike him, I like to leave the job at the job. “I really don’t have time. I just want to pick up Christopher and get home.”
“Aren’t you staying for supper?” she asks, looking all butt-hurt. We go through this song and dance every Sunday. She just wants me to stay so when her gossiping sisters come over, she can brag about how much I’ve straightened up my life despite the child-out-of-wedlock episode I put her and Daddy through. Wait until she learns that I’m about to have my second one.
“Momma, I really don’t have time.”
“Make time,” she tells me, washing her hands at the sink. “You need to start sitting down at the table with Christopher and not just always dropping him off somewhere. Besides, I told him that he can spend the night here.”
“Well, I wish you would have told me that before I came. You could have saved me some time.” I lean against the wall and fight down another wave of nausea. “Where’s Chris?”
“He’s in the backyard playing with his cousin Dewayne. And he’ll still be out there while you go see what your daddy wants.” She turns me around and propels me out of the kitchen. “Now go on.”
There’s no point in arguing, so I head on up to see what my father wants.
“And tell the captain that dinner will be ready in twenty minutes,” my mother yells out.
“Yes, ma’am.” The captain. I roll my eyes again. Beats the hell out of me why she always insists on calling Daddy by his job title. Growing up, it went from sergeant to lieutenant to now captain. It’s weird but it’s their little thing, so I let them have it.
I climb up the stairs in the foyer, grateful that my stomach is starting to settle as I get farther away from the wafting aromas. I walk past my parents’ bedroom and head to my father’s home office, which used to be my bedroom. Hoping that I can just cut this shit short, I knock one time and enter the room.
“Hey, Daddy. You wanted to see me?”
POP! POP! POP!
My eyes instantly fly to the thirty-two-inch television in the corner of the room and the black-and-white image of me running down the back of Goodson’s Autoshop. Python has his hands up, and O’Malley has his gun aimed at the back of his head.
My father hits the PAUSE button on the remote and turns toward me “Do you need for me to finish playing this?” he asks.
“No.” I enter the room and quickly close the door behind me. Now, on top of my stomach sloshing around, a huge lump is clogging my throat. Never has his aging face looked more haggard and troubled than it does at this moment.
“Why, baby girl? Just tell me why?” His eyes plea with me.
“Who else has seen that tape?”
His eyes spring wide. “Nobody. What, you think I’m just going to hand something like this over? You think I want everyone down at that department—a department that I’ve devoted most of my life to—to know that my damn daughter is a fuckin’ cop killer?”
“Who gave you the tape?”
“What the fuck does that matter?” he thunders, jumping to his feet. “I want to know what hell you were thinking!” He turns to the screen and points to Python. “And is that who I think it is?”
I suck in a deep breath and cross my arms. “That’s Christopher’s father.”
My dad’s hand falls away from the screen as he continues to stare at me. “What?”
“O’Malley wasn’t going to arrest him. He was going to kill him.”
“So you killed your partner?” he asks.
“I did what I had to do,” I say honestly. “And I would do it again.”
Still staring at me as if I’d just sprouted a second head, he plops down into his chair. “Oh, baby girl.”
“I haven’t been your baby girl in a very long time.”
His big bushy brows dip together. “Excuse me?”
“And please spare me any sermon that you’ve been practicing for however long you’ve had that tape,” I say, wanting to be spared the dramatics. “When it comes to doing our jobs, we’ve both done some shit that kind of colors the line of justice. Don’t you think?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and ole Smokestack. Word is, your affiliation with the Vice Lords run pretty deep, Dad. Some would even say that they helped you build a career off the backs of the Gangster Disciples.”
“Who told you that?” he asks, turning purple.
“Why? You want to waste your breath denying it?” While I watch him sputter, I push aside my guilt. I love my father, but he’s no angel. “The Vice Lords have been greasing your palms and helping you with those career-making busts against the Gangster Disciples. You were always at the right place at the right time. You don’t have to be a cop to know that not all gangsters are on the streets.”
Shock chases the blood out of my father’s face as he gives denial another shot. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to but—”
“Let’s just say that Fat Ace and I are really good friends.”
My father clamps his mouth shut. “He’s been talking?”
“Tell you what, Daddy. Get rid of that tape and let’s just forget we ever had this conversation. Agreed?”
He just stares at me, but I wait him out. I know his heart is breaking just as I know that our relationship will never be the same. At last, he hangs his head and glances away. “Agreed.”
“Good. Momma says dinner is almost ready.” I turn and walk out of the room, wiping away the tears that finally roll down my face.
Loyalty
30
LeShelle
March…
Sitting under the hair dryer at FabDivas hair salon, I’m reminded why I can’t stand gossiping bitches. Lately, every time I walk into a room, a nail shop, or even a party, bitches stop talking and start whispering and pointing. It isn’t that I don’t know what they’re jaw-jacking about. Clue one is Python’s increasing absence from our bed, and clue two is that every time I turn around, there’s Yolanda skinning and grinning in my face. I’m not stupid; I know the signs. Python has clearly been throwing dick her way for a couple of months, and now the retarded bitch is smelling herself.
As Python’s wifey, I see the sudden shift in not just this crazy bitch but also in a couple of other Queen Gs’ attitudes. There have been blatant signs of disrespect, and I’m not having that shit. It’s now time to check these broads.
“If you got something to say, then just say it, bitch!” I push up the hair dryer and glare at Yo-Yo over at the shampoo bowl.
Amusement dances in the bitch’s eyes,
but she keeps her mouth shut.
“Nah. Nah. Speak up,” I say, not wanting to let shit go. “You obviously got something to say. I done watch you spit my name outcha mouth a couple times while I’m sitting right here in front of you. So speak the fuck up.”
Another girl at the shampoo bowl chuckles and rolls her eyes like she done forgot who the fuck I am.
I know that heifer well. Octavia. She works down at the Pink Monkey, dancing under the silly name Gucci—like any nigga wanted a no-tittie stripper with pussy you could smell a mile away. How come bitches can’t learn to douche their shit?
I turn my anger toward Octavia. “All right, Ms. Comedian. What the fuck is so funny?”
All eyes zoom back and forth between us. One of the stylists even turns down the radio so everyone can hear better. Now that we have an audience, Octavia’s smirk fades. “I didn’t say anything.”
I twist my face as I stand up. “Didn’t say anything?” My neck rolls like a cobra getting ready to strike. “Bitch, ain’t shit wrong with my ears and my fucking eyes. Neither one of you bitches has stopped talking since you switched up in here.” I shift my attention to Yolanda. “Especially your skank ass.”
She glances around, probably to see if anybody has her back, but everybody suddenly got real interested in the old-as-hell magazines sitting in they laps.
“I’m talking to you, ho.” My hand drums at my side, where everybody knows I keep my gat.
“Shelle, honey.” Ms. Anna, the shop’s owner, speaks up. “Calm down. I’m sure that child didn’t mean any disrespect.”
I stare Yolanda down. I know the smug bitch has something she’s just dying to get off her chest, but she is just too scared to spit it out.
Ms. Anna tries again. “Chile, I really can’t afford to have any trouble in here.”
“It’s all right, Ms. Anna. These bitches are just getting ready to apologize for ruining my morning.” My eyes narrow on them. “Ain’t that right?”
Octavia’s jaw tightens as her gaze shoots daggers at me.
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