The Hood Life

by Meesha Mink

  “She’d still be nothing but a pimp and a ho’s daughter,” Tracy counters. “Some things are just in the blood. You should know that better than anybody.”

  I shake my head, certain that if I’d been involved earlier things would’ve been different for Corrine. “You should’ve told me about her sooner. She should’ve had a better chance. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Tracy looks at me as if we’ve never met. “Don’t tell me that Sweet Diamondtrim Tavon Johnson actually gives a fuck about somebody other than himself.”

  I toss back my double shot of brandy and enjoy the burn as it went down.

  “Save that pimp with the golden-heart routine for someone else. How the hell are you going to pretend that you never knew about Corrine? Your wife made it clear that you didn’t want any part of our child sixteen years ago.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Renee didn’t know about Corrine.”

  “Ha!” Tracy rolls her eyes. “Of course she knew. I told her my damn self.”

  My head starts to spin and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the brandy. “I don’t fuckin’ believe you.”

  “Believe what the fuck you want. Her ass has always been able to pull the wool over your eyes. You probably never missed the money she’s been paying me to stay lost all these years.”

  The blood in my veins turns cold. “What the fuck did you say about my money?”

  Finally the other corner of her lips curl upward. “Paid me a cool hundred G’s when I was three months pregnant to get rid of the baby.”

  “But—”

  “I kept the baby anyway. Then when Corrine was born and I came to your place to introduce you to your daughter, Renee started paying me monthly to stay away.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifteen thousand a month.”

  I quickly do the math. “That fuckin’ bitch.”

  “Yeah, well. Then she stopped payin’.”

  “So you dropped the kid off at my momma’s.”

  “It got her attention.”

  The things I did to Sabrina have nothing on what I want to do to my own wife right now. “What are you doing back?” I ask, though I suspect the answer.

  Tracy reaches inside her purse and withdraws a check. “I got another hundred Gs. I swear, poppin’ out Corrine has been like hittin’ the lottery.”

  I slowly walk over to her, my eyes locked onto the check.

  Tracy quickly tucks it back into her purse, but she never saw my backhand until it was too late. Her head snaps back and a dark burgundy imprint is stamped against the right side of her face while blood trickles from her bottom lip.

  “I tell you what,” I say, somehow managing to sound calm. “You can either keep that check and walk out of here or you can give it back and take Corrine.” I meet her eyes. Where she was once paid to keep Corrine from me, I’m now offering to pay to keep her.

  Tracy lifts her chin. “And my monthly payment?”

  I swear it’s all I can do not to beat this bitch to the ground. “Your monthly payment will continue. I’ll be writing the check.”

  Her smile returns. “Yep. Just like the muthafuckin’ lottery.”

  Once Tracy leaves my office, Anderson drives me home like he tryna qualify for the Indy 500. I tear through the house looking for Renee’s sorry ass.

  Nobody is home—including Corrine—who continues to ignore curfew on the regular.

  “These damn bitches are going to be the death of me, I swear.” I blow up Renee’s cell phone and then pace the floor waiting for her to call me back. After half an hour, I start checking all the clubs and studios. When that didn’t work, I called her friends, family, and a couple of lovers she has on the side that she doesn’t think I know about. That bitch has to be somewhere.

  It’s damn near midnight when Renee strolls her ass up in here like everything is everything and she didn’t have a care in the world. I jump her ass like a Saturday-night raider on Land Rover.

  “Where the fuck you been?”

  “Out, nigga. What?” She snaps back. “You tryna lock a bitch down or somethin’?”

  I give her a good backhand and loved the feeling of it so much that I gave her another one. When she manages to center her head again, her angry glare matches my own.

  “You got some muthafuckin’ explaining to do.”

  “The bitch talked, didn’t she?”

  “You damn right she did.” I start pacing. “How the fuck could you do something like this?”

  Renee lifts her chin defiantly. “What, you want to beat my ass now?”

  “Believe me. I’m thinking about it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “What the fuck ever. I did what I had to do to keep mine.”

  “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

  Renee pushes past me. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

  “Bitch, don’t you walk away from me. I will stomp your ass into the ground for this foul shit. Trust. I ain’t in the mood for your nonsense. Not tonight.”

  She turns around. “What? You think it’s easy being married to you? I let you put me through too many fuckin’ changes to let some two-bit stripper steal you away from me. You think I was just going to watch you go play house with some other bitch cuz she can give you kids and I can’t? It’s bad enough that I have to share you with that he-she freak Destin. At least I know his ass can’t turn up pregnant and he keeps his shit clean.”

  “So that’s why you asked for me to get snipped. I’d already fathered a kid.” I shake my head. “You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

  “I’m fuckin’ crazy?” she screams. “The minute you found out about Corrine you were all set to play Daddy. You think you’d been any different sixteen years ago? You would’ve left me. And you know it.” She drew in a deep breath. “I remember how you were with your Chocolate Angel. You rarely brought your ass home.

  “Do you know what it’s like wondering every day which one of these young tricks is gonna steal you away? Every day they turn eighteen while I get older. I’ve been turnin’ tricks, suckin’ dicks, and makin’ movies for half my damn life. All just to make you happy. I’m number one in this bitch and that’s how it’s gonna stay!”

  Renee stares at me with tears running down her face while I stand here feeling like an asshole. “I’m not going to let you lay this shit on me. You’ve always had a choice. You knew what and who I was from the jump. If you’re so unhappy—”

  “What—I can leave? Is that what you’re going to say?” She draws another deep breath as more tears fall from her eyes. “That’s just it, Tavon. Every day, I try to leave you. Every. Fuckin’. Day. And I just can’t.”

  “Then maybe I should leave,” I tell her. I grab my jacket from off the back of the chair and head toward the front door.

  “Tavon, where are you going?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Tavon!”

  I slam the door.

  “TAVON!”

  Since I hadn’t bothered calling Anderson, I select the Porsche from the garage and hit the open highway. I desperately need to put some distance between me and this sorry-ass situation. The hard part is I’ve always been up front with Renee.

  I don’t want to own Renee’s pain. I have my own to deal with and right now I have a pretty messed-up fifteen-year-old and apparently that shit is my fault, too.

  I make my way out to Buckhead. This time to the lake house that Destiny uses as her own crib. Whenever things get fucked up between me and Renee, Destiny always has a way of cooling me down, relieving my stress. If I remember correctly this was her night off, so maybe she’s home. I think about calling, but fuck it. Even if she’s not there, I can still chill out and clear my mind.

  I slip my key into the lock and enter. I’m surprised to hear the smooth sounds of Teddy Pendergrass playing throughout the place. Teddy P meant Destiny had company. Maybe they wouldn’t mind a third party.

  I close the door and ease out of my jacket as I make my way to the b
ar in the living room. I definitely need another drink. Just then I hear the soft sounds of a feminine moan drift from the bedroom. It’s a woman tonight.

  “Oh shit. Oh shit,” the breathless female says.

  I toss back my drink and begin to peel out of my shirt. Destiny and I have shared plenty of women over the years. Can’t see why tonight would be any different.

  I smile as my buzz kicks in.

  “Fuck me, motherfucker. Fuck me,” the now familiar voice barks above the bucking bed. It sounds like he has a wild one on his hands.

  I frown and head toward the bedroom with a smile on my face. When I open the door, my heart stops.

  I blink once, sure that my eyes are playing tricks on me and it’s not my fifteen-year-old daughter straddling my best friend and lover.

  “Oh shit!” Corrine jumps up and scrambles off the bed.

  “What the FUCK?!” I roar.

  “Wait, Tavon. It’s not what you think!” Destiny says.

  I charge forward as Destiny’s hands fly up in surrender. “Let me explain.”

  That’s all he got out of his muthafuckin’ mouth before I slam my fist against his jaw. I hear Corrine racing out of the room, sobbing, but I don’t give a fuck. All my attention is focused on killing this motherfucker right here. I throw punches so hard, it feels like I’m hitting cement blocks.

  “You have lost your muthafuckin’ mind!” I shout. “You-sick-fuck! I’m gonna kill you.”

  “Sweet, no!” Corrine jumps on my back and tries to stop my swinging, but she’s nothing more than a gnat.

  “Please, stop!” Corrine shouts.

  I hear Destiny’s bones cracking beneath my fist.

  “Stop! You’re gonna kill him.”

  Shit. That’s the motherfuckin’ point.

  “Please! Stop! Please!”

  I don’t know how, but Corrine manages to reach through my rage. I step away from the bed, Corrine still on my back and Destiny a crumpled, bloody heap. Somehow his ass is still breathing.

  “You stay the fuck away from me and my family,” I growl at him. When he doesn’t answer, I charge the bed again. “Do you fuckin’ hear me, motherfucker?”

  “Y-yes,” he croaks over a blood bubble, his hands still trying to show his surrender.

  “I swear if I ever see your ass again, you’re a dead motherfucker!”

  Corrine pulls me toward the bedroom door. “You hear me, motherfucker? You stay the fuck away!”

  20

  The Killer

  “Hey, nigga. I hear you need a job.”

  I glance over my shoulder and light up when I see a blast from the past. “M. Dawg!” I old my fist up for a coupla dabs and a shoulder bump. “Ah, man. What the fuck are you doin’ here?” I glance around the Circle K gas station to see if he hangin’ with anyone else I know.

  A broad smile frames M. Dawg’s face. He’s still a short motherfucker, but his waistline as definitely exploded over the years. “Just chillin’. Came up here for some papers. You know how I roll.”

  “That’s seven dollars and fifty-four cents,” the foreign dude behind the register says as if bored waiting for me to pay for my shit.

  “Here. Let me get that shit for you,” M. Dawg says, pulling out a wad of money from his hip pocket.

  “Nah. Nah. That’s not necessary,” I insist, pulling out a few crumpled-up dollar bills.

  M. Dawg just laughs. “Nigga, please. Let me do this. I ain’t seen your ass in a hot minute. I got this shit.”

  It’s not easy stuffin’ my pride back into my chest, but somehow I manage and grab the small plastic sack from the counter with a tight, “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

  “Shit, nigga. You don’t owe me nothin’. After all the shit we’ve been through?” He pays for his rollin’ papers and two forties.

  I bounce my head up and down but I can’t help but feel M. Dawg’s presence here isn’t a wild coincidence.

  “So how you and your girl doin’?” he asks, and we turn to head out of the gas station.

  “We doin’ good,” I lie. “You know how we do.”

  He nods as if he knows what I’m saying is bullshit. Zoey lost her job last week and money is beyond tight. Some money was missing out of the petty cash box and when word got around that she was shacked up with an ex-con, those white bitches wasted no time in letting Zoey’s ass go.

  “So are you lookin’ for a job?” he asks.

  “I’m only lookin’ for legit work. You know, shit that comes with a W-2,” I tell him. “I ain’t looking to get caught up again.”

  M. Dawg starts laughin’. “Oh. You a proud nigga now, huh? You can’t eat pride.”

  I keep smilin’ as I start to head up Holloway Parkway.

  M. Dawg stops by this fly-as-shit, candy-apple-red Hummer. “Wanna lift?”

  I pause long enough to catch my breath, but shake my head at his tempting offer.

  “C’mon, nigga. Get in the car. We got a lot of catchin’ up to do.”

  “Zoey is waitin’ for me,” I say.

  He doesn’t buy my shit at all. “Nigga, stop trippin’ and get in the car.”

  I hesitate one last time and then finally give in. The minute I open the door, my ass is trippin’. No shit, this had to be the tightest shit I’ve ever planted my ass in. “This is all you?”

  “You know it.” He slams the car door behind him and starts it up. The engine is smooth like honey, the interior seats are more comfortable than the sofa set in Zoey’s crib. Damn, everybody livin’ large these days—everyone but me.

  It doesn’t surprise me when M. Dawg pulls out into Holloway Parkway and rolls past Bentley Manor.

  “I meant that shit about a job, man. We go way back and I’m more than willing to help a brotha out.”

  “Thanks, man but—”

  “Hey. Hear me out. I’m talkin’ about a coupla Gs a week. Shit that’s gonna get you straight at yo crib and getcha baby momma off yo back.”

  I drop the smile. “Who says I’m havin’ trouble with—”

  “Nigga, save it,” he says, still smiling like Lucifer himself. “We boys. No need for all this needless bullshit. I’ve heard about yo situation. Ain’t no reason for Zoey to be on my phone cryin’ and shit.”

  “Zoey called you?”

  “Look. Don’t be mad at her,” he snaps; his gaze turns hard. “Z is a good woman. I’ve done my fair share of checkin’ in on her while you were locked down. Hell, I consider her family. Frankly, I’m a little insulted that you ain’t been man enough to holla at your boy.”

  What the fuck?! I twist in my seat as anger boils in my veins. I can’t believe the shit I’m hearing. “Nigga, don’t tell me you fuckin’ with what’s mine.”

  M. Dawg pulls his shit over to the side of the road, parks, and turns toward me. “I called myself doin’ yo ass a favor,” he says evenly. “Is this how you gonna thank me? Hell, if it wasn’t for me, her ass would’ve been on the street a few years ago. Maybe you prefer her walkin’ the street or slidin’ down one of Sweet’s poles over at Club Diamond. Is that it?”

  “Don’t test me, Dawg. Did you forget who the fuck you’re talkin’ to?”

  “Nah. Fuck that. I did yo ass a favor. I paid for her school and loaned her the down payment for that piece of shit she’s drivin’—all because I thought we were boys.”

  A killer calm comes over me. “Did you fuck with my girl?” I ask him.

  M. Dawg boldly meets my stare. “Better me than some nigga you don’t know, right?”

  “Fuck you, nigga!” I reach for one of the forties and bust that shit over his head. M. Dawg instantly slumped over to the side. I didn’t give a shit and continued to slice this motherfucker until he was good and dead.

  I’m a fuckin’ tornado when I make it back to Bentley Manor. Gettin’ rid of M. Dawg’s body and then hittin’ up an old chop shop outfit to take care of that big-ass Hummer was like ridin’ an old bike.

  Once you learn this shit, you never forget.

 
I storm into Zoey’s apartment and when I slam the door behind me, she jumps ten feet off the couch.

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  I glance out the venetian blinds, check the street. There’s just the regular crackheads and foot soldiers patrolling the area.

  “Is that blood on your shirt?” Zoey asks.

  I finally turn my attention to her, my blood still cold as ice. “What the fuck you been doing with M. Dawg and shit while I was gone?” I launch toward her.

  Her eyes widen as she springs off the sofa. She tries running toward the bedroom, but I grab a fistful of her hair and snatch her ass back. “Where the fuck you think you goin’?” I turn and body-slam her ass straight into the wall.

  “Demarcus, please!”

  “Save that shit, bitch.” I take her head and ram it again. Her eyes look dazed. “You had another nigga runnin’ up in my shit? My own boys! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “I’m so-rry,” she sobs, still tryna get away.

  “You sorry? I don’t give a fuck about you bein’ sorry. How you gonna violate me like that, huh? How you callin’ motherfuckers cryin’ and shit and telling them what the fuck goes on in this motherfucker? Am I your man or what?” My hands wrap around her neck and I begin to squeeze.

  “I-I…”

  “What, bitch? I can’t hear you.” Her face is turning purple. “Your ass musta thought I’ve gone soft. Is that it?”

  She struggles to shake her head, but she manages to catch a few sips of air.

  “I had to put a nigga to sleep because of your hookin’ ass. You selling my shit?”

  “N-no.”

  “Yeah, you were. Don’t fuckin’ lie to me. Nigga just had me up in his ride tellin’ me whatcha been doin’. I oughta kill your ass right now. That’s what you want me to do, ain’t it?” She slumps to the floor, but I kneel down over her. My hands still squeezin’.

  “N-no. P-please. I-I’m so-rry,” she gasps.

  It would be so easy just to end this shit. Snap her neck in half. Put us both out of our misery. She reaches up, her hands soft against my face.