The Hood Life

by Meesha Mink

  Still coughing my damn self, I lean down and stop the spinning flashlight. Because of the growing fire, I’m able to meet Demarcus Jones’s stare.

  He’s looking at me as if confused or rather like he’s staring at a ghost. The smallest of smiles curls his lips as his gun tumbles out of his hand and he tries to speak.

  “I—I’m. Glad. It. Was. You.”

  I frown. What the fuck is this mutherfucker talkin’ about? Though my shoulder feels like it’s on fire, I lift the gun in my hand. “Where’s my daughter, motherfucker?”

  He doesn’t answer but his eyes shift to the left.

  I follow his gaze, swinging the flashlight’s beam toward two bodies sprawled across the floor, lifeless.

  At that moment, it feels like someone opened my chest and ripped out my heart.

  “K-Kadrian,” Demarcus choked.

  My attention jerks back toward him. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  “He. Was. Walking. Alone.” He licked his lips. “I. Had. To. Shoot…”

  This nigga killed my brother, too?!

  I don’t know what kind of warped Twilight Zone shit this is, but I lift my 9 and aim to permanently put him to sleep.

  “D-do it,” he whispers. “P-please.”

  “Ain’t no need to beg, punk motherfucker!” I squeeze the trigger and watch my bullet slam into his forehead.

  “Burn in hell.”

  Ignoring the pain in my arm, somehow I manage to get over toward the bodies and scoop my daughter into my arms. I stumble more than I walk back out to the car where a panicked Anderson is screaming into his cell phone for help. When Renee sees me, she launches out of the back of the Bentley with her eyes wide.

  She races toward me in her red gown and falls to her knees next to me and Corrine. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” she cries. Her hands shake as she reaches out to touch Corrine’s still figure, but there’s a river flowing from her eyes when she looks up at me.

  “Oh baby, I’m so sorry.”

  I completely break down. Corrine’s death has destroyed me to my core. She just wanted to be wanted…to be loved. And I’d failed to let her know how much I wanted her. Tears pour down my face as I allow my wife to pull me into her embrace. I clutch her tight, stealing her warmth until I can feel a calm settle over me.

  “Baby, we’re going to get through this,” she promises.

  I close my eyes. I’ll never recover from this.

  “You’ll see,” she tells me.

  I nod as I lean forward and press my lips against hers. She tastes so sweet and feels so good.

  I’m gonna miss her.

  “I love you,” I whisper and then press my 9 against her stomach and quickly pull the trigger. She jerks in my arms and I pull back to break our kiss. She blinks up at me with her tears still sliding down her face. I move in close to her ear and whisper, “You were always gonna be my number one girl.”

  30

  The Dealer

  I open my eyes and everything around me is dark. Almost like I am blind.

  I see visions of my son laughing up at me.

  Visions of my mother touching the back of my head in the mornings before she walked me out the door to school.

  Visions of Dad taking me fishing on Saturday mornings.

  Visions of Quilla smiling up at me just before she tells me she loves me.

  People who will truly miss me when I’m gone.

  After a few seconds of adjustment I can make out that I’m still sitting in the same spot in the living room. My body aches all over and I wish like hell having my arms tied behind my back didn’t pull on my gunshot wound. I can smell my own blood and I know it reopened.

  “Fuck that, Spyce, its time we kill that mark-ass nigga just like we planned from the jump.”

  I frown at the sound of voices coming down the short hall from the bedroom.

  “You finished countin’ and baggin’ up our shit?”

  “There’s fifty grand in money and a hundred grand in weight just like Usher said.”

  I wince as the twins laugh like two cackling hens.

  “We ’bout to run this shit for real.”

  “Hol-la!”

  The twins are behind everything? Did they have this shit in the works when they caught my eye in the club? Did Usher recruit them or they did recruit him?

  I lift my head to look over at his dead body. My friend is dead but it doesn’t matter because the moment he pointed a gun at me he was dead to me anyway. He created this bullshit and got himself killed. He dug a hole for me and fell into a six-foot-deep one himself. Karma is and always will be a bitch.

  “I am gonna miss the way that nigga eat pussy.”

  “Which one?”

  “Fuck it…both!”

  They laugh again and my fists clench because I can just imagine how they would feel with my hands around their neck. Pussy was my downfall. I don’t have time to marinate on how pussy got me in the game. I got to think and free myself from this motherfucker. I’m not dyin’ in no shitty-ass Bentley Manor. My life ain’t start that way and it damn sure ain’t gone end that way. I fight the pain and try to free my hands of the ties.

  “What we gone do with these bodies?” one twin asks.

  “Fuck it, we’ll leave ’em here. Word already hot on the street that somebody tried to kill him at that bitch’s funeral. They ain’t even tryna check for two bitches doing it.”

  “Damn straight.”

  I feel anxious. I don’t want to die.

  I feel frustrated. I want to kill.

  I knuckle up and work that scarf down my wrists. It feels like I’m going to snap my wrist. I bite my lip. Pain shoots through my ribs, my back, my shoulder. I close my eyes as I concentrate.

  CLICK.

  Next I feel the cold metal of the gun pressed to my forehead as my hands are untied.

  “Get the fuck up,” one of the twins orders me in a hard voice.

  When I don’t move fast enough for these bitches the gun presses deeper into my flesh. At least with my hands free again and Usher dead I can try to make a power move of my own against these psycho bitches. For whatever reason they hadn’t smoked me like they did Usher. I have to take that to my advantage.

  I’m not dying tonight.

  In the bathroom, I carefully hid a piece inside the toilet’s tank. Nice and dry inside a Ziploc bag is a 9mm and a silencer. Maleek believed when you look for a hiding spot to not overlook the obvious. When he first gave me that gun I laughed it off and it’s been floating in the tank ever since. I have to get to it.

  It’s just waitin’ on me. Waitin’ for the right time.

  It’s a dog-eat-dog world and Usher always tried to teach me to kill or be killed.

  Humph. Who knew that ugly motherfucker was so right?

  They shove me down the hall to the bedroom. The gun is now pressed to the back of my head.

  I pause when we near the bathroom door. I tense up to duck from the gun and elbow one of these bitches. Just long enough to get inside the bathroom to get at that gun.

  “Don’t try nothin’,” is whispered into my ear in a hard voice.

  As we near it I hear moaning. I frown.

  What are these bitches up to now?

  “Kas…Kas…help me. Help me, Kas.”

  Quilla?

  I step into the bedroom and the sight of Quilla naked, beaten, and bruised almost beyond recognition, makes my hands literally itch to choke these bitches. She is tied to the bed, blood staining the sheets from her wounds.

  One of the twins pushes past me to walk into the room. “We all had a good time, but not a good as your queen,” Suga says sarcastically as she waves her hand at Quilla’s body. “The pussy taste real good.”

  Spyce laughs as Suga bends down to swipe her tongue across Quilla’s clit. I ain’t no killa but don’t try me.

  Enough is enough.

  I duck my head, turn, and grab Spyce’s hand while I drag that no good bitch into the hall with me. She tries to struggle
against me but I punch her dead in the face and snatch the gun from her grasp. She falls to the floor like there isn’t a bone in her body.

  No-good bitch.

  “I’ll kill your bitch if your hurt my sister,” Suga yells out from inside the bedroom.

  I look down at the gun. Feel the weight of it in my hand. Tried to imagine myself using it. Can I take a life—two lives—in cold blood? I never been about this type of gangsta shit. Never.

  With the gun raised I step back inside the room. She has a gun pointed at Quilla’s head.

  It’s a crazy time for it to hit home that I love Quilla. I mean really love her. I’d rather die trying to save her than leave her behind. She is my woman and tonight I will be her savior.

  “Y’all put me in this spot, Suga,” I tell her as I step closer to the bed.

  “What spot?” she asks.

  “Kill or be killed.”

  I fire and my hand jolts. The silencer works and there is only a low and brief sound of the bullet leaving the gun and whizzing across the room to enter Suga’s heart. She gasps sharply as the impact sends her flying backward. A red strain is spreading fast as hell from her chest as she hits the wall.

  “NO!”

  I whirl around just as Spyce fires a shot. The bullet flies past my shoulder and Quilla cries out sharply behind me. In an automatic reaction I fire off two bullets at Spyce. One hits her shoulder and the other pierces her head between her eyes.

  I’m not no killa but don’t try me.

  Life goes on.

  These motherfuckers asked for this and now I gotta to do what I gotta do. With one last look at their dead bodies piled on the bed, I cover them with my one-thousand-count sheet and then toss a book of lit matches on top of their corpses. I stand there with my bag of money at my feet and watch the fire engulf their bodies in the abandoned apartment at the rear of the building.

  I dragged them motherfuckers right on down there and took my time cleaning up Olive’s apartment because I didn’t want the murders traced back to her…or to me. With no furniture or curtains to catch fire it would be a minute before it spread, and that should crisp them murderous assholes right on up.

  For good measure, I broke the sprinklers throughout the apartment.

  Once I smell burning flesh I know I have to bounce. I toss the last of the crack cocaine into the fire. Let them burn with what they treasured. With one last look, I turn and limp my ass out the apartment. I walk back into Olive’s apartment and scoop up Quilla’s blanket-covered body into my arms. I give myself a moment to press my face into her neck as she fights through the pain haze to wrap her arms around my neck.

  “I love you, Kas,” she whispers near my chin.

  My heart feels like someone is squeezing it inside their fist. “I love you too, Quilla. I love the hell out of you.”

  Thank God the bullet went into her thigh. I had it wrapped tight to stop the bleeding. My moms would be able to take out the bullet and stitch her up. I still had to come up with a lie for why my girl got shot.

  With one last look around the apartment I leave it for the last time. Fuck Bentley Manor and the dope game. I’m out.

  Lola and her kids aren’t home but for good measure, on my way out the door, I grab the fire alarm and pull it.

  That will alert people that they need to haul ass with a quickness.

  All is clear when I walk out the building and put Quilla in the passenger seat before I hop into the little bullshit car that had paper tags. I pull out of Bentley Manor. As I turn the corner, I look in my rearview mirror and can see the flames engulfing the rear apartment on the second floor.

  I ain’t no killa but don’t try me.

  Epilogue

  Miz Osceola

  Atlanta burns again.

  I reach over and grab Cleo’s hand as we stand among the rest of the crowd outside the gates of Bentley Manor. Gone are the images of brick to be replaced by walls of flame. Right now, it’s just one building burning and the firefighters are struggling to keep it that way.

  I can’t help but shift my eyes from that building on fire to my own building just a hundred feet away. “Lord, please,” I pray in a little whisper.

  Cleo clutches my hand a little tighter. I look over at her and it hurt to see the same sadness and fear I feel. It pains me to see the reflection of the fire in her eyes.

  Bentley Manor has many faults: drugs, murder, and crime, but it’s also a family and like any family you take the good with the bad. And there is good here. Families have been raised here. Lives have begun here. People have started a life here and then moved on to bigger and better things, but the first step right here in the projects was the most important part of folks getting they act together. We look out for each other here and do for each other here.

  And me and Cleo feel a little less lonely here.

  This is all we know. This is all some people got.

  “This is Heather Oakley reporting from the scene of a horrible fire at the Bentley Manor projects…”

  I look over at a newswoman from my favorite news program talking into a camera. I can’t get excited though, because she here—they all here—because our home is burning down before our eyes.

  I tune her out. I ain’t got time to think ’bout no other fire. I’m worried like the dickens about my home. My friends. My precious items that can’t be replaced. Cleo and I grabbed as much as we could before the buildings were evacuated but we left so much behind.

  And what will become of Bentley Manor?

  If the fire spreads, will it be rebuilt? Will we all have to find new holes to get in?

  I can’t stop the tears that fill my eyes. Cleo wraps her arms around mine tight. “We gone be all right, friend,” she tells me.

  “Yes, ’cause God is good.”

  “All the time,” she answers softly just as the fire seems to get bigger and brighter.

  “All the time,” I respond.

  “God is good.”

  Still, I’m afraid. I’m very afraid. I can’t explain why this feels like the end of Bentley Manor to me.

  God help us all.

  Acknowledgments

  During life, God puts special people in your path to help guide you toward your destiny. I have truly been blessed and I thank them all:

  Mama: my angel (while you were here on earth and now while you’re in heaven)

  Tony: my backbone.

  Caleb: my protector.

  Kal-El and Hajah: my inner joy.

  The Johnson and Bryant family: my reality check.

  Claudia: my advisor.

  Meghan, Sulay, Jamie, Shida, Shawna, and the entire Touchstone team: my own entourage—kinda sorta (smile).

  All of the readers: my will 2 keep writing.

  The bookstores, book clubs, and reviewers: my support.

  Those who will continue to step into my path and help me get where I am destined to be: my future.

  Blessings,

  Meesha

  Dear God, there are no words to express my love and appreciation for all that you have given me. Your unconditional and everlasting love endures and strengthens me. To every angel I’ve lost here on earth (with two legs and with four), it makes me smile to know that you’re now watching me from above. To my sisters, Channon and Charla, I’m proud of the women you two have become. To my three-year-old niece Courtney—you’re my best friend too. To my mom, despite our difference, I’ll always love you.

  My best friend, Kathy, I love you despite your being a Republican. To Charles—there’s no better man to take care of my best friend. To my second family, the Barretts—you’ve meant so much to me over the years.

  To the Byrdwatchers fan club: What a great group of women you are. Thanks for your encouragement, your exuberant support, and love.

  To my favorite cousin, Josephine Johnson. I don’t know what I’d do without our nightly chats. To the men and women I’ve met working on the Barack Obama campaign—YES WE CAN!

  To my sisters of the writ
ten word, Tu-shonda Whitaker and Melanie Schuster, ladies, you kept me sane during this process. I thank you so much for that. To Meghan Stevenson, I had a wonderful time working with you. And most of all, to all the readers of the Hoodwives series: thanks so much for the thousands of letters and e-mails. I’m so pleased to be a part of something that was both entertaining and educational. As women, always remember to love and respect yourself first—and always WRAP IT UP.

  —De’nesha

  About the Authors

  Meesha Mink is the pseudonym for Niobia Bryant, a national bestselling and award-winning author with over ten works in print in multiple genres for multiple publishing houses (Kensington/ Dafina, Harlequin, and Simon & Schuster/ Touchstone). The HOODWIVES series is her first collection of sexy urban fiction but definitely not her last. Currently the author splits her time between her hometown of Newark, New Jersey, and her second home in South Carolina. For more on Meesha visit www.myspace.com/ meeshamink and for more on the author’s works under her real name visit www.niobiabryant.com. E-mail her directly at meesha.mink@yahoo.com.

  De’nesha Diamond is the pseudonym for Adrianne Byrd, a national bestselling author of thirty novels. Adrianne Byrd has always preferred to live within the realms of her imagination where all the men are gorgeous and the women are worth whatever trouble they manage to get into. As an army brat, she traveled throughout Europe and learned to appreciate and value different cultures. Now she calls Georgia home. For more information on De’nesha Diamond and Adrianne Byrd’s work visit www.adriannebyrd.com or www.deneshadiamond.com