Shorty Gotta Be Grown

by T. C. Littles

  Click-clack.

  That was the sound of Street loading a bullet into the chamber. I had not even seen him whip his gun out from the holster on his hip.

  “What the fuck?” I blurted out before I could catch myself.

  “Be chill, P. This ain’t shit but protocol. You see how cruddy them niggas lookin’.” He called ’em right.

  “No doubt I do.”

  Pete Rock hopped out of the car and walked over to the two dudes. After exchanging a few words, he waved at the car for Street.

  “Slide down and reach underneath your seat for my extra pistol. If you see one of these dusty muthafuckas go to draw, send some fireworks their way,” he commanded, sliding his pistol into the waistband of his jeans instead of in the holster. “Make sure your aim is on point, by the way.”

  Before I could respond, Street was out of the car and heading over to them. I did as I was told, but not before cracking the window some so I could hear what was said. I might’ve ridden shotgun and been the watch girl for my mom and dad before, but never with a gun in my hand with orders to shoot if need be. I didn’t know if this was a test to see if I was thuggish enough to be his girl, but I was gonna pass with flying colors if it was, I guessed.

  “These the cats I was telling you ’bout earlier,” Pete Rock told Street. “Nuggs and Lenny.”

  “Yo, what up doe?” Street greeted them how Detroit niggas greeted one another. From east to west, the lingo was the same. How the two sides banged, however, was totally different.

  Nuggs nodded and remained silent, while Lenny gave Street a plain and simple reply. Immediately after that, my finger started sliding up and down the handle of Street’s pistol. I didn’t like the way Nuggs was looking. I didn’t know if Street peeped his ill-mannered demeanor, but not shaking his hand or speaking was a red flag of disrespect. Still and all, the conversation continued.

  “Pete says y’all be moving units around here.” Street’s statement was open-ended for them to answer.

  Once again, Nuggs fell back, and Lenny answered. “You heard right.”

  “Good, ’cause I’ve got some units that need to be moved. The first run can be a seventy-thirty split, but sixty-forty thereafter. Does that sound like some shit y’all willing to float with?” Street was straight to the point, which was good because I didn’t like the unsettling vibe I was catching from Nuggs.

  The whole time Street was breaking down the proposition to sell baggies under him, Lenny was focused on the particulars, and Nuggs was throwing looks back and forth between me and Pete Rock. Speaking of him, he must’ve blown a blunt or popped a pill on the ride over, because he was looking spaced out and cross-eyed. It was a good thing I was here to watch Street’s back, ’cause his partner in crime sho’ as hell wasn’t suited up for the meeting among men.

  “Yo, fuck all the particulars of ya little contract if ya product ain’t hittin’ like fire,” Nuggs finally spoke out, making my skin crawl. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned back on the Tempo and kicked his foot up on the bumper. “So, boss,” he laughed, being blatantly disrespectful again, “what that work be like?”

  “It be that type of work that’ll feed some hungry-ass niggas. It be that type of work that’ll keep diapers on some bastard baby’s ass. It be that type of work that’ll make eviction notices go away. Ya feel me?” Street sounded just like Calvin did in the streets, which should’ve been the case since he’d been shadowing my dad for years. He was calm but going hard.

  A lump settled in my throat when the thought of Street’s deception reemerged. I didn’t let it choke me up, however, seeing that I was in the middle of a drug transaction that I had to make sure I got out of. Gripping the pistol’s handle, I was ready to go full throttle if need be. Street had bested Nuggs and was standing firm in his face without blinking. I held my breath.

  Turning his head, Nuggs blew out his cigarette smoke before looking Street up and down. “I hear you talking, but um, ya words better be adding up on the back end of thangs. The first bad I review I get on ya product, you can bring ya red-bottom-shoe-wearing ass back ’round here to pick it back up. And no matter what, I does seventy-thirty. Take it or leave it.”

  “Leave it,” I whispered, almost too loud. After I said it, I bit my lip, hoping none of them heard. Since they didn’t look my way, I figured I was safe to keep ear hustling.

  “Your cockiness is admirable, but my contract, as you call it, ain’t flexible.” With or without Pete Rock, Street was holding his own.

  Nuggs opened his mouth to say something I’d never know, because Lenny jumped in and accepted my man’s offer. “I’ll get at Pete after the units are moved. We’re good with sixty-forty after this, chief.”

  “You do that, and holla at ya nigga before we meet again. I ain’t for all that back-and-forth bullshit. Pete, give them they work and let’s be out.” Now the one feeling cocky, Street turned his back and walked back toward the car.

  I didn’t take my eyes off Nuggs until he was completely out of sight. There was so much I wanted to tell Street, but I chose to remain quiet, given my experience with opening my mouth and getting cursed out about it.

  Taking a sip of my drink, I let the concoction soothe all the built-up tension riding shotgun with Street had created. My momma was a straight gangsta for being my dad’s partner in crime for all these years. It was a thrill for me being a kid in the back seat, yet hella intense experiencing a similar experience as an adult with a role to play.

  “You good, P?” Street asked, finally caring about my mood.

  “Yeah, I guess I’m as good as I’m gonna be. I wouldn’t fuck with that nigga Nuggs, though.” I couldn’t help blurting my opinion out.

  “See, that’s how you supposed to have ya man’s back—with your mouth closed and your eyes wide open. That means you were watching like I told you to. I got shit under control, though, li’l P. The only thing you gotta worry about for the rest of our time together tonight is how you gonna take this dick.”

  He didn’t have to say a word more.

  * * *

  On our way headed to the hotel of my choice, I danced in my seat, popped my tits out for him to feel on, and let him flick my clit. I even tried bending back over into his lap for a repeat blow job, but he said he wanted to save his nut until I was sprawled across the bed. As I was mentally sprung off this nigga, Street was like my keeper at this point. He could and would get whatever he liked. Real talk, he already was.

  “You got a nigga feeling ripe. I’ma stroke that pussy to sleep,” his dirty-talking ass was turning me on.

  I giggled. “That’s on you, nigga. I’ve got Kryptonite in my pussy.” The alcohol was talking for me, but I liked what it had me saying. My hopes were to lock him down for good after throwing this virgin pussy on him once. Anything else would be a smack in the face.

  Street claimed he was waiting for me to turn 18 before we had sex. I kept showing him articles on Google that proved my case of me being of legal age, but he kept calling it a setup created by the system. Him not taking me up on my offer to give him some pussy told me he was getting it elsewhere. He fa’damn sho’ wasn’t being celibate. All that did was make me want to put it on him more, especially since he was finally breaking his rule. The second after I gave him my virginity, he was gonna be exclusive to me from all the hoes he’d allowed to be privileged. I couldn’t wait until we pulled up to the hotel.

  CHAPTER 12

  TRINITY

  “Hey, Trin, honey. Are you enjoying yourself tonight?” Nette questioned, ready to take my order.

  “Yup, yup. The DJ has been doing his thang since I hit the floor,” I replied, wiping a few beads of sweat off my forehead. “I can’t wait until Calvin comes back in from with Fame so we can start back up right where we left off.”

  “Okay, okay! I heard that. I saw you and your hubby out there cuttin’ a rug. You don’t be playing about keeping his attention.” Nette called out the obvious.

  “Hell naw, I don’t. You alrea
dy know how I’ll get down on a broad.” Nette had been a witness to more than a few of my wild attacks.

  “Yeah, I know it. But what can I get for you, babe?”

  “I know this sounds crazy, but lemme get one wing with a whole lot of lemon pepper and extra chicken crack,” I joked about their special seasoning. “Y’all got a better hustle than me and Cal.”

  “Everybody gotta eat, and don’t nothing sound funny about making money, boo.” Nette laughed, then filled my order. “That’ll be a buck.”

  Every Friday, they had fish fries jumping, and every Sunday, they cooked soul food meals. Nette and her people were the point of contact whenever there was a hood function, church function, or even when a lazy homemaker didn’t wanna cook. When she pulled out a wad of cash to peel my change from, it confirmed just how profitable their grind really was. I took my fried chicken, then tilted my head and hand to Nette, giving her my utmost respect. It wasn’t nothing for me to pay homage, just like it wasn’t nothing for me to teach a ho how to pay me mine.

  With Calvin outside with Fame, I was about to make my move. Picking up the neck of a Sutter Home wine bottle, I waltzed my fine ass right across the room toward ol’ girl while tearing up a piece of chicken. I wasn’t the type of bitch who barked but didn’t bite. Being that I killed my daddy, anybody in the whole wide world could get it, particularly the bitch my husband lay down with. Without a doubt, Cal was wrong for cheating on me and making her an issue in the first place. But that still didn’t stop my obsession for hating her. I know that I was gonna have to get over him cheating, why he did, how it made me feel, and so forth at some point. But tonight wouldn’t be that night.

  Halfway across the hall, the music stopped abruptly. The loud static from the speakers made us jump. I then froze, keeping the bottle behind my back and making sure to move with the people around me so ol’ girl watching couldn’t square up with a weapon like me. At the same time, I looked to see what was going on along with everyone else. I also finished my piece of chicken and dropped the bone to the floor. It had been so tasty that I wanted to run across the room and order enough to take home. Some other shit was about to happen, however.

  The DJ was talking to the owner of the banquet hall, Mr. Marciano. I’d just given him a deposit on this place last week for Porsha’s eighteenth birthday party. Unlike that day, when he was pleasant and smiling very professional-like, Mr. Marciano’s face was ripped, and he was yelling, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying.

  “Party over! Gunshots have been fired outside. You ain’t gotta go home, but you gotta get the fuck outta here,” the DJ yelled into his microphone.

  There wasn’t a body in the room that didn’t scramble. I was included in that count, but for a whole different reason. I wasn’t leaving this banquet hall without hollering at ol’ girl. I was true to my word. This problem would’ve been heading her way whether she’d been gawking at me all night or not. Come to think of it, she might’ve been scrutinizing my moves as a way of watching her back. Whatever the case might’ve been, Calvin was right in saying “luck runs out,” because hers had.

  Sliding between a clan of girls, when I barged through the last two, I came out swinging the wine bottle at ol’ girl’s face.

  Wop!

  I’d heard through the grapevine that Calvin got her teeth replaced after I knocked them out. I dared his ass to pay for a muthafuckin’ stich behind this bottle crackin’ her face open. Her eerie screams filled the banquet room.

  “Stupid, mutt-face, home-wrecking ass, fallback pussy, trash bucket! As hard as you been watching me, you should’ve seen it coming. I’ma tell you again, dummy, it ain’t gonna be a time a problem won’t come yo’ way when you see me. Checkmate!” I was feeling real cocky. Standing firm in my pumps, I wanted to grab another bottle and break the glass in her face again. The celebratory feeling was short-lived, however.

  Her girl, who’d I’d underestimated, charged at me like a bull. She was dominating me at first by pushing me backward and into tables. After getting damn near thrown over the first one, I regained myself, then attacked her back like I was trying to give her a death date. It was admirable that she was trying to be a savior for her girl, but she wasn’t part of our beef and wasn’t above catching it either. Therefore, so be it. Who was I not to give a bitch her fate?

  I wouldn’t take all the credit. The two of us had set off pandemonium within the banquet hall. People were already off the chain about shots being fired outside. Now they were falling over one another, not knowing whether to run, duck, or what because me and ol’ girl’s homegirl were going head up. I ain’t gonna lie and say she wasn’t loading me up with a few strong shots, but I literally had my bare foot on her throat by the end of it.

  The shit was crazy how it all went down. Calvin’s ex jump-off tagged herself back into the match and made shit even worse than it already was for them both. I’d already blacked out to an “I don’t give a fuck, let’s rumble, wait until I get to my purse” mind zone. She wasn’t nothing but dead weight to her homegirl, but she was an advantage to me. With a bloody face and stammering steps, she was in the way as her friend tripped and fell over her to the floor. That was when I got my muthafuckin’ bop it on again and swung a chair like Babe Ruth at both of their asses. I couldn’t draw a W for the win until I left one of ’em limping at least.

  Feeling someone’s hands on my shoulders, I turned around, swinging and yelling. “Get yo’ hands up off me! Where my husband? Where’s Calvin Jackson at?”

  “Sis, yo, come the fuck on and up off the bitch. Cal is by the door waiting. There were some niggas shooting outside, and we got to busting too! Let’s go,” Fame shouted at me, snapping me out of the bitter trance I was stuck in.

  I had not given the DJ announcing the gunshots a second thought with my bitterness for ol’ girl taking over. I ain’t have time to feel foolish, though. I kicked her neck back as I took off toward the exit, grabbing my purse.

  I had my pistol out with one in the chamber aimed in front of me when the outside air hit my face. For every bullet I heard, I shot back, because that was what I was supposed to do. Ride or die: that was the type of life you lived when you signed up for the dope game. I knew the rules and played them well. For the hell of it, and because I could be extra petty, I put two bullets into ol’ girl’s windshield. I remembered her car and plate from whipping up in her driveway that day.

  Calvin started cursing me out as soon as I jumped into the front seat. Apparently, people told him and Fame I was in there scrapping as they ran for their cars to get out of dodge. He wanted to know, rightfully so, what would make me do some shit so unthinkable. My response was simple, because he did some absurd shit by cheating on me.

  “Yo’ ass is psychotic, Trinity! The first thing you think about doing is busting a nothing-ass trick over the head with a bottle when you hear gunshots are being fired outside? You didn’t think you needed to see if ya husband was good? Basically, you was just like fuck me.” Calvin felt some type of way, evidently. He’d said a mouthful, but I didn’t care about one word. He still wasn’t getting the point.

  I smacked my lips. “Come on now, Cal. You know that trick was irking me all night. And you had to have known I was gonna walk up on her once you and Fame went outside. Now was it like fuck you intentionally? Of course not. However, you can quit trying to read me and drive. You ultimately created the monster that came out of me anyway. So I’m not about to be berated about it,” I popped back at him, nonchalant about the shootout. Me, him, and Fame were in the car and alive without wounds. My family was good, so I was good. He should’ve been too.

  “Both of y’all are crazy as hell,” I heard Fame interject from the back seat more to himself than to us, but too bad because I heard it anyway.

  “Oh, um, you can shut all the way the hell up, Fame. Ain’t neither of us talking to you, so don’t insert yourself into this conversation. Okay? Thanks,” I rudely cut into him, never giving him a chance to respond one way or th
e other. He didn’t have a choice anyway. If he didn’t like how I laid it to him, he could get out of the truck and find his way to wherever.

  Fame was fam. I loved him like the brother my mother didn’t have. And I’d probably apologize tomorrow. Matter of fact, I was sure I would. Yet and still, tonight I was infuriated, and it was whatever the fuck when it came to how I served it. The alcohol, the weed, and me going head up with two hoes had me amped and feeling myself, quite frankly.

  “Wow, sis, my bad. Damn, you just slammed yo’ bro like I’m some sucka-ass nigga, but it’s cool. I didn’t mean you no harm. I see you’re in rare form, so I’ma be on silent mode ’til y’all drop me off at the crib.” Fame took a cop without hesitating, then tried rubbing me on my shoulder to calm down.

  “Getcha hands up off me, Fame. I know you chill. I know you love me, too. But ya bro got me fucked up and in a helluva mood. Speaking of that, hurry up and get me home, Calvinnnnn.” I carried out the last consonant of his first name, making my husband even angrier than he already was.

  “You on that petty shit, Trin. Quit talking to Fame sideways before I pop off on yo’ ass in a real rude way. That nigga saved me from catching some hot ones. He was outside pushing me to the side and busting shots at the same time while you was in there fighting a broad over some dick.”

  “Fame might deserve an apology, but you don’t. So quit campaigning, Cal. Fuck you.”

  He swerved, then reached over the console and grabbed me up by the material of the dress I was wearing. I was shocked quiet. Fame yelled for Calvin to get a grip and drive, and Calvin growled for me to say another word so he could rip my neck off. I knew when to shut up. I nodded and fell back. Tonight, he’d mysteriously get some laxatives in the food he was gonna have me cook since we couldn’t make the usual restaurant stop. I ain’t gotta always announce when I was getting retribution. I practiced moving in silence with and without Calvin.