She Got It Bad for a Heartless Gangsta 2

by Shvonne Latrice

  “Okay.”

  “My mom, how did she die again exactly? I mean, I don’t remember you giving me details. And like, what was she into?”

  Qamar’s comments had me thinking a lot. I’d always wondered about my mother’s death in detail, and seeing myself in pictures with her always made me feel some type of way. She died when I was young as fuck, but the shit still bothered me, especially when my grandparents would tell me how much I loved her. I always tried to push it to the back of my mind, but building a family with Draylah had my moms on my mind 24/7.

  “She was into a lot of artsy things, namely music like you are now. She was very carefree, outgoing, and with a very slick mouth like you.” My grandma reminisced. “She was so happy to be pregnant with you, even though me and your grandfather were pissed as hell. And then when you got here, she took you everywhere with her. She wasn’t the usual teenage mother who left her children for her parents to take care of, so when she got pregnant with Bryen, we weren’t as upset as we were when she got knocked up the first time.”

  I smiled to myself, even though I was feeling some type of way about never having met her like I wanted to. Don’t get me wrong, my grandparents were great as fuck, but my mama being dead always fucked with me; well, how she died always fucked with me. Just knowing that she was murdered infuriated me. That’s why killing a muthafucka never meant shit to me really, because I always felt like if someone could be heartless enough to do that to my eighteen-year-old mother, taking her from her children, then I could be heartless too.

  “And what about her death?”

  “Frederick, there is no need to discuss that.”

  “I’m just curious, Ma. I can’t know? All you told me was that she was murdered while out with some man, and nothing else.”

  “Like I said, there is no need to discuss it any further. What is it gonna do for you to know, Ricky?”

  “She’s my fucking mama, I can’t know the details of how she died? What kind of shit is that?”

  “Some shit you’re gonna have to get over.” My grandmother stood up, snatching her purse off the table on the way. “I’m gonna head home. Tell Draylah thank you, and have a goodnight.” She leaned down to kiss my head and then sauntered out of the kitchen.

  I’d never in my life witnessed that bullshit ass behavior from my grandmother. She was the only person to ever come at me like that and get away from me unscathed. And because I had respect for her ass and loved her, I was gon’ keep it that way, but that didn’t mean I was just gon’ give the fuck up on finding out what exactly happened to my mama.

  For a little while, I just sat in the kitchen, thinking. That didn’t last long though, because my phone started to ring and I saw it was Qamar. I quickly hit decline and slipped my phone back in my pocket. I had nothing to say to that muthafucka, and it was best we stay far away from one another, because if I saw his ass, it was on sight. There would be no words, no huffing and puffing, just me delivering that bitch ass nigga a well-whooped ass … again.

  I saw it was almost 3 p.m., so I got up because I had a meeting with Greezy’s ass at 4 p.m. I wanted to talk to him about some business ventures I’d had in mind, and I wasn’t sure how he was gon’ take the shit. But unlike Qamar, I’d prepared for Greezy’s wrath just in case.

  I went up to change clothes since right now I was dressed like the typical South Central nigga, and then I kissed my girl and my daughter goodbye. I was still in disbelief a bit about becoming a father, particularly to a little girl, but I was pretty good at most shit, so this would be one of them.

  I left my crib and headed straight to the Bankroll Records building in Hollywood. After parking inside of the structure, I made sure I had all the documents I needed before getting out and making my way up to the fifth floor. All meetings were held on the fifth floor, and it was where Greezy’s office was located.

  “You’re here. Okay, he’s in the conference room waiting on you now.” My manager Avalon stood up once I entered the suite.

  “Aight, good looking out.” I started towards the room. “Aye, can you call Dakota for me to have her check on the jewelry I got for Draylah and my baby?”

  “Yeah, sure. Already spoiling the baby and it’s not even here, huh?” Avalon chuckled as she typed away on her iPhone.

  It was just a small bracelet I got for her, even though I knew she couldn’t wear it for some months. My baby girl already had me acting soft as fuck, but it was cool; I’d do that for her and her mama only.

  “I got to,” I replied with a smirk before going into the room. “What’s up?” I slapped hands with Greezy before we both took a seat at the table.

  “What’s good, Ricky? I’m surprised you wanted to talk to me. Everything is going good … better than good, actually. The album is platinum, about to go double, and you got two singles in the top 5 on Billboard at number 1 and 3. We’re still working out the kinks for the next music vid—”

  “Yeah, I know all that. I’m here to talk about some other business though, G.” I clasped my hands together on top of the table.

  “Other business like what?” He unbuttoned his suit jacket for comfort.

  “I wanna start my own record label. I think I’ve been in the game long enough, and shit, for this last album, I pretty much took complete control. All you did was sign the checks, and you’ve already recouped that.”

  Chuckling, Greezy leaned forward and said, “Oh, so you think because you held the reigns on one album, you got it all figured out?”

  “I don’t think, I know.”

  “Well, I’m telling you that you don’t know, Ricky. What you nee—”

  “Hold the fuck up, bruh. I ain’t these other muthafuckas around here that you can talk crazy to. I’ll beat yo’ ass. When you come at me, you need to come with respect because I fight dirty as fuck around these parts. I’ll have yo’ bitch ass hooked up to a respirator before you can even think to fuck me over.”

  Greezy must have forgotten I wasn’t these soft ass niggas that were signed to him. He may have been able to bitch their asses, but like I said earlier, I had a plan. Not only that, but I would break my foot off in his ass too. Most of my label mates were either scared of his ass, or they needed him too much to speak their mind. Neither was the case over this way.

  “You do want you wanna do, Ricky, but I’m advising you that right now is not the best time.”

  “I believe it is.”

  “Well good luck with that. You just make sure you fulfill the contract that you have with me before you go starting up new things. There is money to be made and I expect it to be made.”

  “So do I.” I got up. “And if any of my money is funny from here on out, we gon’ have a problem, Greezy. Don’t fuck with me like you do these other niggas.” Smiling, he sat back and then removed a cigar from his wooden box. “You hear what I said, nigga?”

  “Muthafuck—” He shouted when I snatched that cigar from his mouth and broke the shit in half.

  “I asked you a question,” I stated sternly.

  “I heard you,” he gritted, like he wanted to jump across the table on me. I honestly wish he would have.

  “Good, see you later.” I tossed the snapped cigar into his face, causing the filling to fall all over his Brook Brothers suit.

  “Hey! Tell Qamar I need to see him.” The expression on his face was smug, almost devious like.

  “You tell him yourself, bruh. I ain’t yo’ fucking errand boy.” I left the room, running right into Avalon.

  “How did it go?” she smiled.

  “Good enough.” I shoved my papers that I didn’t even need to pull out, back into the folder. “Did you get ahold of Dakota?”

  “Yes. She said everything will be ready soon.” Avalon typed on her phone as we got onto the elevator. “I think this label will be good for you, Ricky. It’s time you branch out. Make more money.”

  “Most definitely.”

  As we rode down on the elevator, Avalon ran over some of the emails
she’d gotten, and a lot of them piqued my interest like becoming a brand ambassador for some liquor company as well as an athletic wear commercial. I was always about stacking my damn bread, which was why my savings account was looking healthy as fuck.

  Hearing those offers made me happy though, because I’d come along way. When I first came out, I was way more problematic than I am now, if you can believe that shit, which is why a nigga stayed in jail. Because of that, I rarely got those types of opportunities because muthafuckas were scared to work with me. So nowadays, I tried to keep my crazy under wraps or only in the streets, then put on that Frederick hat when it came to work. However, no matter the hat I had on, no muthafucka would disrespect me and that’s all I gave a fuck about really.

  On my way home from Bankroll, something came over me, so I decided to call the police station near my old hood. My grandpa always told me that if you hide something from someone, it only makes them more eager to find out what it is. That was true, because now that my grandma was acting secretive as hell about my mother’s death, I was anxious as fuck to find out what really happened.

  I didn’t know what ringing up the damn police station would do, but it was a start. I didn’t want to stop by because my record was dirty as fuck, and I didn’t want them arresting me on the spot for some shit I’d probably done.

  “Los Angeles Police Department, this is Connie, how may I help you?” some woman answered.

  I was on my burner number, so I replied, “Yeah, umm, this is Craig Jones, and I’d like to speak with someone in the homicide department, please.”

  It was hard for me to make up a name, so I just used Ice Cube’s name from Friday, since it was the first thing to come to mind.

  “Oh, … okay. One moment, Mr. Jones.”

  I waited for what I thought would be long, but it really wasn’t. I was happy about that shit though.

  “Mr. Jones, this is Detective Peterson, how may I help you?”

  “Yeah, I had a question about a murder. The murder of Rachel Montana.”

  “Okay, one second, please.”

  I said nothing as I waited. I heard him moving around some, then he got back on to ask me to hold for a little longer. Finally, he came back, sounding like he was out of breath.

  “Mr. Jones, the only murder of Rachel Montana is from over two decades ago. Are you sure that’s her legal name?”

  “That should be about right. Can you tell me what happened? Why was nobody arrested?”

  “I can’t, actually. Are you related to the victim?”

  “Family friend, and I was just wondering. So why the fuck you can— why can’t you tell me?” I had to calm myself. I wanted to beat this nigga’s ass already, so I was glad I’d called instead of visiting.

  “I just can’t, not to mention, I’d have to have my colleague in the cold cases department look into it, which would take a couple days. Why don’t you come down here with a blood relative of Miss Montana’s and we can go from there?”

  “Nah, fuck you.” I hung up.

  I was gon’ find out what the fuck happened to my mama. I didn’t know how, but I would. Whatever the fuck my grandma was keeping from me, I was about to find the fuck out.

  Chapter Nine: Kattlyn

  Using MG’s bathroom was like living in heaven. I had never in my life been able to use a shower so big, and multiple times during the week.

  I found myself spending the night here much more than at Draylah’s place, but it wasn’t like it was on purpose. MG and I would be together and then I would just end up sleeping here. The nigga even gave me my own couple of drawers, which I happily took.

  My wardrobe had expanded since I’d stolen that money from Kraze, had a steady job where I made money that I didn’t have to split, and had a boo that had no qualms about buying me a nice dress or pair of heels here and there. For me, life was good, and that worried me. The way I grew up, when things were good, that meant negativity and cloudy days were just around the corner.

  Stepping out from the steamy shower, I toweled my body off, and then sprayed some body oil all over my frame. I quickly slipped into a thong and then a strapless casual dress since I didn’t really have any plans today.

  I opened the bathroom door, and quickly jumped when I saw MG’s little son Michael standing there with a slight frown. He was holding his coloring book, and staring up at me like he had plenty to get off of his small chest.

  “Hey, Michael.” I smiled down at him. I wasn’t too well versed on playing step mommy, but because Michael was so cute and well behaved, it made things a tad bit easier for me.

  “I’m angry,” he replied.

  “Why?”

  “I want some pancakes, and my daddy won’t wake up to make them with me. He keeps saying five more minutes. I don’t have any more minutes,” he whined, making me chuckle.

  “Well you’re in luck because I make some pretty good pancakes.”

  “You can make pancakes?” His little eyes widened as if making the dish was a magic trick only performed by his father.

  “I sure can. I can make different flavors too, which I’m pretty sure your father doesn’t know how to do.”

  “Nope!”

  “Okay, come on.” I took Michael’s small hand in mine, and we made our way down the long winding staircase, across the foyer, and to the kitchen where I sat him at the bar.

  The whole time I got the ingredients ready and began making the pancakes along with sausage, eggs, and a side of fruit, Michael talked my ear off while coloring. I didn’t mind though, because I didn’t realize how grown and advanced toddlers were. Shit, some of the things happening in his daycare class, happened to people my age.

  “And he slapped her!” Michael shrieked, staring at me for a reaction. He even paused in the middle of coloring to be sure he wouldn’t miss what I had to say in response.

  “What! Well did she hit him back?” I inquired. When I was his age, I don’t quite remember having three-year-old pimps, slapping girls around, but like I said, they were advanced.

  “No, she just cried. He got put in time out though. No pretzels for him for a whole week.”

  “That sounds like exactly what he needs.”

  Besides an ass whooping.

  “Michael, stop telling everybody that damn story.” MG entered the kitchen laughing, before taking a seat next to his son. He was dressed and smelling very good, so I watched him in admiration for a little bit.

  “Leave him alone,” I laughed. “I hadn’t heard the story, and it was very juicy, might I add.”

  “Sure,” MG smiled.

  By that time, I was done with everything, so I set the plates in front of them and then made one for myself. I retrieved the pitcher of orange juice from the fridge, and then placed it in the middle along with some glasses. We ate together, keeping the conversation light since Michael took over anyway. He talked so much and so quickly that sometimes he’d have to stop and take a breath.

  “Can I see my mommy?” he asked, making the kitchen fall silent.

  “Not right now, son. Go upstairs and pick out an outfit so you can take a bath and brush your teeth,” MG replied, taking Michael’s semi-empty plate away. “We’re going to the studio today, man.”

  “Okay, but then can I see Mommy?”

  “I’ll let you know. Now …” MG nodded his head in the direction that he wanted Michael to go in.

  “Maybe you should let him see her.”

  “What?” His brows dipped between his eyes.

  “I mean, think of it this way, Micah. If he’s in fact not your baby, she can technically have the police come through here and get him. So it may be best to make nice with her until you get the DNA done, or figure something else out.”

  I was giving MG this advice because I really felt this way, but also because the last thing I needed was the police snooping around here. I was an illegal immigrant, so any time police of any kind came around, I was on edge. I’d had my run ins with the law, but luckily, the few police
I’d run into were so zoned in on another criminal, that they didn’t give a fuck about me being a Cuban native, they just wanted information.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I just know she’s with that nigga Don, and I’ll be damned if they try to be a family with my son. She already did that shit when she took him from me.”

  “I understand, but like I said, the only for sure parent Michael has right now is Isla, so at the end of the day, she holds the power.”

  MG stared down at the countertop for a little bit, and then he nodded in agreement.

  Picking his head up, he smirked. “So you fine and smart?”

  “I am.”

  He grabbed my hand and brought me around the counter to stand between his legs. Locking his strong arms around my body, he licked his full lips as the kitchen lights shone down on his caramel brown skin. Palming my ass, he pulled me in closer before we shared a kiss.

  I was in pure bliss right now, and no one had better take that shit away.

  ***

  That night…

  MG didn’t know I could cook as good as I could until after the breakfast we had this morning. By saying that, he wanted me to make him some authentic Cuban food for tonight. Since I was off work, and he took Michael to the studio, I didn’t see the problem in that. Shit, I was basically living in his mansion rent free, and getting phenomenal dick every damn day. A home cooked meal was a small price to pay, and I actually loved to do it anyway. I’d almost forgotten how much I did love it.

  I was able to find this Cuban market not too far away, and since I knew I was gonna make ropa vieja, I knew exactly what I was there to get. I didn’t want to give MG and Michael anything too exotic, especially Michael, because kids were picky.

  As I was putting the bags into my car, someone hugged me from behind, making me damn near jump out of my skin.

  “Flow, move!” I slapped his hand and shoved him roughly.

  “Come on, baby. Let’s get one in for old times’ sake.” He grinned and reached to touch me, but I slapped his hand again before closing my trunk.

  “Nigga, no. We had a damn deal, remember?”