by Styles, T.
When Milli’s phone rang, he stepped to the side and answered.
“We did what you asked us to do,” said the girl who threw the bottle in Ginger’s window. “And Trixy stepped to her, but Ginger whipped her ass. And the cops been around again today.”
Milli shook his head.
“You want us to do anything else?”
“Naw . . . let me stew on some shit for a minute. I’ma get my man to drop that money off for y’all too.”
When he hung up with her, he walked back over to Kettle. “Something’s gonna have to give ’round Kentland. I might have to do somethin’ to Nicky I ain’t want to.”
Milli’s drug business took care of everybody in the family. If he couldn’t pump, everybody suffered.
They were still talking when Tracey Knox came home with Milli’s daughter, Denise. Tracey’s beautiful butter-colored skin, brown hair, and green eyes lit up the room. She stayed dipped in the finest fashions, including the fifteen hundred dollar Gucci sweat suit she was sporting at the moment and the four hundred dollar Kate Spade diaper bag which swung from her arm.
The moment Denise saw her father, her face lit up and she made her way for the kitchen.
“Ay, keep her outta here. We cookin’!” he yelled, his eyebrows pulling closely together. “The peoples from CPS already said she got that shit in her system.”
Tracey dropped her four hundred dollar Kate Spade diaper bag on the floor by the kitchen entrance and caught Denise before she reached the stove.
Dressed in a cute red shirt with diamond-studded hearts and a jean skirt, Denise was just as pretty as her mother. Milli scooped Denise up into his strong arms and landed a few kisses on her face.
“Why you bein’ bad as shit? Tracey told me you slapped her today.”
“She told me she was my new mommy.” She pointed. “And I got a mommy already.”
“Oh, really,” he said, giving Tracey an evil glare. Focusing back on Denise, he said, “Daddy got you a new doll. Go play wit’ it. It’s in your room.”
When she was gone, he stepped up to his wife and said, “What the fuck you doin’? Why would you tell her some shit like that?”
“’Cause . . . I was thinkin’ maybe we can raise her. That way you don’t gotta take no more of Ginger’s shit.”
Milli sat on the sofa and Tracey said, “Baby, I know you don’t wanna talk about this, but do you think the court’s gonna let us keep Denise? Since Ginger actin’ up again?”
“Why you always gotta ruin shit?”
“I’m not tryin’ to. I just don’t want you to be stressed no more.”
“Fuck that. It ain’t all the way right you tryin’ to fuck my daughter’s head up with your bullshit.”
“But I’m your wife, and you don’t owe Ginger shit! What’s keepin’ you connected to her?” she cried. “I dealt with the fact that you slept with her and got her pregnant days after we broke up, knowing we would be back together,” she said, getting on her knees in front of him as he remained seated on the couch. “But I’m tired of her callin’ you over there every five minutes, claiming it’s about the baby. So if Denise stay wit’ us, you won’t have to worry.”
“You mean you won’t have to worry,” he said, pushing her out of his way, knocking her to the floor. “Maybe if your pussy wasn’t so rotten, you could have a kid of your own . . . ’cause we both know that’s what this shit’s really about.”
“I’m sorry . . . I just—”
“You just what? The only thing you doin’ ’round here is oversteppin’ your boundaries. Be glad I’m wit’ you and drop this shit.”
Tracey backed away and sat on the sofa. She had no idea that Milli, whom she’d been married to for six years, had been with Ginger the same amount of time.
“Now, get the fuck outta my face. I gotta holla at Unc.”
While she walked sadly into their bedroom, Milli walked into the kitchen with a smirk on his face.
Kettle looked at him and said, “You playin’ shit real tight, nephew.” He whispered, “You betta be careful.”
“I been playin’ shit tight forever. Tracey ain’t gonna do shit but what I say,” Milli said arrogantly. “And if she was gonna leave, she’d be gone by now.”
“You don’t think that shit gonna catch up wit’ you sooner or later?”
“Naw.”
Kettle laughed and Milli said, “What’s funny?”
“Nephew, if you wanna be like your father, then be like your father.”
“Fuck you talkin’ ’bout now?”
“You don’t think I see how you been carryin’ shit since he was murdered? The only difference ’tween you and him is that he told his bitches ’bout each other straight up. You went too far wit’ that last situation with Ginger, and it don’t look like it’s gonna end too good. That’s why you in the shit you in now.”
“That’s where you wrong. My father made a mistake. Had he kept shit on a need to know basis, he’d still be alive today.”
Kettle looked at Milli and felt sorry for him. He knew he adopted that same bullshit his baby brother did when he was playing females. He called it his CRAWL Theory: If a bitch was not willin’ to give away her Credit, Respect, Ass, Wealth, and Life, she wasn’t worth it.
Milli’s father, Julius, lost his life by adopting that theory. On a hot summer day in June, his main bitch, Courtney, got tired of the other women and shot him in the face, along with herself and their two-year-old twin boys.
“Son, you got Ginger thinkin’ Tracey’s your cousin when she’s your wife, and your wife thinkin’ Ginger’s your baby’s mother instead of your girlfriend. You treadin’ on dangerous ground.”
“This why a nigga like you don’t get me.” He paused. “You been married to Pearl’s old ass forever. You think they don’t know I got somebody else on the side?” He smirked. “Fuck yeah, they do. They just don’t wanna know the details, and it ain’t my business to give it to ’em.”
Kettle laughed and said, “You got it, nephew.”
“I know I got it.”
Kettle hesitated and then said, “Question, How you think shit gonna go down wit’ Ginger?”
“I don’t know and I don’t give a fuck,” he said cockily. “’Cause when this shit is all said and done, I won’t care if I ever see them peoples again. Don’t get me wrong, the pussy was fire, but at the end of the day, she more problems than she’s worth.”
What Milli didn’t know was that while he spoke with his uncle in the kitchen, the Kate Spade bag lying on the floor in the doorway had the baby monitor Tracey used to keep an ear on Denise inside. It was turned on, and the other monitor was in her hand.
Gerron
Most of my shit was already packed, so movin’ wasn’t gonna be a problem. And I was so ready to get the fuck outta Kentland.
“I can’t believe you doin’ this, man! Kentland all you know, nigga,” Bodie said, lookin’ up at me from the worn-out beige sofa in my living room. At one point people thought we were brothers. We even had the same build, but lately he was getting thinner and it wasn’t quite the same. “We ain’t even hit the nigga Milli yet!”
“I already told you I’m not fuckin’ wit’ it. Plus, shit too hot ’round here.”
“You sure it ain’t got somethin’ to do wit’ you wantin’ to fuck shawty?”
“Fuck is you talkin’ ’bout?” I paused. “I might bullshit wit’ her here and there, but that’s it.” As I was sealing the boxes in my living room, the handle of my gun pressed against my stomach, and I placed it on the glass table.
Bodie looked at it and said, “If you ’bout to leave, moe, we might as well hit the nigga. You passin’ up on sure bread.”
“Nigga, you ain’t even hearin’ me. I’m not fuckin’ wit’ it.”
Truthfully, I didn’t give a fuck if we hit Milli or not, but Bodie was a hothead, and didn’t believe in just robbin’ niggas and goin’ on his merry fuckin’ way. His trigger was loose, he ain’t care, and I ain’t want Ginger to
get hurt.
“I’m movin’ on his ass. Fuck that,” he said, tryin’ to test my patience.
“You do what you gotta do. You hot anyway, and I’m outta here.”
Bodie separated seeds from the weed on the table with a matchbook. “I ain’t hot, nigga! I’m just smart enough not to pass up on a payday.”
“Smart?” I smirked. “You almost got us nicked up twice tellin’ folks who we hittin’ up. Had it not been for main man gettin’ murdered before he found us, shit coulda got crazy.”
Bodie rolled the rest of the jay and lit fire to it. When it was hard enough, he allowed the lighter to run over the tip until it turned orange. When he thought I wasn’t lookin’, he smirked, and I caught him out the corner of my eye. I was used to that shit, though. Ever since he started lacin’ his weed with crack, I ain’t trust him.
We had been robbin’ niggas together for ’bout two years. Before him, I kept my work outside of Maryland. But when I got wit’ Bodie, money started rollin’ in ’cause he always knew when and where major drops was bein’ made. Eventually I found out that he had an inside track. Turns out we was robbin’ his twin brother Marvel’s people, and he’d been lookin’ for us both since.
“Where you movin’?” Bodie asked. “You can at least tell me that.”
“Not sure, man. You just take it easy. You might not see thirty if you don’t.”
“You know somebody could think you was makin’ a threat,” he said, pullin’ on the weed. “Keep tellin’ a nigga he might not see thirty and shit. You might not live to move tonight.”
I looked at him and said, “You trippin’ hard now. Maybe you should put that shit down.”
“Nigga, I’m just fuckin’ wit’ you! You gettin’ all serious and shit. Relax!”
I was leavin’ for Vegas on the first flight in the A.M. ’cause for what I did for a livin’, I needed to be ’round niggas wit’ lots of cash on ’em at all times. And I couldn’t think of a betta place.
“So what ’bout your moms?” Bodie continued. “You know she gonna be fucked up ’bout you movin’.”
I stared out in front of me for a second ’cause he was right. As grimy as this nigga was, when it came to my moms, he was different. He opened doors for her, said “yes, ma’am” this and “yes, ma’am” that. I think he took to her ’cause his mother had been mentally retarded all of her life. She could barely tie her own shoes without help and got pregnant while in the custody of a mental hospital. Her attorneys won her ten million dollars in a lawsuit, and when her twin sons Bodie and Marvel turned eighteen, they spent every last dime of their share—Bodie on gettin’ high, and Marvel on a couple keys from this nigga in Brooklyn. When they couldn’t get any more of her money, they both abandoned her.
“She know what it is, and I’ma be here every other week to check on her.”
“I swear this movin’ shit is dumb! But you do what you gotta do.”
He was still runnin’ his mouth when I heard commotion outside. I rushed to the window to see Ginger yellin’ in a nigga’s face, wit’ Nicky and Stevie tryin’ to pull her away.
“Fuck is wit’ that chick?” Bodie asked. “I ain’t neva seen a bitch that fuckin’ feisty.”
I could tell shit wasn’t gonna end right. No sooner than I thought that did I see this bamma-ass nigga drop her.
“Oh shit!” Bodie laughed. “He dropped her bitch ass!”
“This nigga can’t be for real,” I said to myself. I rather a nigga pop a bitch than to hit her in the face.
I moved toward the door, and Bodie said, “I know you not ’bout to get in that shit, young! She ain’t your fuckin’ problem.”
I paid him no attention as I rushed into the street. I caught dude just before he hit Ginger again. I pushed his bamma ass off her, knockin’ him to the ground. He tried to get back up, and I dropped him with a left.
“Fuck wrong wit’ you, cuz?” he yelled, jumpin’ back up. He rubbed his jaw. I drew blood.
Outta nowhere, the broad Stevie caught wheels and took off runnin’, leavin’ her cousin Nicky and Ginger behind.
“Fuck wrong wit’ me? How you look hittin’ a bitch in the face? What kinda bamma-ass shit is that, nigga?”
He laughed and said, “Look at this old chivalrous-ass muthafucka!” Then he paused and said, “You must be sick for puttin’ your hands on me.”
I was thinkin’ of droppin’ him again, until he pulled his piece on me. I reached for mine, but remembered it was on the table in my house.
“You got it, young. Ain’t no beef here,” I said, raisin’ my hands.
Ginger got up off the ground and stood behind me. Her mouth was bleedin’, and I could tell she was tryin’ not to look scared. I hated seein’ females hurt.
“You got it, moe. Ain’t no need in carryin’ shit like that. Just go ’bout your business, and we gonna go ’bout ours,” I told him.
“Oh, you makin’ the rules now?” His eyes were rollin’ around in his head, and I could tell he was tryin’ to amp himself up.
“I ain’t sayin’ that,” I said calmly. “I’m sayin’ you got it, moe.”
“Fuck that shit! What you holdin’, nigga? You know what time it is.”
“Hold up. You ’bout to rob me?” I asked, frownin’.
“Fuck you think? Since you wanna play hero, empty your pockets—quick!”
“Young, I ain’t ’bout to give you no money.”
I looked at his arm and saw a tattoo with the name Treasure on it. His name rings bells. We both stick-up niggas, so I know this can get ugly if I don’t give him what he wants.
“You gonna empty your pockets on your own,” he said, cocking his gun, “or do you want me to do it after you drop?” The streets were empty, but I knew they were watchin’.
“Fuck . . .”
“Nigga, I’m not fuckin’ playin’ ’round wit’ you! Put that shit on the hood ’fore I unload out here!” he screamed. “Don’t make the next thing you hear be the clap of my gun. All y’all!” he said, addressing the girls. “On the hood!”
Instead of puttin’ the shit on the hood, I dropped my money on the ground.
“So you bein’ funny huh?” he said.
“Naw, whether it’s on the ground or on the hood, it’s still yours.”
He laughed and said, “Kick that shit over here.”
I did, but it only moved a foot.
“You should’ve stayed your ass inside, man. Now you a few bills short.” He smirked again like he just came up. This nigga was a clown.
“It’s all ’bout you, homie,” I told him slyly.
“Yeah, I know, Chauncey!” He laughed at his own joke. “Why y’all bitches ain’t give it up yet? Put the shit on the hood, and don’t try to be slick either.”
“We s’pose to be friends,” Nicky said.
“Don’t make me ask you again,” he told her.
Nicky put her money on the ground, and I saw her face redden. She looked like she was ’bout to cry.
Ginger must’ve grew balls, ’cause she said, “I can’t believe you really ’bout to rob us.”
“Bitch, give me that bracelet too,” he said, pointing the barrel at her arm.
“No . . . I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”
He fired a bullet next to where we stood.
“Ay, Ginger, put the shit on the hood,” I told her before she got us killed. If this nigga’s hand shook any more, we was gonna have extra holes in our faces.
She looked at me and reluctantly dropped the money and her bracelet on the hood. I saw the stack she was carryin’ and knew he came up after all. He stuffed the money in his pockets and was just about to take my shit when I heard BOP! BOP! BOP!
Bullets flew over our heads, and we ducked for cover.
“What the fuck!” I said.
When I looked to see where the bullets were comin’ from, I saw Bodie firing at Treasure, who ducked behind his car and fired back. The girls hit the ground too and moved behind me to get out of dodge. Bullet
s were flying everywhere. I wanted to run, but I needed Bodie to move a little closer to Treasure to give me cover. Then I saw that Bodie had my gun.
“Y’all a’ight?” I asked, looking at the shootout. “’Cause we gotta make a run for it.”
“I’m scared,” Nicky said.
“Well, we ain’t got time for that shit. When I tell you to move, run toward the back of Ginger’s house.”
“Okay,” they said.
Treasure continued to unload, but the nigga Bodie was relentless and moved closer toward him. The moment Treasure’s attention was taken away from us, I grabbed my money off the ground and yelled, “Move!”
Me and Ginger dipped behind the back of her house, and Nicky ran the other way.
“Nicky!” Ginger called out.
“Fuck that bitch,” I told her. “Move!”
Bullets continued to whiz through the air, but we finally made it in her backyard. We dipped inside and locked the door.
“Stay down!” I told her.
She did, and a few minutes later, I heard sirens and the shootin’ stopped, followed by the sound of slammin’ car doors. When I heard Bodie’s engine rev up, I knew he was gone wit’ my piece. I was gonna definitely have to get up wit’ him before I left town that night.
I checked the window and said, “They gone. You a’ight?”
“Yeah, but that nigga got my bracelet! He took my fuckin’ shit!” she cried.
“So you not happy you got your life?”
She stood up, wiped the tears off her face, and said, “What the fuck just happen?”
“I’ll tell you. You started some shit again; that’s what just happened.”
She looked surprised and said, “So this my fault?”
“What you expect, shawty? You don’t get in a nigga’s face unless you ready. You lucky he ain’t bust yo’ ass.”
“Hold up. Who you talkin’ to?” she said, walking up tome.
“Yo’ ass! You got me in some shit I ain’t wanna be in. I was mindin’ my fuckin’ business when you—”
“When you got in my business!” she said, putting her hand on her chest. “I don’t recall askin’ your fuckin’ ass to come save me. And for your fuckin’ information, I would’ve handled that shit wit’ no problem, ’cause I ain’t got no problem bustin’ my gun too,” she said, takin’ it out of her purse, which sat on the sofa. It was the new gun she told me Milli bought for her. She put it in her waist, and for some reason, the shit turned me on.