Life After Wifey

by Kiki Swinson

  “Okay.”

  On the last ring, she answered her phone and told that nigga she was involved in a hit and run. “What! Somebody hit my muthafucking car!” I heard him screaming at her through the phone. She told him that she had already called the police. Right before she could tell him exactly where she was, he asked her where she was. “I’m about 3 blocks away from you, near the turn that takes you into Cypress Manor,” she told him. I heard him sigh real loud and say, “Man shit! I just sent Spank ass on a run. But, a’ight. I’ll be there.”

  Right after Sasha hung up with Lloyd I told her to pull the car over by the side of the road because it was a perfect spot to empty a few slugs in a muthafucker’s head without being heard. There were no houses within a few walking blocks. However, there were a lot of tall trees and bushes on both sides of the street. It was the perfect place for somebody to hide because the only light was a dim street light and that was barely working properly. After she pulled over, I told her to turn the car off and hand me the keys and, of course, she did. While we sat back and waited, I got Quincy back on the phone and instructed him to tell Amir that I needed him to post up behind these trees to my right. I told him to tell Monty to turn the car around and park it on the opposite side of the street and to hang something out of the window like it’s broke down. Right after I hung up with him, Sasha had the nerve to ask me something stupid.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “A yo’, don’t be asking me no muthafucking questions!” I snapped. “Especially after all that bullshit you popped to me”

  “I wasn’t popping no bullshit to you,” she said, trying to explain.

  “Bitch, shut up! Because nothing you say is gonna make me feel sorry for your stinky ass! And what’s so fucked up about this whole shit it that I shared my muthafucking bed with you. I was gonna send your dumb ass back to college and make you my girl.”

  “I’m so sorry, Syncere,” she cried out, tears welling from her eyes.

  “Believe me, I wanted to tell you, especially after we started spending time together. I mean, I really started feeling you.”

  “Well, that’s too muthafucking bad. ‘Cause I’m gon’ deal with you and that fat muthafucker as soon as he gets here.”

  Sasha’s cries started getting louder. “Please give me another chance,” she begged.

  “You better shut the fuck up before I kill your ass right now!” I screamed, jamming the gun in the side of her head.

  “Okay! Okay!”

  When she did finally calm down, I took the gun away from her head and sat back in the chair. A few minutes later, I saw Lloyd’s fat, sloppy ass walking up the road toward us. The muthafucker looked like he was out of breath from that little ass hike he had to make, which I figured was less than a half a mile from the gambling spot, to where we were. So, I knew I had an edge on him. Not only that, this nigga didn’t even have his burner out, so shit was going to go smoothly. “Put your phone up to your ear and act like you’re talking to somebody,” I told her as I braced myself for the confrontation with Lloyd.

  My pistol had already had a slug in the chamber, so I held it up and rested the barrel of it right over the passenger side head rest because as soon as that nigga opened the door, I was going to blast him. But, shit never goes the way you plan it.

  Instead of him opening up the passenger side door to see what shape Sasha was in, he walked around the car to see what kind of damages he had. I ducked my head down so he couldn’t see me. When he realized that nothing was wrong with his whip, he marched to the drivers side window with a puzzled expression and asked, “Where did you get hit at?” And as soon as Sasha rolled down her window, I sat up in my seat, aimed my joint right over her head and fired it. Boom! Boom! Boom! All three rounds went right threw that niggas chest and forced ‘em on his back. I don’t know if Sasha screamed from the loud roar of my burner or if it was because she just saw her man get oiled up.

  Whatever it was, it really didn’t matter because she had it coming to her too. I pointed my burner in the back of her head and fired two more rounds. Boom! Boom! Right before my eyes, her head exploded. Bloody brains and tiny pieces of bones of her skull splattered all over the fucking front seat of the car. A lot of that shit splattered in my face and got on my clothes too.

  I didn’t realize that Amir had come out of the bushes until after I jumped out of the car and saw him running toward Monty’s car. That nigga wasn’t wasting any time and neither was I. As soon as I closed the car door behind me and saw Lloyd lying there, I knew that I couldn’t make the same mistake as he did by not making sure I was dead. So, to make sure there was no doubt, I shot him in his head too. Boom!

  After I shot Lloyd in his head, Monty put his car in reverse and picked me up from where I was standing. Before I got in his car, I shoved my pistol down inside my waist, took my shirt off and tried to wipe as much of the blood off my face as I could.

  “Come on dawg! We gotta go,” Quincy insisted.

  I got in the car and Monty sped off.

  Later on that night, everybody huddled around in the kitchen of one of my drug spots so we could discuss some things. By the time I laid everything out for them, they understood the importance of keeping their muthafucking mouths closed. So, once everything was out in the air, I handed everybody a stack of cash. Amir and Monty got five grand and Quincy got ten. He finally straightened out that bullshit with his peoples in

  D.C. so he got more than them. That right there showed me loyalty.

  12

  You Reap What You Sow

  A week had past since I murdered Lloyd and that bitch Sasha. Too bad I didn’t get all my money back but it was cool. Taking their lives was an even and fair trade. Now that that part of my life is over, I could go ahead and take care of more important things.

  For the past couple of nights I had been staying at Nikki’s place. From time to time she’d give me a little bit of lip service, but it hasn’t been enough for me to rip her fucking head off. When she finally left to go to the shop this morning, I hopped in my truck and headed down to the car wash since me and Quincy had some business to discuss.

  The traffic was real bad on Virginia Beach Boulevard, so I jumped on I-264 from Rosemont Road. While I was driving and doing the speed limit, I saw a blue and white following me through my rearview mirror. Now, why were they on my ass like that? I sure hoped they wasn’t getting ready to pull me over ’cause if they did, I was gon’ be one sick nigga. Especially when they found out I was toting this burner. I couldn’t let that happen, so if shit started to look funny, I was gon’ have to push this gas pedal down to the floor and buck on dem crackers.

  The adrenaline in my body was beginning to boil over but I knew I had to keep my cool after dem muthafuckas threw on their flashing lights. My first thought was to put the dip on them, but I figured I would have a better advantage if I caught ‘em slipping outside of their car. But, the timing had to be right. Right after I pulled my truck over and came to a complete stop, I looked in my drivers side mirror and watched this tall, lanky-ass cracker walking toward my Rover with his hands on his burner. The other cracker got as far as the rear bumper of my truck and stopped, with his hand on his gun. As soon as the one on the driver’s side got to my back door, I slammed my Timbs down hard on the accelerator and my shit took off! I think I almost ran over the cop’s foot on my left. Oh well, fuck ‘em! Before I knew it I was going over a 100 miles per hour in the rush hour traffic. I made a quick detour and got off on the Brambleton Avenue exit. But, guess what? Dem fucking crackers was still on my ass, plus they had another cop car trailing me, so I knew shit was about to get real ugly. I pressed down on my accelerator even harder. I even had to blow my horn at a few people trying to cross my path as I sped down the crowded two-way lane of Brambleton Avenue.

  “Get the fuck outta the way,” I yelled from my driver’s side window ‘cause I was trying to get outta some shit here and these stupid muthafuckers was trying to get me a hit-and-run ch
arge. As the chase got more intense, I found myself dipping in and out of the traffic and then I turned down a one-way street laughing my ass off. All of a sudden, a little fucking shorty ran smack down in the middle of the street, chasing a goddamn basketball. To keep from running over his dumb ass, I turned, lost control of my steering wheel and ran dead into a mom-and-pop store. BOOM!!!!

  I was blinded by the driver’s seat air bag and the muthafucka almost smashed my face in. I was dazed as shit and tried to get my thoughts together. I hopped out of my truck but it was too late, ‘cause as soon as I tried to turn and make a run for it, I found myself staring down the barrel of a 9mm glock.

  “Freeze, you muthafucker!” dis cracker said. And then out of nowhere, this other cop came up and hit me right in the back of my head with his fucking police stick. Shiiid, I was out cold.

  When I finally regained consciousness, I felt the dizziness from the blow of the police officer wearing off. When my eyes came into focus, reality began to set in and that’s when I realized I was locked up in a cold-ass room the size of a closet. The room was sealed off by an iron door with every criminal’s name carved in the walls like it was the fucking Wall of Fame.

  I shook my head in disbelief and wondered how the fuck I was going to get out of this shit here.

  13

  Forty Bars & Running

  Nikki Speaks

  “Millennium Styles, Nikki speaking. How can I help you?”

  “Ay yo, Nikki, this Quincy from the car wash.”

  “What’s up, baby?”

  “Yo, you ain’t gon’ believe this shit!”

  “What happened?”

  “I just got a call from Syncere, telling me he just got bagged up by the police!”

  “Wait a minute, I just talked to him a couple of hours ago! What happened?”

  “He didn’t exactly tell me what went down ‘cause he doesn’t like doing the phone thing. But he did say he wrecked his truck and he got tore off with his burner.”

  “Oh my God! When did this happen?”

  “He said it happened right after he left your crib this morning. He didn’t even make it to car wash.”

  Before I responded to Quincy’s spin on the situation, I looked down at my watch and realized that I had left my apartment around ten o’clock this morning. Now it was four o’clock. “Damn, he’s been locked up for almost six hours! Why didn’t he call me?”

  “He said he tried to. But y’all got a block on the phone up there.”

  I sucked my teeth and said, “Oh yeah, I forgot all about that. But anyway, how much is his bond?”

  “He didn’t get one!”

  “What do you mean, he didn’t get one?”

  “They denied him a bond.”

  “But why?”

  “Since he’s from New Jersey they say he’s a flight risk.”

  “So, what is going to happen now?”

  “We’re gonna have to wait and see what happens in court tomorrow.”

  “Did he tell you what time he had to go before the judge?”

  “Yeah, he said it was nine o’clock in courtroom number three.”

  “So, what do we do in the meantime?”

  “We just sit back and wait.”

  I hesitated and sighed heavily. “All right, call me in the morning and I’ll meet you down at the courthouse.”

  “Sorry mamí, I don’t do the courthouse scene because a nigga like me is on paper.”

  “Shit! I am too.”

  “Yeah, probably for failing to complete your community service,” Quincy commented with a laugh.

  “If you only knew!”

  “Well, whatever it was, it can’t be no worse than my shit! So, you’re on your own with this one.”

  “What do you want me to do if the judge sets him a bail?”

  “Call me or come by the car wash. I’ll be here anytime after twelve.”

  “Will do,” I told Quincy and then our conversation ended.

  I slumped down in my stylist’s chair, trying to get a handle on all the mixed emotions swarming around in my head. One part of me was happy as hell that this nigga was in jail because in the back of my mind, I was wrestling with the thought that he could’ve had something to do with my cousin’s death. The other part of me was beginning to feel sorry for him because I knew how it felt to be behind bars without bail. I knew he was going crazy right now, especially since he couldn’t contact me himself. Hopefully that would all wear off by tomorrow when he saw me stroll into the courtroom.

  “Who just tore your world down that fast?” Rhonda asked, breaking my concentration.

  “Girl, I just found out that Syncere got locked up on a gun charge.”

  “Was that him on the phone?”

  “Nah, that was his partner Quincy from the car wash.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “A couple of hours ago.”

  “Well, why ain’t you down there trying to get him out?”

  “Because his ass ain’t got no bail yet! He does go before a judge in the morning, so hopefully he’ll get one then. I’m gon’ go down there around nine o’clock and see what’s going on.”

  “Girl, I sure know what you’re going through. Trust me, I done had my share of visits down to the Norfolk City Jail. Tony couldn’t keep his ass out of there if his life depended on it.! Shit, from all the cases that he had, you would’ve thought that nigga was a baller. Believe me when I tell you, he wasn’t. And not only that, ask me who was paying his lawyer all that fucking money?”

  “Who, you?”

  “You damn right! That’s why I told him to sit his block-hustling ass down and get a real job. Because I was getting tired of using my money to bail his sorry ass out!”

  “I’m glad Syncere has his own money, because if he had to depend on me to get out, he would be out of luck, especially on my salary.”

  “I’m feeling you.”

  “I’m glad somebody is, because my fucking head is spinning. Please tell me if I’m done for the day ‘cause I am truly desperate to get home to my bed.”

  “Yeah girl, go home and take care of yourself. I ain’t got nothing but two customers left. I’ll be fine.”

  After Rhonda relieve me of my duties, I grabbed my purse and car keys and headed out the door.

  “I’ll call you in the morning before I come in,” I told Rhonda before I closed the door behind me.

  It took me forty minutes to get home because of the construction on Highway 264. Immediately after I entered my apartment, I checked my voicemail. I had one message from my grandmother and the other one was from Quincy, rehashing the incident that happened with Syncere. Coincidentally, after I erased the messages, I got a beep on the other line. When I clicked over it was the automated voice system from the jail indicating I had a collect call from the devil himself. I took a deep breath, accepted his call, and braced myself for the conversation ahead.

  “Yo, why y’all got a block on the phones at the salon?”

  “Because Rhonda wants it that way.”

  “Well, tell her to take that shit off!”

  “I can’t do that, Syncere, it’s her shop.”

  “Well, you need to do something! ‘Cause, I’m not gon’ be able to call you collect on your cell phone.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said just to shut his ass up. “So, tell me what happened,” I said, trying to move the conversation along.

  “You ain’t talked to Q.?”

  “Yeah, I talked to him.”

  “He didn’t tell you what happened?” he asked sarcastically.

  “He told me a little bit but he really didn’t go into details.”

  “Well then, you know all you need to know!”

  “No this muthafucka did not just get smart with me,” I mumbled to myself, trying to fight the urge to curse his ass out. But, I held my tongue and continued the conversation. “Do you think you’re going to need an attorney?”

  “Hell yeah! What kind of question is that?
”

  “Syncere, I’m not going to be able to get you one by tomorrow morning.”

  “I know that. Just make sure you contact one after my court hearing tomorrow.”

  “Is there anyone in particular you want me to contact?”

  “Yeah. I heard these niggas in here talking ‘bout this lawyer name Taliaferro was good. So you might wanna call him first.”

  “All right, I’ll do that. But tell me, how are you holding up?”

  “You know me, I’m good. Kind of fucked up right now, but I’ll bounce back.”

  “Have they taken you to a block yet?”

  “Yeah, they put me in a block on the third floor with about twenty other niggas. And they got me sleeping on this cold-ass floor with this flimsy-ass cardboard mattress.”

  “They didn’t give you a bunk?”

  “Hell nah, ‘cause this joint is overcrowded.”

  “You got money?”

  “Yeah. I had about five hundred in my pockets when the police locked me up. The C.O. who processed me will put it on my books but I know they gon’ keep that dough I had stashed away in my glove compartment.”

  “How much was it?”

  “A little over eight grand.”

  “Did they give you a receipt for it?”

  “Nah.”

  “Oh yeah, you can count that one a loss. ‘Cause they gon’ keep that, just as sure as my name is Nicole Simpson.”

  “Shiiid, I don’t give a damn about that money. I just wanna get the hell outta here.”

  “You will, so don’t worry about it. But, let me ask you this?”

  “What’s up?”

  “If the judge gives you a bond tomorrow, where am I going to get the money to bail you out?”

  “Q. will handle that. Just give him a call.”

  “All right. Is there anything else you want me to do?”

  “Nah, I got everything pretty much under control. Everybody on my payroll knows what they suppose to do while I’m off the scene. So, until they show me different, shit is all good!”