by Nikki Turner
“Man, I got to take a leak, can I use your bathroom?'’ I ask while twitching my legs together 'cause I had to pee bad as shit.
La-La nods his head. “Yeah.”
I run upstairs and shut the door behind me. There isn't shit in the bathroom except the sink, bathtub, and toilet. They ain't have no shower curtain up, no rugs on the floor, or no soap in the god-damn soap dish. By this time, I'm pissed with my cousin for letting that nigga live up in her house and they ain't have nothing in it. I finished pissing and was about to stand up when that nigga came bursting through the door. Bam! he kicked that mutherfucker in with his foot.
“Man, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask, and cover myself with my hands.
“Any nigga who knocks at this door without my permission is bound to get whatever the fuck I got waiting for 'em. Why the fuck you think it was all right to knock at my shit?” He stands at the door staring at me with rage in his eyes. I don't notice the burner in his hand until he put the mutherfucker up to my head.
“Raise up off the muh-fucking toilet, nickga!” he orders as he presses the black 9mm directly at my temple.
“All right, dawg, I'm moving,” I say as I stand up and start to pull up my black-and-red Joe Cool boxers.
“Nah, nickga, leave them bitch-ass boxers and shorts at yo knees and get the fuck in the bedroom.”
I step out of the bathroom, holding my shorts with my hands, while my boxers are still at my knees. La-La walks beside me, never moving the gun from my dome.
“Man, what up?” I ask as I make my way to the bedroom with the black lacquer bedroom set. We pass by the children's room, and I notice they ain't have no beds, just two pissed-up mattresses on the floor.
“You owe, nigga. Pay up now or I'ma smoke your ass right here, right now!” he yells.
I reach in my back pocket, my hands trembling and shaking like a pipehead phening for crack. I start counting. “Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, one-twenty.”
The nigga snatches the money from my hands and says, “Nigga, this ain't enough to keep you breathing.” He throws the money on the bed.
“But you ain't count all of it,” I say, when I know damn well it ain't enough to close out my tab. La-La is tripping, but I know it ain't about the money. The nigga is flexing on me 'cause I caught his ass out last night. He's trying to prove to me that he's still a real nigga 'cause I found out that he likes hitting faggots.
“You got a choice. You can either suck my dick or let me fuck you. You got one minute to decide,” he says while kicking off his flip-flops and dropping his shorts to the floor with his available hand, while the other is still holding the gun to my head. My eyes grow big. I can't believe this is happening. I'm thinking, if only I had taken my cokehead ass home, I wouldn't be here right now dealing with these ultimatums this nigga giving me.
Suddenly, my heart starts beating fast: thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. I could see it pumping from beneath my shirt. Then I start sweating; I can feel the perspiration settling on my forehead. Then I think, Let's see, I was born a woman so if I let him hit, it wouldn't be too bad, but if I suck that nigga's dick, I might never be able to look at myself in the mirror again.
“All right, time's up,” La says, holding his dick in his hand.
“Let's fuck,” I say, as if it didn't faze me, 'cause I'm planning on fighting the nigga once we get in position.
“Nah, I changed my mind, you don't get to choose. You gon’ suck my mutherfucking dick, nickga,” he says with a sinister laugh, swinging his dick from side to side like it is his muh-fucking most prized possession. “And if you make one wrong move I'ma blast yo bitch ass. Drop to yo knees now, nickga.” He moves the nine from my temple and points it between my eyes.
I drop to my knees, but I ain't sucking; his dick is just resting there.
“Man, where is Melody and the kids, 'spose they walk in on us?” I pull my head back and try a scare tactic so he'll let me go.
“Melody is wit’ yo momma at the Purple Pit and the kids is with they country-ass daddy in Charles City. So, nickga, shut the fuck up. I know what you tryna do but it ain't gone work.”
Bam! The nigga hits me across the head with the gun, not hard enough to knock me out, but hard enough to motivate my ass. I wrap my sweaty hands around his dick and start sucking slowly; the nigga is fucking my mouth like he is in some pussy. After about three minutes, the nigga pulls out of my mouth and looks down at me.
“I'm getting ready to come,” he says and looks at me like I know what time it is. I try to rise up but he knocks me back down. “Suck my nut, bitch, or I'ma split yo muh-fucking head open!” La-La then forces his dick back into my mouth. This time he holds on to the back of my head with his left hand. He pumps and pumps until he busses off.
“I'm coming, I'm coming,” he announces. “Oh yeah, nickga, yeah, I like this shit, ooh yeah, ooh yeah, don't stop, keep sucking, nickga.”
I want to jump up and fight the nigga, but La is stronger than me, and I know there is no win. The big muh-fucker is cock diesel; he's 6 feet 5 inches, 240 pounds, and cut up like a mutherfucker. The nigga jerks off in my mouth and then tells me to get the fuck out of his house. I run to the bathroom. I'm humiliated, violated, and some mo shit. I shut the door behind me.
He yells, “Yeah, bitch, wash your mouth out.”
I sit on the toilet for a minute trying to compose myself, 'cause I am hurt like a muh-fucker. I'm already thinking of ways I'm gon’ get back at that nigga. I stand up and open the medicine cabinet to see if Melody keeps toothpaste or Listerine since I don't see shit lying around. I'm throwing shit out of the cabinet, which looks like it ain't never been cleaned or wiped out. That's when I come across a ring with the initial K on it. It's a diamond cluster, and one of the diamonds is missing from it. There was only one nigga in the hood that wore a ring like it, and that was my lil bro, KaQuanza.
I wonder, what the fuck is Quanza's ring doing in Melody and La's crib. Come to think of it, La-La's night-prowling ass is the only nigga that would be in the cut at four in the morning. And that nigga gambles every fucking day. Mat-o-fact, I saw that nigga at Food Circus with one of them dudes from Fairmont the same day Quanza died. Yeah, everybody knows them niggas from Fairmont love gambling. I wonder if La ass was out there with them, too. Man, I know this nigga ain't the one who pulled the trigger on my baby bro.
I sit on the toilet then stand up again, sit on the toilet, then stand up again. My mind is racing. It's going a hundred miles an hour. I start pacing back and forth in the confined quarters of the bathroom. My heart starts beating fast again and sweat pours down my face. I start thinking about all the crazy shit me and Quanza used to do when we was little, like playing “knock on people's door and run.” I think about how we used to make signs like we was homeless and stand in front of the Daily Planet Homeless Shelter on Canal Street holding signs that read hungry orphans, can you please spare a dime? just to collect money so we could go to the Kiddy Disco at the Ebony Island Club. Then I think about the time we used Uncle Lee's driver's license to get Quanza's ass in Club Tropicana, and how that nigga got pissy drunk 'cause his ass was a forty-five-year-old man that night and was able to buy liquor. I'm vexed. I think to myself, This nigga done killed my brother and made me suck his dick!
Man, I lose it. I swing open the bathroom door and run downstairs. La-La is sitting back at the table finishing off the box of cereal, his burner on the table beside him. I slam the ring down in front of him. He looks up from the bowl, still eating and wearing nothing but his boxers and says, “And what, nickga?”
“So it was you, dawg?” I'm not crying. I can't cry. Besides, the teardrop tattoo underneath my left eye takes care of my pain for me.
“Fuck it look like? You a smart girl, figure it out,” he says, reaching for his burner. He ain't fast enough. I grab the gun and stick it in his face. I back up to the refrigerator and I'm about to blast that nigga when Melody comes through the front door.
I yell, “Loc
k the mutherfucking door and get your fat ass in here.” Melody walks in and I don't give her a chance to say shit.
“So you knew too, bitch?'’ I point at the ring on the table. Then point the gun back and forth at them.
“I told La he shouldn't have done it, but he said KaQuanza disrespected him in front of them dudes from Fairmont. He said Quanza called him a faggot lover or some shit like that.”
“We fam, Mel, how you gon’ look at my mom knowing that nigga killed her son?”
La-La sits there like he don't give a fuck. So I shoot the nigga in his head. BAM! He falls out the chair and hits the floor.
Melody starts screaming.
I bite my bottom lip and say, “Shut the fuck up, bitch. Where's the loot?”
“Upstairs,” Melody says, whining like a baby in a pissy-ass diaper.
“Take me to it.” I point the gun to her back and follow her upstairs. She goes to the bedroom where the nigga made me suck his dick. She steps into the closet and pulls out an old raggedy suitcase full of money. As I'm sliding it in the hallway, her ass reaches for the phone like she's gonna call 5-0. Man, I snatch the phone out of her hand. Then I jump up and drop kick her ass in the stomach. Wham! She falls over from the pain. When she stands up, I shoot her ass twice in the head. Boom boom! The bitch falls to the floor.
I drag her ass down the steps and into the living room. Then I drag La's ass from the kitchen and lay him out beside her. Fuck it, them niggas was rolling together, so I made sure they died together. I'm so fuckin’ mad I can't feel nothing. I put them both on their backs, and I cross their hands in front of them. Melody's eyes are wide open, and I leave them big Popeye mutherfuckers just like they are. I take the mop from the bucket and clean up the blood from the kitchen, the bedroom, and the blood trail that leads from upstairs to down. I change into one of that nigga's T-shirts 'cause my shit was all bloody. Before I leave, I walk over to La-La's body and kick the nigga in his head and tell the nigga, “So much for your rainy day, nickga.” I leave them muh-fuckers spread out on the living room floor just like John List did to his fam back in the seventies.
I peep out the back door to make sure the coast is clear. There isn't a soul in sight. I fired three rounds, and nobody heard anything. If they did, they didn't pay them shits no mind 'cause that's just how it is in the pj's. Niggas be shooting all day and all night so people get used to the sound. It's kinda fucked up when you think about it, 'cause for real, there's been many times when a nigga ass really needed emergency help 'cause a nigga done come through and smoked they ass. But folks be in the house chilling, while a nigga's ass out there dying and shit 'cause ain't nobody responding to the familiar sound of gunfire.
I make it home without anybody seeing me. I jump in the tub and take me a bath. When I get out, I count the money from La's suitcase—thirty g's. I didn't have time to worry about getting his product; all I wanted was the nigga's scratch. I call Lil Mo to ask if she wants to go out to eat and to the movies. She says she down for whatever and that she will scoop me up around five. I get into bed and fall off to sleep. I feel a whole lot better since my brother's killer has also been laid to rest.
SIX
I WAKE UP at four P.M. and get dressed for my date with Shorty. She picks me up near Carolina Barbecue, and we drive to Three Lakes Park. I sit on top of a picnic table, and Shorty stands in between my legs with her arms wrapped around my neck like I'm her nigga for real.
“So what's up, Shorty? Why you come at me like that last night?” I ask as I lie back on the table and place my hands behind my head.
“ 'Cause I've been wanting you for a long time,” she answers, and climbs on top of me. She kisses me in my mouth and continues, “I used to see you outside of Club Tropicana. I was too young to get in the club, so I used to sit outside on the hood of my friend's car and wait for the club to let out so I could check out the fellows. I still remember the first night I saw you, I said to myself, ‘One day I'ma get that fine-ass nigga.’ ”
“Is that right?” I'm blushing hard as hell.
“Sheeett, everybody knows you the flyest nigga in town,” she says, boosting my ego even more.
“Have you ever fucked with a nigga like me?” I ask.
“Well, I used to be in love with a girl name Ann, but she was fem.”
“Why did you stop fucking with her?”
“ 'Cause we was having money problems. We used to have an apartment together, but Ann started getting high and fucking up our money,” she answers.
“Oh yeah, so where you from?” I ask 'cause I never saw Shorty around town until she started doing Nessa's hair.
“I've lived a little bit of everywhere, but I lived with Ann in Petersburg.”
Since I'm straight butch, I don't know why she likes me, but then again, she's fucking with that nigga Turk and he's one of the hardest niggas in Richmond.
“So what's up with you and Turk?”
“T is too possessive, and his ass is starting to get tight with his money. I only started fucking with him 'cause his ass was getting paid. I've been tryna stick it out with him until I can save up enough money to move to Atlanta.”
“Word. Have you ever been to Atlanta before?”
“I plan on moving there and opening up my own hair salon,” she answers. Then she gives me another soft kiss on the lips, slides off me, jumps down off the picnic table, and starts running toward the truck.
We decide not to go to the movies. We drive down to Virginia Beach and get a room. Once in the room, she gives me a full body massage, complete with hot oil. Then we get in the sauna together. I hadn't brought my strap with me 'cause she said she wasn't ready for that. I'm satisfied with just locking and bumping pussies with her. Man, Shorty is so muh-fucking bad that I allow her ass to revoke my butch card. I'm spending money like it ain't funny. She is used to being wined and dined by Turk so I have to keep the broad in her element. Our three-day escape from Richmond includes Virginia Beach, Norfolk Naval Base, Busch Gardens, Water Country, Captain George's Seafood, Colonial Williamsburg, and shopping at the pottery and outlet stores in Williamsburg. We have so much shit in the Rodeo when we return to Richmond that it is ridiculous.
When I get back, Momma is sitting on the porch with a frown on her face, like she pissed off or something.
“What's wrong, Ma?” I ask 'cause I don't know what the fuck her problem is.
“Demetria, that damn Nessa called all day Monday and Tuesday. She say the city jail don't have no air-conditioning and that her bronchitis is acting up.”
I still had $25,000, but I meant I wasn't gonna go get her ass until I was good and goddamn ready.
“Ma, Nessa faking. She say that same old shit every time,” I say as I walk past her and make my way into the house. Momma follows me in, still bitching about Nessa being locked up. As soon as I sit down at the kitchen table, Sneaky Pete comes knocking at the back door.
“Come in, man,” I invite, but I stand right there beside the muh-fucking refrigerator. I point to the spot where I want the nigga to stand. Niggas call Pete ass Sneaky Pete 'cause that nigga would steal the drawers off yo ass, yo clothesline, or from wherever, then go sell yo shit so he could get high. That nigga is so cruddy that one time he sold me a radio and when I went upstairs to get the money for the nigga, he had stolen the radio back from me. I came back downstairs, gave the nigga the $20, and put his ass out of my house. Man, when I went to go hook the shit up, I realized that the nigga had beaten me out of my money and the radio. The shit was so funny, I couldn't do nothing but laugh. Me and Pete go way back, so ain't no way I was gonna beat that nigga's ass over a dove. Pete used to be cool as shit, but the nigga got caught out there and started oiling.
“What up, Pete?” I ask 'cause I want his visit to be brief since I don't trust the nigga round my shit.
“Yall know they found La-La and Melody dead as two door-knobs, right?” He asks slowly, nodding like he bout to rock the fuck over. “At first everybody thought Smitty ass came back,
but Shorty ain't do it, 'cause he was in MCV and shit; his girl stabbed him the same day La-La beat his ass.” He scratches his arms and chest and continues on, still leaning with his eyes closed and talking slow as molasses.
“Demetria, man, guess what niggas saying about La ass?” he asks.
He is ready to gossip like most dopeheads. Them muh-fuckers be gossiping and expecting a nigga to pay they ass for hot and juicy project rumors. Gossip in the projects is free, but them junkies be getting that shit twisted. Always tryna act like they know more than every fucking body else. Then, after they finish running they mouth, they always never seem to forget to hit yo ass up for a few dollars.
“Man, they say that nigga La was fucking with faggots and that one of them followed him home, and robbed and killed him and Mel.”
Sneaky Pete gave me the lowdown, then added “Demetria, man, let me get two dollars from you?”
“Ain't got it, Pete,” I lie to him.
“All right, I'm gone.” Pete wipes his face with his dirty face towel and exits through the back door.
I'm happy to know that people ain't on to me. I call Lil Mo when Pete's gossiping ass is clearly out of sight. She says she has some errands to run and asks if I want to hang out with her for the day. I tell her yeah, to come back and scoop me up, which she does. We go to Eastgate Mall and she gets a pedicure and manicure. Then we go to DMV to pick up her tags, 'cause her thirty-day ones expiring on Friday. For lunch I treat her to Kabutos, the Japanese joint on West Broad. They stir-fry the food right in front of us and shit. Then I take her to Cary Town and buy her a Versace dress from this boutique that only them white hos out in the county shop at. For dinner we go to Skilligalee on Glenside. We sit in the booth next to each other, feeding each other and making out like teenagers on a first date. I pull up her skirt and play with her pussy hairs. She sucks on my neck, giving me a passion mark. She sucks so hard that I scream out loud and the manager orders us to leave. We run out of the restaurant, holding hands and laughing. I'm enjoying my new young tender ronni. Lil Mo is only eighteen, she's five years younger than me, and she has my nose wide open. I quickly forget about Nessa's ass locked up in the city jail.