Twenty minutes later we creep down on a few row houses off Jackson Avenue in West Memphis. At first glance they ain’t much to look at, but that’s probably the fuckin’ point. I spot a few flagless hustlers and chubby hoes squeezed into clothes three sizes too small and hugging empty corners in the rain. So far nobody makes a move or sends out a warning. No surprise, really. It’s long been rumored that West Memphis gangs were disorganized with a every-nigga-for-themselves mentality.
It’s a fucking disgrace.
“Which one?” Cutty asks.
“Ease up, man. It’s the last crib at the end of this drive,” Bishop says.
Cutty hits the lights and pulls his foot up off the accelerator until we roll to a stop against a curb.
We scope the perimeter to see if any roaches run out, but the rain has chased them all inside. Figures.
Novell removes his shades. “You think he’s in there?”
“It looks like the perfect place for a snake to slither and hide,” I say, eyeballing the peeling paint and overgrown hedges.
The boys chuckle among themselves as Tombstone rolls up behind us. Everyone checks their weapons and slaps in new magazines.
“Y’all niggas ready?” Bishops asks.
I look down at my fucked-up legs, concerned that I can’t feel them. How in the hell am I going to pull off this miracle?
“Why don’t we hit the back and you and Dougie stay out here in case the nigga tries to blast his way out of the front?”
Bishop is playing big brother, looking out to save me from making a fool out of myself. “Sounds like a plan,” I say, grabbing hold of the lifeline.
Cutty, Novell, and Bishop climb out of the car and then huddle up with Tombstone, Dougie, and Red.
Bishop explains the situation and I can hear them cursing about the loss of the big man. My eyes feel like they’re sitting in battery acid.
“Fuck yeah. Let’s do this shit,” Red says, pounding his chest. “It’s waaaay past time we murk this nigga Python.”
Tombstone throws down what is left of a cigarette. “I’m in.”
Dougie strolls up to the SUV that I’m sitting in and hops behind the wheel. The other soldiers follow Bishop to the house at the end of the drive.
I hit the power button to the back window and prop the TEC-9 up on the frame. I feel like a punk-bitch sitting up in this muthafucka. I reach up to soothe a sudden irritating tic against my temple only to be surprised about the amount of sweat beading my brow. I need a doctor.
My gaze shoots up to the rearview mirror to see Dougie watching me.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I lie. Is that my breathing sounding so choppy? I shift my attention back to the house, hoping that it’s enough to discourage him from asking any more questions. However, the longer I sit there, the more intense the pain.
C’mon, you ugly muthafucka. Bring your ass on out here.
Unfortunately, the seconds feel like hours and the minutes feel like eternity. So far, the only thing that’s happening is that the rain is picking up speed. Sweat drips into my eyes and it burns as much as the tears I’m fighting back.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
“What the fuck is taking them so long?” I snap.
Tombstone’s mountainous shoulders shrug.
Four minutes.
Five minutes.
A light clicks on in the house and I perk up, halfway expecting gunfire to clash with the rumbling sky.
Nothing happens. There’s just the steady pounding of the rain on the roof.
Six minutes.
Seven minutes.
I’m pissed now and can barely sit still. The house lights click off and at long last our people creep back out the way they came. Instead of five people racing back, there’s six. The addition is a small boy who looked no more than seven or eight.
“Now who do we have here?” Dougie says.
“I don’t know.”
“Nah. I’m talkin’ about at six o’clock.” I frown and jerk my head toward the back of the car. I know that ’77 black Monte Carlo anywhere. “Python.” I open the back door but spill out onto the concrete. Despite the pain exploding inside me, I’m able to roll over and aim the TEC-9.
RAT-A- TAT- TAT- TAT!
Windows explode on the Monte Carlo as Python swings his big-ass car around while simultaneously sending a burst of fire our way.
POW! POW! POW!
My people join in on the fight and the whole street lights up.
RAT-A- TAT- TAT- TAT!
POW! POW! POW!
Python guns the accelerator.
“Get him,” I shout at Dougie. “GO! GO! GO!”
On command, Dougie shifts into drive and peels off from the curb. It’s one time I don’t mind having to eat exhaust fumes.
“Oh, fuck,” Bishop swears.
I turn and see Red pulling himself off the ground and Bishop, Novell, and Tombstone kneeling over the little boy. “Just grab him and c’mon.” We still had the other SUV. But then my gaze sweeps over the little boy’s face. “Christopher?”
6
LeShelle
The wail of the ambulance ricochets through my brain and then rattles the back of my teeth. I’ve known pain in my lifetime, but nothing like this. This shit is on a whole other level. It’s both intense and . . . orgasmic. It’s sick, I know, but it’s the way I’m wired. I’ve been through so much fucked up shit in my life that I’ve learned a long time ago how to turn pain into pleasure.
“Hang in there, Miss. We’re almost at the hospital,” a bulky paramedic tells me, leaning over the gurney. “Blink if you understand me,” he says.
I close my eyes but then struggle to open them again.
“That’s a good girl. Hang in there.” The man winks and then disappears from my line of vision.
I find a spot on the ceiling of the ambulance and concentrate all my anger and rage on it. If Ta’Shara thinks that she got the best of me then she has another thing coming. Blood be damned—this shit is war now. That bitch has only had a small taste of what the fuck I can do.
I clench my jaw and struggle to breathe into the mask strapped across my face. I’ve done everything and given everything to protect Ta’Shara.
It was my name that shielded Ta’Shara in the streets and that fucked up school she goes to, but did she appreciate that shit? Fuck no. She hooks up with a Vice Lord—and not just any VL soldier, but the head nigga, Fat Ace’s younger brother. What the fuck was she thinking? Where was the fucking respect?
I warned her ass once, but she played me stupid by taking that nigga, Profit, to the prom. So I treated her like any other bitch that crossed me. Had to. Python was looking at me sideways and dangled what I’ve always wanted in front of me: to take me from wifey to wife. Why the fuck should I jeopardize my position for Ta’Shara? She made it clear that she didn’t give a fuck about me. It’s every bitch for themselves out here.
Yeah so, I ordered her to be sexed into the Queen Gs and I had her ass branded so that she would never forget who owned her ass. To make sure that she never strayed again, I dumped a full clip into her man. But the nigga took those bullets like a soldier and was still standing after my last round slammed into him. Just when I thought I was staring at some ghetto Superman, his knees finally buckled and he hit the ground.
Problem solved.
Until the muthafucka rose from the dead. I still don’t understand how the fuck he survived that night.With him laid up in the hospital and Ta’Shara’s ass lost in space at the mental hospital, I thought my problems were solved. It wasn’t my goal to put her up in there, but it got her out of my hair while the war on the streets between GD and VL heated up.
For months I’ve avoided rollin’ by to check on her ass. What for? I was told that the bitch had mentally checked out. But then I got my ring. Python is gonna come through on his promise and give me his last name. I couldn’t help it, but I wanted to rub it in Ta’Shara’
s face that I didn’t need her anymore. Python and I are going to start our own family.
Fuck her.
My eyes burn as hot tears slide down my face. Instinctively, I want to wipe them away, but my arms feel as if they weigh a ton. What the fuck? Queen Gs don’t cry.
I try to blink the tears away and man up, but my eyes aren’t cooperating and the tears start flowing faster.
“Her pulse is dropping,” a voice says around me.
I hear the words, but I don’t understand them. It feels like I’m struggling to stay in my own body.
“Don’t worry.We’re here,” the voice tells me.
My lashes flutter, but my eyes barely open. Feet shuffle around me and then the ambulance door bangs open. Next, my gurney bounces and wobbles around as they roll and then lift me out.
“You’re going to make it,” the voice keeps promising. “We’re going to take care of you and fix you like new.”
I cling to that promise as strong as I do to my vow of revenge.
7
Qiana
I don’t know what it is about murder that gives you the best sleep of your life. But it’s true. Murder is the best high dollar for dollar, pound for pound—period. Like a sugar high, the crash is like taking a bottle of sleeping pills. This morning, I’m forced out of the serene bliss by a long, growing wail of a crying baby. Irritated, I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my head beneath a stack of pillows. But the cries won’t go away. If anything, they get louder.What the fuck? Somebody shut that kid up. On and on it goes until my nerves are grated thin and I bolt up in bed, ready to take someone’s head off.That’s when it hits me that the cries are coming from inside my room.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
My closed door rattles.
“Hey! Keep it down in there! Niggas are tryna sleep,” my father, Nookie, barks through the door. A second later, I hear the electronic hum of his wheelchair as he drives away. No doubt he’s on his way back to his room where his latest and greatest Social-Security-check-diggin’ girlfriend is waiting for him to eat her ass out. It’s the only thing he can do since his dick works as good as his legs. His ass got caught slipping ten years back fuckin’ with a sideline bitch. Her nigga rolled through unexpectedly, caught them in bed together and sprayed Daddy as he tried to dive out of the window. He survived, but his ass is still addicted to pussy.
WHAAAAH! WHAAAH!
Groaning, I glance at the dresser where the baby is nestled in the top drawer in a makeshift baby bed. As the screams grow louder I contemplate closing the muthafucka.
My door rattles again. “Goddamn! What the hell is going on in there?” My older brother, Charlie a.k.a. Tombstone, rattles my shit. “What the fuck? You got a kid in there?”
“Mind your own muthafuckin’ business.”
“Who in the fuck would trust you with a kid?”
“Your baby mommas!”
My door bursts open and Charlie strolls his big ass through my door. “Hey!”
“Hey nothing! Your ass ain’t got nothing I want to see.” He marches over to the wailing baby. “What in the hell?” He leans over. “Who’s this lil nigga?”
“None of your business, Charlie. Get out of here.” I jump out of bed and shove him away. I’m not in the mood to take any of his bullshit. “My room is off-limits.” I push and shove, but he doesn’t move.
“Why the fuck do you have him in the drawer?”
“Because I don’t have anywhere else to put him.”
He frowns. “What the fuck is wrong with the bed?”
“Get the fuck out of my room,” I bark.
Charlie tosses up his hands. “Fine. Don’t get your panties twisted. I’m leaving.” He wrinkles his nose. “You might want to change that muthafucka’s diaper, though. Lil nigga is foul as hell.”
“And what’s your excuse? You’re sour as fuck, too.”
“I was out puttin’ in work all night. Real work. Something your ass don’t know shit about.”
If only you knew. I grab his huge muscled arm and drag him away from the screaming baby. Truth be known, its high-pitch wailing is working a number on my nerves, but I can deal with that shit.
“Is he sick?” Charlie asks.
“Why? Are you a doctor?”
“If I was I’d fix your face,” he says chuckling.
The jab hurts. A year ago I was the dime piece of Ruby Cove. Sexy frame and a beautiful face, niggas lined up outside my door and blazed up my phone 24/7, but the only nigga that caught my eye was Profit. Since the day his ass arrived from Atlanta, I’d been counting down until I branded his fine ass as mine. Shit. I believed that it was just a matter of time before his ass ascended the throne and I wanted to be the Flower on his arm.
Sure there were a lot of Flowers jockeying for the position, but I wasn’t sweating that shit. I knew Profit would want a real dime instead of a knockoff. I dreamed about carrying his seeds and playing wifey with his fine ass—then fate dealt me a harsh hand, and Ta’Shara turned my future baby daddy’s head. I don’t get it. She ain’t all that cute and she ain’t as smart as she thinks she is or she would have known better than to cross the color lines. Regardless, I still didn’t think the shit would get serious. Ta’Shara was GD by blood. At most, I hoped Profit would splash off on the chicken head and then move on.
That shit didn’t happen.
Ta’Shara had Profit’s nose so wide open that if he walked outside on a rainy night his ass would drown. I couldn’t have that shit. Bitches in my own crew clowned and gave me grief because I had bragged about locking his ass down—so I stepped to Ta’Shara, told her to back down. She and her pip-squeak friend, Essence, bucked—so the next time there wasn’t no fucking talking. I came hard at the bitch, figuring that shit would settle it, but I got the surprise of my life.Ta’Shara’s blade game ain’t no joke. I didn’t expect that shit from a straight-A bougie bitch. Hell, I didn’t even see her ass spit that razor out, but I sure as hell felt it when it split my cheeks wide open, fucking up my mug shot. Now I’ll never win Profit’s heart.
Lesson: any bitch can be a gangsta nowadays.
Charlie stops at the door and glances back again.
“All right. I’ll change him,” I say in order to get him on the other side of the door so I can shut it in his face.
He nods, but doesn’t move.
“Charl—”
“Look. There’s no other or better way to tell you this,” he says, cutting me off. “Fat Ace fell off the throne last night.”
“WHAT?” I shout above the baby’s wail. There’s no way that I heard him right.
His head drops. “We thought we had a solid lead on Python’s whereabouts last night, but shit got messy and now most of the city looks like a fuckin’ war zone. Seriously, today is not the day to be flagging colors. We’re expecting some heavy artillery for payback.”
“But how . . . where—?”
“Short version, there was a car chase and our nigga lost control of the wheel and . . .” Charlie shakes his head. “Lucifer is banged up pretty bad, too. Dougie gave chase, but ain’t nobody heard back from him. It ain’t looking too good.”
“Damn.” I absorb it all in and have to say it again. “Damn.”
The news plus this hollering baby got me shook. Fat Ace—gone? That shit can’t be possible. For as far back as I can remember our leader has been larger than life. He has survived more bullets than most could keep count.
Dead?
“It gets worse. That muthafucka also took Fat Ace’s body.”
I’m confused. “What muthafucka?”
“Python.”
“Get the fuck out of here!” I know I heard that shit wrong. “He took the body? What the fuck for?”
“Who knows what’s in that sick nigga’s head? He thinks he’s a fuckin’ snake for Christ’s sake. He’s liable to do anything.”
The possibilities are endless. “Fuck.”
“Tell me about it.”
For a moment, our usual sibling b
ickering is put on the back burner as we stare at the floor, reflecting on Fat Ace. He kept the Peoples Nation a unit after his father Smokestack got shipped off to the Big House. He’d been a great leader: hard, ruthless, but also loyal and fair. Niggas respected his gangsta and he was the main reason our people didn’t disintegrate to a bunch of reckless muthafuckas in for self like so many gangs around Memphis.
“So . . . who steps up?” I ask.
“By all rights Lucifer . . . but . . .”
“Niggas bucking,” I fill in for him.
“I ain’t saying that her gangsta ain’t tight. She has stepped up plenty of times when Fat Ace was on the mend or out of town on business—but it’s a whole ’nother thing for niggas to accept her as a supreme chief. If you ask me, the throne should go to Bishop. Fat Ace put just as much trust in him as Lucifer.”
“Plus he has a dick.” I shake my head. “That’s some fucked up shit.” I feel sorry for Lucifer. She has more balls than any nigga I know but, in the end, it’s not enough. “What about Profit?”
Charlie shakes his head. “Ain’t ready. Man got heart, he’d done proved that shit going toe to toe with me and then takin’ that full clip to the chest, but he’s still a rookie who ain’t put in no work.”
“Lucifer ain’t gonna step off that throne without a fight,” I say. “A bitch don’t need a crystal ball to see that shit.”
Charlie nods. “I think that’s what everyone is afraid of—but that’s gonna be Bishop’s fight.”
“Fam against fam. It ain’t right.”
“It be that way sometimes,” he reminds me. “Anyway, me and Red are heading out to the hospital to pick up Profit. Bishop wants our people close, you feel me?”
“Profit is coming home?” I ask.
Charlie’s lips spread wide at my eagerness. “Figured that shit would cheer you up.”
“Nah. Nah. I was just asking.” I shrug, tryna play it off.
“Uh-huh. There’s something else, too,” he adds.
I eyeball him. “Good news or bad?”
“Bad. We found Cousin Skeet’s grandson, Christopher.”
Gangsta Divas Page 4