“All right, girl.” My gaze skimmed back around the dancing crowd. No doubt that every one of those muthafuckas was either drunk or high as hell, but so far there wasn’t any shit poppin’ off.
Leroy’s nose vacuumed up another line.
“That shit that good?”
“Fuck yeah.” He smirked. “You wanna try it?”
Maybe it was the Colt 45 or maybe it was just that good-ass weed that was floating around that had my curiosity finally get the best of me. “O-okay,” I said, pinching my nose as if to get ready. “I’ll try it this one time.”
Leroy lit up. “Trust me, baby. Once you get a taste of this shit, you’ll be thanking me for the rest of your muthafuckin’ life. I guarantee it’ll have your ass flying to the moon.” He laughed, rocking his hips to Curtis Mayfield’s fly-ass tracks and bumping into a few annoyed party guests.
“Nigga, watch where you’re going,” an O. J. Simpson look-alike muthafucka snapped.
Leroy tossed up his hands. “Peace, love, and soul, my nigga.” He chuckled. “Now, baby girl, you want to hit this shit or not?”
“Stop tryna sell me, Leroy. I said I’ll try it.” I laughed, mushing him in the head. “Now show me what I need to do.”
“Sho’nuff, girl. Sho’nuff.” He smacked his hands together and ordered people to move out of his way before copping a squat back down next to the coffee table. “Now, we’re just going to give you enough to get you started.” He sprinkled the white powder onto the glass surface and quickly produced two beautiful white lines of coke.
My heart raced. In the back of my mind, I could hear my nana’s stern warning, but that shit was drowned out with the crowd and Leroy’s singing.
“I’m your momma. I’m your daddy. I’m that nigga in the alley.” He handed over the dirty twenty-dollar bill while bobbing his head. “I’m your pusher man.”
I took the bill, leaned down, and then tried snorting the first line just like I’d seen him do, but the first whiff had my nose on fire.
“Keep going, keep going,” Leroy coached.
Like a fool, I listened to him and completed snorting up both lines. When I lifted my head, I couldn’t help but wave my hand in front of my nose. But then a second later …shit, things just started melting away. Stress. Pain. Heartbreak. Just about every fucking thing. All that was left were these wonderful sensations swirling inside my brain and in my body.
“Got to get mellow now. Gotta be mellow, y’all,” Leroy crooned, smiling in my face. “You feeling that shit, baby?”
I could only manage a goofy grin.
“Aww, shit. What did I tell you?” He stood and pulled me to my feet just as “Little Child Runnin’ Wild” started grooving from the Tannoy fifteen-inch gold speakers.
Chest to chest and pelvis to pelvis, Leroy and I grooved and grinded against each other like we were the only two people in the room. “You know what I like after having some really good nose candy?” Leroy asked me, spreading his large hands over my thick booty.
“I think I might have an idea,” I said, knowing that my panties were already wet as hell.
Five minutes later, we were fucking on top of a giant pile of fake fur and leather in the coat room. No. It was better than fucking. That coke had awakened sensations in my pussy that I had never felt before, to the point that each stroke was like having a mini orgasm.
An hour later, we took our private party back to my bedroom at Nana’s house. As luck would have it, Nana was out her damn self doing her own thing, leaving twelve-year-old Alice asleep up in her room. I did a couple more lines, and sometime during the night, I heard my bedroom door creak open. Fearing that it was Nana returning home, I swiveled my head to investigate.
“Alice, what the fuck are you doing in here?” I barked.
My twelve-year-old sister’s eyes bugged—most likely from seeing Leroy’s yellow, sweaty ass still drilling its way to China between my legs.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I snapped. “Go back to bed.” I dropped my head back down and moaned out my pleasure while my liquid candy-coated Leroy’s dick.
Alice didn’t move.
Through the mesh of my lowered eyelashes, I caught her still standing at the door. “I said get the fuck out of here!”
Leroy chuckled. “Let the girl be. Maybe she’s learning a thing or two.” He wrapped a muscled arm around me and quickly flipped me onto my back. “You see how much your sister like this good dick I’m throwing at her?” he asked Alice.
“Leroy, stop playing…. Oh…shit. That’s my spot, baby.”
“Hell, yeah. Big Daddy knows how you like it.” He opened up my ass cheeks and showed all my business to my little sister. “Shit is good, ain’t it, baby?”
Again, I caught sight of my sister. “A-Alice …oh…shit. Damn it. Don’t make me tell you again. NOW GO!”
Alice finally slammed the door.
Leroy laughed. “Ah, baby. She’s got to get her education somehow. Might as well be at home.”
I meant to tell him that shit wasn’t funny, but then his hips picked up speed and he pounded my pussy something lovely. I lost count of how many orgasms I had and how many lines of coke I did in just one night. Later, I opened my eyes to find my bed empty. Fuck, I didn’t really mind, given how delicious my body felt. The only reason I got up was because I had to piss like a muthafucka.
I stumbled out of bed naked and crept out of my room to the bathroom down the hall. It wasn’t until I was on the toilet with my face cradled in my hands that a sound caught my ear and caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand at attention. I stopped my piss in midstream and strained my ears, trying to hear it again.
I did.
“Alice,” I whispered, popping up off the toilet and racing as best I could to my little sister’s room. When I burst through the door, it was my turn for my eyes to bug out and my stomach to twist into painful knots.
Alice turned her tear-soaked face toward me, but she couldn’t say anything because Leroy’s big gorilla hand was clamped over her mouth.
“Peaches, you come in here to join us?” Leroy asked, still stroking between my sister’s legs.
“Muthafucka, get the fuck off my sister!” I made a running leap toward the bed, landed on his back, and pounded away at his head. “You sick muthafucka. She’s just a kid!”
“Wh-what the fuck! Get off me.” With one powerful swing back, Leroy sent me careening toward the wall. I hit headfirst and then barely registered the rest of my body smashing a close second and then dropping down on top of the wooden nightstand below. Amazingly, I didn’t stay down for long. I bounced up, grabbed an American eagle brass lamp that had fallen to the floor, and swung at Leroy’s head as if I were Reggie Jackson.
When the brass connected with his skull, there was a loud, sickening crack! Leroy was lifted off a whimpering Alice, who jumped off the bed with bloodstained thighs.
“I’m going to fuckin’ kill you!” I leaped back onto the bed, my fists flying.
Leroy was feeling no pain. The muthafucka turned on me so hard and vicious that I could hardly comprehend what was happening other than he’d grabbed me by the throat and was whaling on me like I owed his ass money.
“Have you lost your muthafuckin’ mind, bitch?” His fist crashed against my jaw like I was a grown-ass man. “Do I look like some punk muthafucka to you? Huh?” He switched up and hit me with a right hook.
I reached up and dragged my nails down Leroy’s mug shot. I could feel his skin and blood scraping off.
He howled out in pain but retaliated with a one-two punch.
I tried to scream, but my mouth was quickly filling up with blood. Time and space became a blur. I even forgot that I was supposed to be trying to fight back. My mind was just spiraling into a black abyss.
“You just wanted all this good dick to yourself, didn’t you, baby?” Leroy changed up, squeezing my titties like he hadn’t just beaten the shit out of me. “You ain’t got to worry about a damn thing. There’s pl
enty of this good dick to go around.” He snatched my legs open and rubbed the head of his bloody dick over my clit.
Pop! Pop!
“What the fuck?” Leroy roared.
Pop! Pop!
I felt Leroy jerk.
Pop! Pop!
My eyes flew open when it felt like my left leg had been slammed by two hot pokers.
Leroy slumped over on the bed. His big golden eyes were still glossy but lifeless. I struggled to pull myself up. At the doorway, Alice stood with tears streaming down her face, blood pooling on the floor between her legs, and Nana Maybelle’s gun smoking in her hand.
I blink out of the old memory, sigh, and glance down at my prosthetic leg on the floor—complete with the electric tag that the po-po strapped on yesterday. If I had a nickel for every dumb muthafucka I’ve come across, I would be one rich bitch, that’s for damn sure. I strap on my leg and climb out of bed.
Arzell stretches out a muscled arm, pats the empty space beside him, and then lifts his head from the pillows. “Where you goin’, Ma?”
A big smile blooms across my face. “I’m fixing to knock the funk off this body, and then I’m going to hook my boo up with some good ole homemade flapjacks. Would you like that?”
“Fuck yeah.” Arzell rolls over onto his back with a big Joker smile. “That’s what I like about you older women. You know how to take care of your man.” He stretches his hand down and wraps it around his early morning hard-on. After a couple of pumps, a few drops of precum ooze from the tip.
“Looks like Momma needs to fix you up first,” I say, edging back over to the bed.
“You know it.” He spreads his legs wide.
I just love these young boys. Their dicks are always just a little harder than they heads. “In that case, come to Momma.”
9
Yolanda
A week after KyJuan had been shot down in the heart of Gangster Disciple territory, an unofficial war was declared against the Vice Lords. Hell, it isn’t safe for any nigga to be out on the streets: young, old, male, or fucking female. It really doesn’t matter because the wildin’ out members who aren’t waiting for no verification on who sent them niggas blazing down Shotgun Row are just straight blasting everything in sight. Python has the power to reel these niggas in, but he doesn’t seem to be all that interested in doing so. He is content to hold the whole city hostage until somebody starts talking—mainly Fat Ace.
For the time being, Fat Ace is MIA. No matter how many ears and foot soldiers Python has patrolling the streets, no one has seen this muthafucka nowhere. How the fuck they can’t find a three-hundred-plus-pound muthafucka is beyond everyone’s comprehension.
True to his word, the minute the Commercial Appeal printed the names of the shooters in the paper, Python sent a team of GD assassins to roll up on those niggas’ families and wipe out what was left of their family trees. The rash of gang violence dominated the nightly news, and Memphis PD washed the streets with blue lights each and every night.
I keep my head down and my mind on my fucking job. For the time being, that’s still muling shit into Memphis’s fine prison system. At this point, the job is a breeze. The top dogs know just who can be bought with pussy and who needs to be cut in on the profits. The money flowing out of the joint is the best money to be made, since our people on the inside make three times what the shit is worth on the street.
My cut is decent, but even decent money isn’t cutting it no more when I keep dating niggas who are in my pockets more than I am. Every time I turn around, it’s “Can I borrow twenty dollars for this?” or “Can you run to the store and get me that?” That’s the problem with just dealing with lowly foot soldiers; ten times out of ten they spend their money faster than they make it.
I know that I need to get my act together so I can get my kids back. Family Children Services took all three of them because my mother kept reporting that I wasn’t taking good care of them, which is bullshit. I fed my damn kids. They just looked poor because that’s how they damn looked. Probably took after they damn daddies, even though I’m not sure who they all are.
The Queen Gs are like a substitute family within the family, and just like most families, it tends to be dysfunctional as a muthafucka. Sometimes there’s just as much fighting going on inside the set as there is fighting such bitches as the Flowers or the Crippettes. Brothers of the struggle tend to cast their nets in their own pool or bring in new bitches who don’t know shit about gang life. Either way, there’s a lot of man stealing or sharing, and I’m just as guilty as anyone.
If I’m going to change my situation, I need a higher-ranking nigga within the Gangster Disciples. Someone who slings big money. Since my dreams and hopes were derailed when KyJuan died, I need to cast my net again.
“I’m thinking about gettin’ a job down at the Pink Monkey,” I blurt out to Baby Thug as we cop a few cases of beer at the J & W Liquor Store.
Baby, pretty much my only true friend in the set, busts out laughing at my ass before turning away and strutting up to the counter.
“What’s so goddamn funny?”
“You,” she says, setting her shit down. “You may have the body, but you sure as hell don’t have the rhythm.”
I move up behind her and set two more cases down. “What the fuck you know? I can dance.”
Baby jams her hand into her pocket and pulls out a fat roll of money. “Girl, I ain’t talking about just rocking your hips in time to the music. Your ass got to be able to work it down at the Pink Monkey. Those girls don’t be playing when they hustlin’ for that paper—bending and twisting their bodies like pretzels.” She shakes her head. “You are going to have to really up your game.”
The old black man behind the counter squints his brown and jaundiced eyes at us.
“So?” I say. “I can do that shit, too.”
“Bitch, please. Half the time you be tripping over air.” Baby glances up at the old dude behind the register. “What the fuck? Your arthritis acting up, nigga? How much?”
The man lifts a trembling, withered finger and shakes it at Baby. “Ain’t you the girl who came in here and robbed me last week?”
Here we go. I roll my eyes.
“Ain’t nobody robbed you, old man,” Baby snaps, her face twisting like she’s offended. “Now how much the fuck do I owe you?”
“Yeah. You were the one,” he says, bobbing his head.
Quick as lightning, Baby’s gat is in her hand, and a red light glows in the center of the man’s forehead. “For the last time, old man, I said nobody fuckin’ robbed your ass.”
Grandpa’s hands shoot up in the air as his nervous gaze shifts toward me. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t rob you either.”
“All right. All right. My mistake.” He licks his lips.
There is a small tinkling sound and then a foul odor drifts toward us.
Baby sniffs. “Muthafucka, did you just piss on yourself?”
“And shit,” I add.
The old man swallowed so hard we can see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
Baby lowers the gun. “Damn. You’re a nasty muthafucka.” She tosses a few bills on the counter and then grabs the cases of beer by their cardboard punch-out handles and marches out the door. Once outside, Baby glances over at me. “Damn, Yo. Why in the fuck didn’t you remind me we robbed this muthafucka last week?”
“Shit, girl. I can’t keep up with that fuckin’ shit.”
We quickly hop into Baby’s tricked-out royal blue ’68 Impala and burn rubber back toward Shotgun Row. Nobody dares tell Baby that she looks like a thirteen-year-old teenager behind the wheel, including my ass. I know my girl is sensitive about her size and wouldn’t hesitate putting a cap in someone’s ass if they mentioned it.
“Are you still going to braid my hair?” Baby asks when we pull up to the curb of my momma’s house.
“Shit, I guess so. I can go fill out an application down at the Pink Monkey afterward.”
Baby shuts off he
r engine and climbs out from behind the wheel. In the distance, a series of gunshots catches our attention, but no one on the street trips. It’s probably just business as usual. “You’re really gone take your no-rhythm ass down there?”
“Fuck you, Baby.”
“You going to keep saying that shit to me and I’m going to take you up on it.”
I may be a little slow from time to time, but I’m more than aware that Baby is interested in more than just friendship with me. It’s just too bad I don’t feel the same way about her, because Baby is really cool peoples. I know for a fact that she treats the girls she dates like fucking queens, spending time and her hard-earned paper on them. But it never really lasts long, because Baby says women are just as scandalous as the niggas I deal with—maybe more so. I think it’s debatable.
“Hey, y’all. Whatcha up to?”
Baby and I turn around to see Pit Bull, a large Queen G who is as husky as the two pit bulls she’s always walking up and down Shotgun Row.
“Nothing. Just hanging for a little while,” I answer.
Baby elbows me and hisses, “Why the fuck you always talking to that bitch?”
“What? I’m just being nice,” I whisper back.
Pit Bull jams a hand on her hip and rolls her eyes. Her dogs, Barksdale and Hoover, growl at us. “You two muthafuckas know I can hear y’all, right?”
“And?” Baby snaps.
“Whatever. You two homo bitches deserve each other.” Pit Bull tugs on her dogs’ leashes and continues her flat-footed stroll down toward her own crib.
“You just mad that nobody wants your funky ass,” Baby yells.
Pit Bull flips us the bird.
Baby turns toward me. “Why the fuck you always talking to that heifer? You know I can’t stand that bitch. She don’t do nothing but talk shit behind everybody’s back.”
I know that, but I still struggle with that childhood need to win people over no matter how many times my ass gets burned. “C’mon, girl. Get in here so I can do your head.” I turn and swish my ass up my momma’s porch steps.
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