Boss Divas (24 page)

H
ome sweet home.

After hospitals and rehabilitation centers, I have way too many feelings tripping inside my chest. It's not my first time returning after a long stint from the block. In the past, it involved my ass being locked behind iron bars. However, that's not the only thing different this time. I'm different.

That doesn't mean that I don't have a few things to work on. I do. But I see things differently now.

“I know that you'd rather Python brought you home,” Diesel says, cutting through the car's awkward silence. “Believe me. He wanted to be here.”

“When can I see him?”

“Soon. I promise.” He glances at his watch.

“Why do you keep doing that? You got some place to be?”

“Nah. Nah. I got you.” He glances at his watch and then smiles when he realizes he's done it again. “I got this joint opening up downtown next week. I got a lot of last-minute shit I gotta get done, but it'll keep.”

“What kind of joint?”

“A club. You know, some music, girls, dancing. You should come party it up. Celebrate your return home. I'll even reserve you a table and everything.”

“So you really are sticking around Memphis?”

He shrugs. “For a little while. You don't have a problem with that, do you?”

I suck in a long breath, but when he cuts his cool, calculating eyes my way, my protests die on my tongue. I've had all I can stand with psycho relatives. I gotta start letting shit slide. “Nah. It's a free country.”

Diesel nods and then turns onto Shotgun Row. A whoop goes up and the entire block breaks out into cheers as if the First Lady of the United States were rolling through.

“Welcome back, Momma Peaches!” people shout.

A few kids run up and tap on the window. “Heeeeey, Momma Peaches!”

“Hey.” I wave back with my eyes welling up.

More people crowd into the street and Diesel slows to a creep.

“Looks like you've been missed.”

I want to say something smart, but the words get stuck. At this moment, I'm overwhelmed at the idea of returning home. For months, I thought I'd never see this place again. I lost count of the number of nights I prayed to die in that basement or the number of mornings I cried when I opened my eyes. Forget what you heard, God can be cruel. It's good to be back.

Damn good.

Diesel pulls up to my curb and kills the engine.

“Welcome home, Momma Peaches,” my neighbor, Chantal, gushes as she grabs me by the shoulders and throws her arms around me. “We sure have missed you around here.”

“Thanks. It feels so good to be home.” I backhand a few tears and the crowd erupt into
aws
and
ohs
before I'm passed around for hugs. Overcome with emotion, I'm exhausted after a good ten minutes.

Music booms out into the streets and within seconds it's a full-fledged block party underway.

I glance at Diesel. “Who needs a club when they live on Shotgun Row?”

He bobs his head, smiling. “I see that.”

A few young bucks swarm around. Nothing like the feel of muscles and the scent of Axe body spray to get the ol' kitty kat purring. It's been a hot minute since this body has had a good tune-up. As most know, I've never bought into the notion that at a certain age a bitch is supposed to put her pussy out to pasture.
The Lord is testing me.

“Humph. Humph. Humph.” My gaze lands on one chocolate buck with chiseled prison muscles and a shoe size I'm guessing to be a sixteen. “Lord, lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil.”

Surprise colors Diesel's face. “You Bible thumping now?”

“
You
got a problem with that?”

He laughs.

It may be February, but it feels like spring. The smell of grilled burgers, chicken, and ribs is wafting up and down the neighborhood. I'm not even up the stairs on my new prosthetic leg when a fat joint is passed to me. It's halfway to my lips before the Lord taps me on the shoulder.

“Uh, I'm gonna pass.”

Chantal's eyes bug out as she takes the blunt back. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, girl. I'm fine. Tired is all.” I flash a smile, knowing that niggas don't trust square muthafuckas worth a damn. I don't blame them.

She nods, but she looks at me like I've sprouted a second head.

My gaze slips past her to the porch two doors down. Bettye Turner is staring a hole in my head—as usual. That bitch don't let shit go. Unable to resist pushing her buttons, I wave. “Afternoon, Ms. Turner!”

Stunned at my audacity, Bettye's face purples before she turns in a huff and storms her wide ass back into the house.

Chantal laughs. “That woman ain't never gonna change.”

“It's never too late to change,” I say, thinking about myself. “Or to at least try.”

“Here you go, Momma Peaches,” another neighbor, Jia, race up my steps to hand me a beer.

I look at it and then at the joint settled between Chantal lips and decide to accept the beer. “Baby steps,” I tell myself before pulling in a deep swig from the bottle. The second that smooth brew slides down my throat, I'm coasting through heaven. A bitch needed that. For real.

“Welcome back, Momma P,” Jia says. “Sorry I didn't get a chance to come visit you in the hospital, but chile, you know how hard it is getting a sitter around here.”

“Uh-huh.” I wash her bullshit down with another swig.

“But damn, it's good to have you back. Shit has been crazy 'round here since you and Python left. Hell, I even miss that psycho bitch he married.”

“Married?”

She blinks. “You didn't know?”

I whip my head around to Diesel, who shrugs. “What? I didn't get an invite either.”

Chantal was in full gossip mode. “Gurl, it was like one of those Taliban weddings you hear about on the news, there were so many bullets.”

“Bullets?”

“Yeah. The Vice Lords found out about the wedding and came out to pay their respect. Pit Bull was one of the first to fall.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah, girl. A lot of shit has popped off. You know LeShelle's ass was like in a coma for a hot minute at the hospital before Python wifed her. I guess her sister finally grew a set of balls or came off her meds while she was in the crazy house because she wet LeShelle's ass up good with like thirty-something stab wounds.”

“I don't blame her,” Jia hops back into the convo. “I would've taken a chunk out of her ass, too, if she had my ass jumped, raped, and then emptied a full clip into my nigga right in front of me.”

Chantal picks back up. “But you know how LeShelle rolls. She paid the bitch back and burned down her sister's foster parents' crib. They died in the fire.”

One of the news reports I saw in the hospital flashes in my head. “You're fucking with me.”

“Wish I was. LeShelle took her girl Kookie with her, but she didn't make it out of that bitch either. Thing is the news media is saying she took a bullet to the chest. Now my ass wasn't there, but I'm willing to bet my rent money that LeShelle was behind that shit as well. You know Kookie and her man was dealing dirty behind Python's back.”

“Damn. I really have missed out on a lot.”

“Python and LeShelle are the real Bonnie and Clyde out in these streets.” She pauses for a second. “Then again, I wouldn't sleep on Lucifer and Fat Ace either. They say his ass rose from the dead, too.”

“WHAT?” Again, I whip around to Diesel, but his poker face is like granite.
What the fuck? Fat Ace—Mason—is alive?
It can't be. My mind zooms back to Dribbles. Did she lie to me? Does she know?
Somebody got to tell me something—and soon.

Jia accepts Chantal's joint, tokes on it, and then passes it to me.

I wave it off a second time.

Jia frowns. “You don't wanna hit this?”

“Nah. I'm giving that shit up,” I announce. “I told the Lord if he got me out that damn basement, that I'd change my ways. No more drugs, no more”—my gaze shoots over to an attentive Diesel—“foolishness. I'm a born-again Christian. No more sex outside of my marriage either. I think the big man still frowns on that. I ain't too sure, but I'll check—trust and believe, I'm gonna check.”

The girls stare in stunned silence and then burst out laughing.

“Momma Peaches, you're crazy,” Chantal adds, doubling over.

“Yeah,” Jia chimes. “You giving up dick is like . . . a muthafucka giving up oxygen. It can't be done.”

“So much for you bitches supporting my ass.”

“That's a nice Christian thing to say,” Chantal says, cracking them the hell up.

“Fuck y'all.” I cough and clear my throat. “Forgive me, Lord.”

Their laughter spreads.

“You're going to be saying
that
a lot,” Chantal laughs.

I let them have their laugh as I glance around. The streets are dirtier than I remember. The grass is dead. People don't give a fuck about taking care of their shit no more.Then, I spot the next tornado twisting toward my crib: Josephine Holmes.

“You got some nerve showing your face back around here,” she charges.

Chantal and Jia step back.

Calmly, I meet Josie's anger. “I'm going to warn your ass right now, don't bring your bullshit over here. I'm tryna forgive and forget.”

“Fuck that shit. I
told
you to stay the hell away from Arzell. Now look what done happened. He's dead!”

“I like your nerve.” I get up in her face, ready to punch the Holy Ghost into her ass. “That dead muthafucka got exactly what his ass had coming. Lil kidnapper hooked up with my crazy-ass sister, killed my parole officer and Rufus before tossing me down in that basement. I ain't shedding no tears over that nigga.”

“None of that shit would've ever happened if you hadn't infected him into your geriatric pussy, you evil woman!”

“What the fuck are you complaining for? I cut his ass loose. It's not my fault he inherited your crazy genes.” I catch myself from going completely off. “Diesel, get this trash off my porch,” I shout. “I ain't been saved that damn long and I ain't too sure that the shit took yet.”

Diesel steps in between us. “All right. That's enough. You done said what you needed to say.” He hustles Josie off my porch.

I should've dusted her ass off when I caught her riding my husband's dick
in
my muthafucking bed all those years ago. Instead I put a bullet hole in that ass and let her live.
Big mistake.

“This shit ain't over, Maybelline,” Josie threatens, wagging her finger as Diesel escorts her out of the yard. “This shit ain't over by a
loooong
fuckin' shot!”

Chantal leans over and whispers, “Momma Peaches, is that your new man?”

“Nah, girl. That's my nephew Diesel, from Atlanta.”

“Humph.” Jia checks him out from head to toe. “I didn't know that you had a nephew that looks like
that!”

“I know that's right,” Chantal cosigns. “He got a girl?”

Turning, I give both of them a stern look. “Listen up and take this shit to heart: keep those Hot Pockets of y'all in your panties. He ain't for you.”

Their faces sour.

“Damn, Momma P. I thought we were friends.”

I glance back at Diesel as he looks up and flashes me a smile. “We are.”

All heads turn at the familiar sound of two police cars rolling down Shotgun Row.

“Well, that didn't take long,” I mumble.

Once again, niggas part out of the way. This time there's no shouts of jubilation, but there's an awful lot of mean-mugging at the cops inside the cars. They stop at my curb behind Diesel's SUV and hop out. Captain Hydeya Hawkins.

As she approaches, her face keeps nagging at me.
Where in the hell do I know this bitch from?

“M
rs. Goodson.” I tilt my head forward.

“Captain Hawkins.”

Her gaze locks onto me and I swear I can hear the wheels in her head squeak as she struggles to place my face.

“You look like you're on the mend.”

“What can I say? It's good to be home. Now. Is there something that I can help you with, Captain?”

“It's just a friendly call. Mind if I come in and have a chat?”

Maybelline sucks in a long breath. “Do I have a choice?”

I cock my head with a silent,
What do you think?

“Just what I thought.” She shuffles toward the front door. “C'mon in.”

We wait a few seconds while she digs for the key and unlocks the door. However, she doesn't immediately go inside.

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

“No. It's . . . the first time I've been in here since . . .”

“Oh.” I chastise myself for the insensitivity.

Maybelline shakes it off and steps inside, but she inches slowly into the place as if she expects something or someone to jump out and attack. She isn't the kind of woman who would admit that her cage has been rattled. Whatever her sister did to her in that basement is going to haunt her for a long time.

“So what can I help you with now, Captain?”

“First thing first: have you heard from your nephew Terrell?”

“Not that shit again,” she says. “He's dead.”

“Missing,” I correct, shifting my attention to Diesel. “Mr. Carver. Nice to see you again.”

“It's nice to be seen.”

We share a cynical smile. “What about you? Has your cousin reached out to you yet?”

“I own a smartphone, not a Ouija board.”

“Funny.”

“I was aiming for charming.”

“You missed.”

Unfazed, he winks at me. My bullshit detector is going crazy. I keep my gaze leveled on him, but there's a steel wall behind his pretty-boy eyes. “What about your other nephew?” I ask, turning my attention back to Maybelline. “Mason. When was the last time you heard from him?”

The question throws the older woman off her game because her poker face slips and she takes a seat in one of her armchairs.

“I haven't seen my nephew since he was six months old. I'm sure you know that.”

I move on. “In your statement, you said that night of your escape was the first time you met Barbara Lewis.”

“That's right.”

“So you had no idea that she was Captain Melvin Johnson's sister-in-law?”

“How would I if I never knew the bitch? Sorry, Lord.”

I frown. “I'm sorry. What?”

“I wasn't talking to you,” she says, sighing. “Is that all?”

“And what's your relationship to the deceased Captain Johnson?”

“He was usually my arresting officer,” she answers, irritated.

“That's it? He never gave you money or tried to help you out?”

She laughs. “And why in the hell would he do that?”

“Because he was Terrell's father, for one thing. Surely he contributed somehow. After all, you raised his son.”

“What? Child, what the hell are you talking about?”

Her confusion and outrage is real. “You didn't know, did you?”

“Know what? Terrell's father's was some lowlife name Jerome something or another. I met him years ago.”

“I don't know who you met, but according to the DNA tests, Captain Johnson was indeed Terrell Carver's father. And funny thing, Barbara's son, Mason Lewis, is a maternal match to Alice Carver. So I'm sure that you can connect the dots.”

The room goes quiet.

“You have nothing to say to that?”

“I—I . . .”

Diesel squats down and throws a supportive arm around his aunt's shoulders. “This is an awful lot of information that you are dumping on her right now. Are you guys sure about all this?”

“Ninety-nine-point-nine percent, according to the tests.” I cock my head at their performance. “So you never knew that your missing nephew was indeed the Vice Lord gangster known as Fat Ace?”

“Of course not,” Maybelline snaps.

“Uh-huh. Anybody that's been in Memphis more than ten minutes knows that Fat Ace and Python have been beefing for years and here it turns out that they're brothers—and you mean to tell me that
no one
knew? I find that hard to believe.”

“I don't care what you believe,” Maybelline says. “Besides, all I have is your damn word anyway. A lie ain't nothing for a cop to tell.”

Diesel stands. “You need to leave now.”

“Humph.” I turn away and glance around the house. “Nice place you have here.” My gaze skids off knickknacks, candle holders, and picture frames. “I guess it doesn't matter anyway,” I return to the subject at hand. “This past August, Mason Lewis was killed in a car crash.” I turn and face her again. “The same crash that your
other
nephew, Terrell, supposedly died in. Are you starting to see the problem I'm having with all of this?”

“Leave,” Maybelline says.

I ignore the request and then spot another picture sitting on an end table. I walk over and pick it up.

“What? Are you now going to start harassing me about my husband, too?” she complains.

I study the picture.

“Captain?” Diesel jars me back to the moment.

“He's in jail now, isn't he?” I ask.

“Why don't you tell me?” Maybelline says. “You know everything today.”

“Getting out soon, right?”

“And?” Her impatience grows.

I sit the picture down and glance at Lieutenant Fowler. He's waiting for me to get to the point too. “At any rate. You can rest assured that all your weird family connections with the former captain will remain locked in the closet. The city isn't interested in digging through all the graves.”

“Little girl, you came all the way to the wrong side of the tracks to tell me that? What? Is it a slow day at the office?”

“No. Something else brought me out here.”

Maybelline huffs out a long breath as her patience thins.

“I can't believe I'm going to say this, but . . .” I suck in a deep breath. “It's regarding your
great
nephew . . . Christopher. He needs a home.”