Boss Divas (26 page)

“T
he devil is a liar!” I wave my hand in the air, hoping I have a little bit of juice to call on Jesus to have this blue-eyed devil on my porch rebuked. But when I open my eyes this bitch is still there, twitching and looking around.

“Ms. Maybelline, I need to talk to you,” Dribbles says.

“Unless you got my nephew here with you, then we ain't got shit to talk about.”

“So you know?”

“Girl, bye.” I march past her to go up the stairs.

Hardheaded, Dribbles does a U-turn to follow me. “Look. I know that you're angry—”

“You goddamn right, I'm angry with your child-kidnapping, lying ass. I don't know what the fuck you're doing here, but I know your ass best get ghost by the time I get in this damn door. I ain't been saved long enough to resist the temptation of committing a homicide—even on the Lord's day.” I jam my key into the lock and rush inside the house. I attempt to slam the door, but Dribbles slips her foot inside to block it.

“Goddamn it, bitch. What the hell is it going to take for you to get a muthafuckin' clue?” I glance up and down Shotgun Row. “This whole neighborhood is going to hell if I can't even be safe from a white bitch harassing the fuck out of me.”

Chantal's curious voice floats over from the next-door porch. “Momma Peaches, is everything all right?”

I open my mouth, but Dribbles answers instead.

“Everything is fine. Mind your own damn business,” she snaps.

“Oh, no, your ass didn't,” Chantal shouts. “Who in the fuck do you think your pale, pasty ass is?”

“Bitch, get yo life.” Dribbles gives her the middle finger and then swivels her neck like a black girl.

Surprised by the white girl's balls, I settle a fist on my left hip and cock my neck to three o'clock. Under different circumstances, I might've liked her style.

“Oh, really?” Chantal challenges. “You wait your ass right there, you fake-ass wigga! I got something for you.”

Strapping on my invisible Captain Save-a-Ho cape, I grab Dribbles by the wrist and snatch her inside. “Girl, get your ass in here before you get white-chalked on my porch.”

Dribbles's face splits with a triumphant smile.

I slam the door. “I don't know what the hell you're smiling for. Just because I don't want a dead bitch at my front door doesn't mean that a damn thing has changed between us.”

“I'm hoping what I got to say
will
change things between us.”

“Uh-huh.” I plop my Bible down on the dining room table and then make a beeline toward the kitchen for some fresh squeezed lemonade—without the Grey Goose.
Lord, I miss my Grey Goose.
“I'm waiting,” I tell her, pulling the pitcher out from the fridge. “I ain't got all day and you ain't welcome here past two more minutes.”

She nods. “First: I didn't lie to you. We all thought Mason was dead. We even had a funeral for him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Honestly. The day Raymond drove me home from the hospital, we learned the truth. I've been trying to reach you, but once you left the hospital I didn't know how. And now, I gotta right this whole horrible mess somehow. It's too late with Alice, but . . . maybe I set things right with you. That is if you'd let me.”

My heart skips a beat. “You mean . . . he wants to meet me?”

“I . . . haven't asked him yet. It might take some time to work on him, but I'm sure that I can make it happen.”

God really is the king of second chances.
Overwhelmed, I throw my arms around this woman. It takes me a while to realize that my ass is bawling like a newborn baby.

I'm embarrassed, but I've prayed and waited for so long for this moment. I've always wanted to believe that he was out there and I've gone from thinking he was dead to now knowing who he is and him being alive—to this: meeting him.

To her credit, Dribbles lets me hang on to her neck until I'm good and damn ready to let go.When I get control of myself, I step back. “Sorry. I'm so . . .”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.This is
loooong
overdue.”

She takes my hands. “We need to set a time and place.”

I nod along and then remember someone else. “Wait.” I keep a tight hold on her hands. “What about Terrell?”

She tenses.

“Terrell is alive?”

I nod. “He'll want to meet him. He now knows who he is and he's dying to reach out.”

Dribbles hesitates. After all, it's not every day one plans to get two rival gang leaders to meet in private—but this is a unique situation. “I don't know if—”

“You don't understand. Terrell's been torn up for years over the loss of his baby brother—and all this time, he never knew who he was—of course, none of us did.” When she shakes her head, I persist. “If we can get these two together, not only can we heal this family, but we can put an end to a long, bloody war between the gangs.”

Dribbles fidgets. “The thing is, I don't think I can get him to come if he knows Terrell will be there,” she says.

I let that shit hang in the air for a minute while I think on it. “Well, then, don't tell him. It'll be a surprise.”

Hot and panting like a muthafucka, I inch closer to Trigger's motionless body. “Girl, get up.” I nudge her with my toe.

She doesn't move.

Holy fucking shit.
“Why the fuck did you have to fucking
push
me?” I shout. “All I wanted was for you bitches to accept me. I did
everything.
I had y'all's back. I put money in your pocket. If y'all had listened and played your fucking positions, none of this shit would've happened. We could be running
all
this shit instead of sitting on the sidelines, waiting and watching for the Gangster Disciples and the Vice Lords to regroup, recruit, and rearm.” An embarrassing sob wrenches from my throat.

Storming away, I stomp barefoot across broken glass to a bottle of Hennessy XO. I twist off the top and take it to the head. The shit kicks back and burns my throat, but I guzzle down half the bottle without losing a drop and coming up for air. I lean one hand against the wall and wait for the alcohol to hit my bloodstream.

I look at Trigger again and my anger simmers. The right thing to do is to call Lynch and tell him that I've screwed up— again. But how is he going to take my killing his side bitch—when I'm not sure if
I'm
the side bitch?

I hit the bottle again. My new fuckin' life is a lie. The Grape Street Crips ain't got no love for me. Never have and never will—unless I do something that will put me back on top. Something so that no nigga could spit out of the side of their neck to deny my place as a boss bitch.

The Hennessy kicks in and gives me a great idea.

I head into the kitchen and grab a butcher knife. Fuck. How hard can it be to chop a bitch up? Lucifer does this shit all day every day.

Knife in hand, I march back to Trigger's body and tower over her. I suck in several deep breaths to get my nerve up, but beads of sweat pop out along my hairline. I don't know where to start this shit, and images of the bloody scene at Crunk's Ink and Shacardi's crib flashes in my head.

“All right. I can do this,” I give myself a pep talk. Using my foot, I roll the bitch over.

Suddenly, Trigger springs up and grabs my foot.

Stunned, I scream as I fall forward. In the next nanosecond, I don't think. I react. Swinging the butcher's knife like a baseball bat, I slice Trigger's throat so deep that blood sprays from her shit like a water hydrant.

Her eyes widen as she clutches her throat to plug the slit.

I roll and then scoot across broken glass to get away.

Trigger makes a horrible gurgling noise and falls back among the shards of glass. Her body rattles around as death steals over her. She twitches for forever until her hands fall away and she stares sightlessly up at the ceiling.

I sit and watch the bitch for about an hour with a death grip on the butcher knife and sober as a muthafucka. Realizing I needed to light a fire under my ass if I'm going to pull this shit off, I gather the courage to stand back up. When I approach her ass this time, it's as slow as a fuckin' snail. I ain't down for another clip of
Friday the 13th
. If the bitch is dead, I prefer that her ass stay that way.

After double and triple checking the shit, I relax. “All right, bitch. Let's do this shit again.” I get down on my knees and raise the knife. I hesitate another second and then bring the knife down as hard as I can.

But the shit ain't enough and I have to keep whacking on her neck until her head finally detaches.

After that shit, I'm hit with a surge of bloodlust that is stronger than any high I've ever been on. It takes a while to hack up the rest, but during the whole time, I don't see Trigger. I see my next target: Lucifer.

Fingers numb, I peel open my eyes to see that I've missed all four can targets seven yards away. “Shit.”

Profit chuckles as he comes up behind me. “Baby, I hate to say it, but that was pretty damn pathetic.”

Sighing, I lower the .45. LeShelle remains a threat and I need to prepare for any and everything. Judging by today's target practice, I have a long way to go.

“Here. Let's go again.” Profit wraps his arms around mine to help my aim. “Wait. Wait. Not so tight. Now settle the pistol between the web of your thumb and your forefinger like this.” He repositions the gun. “Now get your hand as high as possible. This is going to give you more control. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“In order to have a neutral stance, you'll need to rotate your weak hand's wrist forward over your strong hand. This will help your aim, handle the recoil and prevent your fingers from going numb.”

“I wish you would've told me that twenty minutes ago,” I complain.

“Well. Sometimes, you have to learn things the hard way.”

When he chuckles, his chest rumbles against my back and I smile.

“You're not concentrating.”

“Sorry.” I wipe the smile off my face. “What do I do next?” I ask.

“When you're about to shoot, I want you to lean your body forward. Dominant elbow up.” He pushes it higher. “And your support or weak elbow down.” He drops his hands from around me. “Take aim of your first target and fire when you're ready.”

The tin can jumps and flips into the air.

“I did it,” I gasp and then look back over my shoulder.

His grin spreads from ear to ear. “Again.”

I grip the slider and discard a cartridge, replay all Profit's tips in my head, take aim, and
POW!

Another tin can jumps and flips even higher into the air.

I click the safety on and then let out a loud whoop and fist pump.

“By George, I think she got it.” Profit laughs.

We stay at it out here in this big ass empty field in the middle of nowhere for the next five hours. We cover shooting on the move, moving targets, and reloads. By the time we finish, I'm tired, but thrilled.

“I never knew that shooting could be so much fun.”

“That's because nobody is shooting back.” Profit laughs. “Trust me. That shit ain't no fun.”

The obvious truth of his words shaves a couple of inches off of my smile, especially since LeShelle has a few more years of practice.

We climb back into Profit's ride and he reads me like an open book. “Don't worry about it.” He leans over and hugs me. “I'm going to make sure that you can handle yourself on these streets like a boss.”

“Like Lucifer?”

He pauses. “No offense, but there ain't nobody like Lucifer's sick ass.”

“That's probably true.”

“No. It
is
true.” He starts the car and drives us home.

Before we reach the front step, another car pulls in behind Profit's.

“Who the fuck are these muthafuckas?” Profit mumbles under his breath.

“Hell. If you don't know then I don't know,” I tell him.

Two seconds later, we have our answer as Mackenzie and Romil climb out of their vehicle
Dukes of Hazzard
style.

“Yo, Ta'Shara,” Mackenzie shouts. “What's up, girl?”

“Mack?” I ask incredulous, stepping from Profit's side. “What are you doing here?”

Still grinning like fools with beer bottles in their hands, Mack and Romil approach me.

“What do you mean what are we doing here?” Mackenzie says. “As soon as we got out, we knew that we
had
to come and check up on our new girl.” She reaches me and swings one of her long arms around my neck for an awkward hug. “It's time for you to be officially welcomed into the Flower family.”

On cue, a tailgate of music-blaring cars rolls down Ruby Cove and then pulls up into our driveway. The black-and-gold-dressed divas spill out of their cars and are equally as rowdy and . . . drunk as Mack and Romil.

I don't know what to make of what's unfolding, but I'm touched—so much so that tears burn the backs of my eyes.

“All right! Let's get this party started,” shouts one girl, who is helping to roll a keg of beer toward the house.

“YEAH!” a unified shout goes up.

I twist my neck around in Mackenzie's awkward embrace to see Profit's stunned expression.

Minutes later, the house is wall-to-wall with Flowers. Music pours from the Bose speakers while chicks fill and raid the refrigerator.

Profit isn't given a chance to crash the party. The Flowers simply direct him out of his own house.

“Sorry,” they sing. “But this is a Flowers-
only
party.”

My baby tosses me a look. I nod and smile to let him know that I'm okay with being alone with my new friends, or rather . . . family.

He tosses up deuces a second before the door is slammed in his face. Stunned, he then pops over to the side glass panes, but the girls unknot the thin, black curtains and block his view.

I laugh.

“I don't think your boo trusts us,” Mackenzie says, plopping onto the couch. “I hope he doesn't think that we're a bad influence.”

“Maybe I should have at least introduced you to him before y'all threw him out.”

“Pshaw!” She waves that off. “We know that nigga. It's
you
that everyone wants to get to know.” She pulls out a baggie of pre-rolled blunts. “You smoke?”

Shrugging, I figure a lie is needed. “Yeah.”

“Oh yeah?” Mackenzie smirks.

Romil shakes her head. “Guess I lost that bet. I had you pegged as an all-around good girl.”

Embarrassed, my face heats. “You were wrong.”

“Don't let the wide-eyed deer-in-headlights looks fool you,” a pretty plus-size girl says crossing her arms. “You are the one that sliced up my girl Qiana, right?”

The air chokes off in my lungs as a cluster of women that are within earshot rubber-necks to see if something is going to jump-off.

“Holy shit,” Mackenzie laughs. “That shit was
you?
”

Tension rises as everyone waits for my answer. “Hey, the bitch came at me sideways and I did what I had to do,” I say matter-of-factly, bracing for a fight. I'm new to the gang life, but I know that you never let muthafuckas see you sweat.

Romil giggles.

Mackenzie laughs.

The big-boned chick stares me down, evaluating.

“Yeah,” another bitch steps up. “A bitch got to do what a bitch gotta do, right?”

The surrounding Flowers crackle with laughter.

The tension disappears.

“Yo, the name is Dime.” She thrusts out her hand.

“Ta'Shara,” I say, accepting the handshake.

“Welcome to the family,” she says and then turns to introduce me to her two shadows.

“I'm Emerald,” one says, flashing me with one of her gold-capped teeth.

“Nisha,” the other says. Her whole body looks like a tapestry of cartoonish tattoos.

The big girl is still mean-mugging.

“Ah, fuck, GG. Loosen up,” Mackenzie says, flicking on a lighter. “You know that Qiana prances around this bitch like her shit don't stink—she rides on her brother's rep and abuses the privilege. She needed someone to take her ass down a couple of notches.” She tokes on the blunt and then passes it over to me.

I hesitate, but then take the burning blunt from her fingers and put it to my lips. I didn't
completely
lie. Essence got me to try it once, but the episode ended with me turning every shade of green in a crayon box while I coughed up a lung.

Instead of going full hog, I sip this shit into my lungs slow and steady, hold it, and then offer it to GG as a peace offering.

She eyeballs me like she's trying to decipher my DNA, but then reaches for the joint as I let the smoke stream through my lips.

“That's my girl.” Mackenzie pounds my back. “I knew that you'd be a cool-ass bitch.”

I smile, but it feels like I'm doing it in slow motion. My thoughts sound like Charlie Brown's teacher.
Off one puff? What the hell is in this shit?

“Oh, you feeling that shit, ain't cha?” I think Mackenzie says.

To me, she sounds like a garbled mess, too.

Mack looks to GG “Girl, fix your face. The only reason that you're even being cool with Qiana is because you're still trying to get Tombstone to put a ring on it—and that shit ain't
never
gonna happen.”

GG has had enough and stalks right out of the door.

“Aww.” I poke out my bottom lip. “She's mad.”

Mackenzie waves it off. “Then she needs to scratch her ass and get glad. Some bitches can't handle the truth.”

The blunt is passed back to me and I hit it again. No shit . . . my brain cells melt, but I'm also tingling all over. It's that
good
kind of tingle.

More Flowers cram into the house. Their names flow in one ear and out of the other, but I keep smiling, laughing, and even dancing until the day melts into night.

“We're out of beer,” Dime shouts, jarring me awake.
When in the hell did I pass out?
I'm plastered on the sofa and it takes everything I have to peel myself off.

Bitches are still partying, laughing, and having a good time.

“Who wants to ride out and get some more beer?” Dime asks, jiggling her keys.

“I'll go,” I say. “Let me splash some water on my face first.” My foot hits the edge of the coffee table and I almost face-plant into the carpet. I laugh at my own clumsiness.

“Girl, hurry up if you're coming.”

“Two minutes.” I rush to the bathroom and quickly douse my face. When I look into the mirror, I grin at my reflection. “You're
soooo
fucked up right now.”

“Damn, girl. You coming?” Dime shouts.

“Yeah.” I turn off the water and then notice one of my pill bottles on the counter. I know these bitches ain't going through my shit. Opening the bottle, there's only two pills left.
Muthafuckas!

I pop the last pills, scoop a handful of water, and roll out.

“It's about damn time,” Dime complains, smiling and looping an arm around my neck.

Her girls Emerald and Nisha fall in line behind us.

“Yo, T, where are you going?” Mack asks, wiping powder from her nostrils.

“She's going with us on a beer run. We'll be back before you miss her.”

I wave bye and then climb into the backseat of Dime's black Toyota. As she pulls out, I glance across the street to see Qiana glaring at me in a fucking dress, all dolled up. Laughing, I flash her a bird as Dime peels off.