Authors: Kiki Swinson
I asked her, “Do you know me from somewhere?”
And this hoe got straight hood with me and said, “If I did, I would’ve spoken to you by now!”
I laughed at her smart-ass comment and replied, “Well then why are you staring at me?”
“Excuse me, honey, but I am not staring at you. I’m looking past you if you must know.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I replied sarcastically. I didn’t say it loudly. I remained a lady and said it in a calm manner. But it was loud enough for her red ass to hear me. I just couldn’t let her punk me down in front of all these niggas out here. I’m too fly for that type of shit. And even though I’m far from being scared to get at her ass, I wasn’t dressed appropriately for the occasion. Right now, I am in no mood to kick some hoe’s ass in this seven hundred-dollar dress. It’s just not going to happen.
After I said what I had to say, I turned my body in a catty-corner position, crossed my legs and looked in the other direction. Good thing that I didn’t have to sit with her for long because not even five minutes later, her little Dodge Neon was ready for her to drive off in, which was like the best thing that could’ve happened.
The guy who gave me his chair took her seat without question. But, he did have a question for me after we both witnessed her drive off the lot.
“Yo, Shorty, you a’ight?”
“No doubt!” I replied with confidence.
“Well for a minute there, I thought you and home girl was going to get busy.”
Now before I responded to this cat’s comment, I smiled at him once again, simultaneously picking what little lint balls I noticed I had on my dress and told him, “Trust me, baby. She wasn’t ready for me. That’s why our little chat ended quickly.”
“Well, I’m glad it did. Because you’re looking too good right now to be out here scrapping like cats.”
“Thanks,” I replied and then I giggled. I’m assuming that was an invitation for him to continue on conversing with me because he didn’t hesitate to ask me if I had a man. I told him no. And that’s when he asked me, “Well, who gave you that gigantic glacier on your finger?”
“Oh, this ain’t nothing,” I began saying, “My husband gave me this when we got married.”
“But I thought you just said you didn’t have a man?”
“I don’t. Me and my husband aren’t together anymore.”
“So, what, y’all divorced?”
“We’re in the process of making that happen.”
“Damn! I know homeboy ain’t too happy ’bout that.”
“Well, to be honest, I don’t know how he’s feeling because we ain’t been together for almost three months now. And we don’t talk.”
“So, what do you do when you’re all alone?”
“I read a lot of books. And when I get sick of that, I’ll take myself shopping.”
“Where you like shopping at?”
“Wait a minute! You sho’ asking me a whole lot of questions and I don’t even know your name.” I made a casual observation.
He raised his eyebrows like he was caught off guard and said, “Damn, I’m sorry. My name is Tyree.”
“Hi, Tyree. I’m Kira,” I told him as I extended my hand to shake his.
“Damn! Your hand is soft as hell.”
“Thanks,” I replied and then I pulled my hand back out of his.
“Do you think I’ll be able to take you out?” he wanted to know. But before I answered his question, I took one long look at him from head to toe. Yeah, he seems like a cool cat to hang out with. But I wasn’t at all digging his height. I mean, he has to be every bit of 5’2”, which is three inches shorter than I am. So, I’m dissatisfied with that part from the door. However, he is making shit happen with his attire. I’m loving the hell out of his tan-linen shirt, with the shorts to match. And that huge-ass iceberg dangling from that platinum link around his neck got to be worth more than $50k. And since I know my jewelry, there’s no question in my mind that this nigga is stacking major chips. And when there’s plenty of chips involved, hoes will follow. So, I think I’ll pass on this one.
“Nah, baby,” I began to say. “I don’t think that will be a good idea.”
“But why?”
“Because, I’m not ready.”
“Is there any way that I can change your mind?” he wanted to know.
“Nope,” I assured him. So, he stood up from his chair because one of the carwash guys walked up to him and handed him his keys.
“Y’all finished?” he asked the attendant.
“Yeah. Your car is right over there,” the guy told him and that’s when Tyree pulled out a huge knot of dough from his pockets and hit the guy off with a fifty spot.
“Keep the change,” Tyree told him. And then he looked back at me and said, “I hope I see you again.”
“You just might. If you keep your eyes open.”
“Oh, I will. Because that’s a must in my profession,” he replied and then he walked off.
He hopped in a Chrysler 300-Hemi sitting on twenty-twos, cranked up the loud sounds of Kanye West’s joint “Golddigger,” and drove out of the parking lot, squealing his tires like he’s a fucking stunt driver or something. I guess he did it because he thought it was gangsta. Boy, does he have a lot to learn.
Now, I didn’t have to wait much longer for my car, which was right up my alley. After I paid the guy who handed me my keys, I headed on over to my car to inspect it. And while I was doing that, Nikki’s newfound friend and Mr. Car Wash owner pulls up in his silver Range Rover HSE. So you know that I was not about to leave until I saw this cat for myself. He is the main reason why I came all this way.
I continued to stand over by my car like I was still giving it a full inspection. And then finally the driver side door opens and out comes this six foot tall, fine-ass nigga. But, what threw me for a loop was that it wasn’t Nikki’s friend Syncere who had just stepped out of the truck—it was my old flame, Quincy.
And without giving it a second thought, I rushed right on over there to him.
“Q,” I yelled.
He turned around and the moment I was within arm’s reach of him, I said, “Boy, whatcha doing up here?”
“Hey baby,” he spoke to me and then he embraced me.
“You can let me go now,” I said sarcastically, which made him laugh. But he did release me from his arms.
And once he did that, he said, “Whatcha doing in this part of town?”
“I just got my car detailed. But you ain’t answered my question,” I told him.
“Oh, I got my joint cleaned too.”
“So, you pushing a Range now, huh?”
“Nah. This is my man’s joint. I just borrowed it to make a quick run. My whip is over there,” he replied as he pointed to the same 7-series BMW, I saw him driving a few months back when he was with his chick from D.C., who looked like she attended Howard University.
“So, where is he?” My questions kept coming.
“He’s probably in the office.”
“Where? In there?” I asked him, probing for more information as I pointed towards the small building on the lot, even though I already knew the answer.
“Yeah. Me and him just took over this joint about a month ago because the last owner was in a bunch of fucking debt. He hooked up with Syncere and then Syncere called me to go in with him ’cause he needed some extra ends. I told him let’s do this. And here we are.”
“So, how’s business?”
“Business is good. I mean, we be coming off with at least a grand a day.”
“Word?”
“Hell yeah! ’Cause when niggas bring their whips through here, they be wanting wax jobs and the gloss treatments for their rims, which is forty bones alone. So you do the math and multiply that number by thirty.”
“Damn, Quincy. Y’all pulling in some cheese.”
“I know. That’s why I be trying to figure out how that other dude got in so much debt. ‘Cause money comes through this spot on a regular.”
“Well, it must be real nice,” I commented.
“Yeah. It’s cool. Because it got my parole officer off my ass.”
“Oh, so your P.O. knows you’re part owner of this place?”
“Hell nah! He thinks I’m one of the workers.”
“Quincy, you always got some shit going on,” I said and then smiled.
“Yeah. But I ain’t the only one,” he began saying. “I heard you and Ricky had plenty shit on y’all plates, too.”
“Ricky does. But I don’t.”
“Damn. That’s fucked up!”
“Yep. It sho’ is. But what’s really fucked up is when you try so hard to be down for your man and he takes you for granted. That’s why I’ve decided that it’s time to start looking out for myself.”
“What? Y’all ain’t together no more?”
“Nope. I’m filing for a divorce.”
“So, how much time did he get? ’Cause I heard some niggas back in D.C. said the Feds gave him thirty. And then I heard somebody else say he got life.”
“Well, it damn sho’ wasn’t thirty.”
“Goddamn! Now I know that nigga got to be sick about that shit! I mean, he ain’t gon’ ever see the streets again. And that’s some real shit to deal with .”
“Well, he made his bed. Now he’s going to have to lay in it.”
“But how can you say that, Kira? I mean, it’s not like that nigga got like a five-to-ten-year bid. He’s got to live in the pen for the rest of his life. He ain’t gon’ ever be able to come home.”
“What? You think I don’t know that?” I replied sarcastically.
“You sho’ don’t act like it,” he began saying. “I’m just so glad that I am not in ol’ boy’s shoes. ’Cause I’ll probably be trying to get somebody to do something to your ass for gettin’ ghost on me.”
“Well, I guess I can count my blessings, huh, gangsta?”
“Oh, I ain’t no gangsta. Your husband and his peoples are the gangstas. And speaking of gangstas, wasn’t that nigga Russ down with Ricky?”
“Yeah. Why?” I asked anxiously while feeling the butterflies in my stomach.
“Because niggas back home was wondering what was up with him and why he was the only one from that crew that didn’t get indicted.”
“Well, I don’t know nothing about that. Why you asking about Russ? You seen him or something?”
“Yeah. I see him every time I go back home. Shit, last week I saw him whipping up the block in a money-green Bentley Coupe.”
“Damn! He’s getting it like that?”
“Yeah. I heard that cat Papi got him on his payroll. Which is probably true ’cause the last time I saw him, he was just leaving Papi’s store with his girl.”
“Oh, he got a girl?” I wanted so desperately to know.
“Yeah. Him and Jessica done been together for a minute now. And they just had a baby, too.”
“You sure know a whole lot of stuff about Russ.”
“Baby girl, I know about every cat that lives in D.C. Especially niggas like Russ who love playing Big Dawg. You know their shit gonna be on blast.”
“Well, what’s your story?” I asked, trying to change the subject. Hearing about Russ and his baby-mama was making me sick to my stomach. Plus, my feelings started flipping out on me. I mean, how could that muthafucka’ play me like that? Lying about having a girl after all this time. And then on top of that, got that hoe and their baby riding shot gun in a brand new fucking Bentley Coupe my money bought. But he’ll get his. I’m going to make sure of that! One way or another....
“Yo, Q,” I heard a guy yell, which instantly shifted my attention to his direction. And there, peeping his head from around the glass door, was this brown-skinned and very handsome guy with a perfectly cut Caesar. I’m assuming this must be Syncere.
“What’s good?” Quincy asked him.
“Yo, I got somebody on the phone that I need you to talk to.”
“A’ight,” Qunicy told him and then Syncere disappeared back into the building.
“So, I’m guessing that was Syncere, huh?”
“Yeah. That was him. Let me get in there so I can find out what’s going on. But come back and see me sometime.”
“Will you let me get my car detailed for free?”
“No question! But you gon’ have to call me and let me know when you coming.”
“No problem. I can do that. But you’re going to have to give me your number first.”
“You got something to write with ?”
“Nah. ’Cause I’ma put it in my cell phone.”
After he gave me his cell phone number, I said goodbye, got in my car and left.
***
On my way home, I began to picture Russ in my mind, who was driving that Bentley all around D.C., playing chauffeur with his fucking family. While I’m here all alone and pregnant with his baby, pushing a two-year-old LS 400. Man, I am so angry! Uggggggg! How dare that piece of shit! Playing with my emotions like this. Oh, but his time is coming! I’ma make sure of that. And now that I think about it, if I play my cards right, I could probably get Quincy to run up on Russ. Especially if I turn around and tell him that I found out Russ is a snitch. And that he ratted out Ricky’s whole crew. That’s why he was able to walk away.
Boy, I can definitely see it now. Word will leak into the streets about that bastard. And since niggas don’t like fucking with snitches, it’s going to be just a matter of time before he’s taken out of the equation. And then my life will be right back to normal again. Now, how sweet does that sound?
***
Immediately after I got into my apartment, I got on the phone and called Nikki. I ran everything Quincy told me down to her. But she was more interested in why I went down to Syncere’s car wash. So I lied and told her that I just happened to be in the neighborhood and saw Q, and that’s when he invited me over to a free wash. I’m guessing that she bought my lie, ’cause her next question was, Did you get to see my friend, Syncere? I told her yeah, but it was for a brief second, which wasn’t enough information for her because she wanted to know what he was doing when I saw him, what he was wearing, and whether or not there were any chicks sniffing up his ass.
But before I could answer her, coincidently this nigga beeps in on her other line. So, of course, Nikki tells me to call her back. And since we didn’t finish our conversation, she’s going to call me as soon as she hangs up with him. I just hope she don’t let him fill her head up with a lot of bullshit ’cause from the way I see it, he’s got a lot of it to dish out.
All or Nothing
After I finished eating that nasty-ass garbage everybody called lunch, I went back to my cell and saw my cellmate moping ‘round like he lost his girl or something. So, I sat down on the cold-ass toilet seat right next to his bed and asked him was he a’ight.