Shattered (2 page)

His bushy eyebrows raised, and then he snatched the keys right out of my hand.

“I cannot believe this.” My fucking blade was in my bag, but then again, what was a blade to a gun?

“Just call your insurance company. You’ll be straight,” he said, starting my car like it had been his all along.

If only it was that simple. I stopped paying that bill four months ago. I watched that little young motherfucker back out and pull off in the only thing Kareem left me out here with besides the apartment with rent more expensive than my shampooing gig with Peaches could ever cover.

“Man, fuck!” I screamed. I had to be the only person out on the block. It was so quiet besides a few cars driving down North Capitol Street. Thank God I still had my handbag, which meant I had my cell phone.

The next day I went to Mommy’s house around Fourth and W Streets. I had to catch the damn bus, which I hadn’t done in at least three years. I forgot how claustrophobic that shit was. People all up on you, little kids crying and fussing, niggas joning, and bitches running their mouths on the phone, bums sleeping and stinking up the spot. Uggh. I got chills just thinking about it. The fucked-up thing was when the police showed up about my car, they asked me for my insurance card. I was so shocked cuz I thought they was just gonna ask for my license. I faked like it was in my wallet for a while before I told them I ain’t have it with me. Do you know these niggas gave me a fucking ticket for not having it? Then they had the nerve to tell me that it was a fine, like a hundred dollars a day for each day my car wasn’t insured. That’ll be like five thousand dollars! All I wanted was for those motherfuckers to find my goddamn car. Now, I’m gon’ be in debt for that shit? Nah, fuck that. Whoever got it can keep it now.

The last time I was here, Mommy got pissed at me for not giving her fifty dollars to play Powerball, but oh well, she’d get over it. I would not see my hard-earned money being gambled away. The days of just handing over my money to people was over anyway. Mother or not.

I opened her refrigerator and took out the leftover pork chops she cooked for dinner. She walked in the kitchen with half her head braided.

“Oh, ’Kirwuh, I ain’t know you wuz here.”

I put the food in the microwave and waited for it to be done while she washed the dishes. Mommy was legally deaf. She could hear some, but she was an expert at reading lips. When we was young, I used to be embarrassed by her, especially when she used to scream our names through the window. “Torah, Rain, Yoti, and Shakirwuh!” she’d be yelling instead of Toya, Ryan, Yodi, and Shakira. Her words was choppy and slurred. All the kids from school thought she was an alchy until they saw us using our hands to talk to her sometimes. Mommy always made sure she looked good, though. Pretty bright skin and big hazel eyes like all her girls. No matter how poor we was, she made sure her nails, her eyebrows, and her hair stayed done. It was almost like she was trying not to give people more to talk about since she was already different.

Daddy was just thirty-seven when he died in a freak accident at his job with the National Park Service. He was trying to cut down a tree that had collapsed in Rock Creek Park and was laying stretched across Beach Drive, blocking traffic. A thick limb snapped unexpectedly and pinned him underneath. Mommy ain’t seem right for a long time after he died, especially since Yodi was only one when it happened.

A couple years later, Mommy started dating again. But it wasn’t easy, cuz it seemed like men kept trying to take advantage of her cuz she was partially deaf. She did try to keep a man in her life, though. One of them trifling-ass niggas was the reason we all got split up when I was eight. A bag of crack fell out of Yodi’s diaper bag at her day care and that was all she wrote. Ryan was ten, Toya was eleven, and Yodi was just three when Child Protective Services stepped in, leaving Mommy no time to explain how it had got there. They ain’t wanna hear nothing about it being a stupid accident, cuz they called it child endangerment. We couldn’t even go to my aunt’s cuz she had five kids and no room for us. For years, I ain’t know where none of my family was at.

I wouldn’t wish what happened to us on my worst enemy. How could they split us up after we had just lost our father? Then they took Mommy away when she was doing the best she could to take care of us. We ain’t have nobody. All of us split up all over the city during a time that was already confusing for us cuz we was kids and we ain’t understand much about life, let alone about why we couldn’t be with Mommy no more. We ain’t even know
who
to blame. My family still fucked up behind that shit. Toya stay having a nasty attitude with everybody, Ryan don’t trust nobody and barely speaks, and Yodi act like she scared to leave the damn house. Mommy, well, she overcompensates for everything cuz she feel so guilty about what happened. She makes excuses for everybody and turn a blind eye to shit she know ain’t right cuz she wants us to forgive her for what happened to us. In my heart, I know it’s not her fault.

M
ommy never used hearing aids when she was in the house. She said it irritated her the way an artificial limb would probably feel to me, so we always signed or talked looking at her since she needed to see our lips. Once she caught her man Londell having a full-fledged convo with another chick right in her face. That nigga had to bounce after that. But Mommy’s men wasn’t the only people who tried to take advantage of her. We all did in a way. It was how I stayed out for weekends and then school nights when I was in middle school cuz I faked like I ain’t understand what she said or I snuck in and out cuz I knew she’d never know. Hell, we all did our dirt. Being apart from Mommy all that time in foster care left each one of us with different scars that needed to heal. And that’s exactly why Yodi got two kids and she only seventeen, why Ryan been acting like a strange hermit since he was twelve, and why I ended up dropping out of school in the eighth grade, moving out when I was fourteen to live with Nut and the other girls that worked the streets with me.

Toya’s the only one Mommy ain’t have nothing bad to say about. She always act so proud of her firstborn since she was the only one to graduate from high school, giving Mommy the only chance to see one of her children walk across McKinley’s stage. Forget that I got my GED. For real, I can’t stand Toya’s ass. She so busy making it her job to point out how fucked up everybody else’s life is compared to hers. Her grouchy ass think I ain’t know she been jealous of me ever since we was young. Calling me Project Barbie every chance she get. It sure as hell ain’t my fault that she ain’t never do nothing with herself or that she can’t keep a man. All she had going for her was that stupid-ass government job that had her working a thousand hours a week, even when she slept. Mommy could brag all she wanted to about Toya’s selfish ass and that high-paying job that owned her.

Mommy wasn’t a perfect mother, either. I mean, I loved her, but there was plenty of days when I had to find a way to make sure I had the clothes and shoes I needed for school cuz she couldn’t afford to get it for me. Shit, if it meant I had to hit a dude up for money so I could have what I needed, then I ain’t care. Even exchange. So what, Toya got her own car and an apartment uptown. She can’t hardly function without a bottle of Moscato. Bet Mommy don’t know that foul shit.

“Hurry up, Mommy,” I signed.

“Okay, ’Kirwuh!” she yelled. “I coming. Comb down!”

Don’t be telling me to calm down. I’ma be late for work.
Mommy kissed Yodi’s two kids, Kamau and Chrissie, and grabbed her handbag. “Okay, now let’s go.”

I rolled my eyes and followed her down the hall to the elevator. Case and point, who was taking Mommy to get her hair hooked up now? Where’s Toya’s ass? I mean, I appreciated Mommy putting the rental car in her name, but she ain’t have to always dismiss what I did do for her.

“You know Toya might be getting a promotion soon? Her supervisor resigning at the end of the month,” Mommy said, smiling.

I rolled my eyes. Here we go again with this Super Toya shit. I blocked out the rest of Mommy’s Toya brag-a-thon and focused on the thick traffic ahead of me. It took an hour to get to Lanham cuz of a car accident on 95, when it normally took thirty minutes. As soon as we pulled in the shopping center, I saw Peaches’s blue Infiniti truck already there.

“Damn. She gon’ be mad as hell as usual.”

“Don’t worry,” Mommy signed.

Easy for her to say. Peaches was doing good on her own. Thanks to the life insurance policy she cashed in on her husband, Nut, and the rental properties she sold, she was able to reopen her salon after he was killed and move on with her life. As much as she put on a front like she ain’t miss him cuz he was an asshole who built his empire off of stolen drug money, flipping houses, and off of me, her, and my other girlfriends, she was ultra in love with that nigga. So in love that she worked the streets for years for him until he finally married her and put her up in a nice-ass house in bourgie Bowie, Maryland. The last time she saw him alive, her face was on his fist and he made her miscarry their second child. Their first son, Amir, was her new king.

What really bugged everybody out was the way Nut was killed. His body was found in a Dumpster around Savannah Terrace, but his head was taped up in a bag floating down the Anacostia River. All of us knew a Haitian dealer named Smurf was behind it, but Nut had did everybody so motherfucking dirty that we ain’t have shit to say about it. Peaches was still depressed and spent most of her time in that big house with her son. Her ass needed to be in somebody’s therapy sessions for real.

I pulled up to the salon Peaches named after herself and parked beside her truck.

“About time,” Peaches said as soon as I walked in. She already had a client in her chair, even though the store had only been open for ten minutes. Knowing Peaches, she was probably there at the crack of dawn. She was a workaholic, looking like money first thing in the morning, with her fresh do, gloss, cute mint-green top, and charcoal stretch jeans.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” I said, pointing at Mommy.

“Hi, Ms. Scott,” Peaches said, smiling.

Mommy waved and said, “Sawry.”

I looked at the book, checked the voice mail, and added new appointments to the schedule. Next, I went to make sure there was enough clean towels and that none needed folding.

“Anything you need me to do?” I asked Peaches.

“Yes, please, please, please go down to the beauty supply store and get me some color. I already called, and they holding three bottles for me.”

“I got you.” I signed to Mommy that I was going a couple doors down to pick something up for Peaches.

When I came back, I washed Mommy’s hair and two other girls who had come in to get their hair done with Daneen and Kori. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Meeka had sent me a text:

YOU WANNA DO A PARTY WITH ME LATER?

I had to think about that one. Knowing Meeka, wasn’t no money in it whatsoever. My wallet was empty as hell, though, and that rental wasn’t free. I texted back:
FOR WHO, HOW MUCH, AND WHERE?

She sent me back:
MY COUSIN HAVING A SMALL PARTY AT THE LA QUINTA IN WALDORF FOR HIS BOY THAT JUST GOT OUT.

Waldorf? That’s too damn far, number one.

I texted:
NAH, THAT’S OKAY.

Meeka sent:
GIRL, HE GON’ GIVE US $500 APIECE. YOU KNOW HE JUST GOT HIS TAX REFUND
CHECK BACK. TRYING TO DO IT UP AND SHIT.

I laughed, then sent:
DANCE OR PLUS MORE?

Meeka sent:
DANCE, BUT MORE IF YOU WANT. TIPS ARE ALWAYS GOOD :-)

That wasn’t bad. Maybe I can make next month’s rent in just one night. After I finished washing another head and saw that Mommy was under the dryer, I asked Peaches what she thought about it on the low. Peaches was more than my boss, she was like my sister. Since we used to work the streets together for Nut, we was closer than me, Toya, and Yodi ever could be. I mean fighting bitches for each other, going to jail together, and everything. She knew what was up. My shampooing job was just a steady check and what I gave the IRS. I got as many hours as I wanted cuz I worked hard. I loved to see my girl doing good, plus she had been through so much. She deserved to have her dreams come true.

“I don’t know, KiKi,” she said. “That shit is far for you. Plus, you ain’t got nobody watching your back. What if some hard-up nigga get outta hand?”

Peaches was right, I guess. “But it’s her family, though,” I tried again.

Peaches shook her head. “I know how it is, KiKi, but I just don’t want nothing to happen to you. Those kinda parties can get crazy quick. You know how them niggas be drinking and shit.”

Meeka sent another text. It said:
SO WHAT’S UP?
Even with all the hours I got from Peaches, it just wasn’t as much as I really needed.

I sent Meeka one letter,
K
, then slid my phone back in my pocket. I ain’t have no lump stash of money tucked nowhere like Peaches. It was just me. I had to do what I had to do. I smiled at Mommy, then walked over to the sink and washed another head.

Of course, I was the ride out to Waldorf since Meeka ain’t never have shit. And 93.9 was doing their thing, too. I blasted Kelis’s “Bossy” as loud as it could go. Meeka was in the mirror putting her makeup on, spraying way too much of her Juicy Couture Show Off that kept making me sneeze.

“Girl, my cousin ain’t gonna be the only one with his refund check.”

“Meeka, you don’t mind stripping for your cousin?” I asked, still trying to wrap my mind around that part.

“He gotta be like my third or fourth cousin. Our blood more like Kool-Aid,” she said, laughing.

“You stupid as hell. Your lying ass just wanted me to come.”

“Money is money. Shit, you can give him a private dance. I’ll get his money-making friends,” she sang.

When we pulled up, Meeka called her cousin Harold to come outside and get us. He was cute as hell with his caramel face, neatly shaved beard, and confident walk. Harold looked strong as shit, like a UFC fighter or something.

“How y’all doing,” he said, smiling at me.

I winked at him.

“What’s up, cuz?” he said, laughing and squeezing Meeka’s round ass stuffed in those black liquid leggings.

That’s when I knew for certain I had been lied to. I shook my head, then texted the address to Peaches, just in case. Back in the day, Nut took care of this part, but things had changed. Peaches sent me back:
BE CAREFUL GIRL. LUV U.
The music was low when we walked in the suite. Only four dudes was in there. Meeka gave me 250 dollars as soon as we got in the bathroom.

“He said we gon’ get the rest when we finish dancing.”

“Is this gon’ be it?” Surprised at how few dudes was in there.

“Yeah, girl. It’s private as hell, ain’t it?”

I nodded. “But that’s fine with me.”

“Me, too. Shit. I hope they wanna fuck, too, cuz I ain’t getting no damn tax refund check.”

I laughed, then took a shot of Grand Marnier I had in my bag. Meeka fixed her breasts in her bustier. I fixed my fishnet bodysuit. It had been a long time since I danced. I ain’t have no routine. All I needed was the music and somewhere to shake my ass.

“I brought this,” she said, smiling sneakily, holding up a three-foot-long, double-sided dildo. She raised her eyebrows, and I smiled. This girl was off the chain.

“Let’s see what those tips looking like first.”

“All right,” she said, slapping my butt.

“You ready?” I said, stepping into my five-inch heels.

“Yeah, let’s go!” Meeka squealed.

Jay-Z’s “Big Pimpin’” played from the radio. Me and Meeka danced at the same time. First, we danced alone, and then we danced together. The guys seemed to be warming up, but none of them was raining dollars yet. I went over to Harold’s sexy ass first, straddled his lap, and worked him so good, he nutted.

“Damn, girl,” he groaned. He was loving it, too. His dick was still hard as hell. He yanked at my fishnets until a hole was big enough for him to pull my panties to the side. When he dipped his fingers inside, I stood up. Harold wanted to fuck. And now wasn’t the time. I smiled and danced away to the next dude, a greedy-looking nigga with dollars in his hand. That’s what I was talking about. T-Pain and Akon purred out the speaker as I got Big Homie up. Ain’t take no time at all. As soon as my ass pressed against his jeans, he was rock. He must’ve been the one who was locked up. I took his money with the quickness.

“I’m saying, I want more than this,” he whispered.

“I got you,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Big Homie stood up and took me to a bedroom in the back. I could hear Gucci Mane singing, “She’s a very freaky gurl/Don’t bring her to mama,” as he closed the door.

“You sexy as shit, but I just need some head.”

“That’s a hundred dollars.”

He dug in his wallet and handed the bill to me. I put it in my bra with the other money I took from him, and then I sat Big Homie on the edge of the bed. As soon as I unzipped his jeans and pulled his dick out, nut drizzled all over my fingers.

“My bad,” he laughed. “It’s been awhile since a girl touched him.”

“It’s all good,” I said, smiling to make him feel at ease. “You sure you can handle me?”

“That’s all right. Let me just look at you or something.”

“Okay.” I stood up and danced to the faint music for him, then did a split and put my leg behind my head.

“Goddamn,” Big Homie moaned as he played with hisself. “I’m cumming again.”

“It’s all good,” I said, smiling. I got up and gave him a kiss on his cheek. “Do you mind if I go back out there with your friends?”

He shook his head, then left to go to the bathroom.

That shit was easy. I walked back to the living room. Meeka’s ass already had a dick in her mouth and another one in her hand. Harold came up to me, rubbing his dick with one hand and holding a bottle of Cîroc in the other.

“I want your ass bad as shit,” he said as he pushed me back in the room. Harold picked me up and carried me to the bed like a caveman. My pussy jumped. He bit my nipples through my bra and kissed down my stomach, and then he ripped my fishnet bodysuit apart like it was gift-wrapping paper.

“Wait,” I said, pushing his chest up some. “You know you gotta pay for this, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, burying his head in my neck. “I got you, I got you.”

He was so fucking sexy. I swear I ain’t wanna interrupt. I couldn’t get enough of his Jean Paul Gaultier cologne. His beard tickled my neck as he kissed me.

“For real, Harold, you gotta pay me first.”

“Man, fuck! I’m just trying to get this nut out real quick, then I’ll get it.” I saw a vein on his neck pulsate. Now, I wasn’t no fool. I knew how this was gonna go. If he wasn’t gonna pay me first, then he wasn’t gonna pay it at all. But the tricky thing was, if I complained too much, he wasn’t gonna give me the other half he owed me and Meeka for dancing and coming out here. This is what I hated about not having no pimp. A pimp would’ve made sure everything went the way it was supposed to go. Money first. See, for real, Harold ain’t think he should have to pay extra since he’s the one who orchestrated the whole little event. The best thing for me to do in this situation was to just take a loss and let him have a freebie. I’d be better off getting the other 250 than the
nothing
I’d get if I pissed him off.