Tales from da Hood (7 page)

I yell, “Lock the mutherfucking door and get your fat ass in here.” Melody walks in and I don't give her a chance to say shit.

“So you knew too, bitch?'’ I point at the ring on the table. Then point the gun back and forth at them.

“I told La he shouldn't have done it, but he said KaQuanza disrespected him in front of them dudes from Fairmont. He said Quanza called him a faggot lover or some shit like that.”

“We
fam
, Mel, how you gon’ look at my mom knowing that nigga killed her son?”

La-La sits there like he don't give a fuck. So I shoot the nigga in his head.
BAM!
He falls out the chair and hits the floor.

Melody starts screaming.

I bite my bottom lip and say, “Shut the fuck up, bitch. Where's the loot?”

“Upstairs,” Melody says, whining like a baby in a pissy-ass diaper.

“Take me to it.” I point the gun to her back and follow her upstairs. She goes to the bedroom where the nigga made me suck his dick. She steps into the closet and pulls out an old raggedy suitcase
full of money. As I'm sliding it in the hallway, her ass reaches for the phone like she's gonna call 5-0. Man, I snatch the phone out of her hand. Then I jump up and drop kick her ass in the stomach.
Wham!
She falls over from the pain. When she stands up, I shoot her ass twice in the head.
Boom boom!
The bitch falls to the floor.

I drag her ass down the steps and into the living room. Then I drag La's ass from the kitchen and lay him out beside her. Fuck it, them niggas was rolling together, so I made sure they died together. I'm so fuckin’ mad I can't feel nothing. I put them both on their backs, and I cross their hands in front of them. Melody's eyes are wide open, and I leave them big Popeye mutherfuckers just like they are. I take the mop from the bucket and clean up the blood from the kitchen, the bedroom, and the blood trail that leads from upstairs to down. I change into one of that nigga's T-shirts 'cause my shit was all bloody. Before I leave, I walk over to La-La's body and kick the nigga in his head and tell the nigga, “So much for your rainy day,
nickga.
” I leave them muh-fuckers spread out on the living room floor just like John List did to his fam back in the seventies.

I peep out the back door to make sure the coast is clear. There isn't a soul in sight. I fired three rounds, and nobody heard anything. If they did, they didn't pay them shits no mind 'cause that's just how it is in the pj's. Niggas be shooting all day and all night so people get used to the sound. It's kinda fucked up when you think about it, 'cause for real, there's been many times when a nigga ass really needed emergency help 'cause a nigga done come through and smoked they ass. But folks be in the house chilling, while a nigga's ass out there dying and shit 'cause ain't nobody responding to the familiar sound of gunfire.

I make it home without anybody seeing me. I jump in the tub and take me a bath. When I get out, I count the money from La's suitcase—thirty g's. I didn't have time to worry about getting his product; all I wanted was the nigga's scratch. I call Lil Mo to ask if
she wants to go out to eat and to the movies. She says she down for whatever and that she will scoop me up around five. I get into bed and fall off to sleep. I feel a whole lot better since my brother's killer has also been laid to rest.

I
WAKE UP
at four P
.
M
.
and get dressed for my date with Shorty. She picks me up near Carolina Barbecue, and we drive to Three Lakes Park. I sit on top of a picnic table, and Shorty stands in between my legs with her arms wrapped around my neck like I'm her nigga for real.

“So what's up, Shorty? Why you come at me like that last night?” I ask as I lie back on the table and place my hands behind my head.

“ 'Cause I've been wanting you for a long time,” she answers, and climbs on top of me. She kisses me in my mouth and continues, “I used to see you outside of Club Tropicana. I was too young to get in the club, so I used to sit outside on the hood of my friend's car and wait for the club to let out so I could check out the fellows. I still remember the first night I saw you, I said to myself, ‘One day I'ma get that fine-ass nigga.’ ”

“Is that right?” I'm blushing hard as hell.

“Sheeett, everybody knows you the flyest nigga in town,” she says, boosting my ego even more.

“Have you ever fucked with a nigga like me?” I ask.

“Well, I used to be in love with a girl name Ann, but she was fem.”

“Why did you stop fucking with her?”

“ 'Cause we was having money problems. We used to have an apartment together, but Ann started getting high and fucking up our money,” she answers.

“Oh yeah, so where you from?” I ask 'cause I never saw Shorty around town until she started doing Nessa's hair.

“I've lived a little bit of everywhere, but I lived with Ann in Petersburg.”

Since I'm straight butch, I don't know why she likes me, but then again, she's fucking with that nigga Turk and he's one of the hardest niggas in Richmond.

“So what's up with you and Turk?”

“T is too possessive, and his ass is starting to get tight with his money. I only started fucking with him 'cause his ass was getting paid. I've been tryna stick it out with him until I can save up enough money to move to Atlanta.”

“Word. Have you ever been to Atlanta before?”

“I plan on moving there and opening up my own hair salon,” she answers. Then she gives me another soft kiss on the lips, slides off me, jumps down off the picnic table, and starts running toward the truck.

We decide not to go to the movies. We drive down to Virginia Beach and get a room. Once in the room, she gives me a full body massage, complete with hot oil. Then we get in the sauna together. I hadn't brought my strap with me 'cause she said she wasn't ready for that. I'm satisfied with just locking and bumping pussies with her. Man, Shorty is so muh-fucking bad that I allow her ass to revoke my butch card. I'm spending money like it ain't funny. She is used to being wined and dined by Turk so I have to keep the broad in her element. Our three-day escape from Richmond includes Virginia Beach, Norfolk Naval Base, Busch Gardens, Water Country, Captain George's Seafood, Colonial Williamsburg, and shopping at the pottery and outlet stores in Williamsburg. We have so much shit in the Rodeo when we return to Richmond that it is ridiculous.

When I get back, Momma is sitting on the porch with a frown on her face, like she pissed off or something.

“What's wrong, Ma?” I ask 'cause I don't know what the fuck her problem is.

“Demetria, that damn Nessa called all day Monday and Tuesday. She say the city jail don't have no air-conditioning and that her bronchitis is acting up.”

I still had $25,000, but I meant I wasn't gonna go get her ass until I was good and goddamn ready.

“Ma, Nessa faking. She say that same old shit every time,” I say as I walk past her and make my way into the house. Momma follows me in, still bitching about Nessa being locked up. As soon as I sit down at the kitchen table, Sneaky Pete comes knocking at the back door.

“Come in, man,” I invite, but I stand right there beside the muh-fucking refrigerator. I point to the spot where I want the nigga to stand. Niggas call Pete ass Sneaky Pete 'cause that nigga would steal the drawers off yo ass, yo clothesline, or from wherever, then go sell yo shit so he could get high. That nigga is so cruddy that one time he sold me a radio and when I went upstairs to get the money for the nigga, he had stolen the radio back from me. I came back downstairs, gave the nigga the $20, and put his ass out of my house. Man, when I went to go hook the shit up, I realized that the nigga had beaten me out of my money and the radio. The shit was so funny, I couldn't do nothing but laugh. Me and Pete go way back, so ain't no way I was gonna beat that nigga's ass over a dove. Pete used to be cool as shit, but the nigga got caught out there and started oiling.

“What up, Pete?” I ask 'cause I want his visit to be brief since I don't trust the nigga round my shit.

“Yall know they found La-La and Melody dead as two door-knobs, right?” He asks slowly, nodding like he bout to rock the fuck over. “At first everybody thought Smitty ass came back, but Shorty ain't do it, 'cause he was in MCV and shit; his girl stabbed him the
same day La-La beat his ass.” He scratches his arms and chest and continues on, still leaning with his eyes closed and talking slow as molasses.

“Demetria, man, guess what niggas saying about La ass?” he asks.

He is ready to gossip like most dopeheads. Them muh-fuckers be gossiping and expecting a nigga to pay they ass for hot and juicy project rumors. Gossip in the projects is free, but them junkies be getting that shit twisted. Always tryna act like they know more than every fucking body else. Then, after they finish running they mouth, they always never seem to forget to hit yo ass up for a few dollars.

“Man, they say that nigga La was fucking with faggots and that one of them followed him home, and robbed and killed him and Mel.”

Sneaky Pete gave me the lowdown, then added “Demetria, man, let me get two dollars from you?”

“Ain't got it, Pete,” I lie to him.

“All right, I'm gone.” Pete wipes his face with his dirty face towel and exits through the back door.

I'm happy to know that people ain't on to me. I call Lil Mo when Pete's gossiping ass is clearly out of sight. She says she has some errands to run and asks if I want to hang out with her for the day. I tell her yeah, to come back and scoop me up, which she does. We go to Eastgate Mall and she gets a pedicure and manicure. Then we go to DMV to pick up her tags, 'cause her thirty-day ones expiring on Friday. For lunch I treat her to Kabutos, the Japanese joint on West Broad. They stir-fry the food right in front of us and shit. Then I take her to Cary Town and buy her a Versace dress from this boutique that only them white hos out in the county shop at. For dinner we go to Skilligalee on Glenside. We sit in the booth next to each other, feeding each other and making out like teenagers on a first date. I pull up her skirt and play with her pussy
hairs. She sucks on my neck, giving me a passion mark. She sucks so hard that I scream out loud and the manager orders us to leave. We run out of the restaurant, holding hands and laughing. I'm enjoying my new young tender ronni. Lil Mo is only eighteen, she's five years younger than me, and she has my nose wide open. I quickly forget about Nessa's ass locked up in the city jail.

The next day Lil Mo says she has something important to tell me.

“What's up, baby?” I ask, 'cause I'm curious to know what's on her mind.

“Well, I thought you should know that I found a three-bedroom apartment in Innsbrook. The apartments are renting for nine hundred dollars a month, and—”

I cut her off and ask, “Why are you moving way out there?”

“Well,” she continued on, “ 'cause we need to get away from the inner city.” I notice the
we
so I question further.

“Who is ‘we'?” I ask with a puzzled look on my face.

“Well, Dee, I'm gonna break up with Turk when he gets back in town on Friday, because I want to be with you,” she answers with a serious look.

I'm delighted to hear this, so I nod and say, “That's cool.” I think to myself, If that nigga wants beef he can bring it.

The professional movers are hired and it don't take long to get shit packed up. Lil Mo dances around the apartment singing the Jeffersons: “Well, we're moving on up, moving on up, to the East Side, to a deluxe apartment in the skkyyyyy.”

That night we get a room at the Embassy Suites on Broad. We order room service and watch movies on cable. We talk about our families, and she tells me that her entire family is dead. She was in and out of foster homes her entire life. I tell her about KaQuanza, and she says she had heard about his death. We doze off and suddenly we hear a phone ringing. We both look at each other, 'cause
neither one of us told anybody where we was gon’ be. She answers the hotel phone and slams it down when she realizes that its her carry-around car phone that's ringing. She answers it, then lips to me that it's that nigga Turk. I put my ear up to the phone so I can hear what the nigga's saying. He's arguing with her about me.

“What the fuck is this shit I'm hearing about you in Skilligalee with that bitch-ass nigga from Nine Mile?” Turk screams at the top of his lungs.

“I don't know what you talking about,” Lil Mo responds, sounding nervous as hell.

“Bitch, don't lie to me. I know for a mutherfucking fact you been with that nigga, and I hear you was all up on that nigga in Ivory's, pushing it real good,” Turk says, his voice echoing through the phone.

“No, baby, I was with Vanessa, my client. You know that's Vanessa's man. I love you, Turk, I wouldn't fuck around on you.” Lil Mo starts crying as she tries calming him down.

“I don't wanna hear that bullshit; I'ma beat yo ass and kill that bitch-ass nigga, watch me! I'm done talking, just have your ass at the spot over Jarrett at ten sharp on Friday night so we can finish this conversation,” Turk said.

“All right, baby, I'll be there,” Lil Mo says with tears rolling down her face. She hangs up the phone and sits up in bed with her back to the headboard.

“Are you all right?” I ask, 'cause I jive like felt sorry for her. She has just told me about her family being dead, and now this shit. And that nigga Turk ain't buying that shit she was tryna sell him. He's vexed, and I can almost feel the ass-whipping she has coming.

“I'm scared, you just don't know, Turk is crazy. Whenever I don't wanna have sex with him, he holds me down and fucks me in my ass, or he beats me and then makes me suck his dick. I wanna
leave him so bad, but he keeps threatening me. I would have left him alone a long time ago, but he paid for me to go to Flair's Beauty Academy to get my cosmetologist license, and he put eight thousand dollars as a down payment on my truck,” Lil Mo says, crying hysterically.

“Do you have the key to the crib in Jarrett?” I ask, 'cause I'm gonna take care of my baby's problem.

“Yeah, baby,” she answers as she wipes the tears from her eyes. “Are you gonna get rid of him for me?”