Boss Divas (9 page)

“W
hat in the hell just happened back there?” I ask Profit as he drags me out of that old lady's hospital room. “What did she mean that she's Mason's aunt? Are you guys related? Why did your mother tell the cops that she's never met her before tonight?”

Profit shakes his head and shrugs at the same time, but something is off. There's something that he's not telling me.

“What did she mean by your mother stole—?”

“Shhh.” Profit jerks me up against him, cutting me off. He glances over his shoulder to make sure that no one is listening in on our conversation.

“Just tell me. What the hell is going on?” I feel as if I'm caught up in some kind of matrix.

Profit releases my arm. We're standing in a small waiting area with one old guy huddled up and snoring in a corner. Even then, Profit doesn't seem to be in any rush to spit the truth.

“Well?” I press him.

“All right, look,” he starts under his breath. “There's a lot of shit in the family closet that I'm not supposed to know, but . . . one of the obvious things is that Mason and I weren't really truly brothers—not by blood. I mean, at heart, we accepted each other as brothers. We were brought up together and everything.”

He's rambling. To calm him down, I take his hand and smile. “So? Mason was adopted.” I shrug. “I figured that much. No offense. It's not like you two look anything alike.” I laugh to soften the mood.

It doesn't work. In fact, he gets more worked up. “Mason wasn't adopted,” he says, running a hand over his head and looking back over his shoulder again. “He was kidnapped.”

“What?” I blink, and then run his words through my head again. “I don't . . . What do you mean?”

Profit huffs out a long breath, hesitating to spill his family's secrets. “I don't know. Mason only told me the one time . . . and he was pretty fucked up that night that . . . shit. I thought his ass was trippin'.”

“You're jumping all over the place. I don't understand. What happened?”

He takes another deep breath and starts over. “There's this one time, years ago, at Mason's eighteenth birthday party. My mom and I flew up from Atlanta. We had this huge block party. No expense was spared. We had the best La, the best girls, the best food and music—you name it. Mason was officially a man—
The Man
—and he wanted everyone to fuckin' know it. Of course, we all knew that Mason was already boss. He'd been head nigga in our set since Smokes got locked up.

“Vice Lords all up and down the East Coast rolled through and dropped off gifts. Mason basked in that shit, took me under his wing and told me that one day niggas were gonna be bowing down to me, too, if I followed his lead. At that time, Momma wasn't tryna hear about my ass moving back here. Memphis had too many bad memories for her. Anyway, some time during the party, Mason disappeared so I went looking for him.

“When I found him, he was . . . upset, but he wouldn't tell me why. He went back to the party, but from that moment on, it was clear that he wasn't feeling it. Momma was acting funny too that night, but I couldn't get anything out of her either. For hours I watched them, knowing something was up. Hell, I thought that they were fighting over me—on whether I could move back to Memphis and stay with him.

“Hours later, when niggas were falling out and hooking up for the night, I found him again. This time he was angry. I pressed him on what was up. He shook me off for a little while, but then the Hennessey kicked in and loosened his tongue. . . .”

When Profit's story drifts off, I wait a second to see if he's going to finish it, but then he doesn't say anything else. “That's it?”

His eyes snap back to me. “That's enough, don't you think?”

I pause a minute so that I can digest that story. “So that woman back there
really
was Mason's aunt?”

“I don't know.” Profit shrugs. “She could be.” His cell phone rings and he quickly scoops it out of his pocket.

“Who is it?”

“Lucifer.” He shakes his head and then stuffs the phone back into his pocket. “I'll call her back later.”

I glance back down the crowded hallway at the closed hospital room. “So the woman who kidnapped them was—?”

“I said I don't know. Fuck. Enough with all the damn questions.”

“All right.” I toss up my hands. “Forget I said anything.”

Profit's mom races out of the room with her face in her hands, running blindly.

“Mom.” Profit takes off after her.

I toss another look at the guarded hospital door. Maybelline Carver.
Carver
.
Isn't that Python's last name?

U
ncle Skeet is dead.

That shit is another shock to the system—even though I never liked his crooked, monkey ass. The main reason is still wailing in my ear. For years, my mom has been content to be Skeet's sideline chick—happy to take any piece of him that he would give her. I never got it and I'll never understand it—especially since she wasted no time opening her legs to him within weeks my father was gunned down right in front of us in the front yard.

“What am I going to do? I don't have anybody left.”

Jeez. Thanks.
“Mom, let me call you back after I find out what the hell is going on.”

“NOOOOOOOOOO,” she cries, pathetically. “He can't leave me like this. He can't.” Her devastation pulls at me, but for my own sanity I have to throw up a brick wall on this shit.

“Momma, I'll call you back.”

“What am I gonna do? How am I going to live without him?”

Sorry, but I don't have time for this shit.

“Call Profit.” Mason's eyes are still glued to the news report.

“Already on it.”
I just hope that he takes my call.

Of course he doesn't.

My irritation climbs a few more notches. The level of disrespect from Profit is straining the fuck out of my patience. The line rolls to voice mail and I disconnect the call and rush over to the bedroom window. “His car isn't parked in his drive,” I tell Mason. “Maybe he already knows.”

“Kidnapped.” Mason is visibly shaken. Dribbles has always had her problems but there is no doubt that Mason loves her. “Alice Carver.”

I glance back at hearing him say his mother's name. He's struggling to keep his emotions in check.

“Let's roll,” Mason orders.

We take thirty minutes to shit, shower, and change before scrambling out. I'm aware that the second we walk out the door that all hell is gonna break loose. Fat Ace's miraculous rise from the dead will be official.

We take two steps out the door and see Profit's ride blaze down Ruby Cove toward his crib.

“Wait. There he goes.”

I spot his girl Ta'Shara in the back seat and Dribbles riding shotgun. The anxiety rolling around in my gut relaxes a bit even as Mason and I break out into a slow trot toward Mason's old place.

When the car is parked, Dribbles climbs out and the first thing I see is the battery of bruises on her face.

“What the fuck?” Mason takes off.

As we're rushing toward the house, niggas around us stop dead in their tracks. Next comes the finger pointing—and then the whispers.

“PROFIT—MOM,” Mason barks when he's inches from the driveway.

Profit climbs out of the car and freezes.

Mason quickens his pace.

Dribbles removes her shades. “Oh my God.” Her mouth falls open and then, in the next second, she slaps a hand across it in stunned disbelief. “Mason.”

Profit is still unable to move as his mother takes off running.

Mason grins from ear to ear as he sweeps his mother up into his arms and swings her around.

“My baby! My baby!” Dribbles shouts. She doesn't give a damn about the crowd they drew. She keeps peppering Mason's burned face with kisses. “You're alive! You're alive!”

Profit moves away from his car door like a rusted robot, his eyes dilated with shock. He takes in the afro, the beard—and the eyes. “How in the fuck?” At last, he accepts that his eyes aren't playing tricks on him and the biggest smile I've ever seen monopolizes his face.

Mason sets his mom back down in time to receive a quick one-armed hug and a shoulder bump from his little brother.

“I don't understand? How in the fuck are you alive? Where the fuck have you been?” Profit fires off.

“Well, I fuckin' missed you, too.” Mason sweeps both his momma and his brother into his mountainous arms.

“Oh, shit. It
is
that muthafucka!”

A lone voice shouts from behind us. A thick mob, about fifty deep, creeps toward us like the zombies on
Walking Dead
. Their eyes are wide. Their mouths open.

“Yo, Fat Ace is alive,” another voice shouts.

“Fat Ace! Fat Ace!,” they chant at the top of their voices until his name rings out from every inch of Ruby Cove.

Sixty deep.

Seventy deep.

Eighty deep.

This Lewis family Kodak moment transforms into a city-block celebration. Shots are fired in the air and somebody cranks up the music. It's official. Memphis's chief Vice Lord is back.

The streets will never be the same.

“Y
ou need to get rid of that damn baby,” Li'l Bit says, shaking her head. “It was all over the news last night that they found that bitch and Tyneshia's bodies last night.”

“I know. I know.” I sit across from her at my kitchen table, tryna spoon-feed Jayson this yucky oatmeal stuff, but he's more interested in playing in the shit and splashing it everywhere.

“You know?” Li'l Bit asks. “Then what's the plan? You're just gonna raise some other bitch's kid? Have him running around and calling you mommy? Is that the game plan? If so, that shit ain't gangsta, bitch. It's fuckin' crazy.”

My eyes nearly roll out the back of my head. “Girl, you're slicing up my last nerve with this shit. I done told you that I got it.”

“Do you?”

“How many fuckin' times do I have to tell you that the kid is insurance?”

“Insurance against what?” she explodes. “LeShelle isn't interested in that baby. She wanted it dead—like his momma. And if her crazy ass is watching the news, she gonna know that you snatched that bastard and she's gonna want to know why—which means that she's gonna be looking for your ass.”

“She ain't gonna do shit, not if she don't want her man to know her ass was behind the hit on that yellow bitch.”

“Okay. What shit have you been smokin'? That ugly reptile ain't going to take your word over his woman's. He's fuckin' that bitch. Who are you?”

I stop feeding Jayson to look up and smirk. “I'm the one that's going to throw LeShelle off her throne.”

“How?” Li'l Bit asks, rocking her neck.

“It's about time your slow ass catches up.” I wink at her.

Jayson chooses that moment to grab a fistful of oatmeal and launch it at my hair.

Li'l Bit cracks up.

“You little fucker.” I jump up from the table and snatch paper towels down from the counter.

Jayson takes a cue from Li'l Bit and bursts out laughing. He's adorable with his big head and big dimples. It's kind of hard to stay mad at him. At four months, he's turning out to be quite the comedian. Everything is funny to him.

Li'l Bit stops laughing and gawks at me. “Oh. My. God!”

I wipe the smile off my face. “What?”

“You've gotten attached to this big-headed baby.”

“I have not . . . and his head isn't
that
big,” I lie. Jayson has a big muthafuckin' head.

“Aww, sheiiit. You got my ass twisted in some bullshit,” Li'l Bit snipes.

“Don't start.” I wipe the oatmeal out of my hair and return to the table.

Li'l Bit keeps grumbling. “This shit ain't right. I still got a baaaad feeling about all of this.” She stares at Jayson. “And what about that damn birthmark on his neck, huh? What are the damn chances that this baby and your new man, Diesel, have the same muthafuckin' birthmark in the same fuckin' place?”

“It's gotta be a coincidence,” I reason. “Plenty of people have birthmarks. I have a black beauty mark on my left shoulder.”

Li'l Bit ain't tryna hear it. “Tyneshia was right. We're caught up in some demonic curse for cutting him out of that bitch. You shouldn't have shot her ass for spitting out the truth.”

Heat rushes up my neck. I grab Jayson's bowl and toss the rest of the oatmeal dead in her face.

Li'l Bit jumps up, gasping. “What the fuck?”

Jayson cracks up.

“Don't fuckin' say that bitch's name.” I glance around the kitchen to make sure my brother or nosey-ass daddy ain't ear-hustling. “What are you tryin' to do—blab it to everybody? If they find out we bodied one of our own—”

“We?” My girl swipes gobs of oatmeal from her face. “What the fuck is this
we
shit?”

“
We
—as in, if
I
go down then I'm taking you and Adaryl
with
my ass. Got it?”

Li'l Bit shakes her head in disgust. “I knew that you were going to pull this shit.”

“Then stop actin' surprised and keep your damn mouth shut.”

“Qiana, niggas 'round here may be crazy, but they ain't
that
fuckin' crazy. Sooner or later the police are going to ID Tyneshia
and
that boy's momma. When they do, they're going to come around here and start asking questions. And everybody knows your ass didn't birth no fuckin' baby. One and one is always gonna be fuckin' two. These bitches are going to look upside our heads and know that our asses are dirty.
We
need to be getting a story together
or we
need to get rid of this bastard.”

“She got a point,” another voice floats into the kitchen.

Li'l Bit and I jump. GG, my brother's girlfriend, has snuck in and propped against refrigerator.

“Fuck. Don't you knock anymore?”

GG dangles a key. “Your brother thought it was time that we took things to the next level.”

“The next level is for his ass to get his own place,” I snipe.

GG flashes me a smile and then swishes her big hips over to the baby and kisses his forehead. “How's my sweet boy doing today?”

While she coos with the baby, I can't help but wonder how much of our conversation she overheard. The way Li'l Bit's eyes are shifting around, I know that she's wondering too.

“Don't mind me,” GG says. “Y'all can go ahead and finish y'all conversation.”

Li'l Bit opens her mouth, but I cut her off. “We're done.”

GG smirks. “Really? So what did you decide to do?”

“I'm going to keep on minding my own business, set an example for other muthafuckas to follow.”

Her neck swivels back. “Oh. So I'm a muthafucka now?”

“If the shoe fits, lace that bitch up.”

“Ding, ding, ding.” Li'l Bit jumps in the mix to play referee. “Back to your corners, bitches. It ain't even that serious.”

GG struggles to back down. “A'ight. You know what?” she says. “I'm gonna let you have that shit 'cause it looks like you have enough rope to hang yourself.”

Someone is pounding on the door.

“Who the fuck is that?” I go peep who it is. The second I snatch open the door, Adaryl blows in like a fuckin' tornado.

“Ohmigod, bitch. Have you seen the news?” Adaryl doesn't wait for an answer; she blows straight through the door and into the living room.

I follow, hissing behind her, “I know they found the bodies—”

“You do?” She turns to blink at me.

“Yeah, but we can't talk about it right now. GG is—”

“What about the fire?” she asks.

“What fire?”

“The one that's all over the news.” Adaryl grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns on the TV. She flips through the channels until she comes to a clip of a house burning on channel five.

“So?” I shrug. “Whose house is it?”

“Watch,” Adaryl says.

The news camera pans away from the on the scene journalist to a girl screaming. “Is that . . . ?” Profit rushes up behind the chick, grabs and holds on to her. “What the hell is this?”

“Ta'Shara Murphy's foster parents were killed last night in that blaze.”

The scars slashed across my face throb, reminding me that I still have a score to settle up with that bitch. Ta'Shara slithered her stank-pussy ass onto Profit's arm and got his nose so wide open that if he walked outside on a rainy night, he'd drown. He should've been my man. I suck in a deep breath while plotting in my head.

“Look right there!” Adaryl points to the corner of the screen,

My heart skips a beat. Ta'Shara bolts from Python's arms and races to kick the taillight of a car: a burgundy Crown Victoria.

“LeShelle,” I whisper.

Li'l Bit and GG join us in the living room.

“What's going on?” Li'l Bit asks.

The pieces snap together. “That psycho bitch murdered her sister's foster parents.”

Li'l Bit gasps. “We need to get rid of this damn baby before that psycho bitch comes looking for him.”

I nod.
The sooner, the better.