Heist 2 (23 page)

From
Her Sweetest Revenge

Chapter 1

S
ometimes I wonder how my life would've turned out if my parents had been involved in different things, like if they had regular jobs. My mother would be a social worker, and my father a lawyer or something. You know, jobs they call respectable and shit.

Supposedly these people's lives are peaches and cream. But when I think about that shit I laugh, because my life is way different. My father was a dope pusher who served the whole area of Detroit. And when I say the whole area, I mean just that. My dad served some of the wealthiest politicians all the way down to the poorest people in the hood who would do anything for a fix. Needless to say, if you were on cocaine before my father went to prison, I'm sure he served you; he was heavy in the street. Lester Bedford was his birth name, and that's what he went by in the streets of Detroit. And there was no one who would fuck with him. Everybody was in check.

All the dudes on the block were jealous of him because his pockets were laced. He had the looks, money, nice cars, and the baddest chick on the block, Marisa Haywood. All the dudes wanted Marisa because she was a redbone with coal-black hair flowing down her back and a banging-ass body, but she was only interested in my dad. They had met one night at a friend's dice party and had been inseparable since then.

Life was good for them for a long time. Dad was able to make a lot of money with no hassle from the feds, and Mom was able to stay home with their three kids. Three beautiful kids, if I may say so. First, she had me, Mya, then my brother, Bobby, who we all call Li'l Bo, and last was my baby sister, Monica.

We were all happy kids about four years ago; we didn't need or want for nothing. My daddy made sure of that. The only thing my father wanted to give us next was a house with a backyard. Even though he was stacking good dough, we still lived in the Brewster-Douglass Projects.

All those years he'd been trying to live by the hood code. However, times were changing. The new and upcoming ballers were getting their dough and moving out of the hood. Around this time my dad decided to take us outta there too.

Before he could make a move, our good luck suddenly changed for the worse. Our apartment was raided by the feds. After sitting in jail for six months, his case finally went to court, where he received a life sentence with no possibility of parole.

My mother never told us what happened, but sometimes I would eavesdrop on her conversations when she would be crying on a friend's shoulder. That's how I overheard her saying that they had my father connected to six drug-related murders and indicted on cocaine charges. I couldn't believe my ears. My father wouldn't kill anybody. He was too nice for that. I was completely pissed off; I refused to hear any of that. It was a lie. As far as I was concerned, my father was no murderer and all that shit he was accused of was somebody's sick fantasy. He was innocent. They were just jealous of him because he was young, black, and borderline rich. True, it was drug money, but in the hood, who gave a fuck. But all that was in the past; now, my dad was on skid row. Lockdown. Three hots and a cot. And our home life reflected just that.

All of a sudden my mother started hanging out all night. She would come home just in time for us to go to school. For a while that was okay, but then her behavior also started to change. I mean, my mother looked totally different. Her once-healthy skin started to look pale and dry. She started to lose weight, and her hair was never combed. She tried to comb it, but this was a woman who was used to going to the beauty shop every week. Now her hair looked like that of a stray cat.

I noticed things missing out of the house, too, like our Alpine digital stereo. I came home from school one day and it was gone. I asked my mother about it, and she said she sold it for food. But that had to be a lie because we were on the county. Mom didn't work, so we received food stamps and cash assistance. We also received government assistance that paid the rent, but Mom was responsible for the utilities, which started to get shut off.

Before long, we looked like the streets. After my father had been locked up for two years, we had nothing. We started to outgrow our clothes because Mom couldn't afford to buy us any, so whatever secondhand clothes we could get, we wore. I'm talking about some real stinking-looking gear. Li'l Bo got suspended from school for kicking some boy's ass about teasing him about a shirt he wore to school with someone else's name on it. We had been too wrapped up in our new home life to realize it. When the lady from the Salvation Army came over with the clothes for Li'l Bo, he just ironed the shirt and put it on. He never realized the spray paint on the back of the shirt said
Alvin
. That is, until this asshole at school decided to point it out to him.

Everything of value in our house was gone. Word on the streets was my mother was a crackhead and prostitute. I tried to deny it at first, but before long, it became obvious.

Now it's been four years of this mess, and I just can't take it anymore. I don't know what to do. I'm only seventeen years old. I'm sitting here on this couch hungry with nothing to eat and my mom is lying up in her room with some nigga for a lousy few bucks. And when she's done, she's going to leave here and cop some more dope. I'm just sick of this.

“Li'l Bo, Monica,” I shouted so they could hear me clearly. “Come on, let's go to the store so we can get something to eat.”

“I don't want to go to the store, Mya. It's cold out there,” Monica said, pouting as she came out of the room we shared.

“Look, put your shoes on. I'm not leaving you here without me or Li'l Bo. Besides, ain't nothing in that kitchen to eat so if we don't go to the store, we starve tonight.”

“Well, let's go. I ain't got all night.” Li'l Bo tried to rush us, shifting side to side where he stood. The only thing he cares about is that video game that he has to hide to keep Mom from selling.

On our way to the store we passed all the local wannabe dope boys on our block. As usual, they couldn't resist hitting on me. But I never pay them losers any mind because I will never mess around with any of them. Most of the grimy niggas been sleeping with my mom anyway. Especially Squeeze, with his bald-headed ass. Nasty bastard. If I had a gun I would probably shoot all them niggas.

“Hey, Mya. Girl, you know you growing up. Why don't you let me take you up to Roosters and buy you a burger or something?” Squeeze asked while rubbing his bald head and licking his nasty, hungry lips at me. “With a fat ass like that, girl, I will let you order whatever you want off the menu.”

“Nigga, I don't need you to buy me jack. I'm good.” I rolled my eyes and kept stepping.

“Whatever, bitch, wit' yo' high and mighty ass. You know you hungry.”

Li'l Bo stopped dead in his tracks. “What you call my sister?” He turned around and mugged Squeeze. “Can you hear, nigga? I said, what did you call my sister?” Li'l Bo spat the words at Squeeze.

I grabbed Li'l Bo by the arm. “Come on, don't listen to him. He's just talkin'. Forget him anyway.” I dismissed Squeeze with a wave of my hand.

“Yeah, little man, I'm only playing.” Squeeze had an ugly scowl on his face.

Before I walked away I turned around and threw up my middle finger to Squeeze because that nigga's time is coming. He's got plenty of enemies out here on the streets while he's wasting time fooling with me.

When we made it to the store I told Li'l Bo and Monica to watch my back while I got some food. I picked up some sandwich meat, cheese, bacon, and hot dogs. I went to the counter and paid for a loaf of bread to make it look legit, and then we left the store. Once outside, we hit the store right next door. I grabbed some canned goods, a pack of Oreo cookies for dessert, and two packs of chicken wings. When we got outside, we unloaded all the food into the shopping bags we brought from home. That would get us through until next week. This is how we eat because Mom sells all the food stamps every damn month. The thought of it made me kick a single rock that was in my path while walking back to the Brewster.

When we got back to the house, Mom was in the kitchen rambling like she's looking for something. So she must be finished doing her dirty business. I walked right past her like she ain't even standing there.

“Where the hell y'all been? Don't be leavin' this house at night without telling me,” she screamed, then flicked some cigarette butts into the kitchen sink.

“We went to the store to get food. There is nothin' to eat in this damn house.” I rolled my eyes, giving her much attitude.

“Mya, who the hell do you think you talking to? I don't care where you went. Tell me before you leave this house,” she said, while sucking her teeth.

“Yeah, whatever! If you cared so much, we would have food.” I got smart again. “Monica, grab the skillet so I can fry some of this chicken,” I ordered her, then slammed the freezer door shut.

Mom paused for a minute. She was staring at me so hard I thought she was about to slap me for real. But she just turned around and went to her room. Then she came right back out of her room and went into the bathroom with clothes in hand.

I knew she was going to leave when she got that money from her little trick. Normally, I want her to stay in the house. That way I know she's safe. But tonight, I'm ready for her to leave because I'm pissed at her right now. I still love her, but I don't understand what happened to her so fast. Things have been hard on all of us. Why does she get to take the easy way out by doing crack? I just wish Dad was here, but he's not, so I got to do something to take care of my brother and sister and get us out of this rat hole.

From
Baby, You're the Best

Prologue

Alexis

 

 

“T
hanks for everything. I enjoyed serving you.”

You? You?
Not this shit again! That bitch waited on us for two hours. I'd kept my mouth shut when the “What would
you
like to drink?” was directed toward my man only. I had to interrupt with my request for a mai tai.

We'd adhered to their protocol by writing our orders on the restaurant's request forms, meaning there was no need to ask what we wanted to eat. The repeat for confirmation, “So you're having the fried wings, rice and gravy, and steamed cabbage and the vegetable plate with double collard greens, and fried okra?” was asked of my man as though he was going to eat it all by himself.

Now that the check was here, I was still invisible?
Aw, hell no!
I pushed back my chair, stood tall on the red-bottom stilettos my man had bought. The hem of my purple halter minidress was wedged between the crack of my sweet chocolate ass but I didn't give a damn. That working-for-tips trick was about to come up short.

I leaned over the table, pointed at the waiter, then said loud enough for all the people on our side of the restaurant to hear, “My man is not interested in you!”

James held my hips, pulled me toward my seat. Refusing to sit, I sprang to my feet, then told him, “No, babe.”

Nothing was holding me back from the inconsiderate asshole that obviously needed customer service training. I stepped into the aisle. The only thing separating us was air.

“Not today, Alexis. Please stop,” James pleaded.

I extended my middle finger alongside my pointing finger, and my nails stopped inches from the waiter's face when my man reached over the table and grabbed my wrist. I was about to put both of that dude's eyes out.

He posed, one foot slightly in front of the other, tilted his head sideways, put his hand on his hip with a bitch-I-dare-you attitude.

The room was cold. I was heated. The guests became quiet. A woman scrambled for her purse, picked up her toddler, then rushed toward the exit. I didn't give a damn if everybody got the hell out!

“One of these days, sweetheart, I'm not going to be around to intervene,” James said. He handed the waiter a hundred-dollar bill.

I snatched it. “Give his ass whatever is on the bill and not a penny more.”

James handed that jerk another hundred. This time the waiter got to the money before I did. He stuffed the cash in his black apron pocket, rolled his eyes at me, scanned my guy head to toe, then said, “Thanks. You can come anytime you'd like. Let me get your change.”

He stepped back. I moved forward. I didn't have a problem slapping a bitch that deserved it. I swung to lay a palm to the left side of his face. His ass leaned back like he was auditioning for a role in the next
Matrix
movie.

“Don't duck, bitch, you bold. If you feeling some type of way, express yourself.” I shoved my hand into my purse.

He screamed, “Manager! Manager!”

I didn't care if he called Jesus. “Say something else to my man. I dare you.” If I lifted my gun and put my finger on the trigger, I swear he wouldn't live to disrespect another woman.

James swiftly pulled my arm and purse to his side, then told the waiter, “Sorry, man. Keep the change.”

The waiter stared at the guests. “Y'all excuse my sister, she forgot to take her meds.” A few people laughed.

“Take your lame-ass jokes to Improv Comedy Club for open mic, bitch. You weren't trying to be center stage before my man tipped you.”

“I got you, boo.” He pulled out his cell, started pressing on the pad. “You so bad. Stay turnt up until the po-po comes.” He turned, then switched his ass away.

James begged, “Sweetheart, let's go.”

Some round, short guy with a sagging gut, dressed in a white button-down shirt and cheap black pants, hurried in our direction. “Ma'am. Sir. You need to leave now.”

The old lady seated next to our table said, “Honey, you're outnumbered in this town. You gon' wear yourself out.”

I told my guy, “Walk in front of me.”

Shaking his head, James said, “You a trip,” then laughed. “You go first. I have to keep an eye on you.”

That was the other way around. Atlanta was a tough place to meet a straight man who cared about being faithful. The ugly guys had a solid five to fifteen females willing to do damn near anything to and for them. The attractive ones had triple those options. The successful, good-looking men with big egos and small dicks were assholes not worth my fucking with. But these dudes boldly disrespecting me by hitting on my man, they were the worst.

“It's not funny, James. I'm sick of this shit.”

I knew it wasn't my guy's fault that James was blessed eighty inches toward heaven, one hundred and eighty pounds on the ground with a radiant cinnamon-chocolate complexion that attracted men and women.

James opened the door of his electric-blue Tesla Roadster, waited until I was settled in the passenger seat. He got in, then drove west on Ponce de Leon.

As he merged onto the I-85, he said, “Just because you have the right to bear arms, sweetheart, doesn't mean you should. I keep telling you to leave the forty at home,” he said, laughing. “I'm glad you like my ass.”

“Nothing's funny. I don't understand how men hitting on you don't bother you.”

“The way you be all up on my ass, what the hell I need a dude for? Soon as you finish your dissertation, I'm signing you up for an anger management course,” he said. “You can't keep flashing on men because your father is the ultimate asshole. Let it go, sweetheart.”

“That's easy for you to say. Your parents are still happily married. I bet if your dad disowned you, you wouldn't say, ‘Let it go.'”

I was still pissed at that waiter. I had to check his ass. I was fed up with dicks disrespecting females. I'd seen my mother give all she had to offer and the only engagement ring ever put on Blake Crystal's finger was the one she'd bought herself.

James held my hand. “You're right, sweetheart. I know how much he's hurt you.”

My father, whoever and wherever the fuck he was, was the first male disappointment in my life. Some kids cried because their daddy promised to show up but didn't. Mine never promised. Before I had a first boyfriend, my heart was already shattered into pieces by my dad. Staring out the window, I refused to shed another tear.

Continuing north on Interstate 85, James bypassed exit 86 to my house. “I know how to cheer you up. I'm taking you to Perimeter Mall.”

“Thanks, babe,” was all I said.

I was twenty-six years old and I'd never met my father. My birth certificate listed the father as unknown. Hell yeah, I was angry. My mama didn't fuck herself but in a way she had.

My way of coping with my daddy issues was to not allow any man to penetrate my heart or disrespect me. Every man I dated had to like me more. The second a woman liked a man more than he liked her, she was fucked and screwed.

“Sweetheart, I have a question.”

“Don't start that shit with me today, James. Don't go there.”

He let go of my hand. “If you answer, I promise, no more questions.”

I knew he was lying. He always said that shit and didn't mean it. “What, James?”

“Have you had any other men in your house other than me?”

I could lie. Tell him what he wanted to hear. Or I could tell the truth. Either way it didn't fucking matter! My blood pressure escalated. “I'm not answering that.”

He exited the freeway, parked by Maggiano's. “Cool, then I'm not paying your rent this month.”

That's why a bitch kept backup.