King Divas (25 page)

“W
hat the fuck?” I straighten my wig and jump up from the grass. Women and children are screaming everywhere while I pat myself down to make sure that I'm not hurt. For a second there, I thought . . . I shake it off. These clouds of gloom and doom keep creeping up on me lately.

“C'mon,” Avonte shouts. “We got to get you out of here before the police show up.”

The police are already here.
I shoot a glance to where I last saw Captain Hawkins. She's turned into a statue. Utter shock blankets her face. When I follow her gaze to the man a few feet from her, I recall them walking to the burial together.
Her husband?

“LeShelle,” Avonte hisses. “Let's go.”

“I'm coming. I'm coming.” I turn and take off back to the car. My ass doesn't even hit the backseat before we hear the wail of police sirens.

Avonte floors it out of the cemetery and gets us out of Memphis in record time.

 

I'm still wrapping my head around everything when I walk into the door.

“Are you all right?” Python barks. Clearly, he's heard the news.

“Yeah.”

“You're sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” I shake the shit off again. “You know damn well that I've been through worse shit than that.” It's true. I've been shot and stabbed numerous times—but I've never had this bad feeling that I can't shake.

Python is enraged. “You know who's behind this shit, don't you?”

I blink because truly I haven't the foggiest idea.

“Fat Ace! That nigga is out of control, stacking violations all over the place with no remorse. We're hitting that nigga, you feel me? The foul muthafucka is about to feel the heat.”

He's so amped that he's talking a mile a minute.

“I'ma pump so much lead in that piece of shit that the devil ain't gonna recognize his ass.”

“When?”

“Soon. Believe that. We're moving on that nigga soon. We've been making moves since Aunt Peaches was killed. Isaac and I are amassing an army. We're going to hit them direct. Right where they live on Ruby Cove.”

I
'm in shock. It's odd to mentally recognize that while experiencing it at the same time. After the shooting, I'm aware of the chaos, but I remain still through it all.

Drake is dead.
No reaction.

I repeat the words in my head—and still no reaction.

It's like my entire being is rejecting the information. Drake can't be dead. We'd just agreed to start a family next year. We made plans.

Why didn't you try for a baby last year, like you said—or the year before that? At least then, you'd still have some part of him. Now you have nothing.
Finally, an ache penetrates my heart. In no time, it grows. Before I can adjust, the pain overwhelms me and drops me to my knees.

“Hydeya!”

Someone is calling my name, but I can barely hear over a woman's scream. Only when I run out of breath do I realize that it's me.

“It's okay. It's okay. Look at me,” the voice says.

When I don't follow orders, I'm slapped so hard that the physical pain distracts me from the emotional one enough to pull me out of my trance.

It's Isaac.

“Breathe,” he reminds me. His strong hands on my shoulders and his firm, commanding gaze have a calming effect. After a couple of deep breaths, I'm myself again.

“You good?”

“Yes. I think so.”

He nods. “Good. Come. Let's move you over here until your colleagues get here.”

I allow him to lead me away from Drake. Better not to see him lying there like that. When the first patrol car rumbles onto the scene, Isaac, clutching his wife's Bible, moves away from me to see about some of the other injured mourners. That's when dread mixes with my grief. There's going to be a lot of questions and I better come up with some answers.

“W
hat?” I press my cell phone tighter against my ear. I couldn't have heard Kobe right. “Yes. I'm fine. We just left the funeral not even an hour ago.” I give Joe, the senior engineer, a signal that I need to take a brief break, even though we've just started the session. “Do you know who did the hit?” I ask.

“Word going around is it's those bumble-bee flaggin' muthafuckas. You know the shit is on now. My homies say that Python has been ready to make a move for weeks, since he saw that ugly monster gun down Momma Peaches. At first niggas were a little salty since his cousin Diesel and his team of soldiers rolled into town tryna do a hostile takeover. Big man must believe in that trickle-down bullshit because ain't nobody eating like they used to.”

I glance out to the other side of the studio glass to see Diesel is also on the phone. Only he appears to be pleased about something.

“But everything is about to change now that King Isaac is back. He's going to take our asses to higher heights. Fat Ace done fucked with the wrong nigga. You hear me?”

My brother is hyped as hell, but I don't share his enthusiasm about who's up and who's down in the street wars.

But the shit about Diesel concerns me. The ink hasn't even dried on the management contract that I signed. I certainly have no illusions that Diesel is no angel, but he can help me finally get a shot in the industry. At least I hope so.

I sigh. Doubt has now been replanted in my head.
What the fuck did I do?

“I'm glad you're all right,” Kobe says. “Nana can breathe better now.”

“Yeah. Thanks for checking in on me. I'll see you when I get home. Oh. Wait. Kobe?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you heard from Kalief? I've been calling and texting him and he hasn't contacted me.”

“Nah. I'm sure he's blazed up somewhere. Y'all two made up?”

I ignore the question. “I'll talk to you later.”

“A'ight.”

I disconnect the call and then head out of the sound booth. When I enter the engineer's room, Joe is gone and Diesel is handing over a large envelope to his boy Beast. It strikes me as odd, but I don't know why. I've seen him pay Beast a few times like that at the club.

Diesel dismisses Beast and then turns toward me, smiling. “You ready to get to work?”

“Umm. We're going to have to do this another time,” I tell him. “There was a shooting at Momma Peaches's burial.”

He scrubs the smile off his face. “Oh. Yes. I got a call. That shit is crazy.” Diesel shakes his head. Apparently that's all he has to say on the matter.

“Anyway, my grandmother is worried. I need to get home.”

Genuine disappointment surfaces. “Sure. Sure. I understand. Go home. Calm your granny down.” He reaches over and picks up my signed contract and holds it up. “We got plenty of time to get this started. We'll be working together for a
long
time.”

I
know that I'm supposed to take Profit with me out to the federal pen, but there's no way in hell I want him anywhere near me. I never know when the fuck his tongue will jump down my damn throat. My last few visits were hard, especially when I had to tell Smokestack about Mason's passing. We have him back, but this time I have to tell Smokestack that he's lost the love of his life, Dribbles. If ever there was a true love story between a prostitute and a pimp, it was Smokestack's and Dribbles's.

I've known for a while now that Smokestack harbored hopes that one day he and Dribbles would get back together. On her end, she'd given up on what could've been and had moved on. It didn't mean that she no longer loved him, but she had realized that they weren't good for each other.

It was a miracle that he'd gotten permission to attend the premature funeral for Mason. It was highly unlikely that he'd be able to convince the warden to let him attend the real funeral for his wife. A car horn blows and Tombstone slams on his brakes, nearly jetting me from the back to the front.

“What the fuck?”

“Sorry,” Tombstone apologizes. “I . . . guess I have a lot of shit on my mind.”

I pull myself together and settle back into my seat.

“Both GG and Qiana are missing,” he tells me, like I'd asked.

“I'm sure that they'll turn up.”

The muscles in his face flex. Clearly, he wants to tell me more of the story, but settles on, “I'm sure you're right.”

When we arrive at the prison, I walk into the visiting room, all eyes turn toward me. The OGs are from various gangs in the city. For the first time, they are not only looking at me because of my status in the streets but because overnight my belly grew another four inches. There's no hiding that my ass is pregnant now.

I keep my head up and I challenge any stare that stays on me too damn long. I don't want anyone to get it twisted; this baby doesn't mean that I'm going to take any shit.

Settling into my usual seat, I wait for Smokestack to be led out. When ten minutes pass, I start to wonder whether he's coming. After another ten minutes, I give the guard a look that reads,
“What's up?”

When I've waited a full thirty minutes, the weeping women and the crying babies around me begin whacking on my last nerve. Despite him being behind bars, everything that goes on in the streets makes it into the prison grapevine. Perhaps Smokestack can't bring himself to face me. Mason wished he could be the one to tell his stepfather the bad news, but given his own prison record, he's ineligible to visit him.

He's not coming.
I climb back onto my feet with my shoulders heavier than when I entered. When I start to walk away, the door finally opens and Cousin Smokestack enters the room. Instantly, our eyes lock. It's hard to pretend not to see that his are swollen and red. It's touching to witness that much love.

I return to my chair while he forces himself to walk with his usual swagger. No matter what you're going through, you can't let niggas see you sweat. Smokestack is a very handsome man. Still has a pretty-boy face though he's close to fifty.

“Thanks for coming,” he says.

“You know that you don't have to thank me. We're family.”

His gaze falls to my round belly. “Definitely. You're about to make me a grandfather.”

I smile. Though his blood doesn't flow through Mason, Smokestack has made it clear that Mason is, was, and will always be
his
son. For the first time, a strained and awkward silence flows between us. There's so much to say with little clue on how to say it.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” I tell him.

His head drops a notch as he mumbles, “Thanks.”

I give him a minute to collect himself before I get down to business.

“King Isaac is out,” I say.

“Now
that
I did know.”

“Diesel Carver has moved to Memphis.”

He nods. “I heard about that too.”

“And Python is out there. Pissed off.”

Smokestack bobs his head and grows serious.

“We're going to need help.”

“Then you came to the right place.”

 

 

“W
hat the fuck do you mean, I can't come home?” I blow up at Lynch. “It's been three weeks. I can't stay out here in this bitch forever!”

“It's not going to be forever.” He sighs like I'm working his last nerve or something instead of the other way around.

I cross my arms and tap my foot. “Then how long?”

“I told you. SOON!”

“What fuckin' day is soon? Point that bitch out to me on a muthafuckin' calendar.”

“Goddamn it, Shariffa. Get off my fuckin' ass with this shit. Don't forget that I'm doing this to protect your conspiring ass.”

“Awww.Here we go again.” My neck swivels around. “Miss me with that shit already,” I snap back. “I'm a muthafuckin' big girl. I can handle my damn self out here in these streets. I ain't scared and I'm done apologizing for blasting before thinking on that Bishop hit. I'm not gonna keep lickin' the crack of your ass over the shit. Only niggas who ain't ever fucked up can step up to me on this shit. It's time to move the fuck on.”

Lynch's backhand happens so fast that my head snaps back hard. I have to check to make sure that it's still attached to my neck.

“Shut the fuck up! Damn!”

I blink and swallow some damn pride, but the shit ain't going down too easily.

Lynch looks like he really wants to go in, but instead storms away from me to collect himself.

“Feel better?” I ask, shaking off the sting of his backhand.

“You feel more like a man now?”

“Shariffa,” he warns.

“I wish your ass would just boss the fuck up and get our soldiers to fall in line. Are you running shit or are they running you, nigga?”

Lynch's chest swells up as he steps into my personal space. “Who the fuck is you talking to? You need to get that fuckin' bass out your voice!”

“Oh. You can check
my
ass, but those other niggas that are clowning you? You just bend the fuck over and take it like a real bitch, huh?”

I drop to the floor and feel a tooth rattle around in my mouth. I don't give a fuck. I spit that bitch out, pick myself up, and square off with his ass again. “That's all you got? Huh, nigga? I've done fought bigger pussies than you.” I take both hands and throw my weight into a hard shove. I ignore the fact that it only causes him to move back an inch.

He cracks his knuckles as if the next punch is going to send me into the middle of next week.

“Ever since I got with your ass, it's been one muthafuckin' excuse after another, while your pussy-ass crew can only lock down Mickey D corners and shit. Y'all ain't got no heart. No ambition. No direction. That's because your weak ass is sitting on a cardboard throne, thinking your ass is important. I got news for you, muthafucka. Ain't nobody scared of you.
NOBODY!
Not even our fuckin' kids!”

“Shariffa,” he warns.

I'm so heated now that I don't care what his ass does. “I'm not staying here another night. I mean that shit.Your ass don't deserve a boss bitch like me. I tried to upgrade your fuckin' gangster, get you on in some kind of way. But the minute I bring you on the field, you start shitting in your pants because some fucking VL bitch punked your ass? Get the fuck out of here. You may as well just pull down your pants and give me your dick since your ass ain't using it.”

“Aaaarrrgh!”

Lynch goes total fucking Mayweather on my ass. Despite my ass being wiped out on the floor, he lands one punch after another so that my entire world turns into pain. I hang on and refuse to black out.

“I'm so sick of your goddamn shit!” He stands up and commences to stomp the shit out of me. When he's satisfied, or remembers that I'm the mother of his kids, he finally stops. “Now look at what the fuck you made me do,” Lynch says, huffing and puffing.

He steps back, cursing and swinging at anything else in the room.

My body screaming, I pull up into a sitting position, catch my breath, and then work my way up onto my feet.

Lynch doesn't hear a goddamn thing until I snatch the biggest blade out of the butcher block. He turns and looks me up and down.

“What the fuck do you think you're going to do with that?” he asks.

The muscles over my right eye spasm.

Lynch moves toward me, curious. “You're about to really overstep your fuckin' bounds again,” he warns. “You know good and damn well you had that ass-whupping coming.You're fucking hardheaded as shit. That's your muthafuckin' problem.”

I creep closer, my swollen and bleeding lip pulses as fast as my heartbeat. “And your fuckin' problem is that you're a goddamn pussy—just like your side bitch, Trigger. You should have heard that bitch scream before I sliced her ass up.”

That puts a pause in his ass. “What?”

“You heard me. You two double-crossing muthafuckas played the wrong bitch. Better be glad that I didn't throw some damn barbecue sauce on her chopped-up ass and serve her to you.”

Rage takes over Lynch as he charges toward me.

I knee those glass balls real hard and when he doubles over, plunge my blade dead in his throat. “Muthafucka.”

He springs back in shock. His eyes wide, his hands lock around the handle of the knife, but before he can yank the shit out, he drops to his knees while blood sprays every damn where. Two seconds later, I charged his life to the game.