Nasty Girls (30 page)

But I was concerned about Roscoe; he hasn't called me collect in over a week. So I figure word got back to him about James and myself. But why should he be pissed off at me? I wasn't the one who made the promises and then broke them by getting himself locked up. I should be the one fuming. I was alone, I was horny, and fucked up as it sounds, James was there for me. I thought Jade probably didn't know how to hold his sexy ass down at nights, so the nigga had to creep.

I wrote Roscoe a few letters but never got a return. Thanksgiving Day, I spent in the crib getting high. James came by later on in the day and put the dick down on me. I remember him being upset when he walked through my door, but he never said anything to me. He just literally tore my clothes off, threw me
down on the bed facedown, and rammed his big, hard, phat dick into my shit—froggy-style doggy-style.

I got high again and chilled for the remainder of the day. Fuck a turkey—my meal was the pipe. I tried to keep it a secret, but nosy-ass Camille had to go sneaking through my shit. I told the bitch that I had this shit under control. I was doing it just to free my mind from Roscoe and everything else. I wasn't hooked. I knew I could stop smoking crack if I wanted to. I was alone with James most of the time, so Camille and Jade had no idea that I got high. No one knew. And if I did leave my crib, it was hours after I finished getting high. Camille didn't know how stressed I was, she got her life, and she coming to my place playin' mother hen and shit.

I knew I had everything in order. I'm too cute to start slipping.

It was one in the afternoon on a Saturday, and James promised that he would be at my place by noon. I sat in my crib, getting frustrated and bored. I called his cell phone a few times, but no answer—just straight voice mail. I wasn't going to wait a second longer. So I went out to look for him.

I quickly got dressed in some tight jeans, a pair of stilettos, and my butter-soft leather and walked out my door. I hate when niggas don't keep their promises. It pisses me off.

I strutted out my building and was reluctantly greeted by two known hoodlums. “Hey, Shy. What's good, love?” one greeted. He gently tugged at my jacket, staring at me like I owed him a favor.

“What you want, nigga?” I spat, looking at him like
Why you touching me?

“I wanna holla at you fo' a minute, ma,” he said, dressed in a black hoodie, baggy jeans, and construction Timbs.

His friend stood off on the sideline, watching me. “You seen James?” I asked.

“Yeah, he in front of the store,” he informed. “But come here.”

“Damn, nigga, what you want?” I barked.

“I wanna talk.”

“Later. I got somewhere to go,” I spat.

“I'm sayin' . . . this shit ain't gonna take but a minute. You get high now, right?” he asked.

“Why is it your business?”

“Because I'm tryin' to look out for you, love. . . . I got that fo' you, if you wanna cop,” he explained, gripping my jacket again and trying to pull me back into the lobby.

“Nigga, get the fuck off me!” I jerked my arm free from his soft grip. “I don't know what you think this is, but you need to step the fuck off, yo! Before I let Roscoe know you tryin' get at me.”

His eyes flared up as anger appeared, and through clenched teeth he let known, “Bitch, Roscoe don't run things around here no more! You better talk to your boy! You in a different world, bitch! Start getting wit' the fuckin' program, and maybe I'll look out fo' you.”

Him and his boy laughed and then proceeded into the lobby. I didn't have a clue to what he was talking about. But my main concern was catching up to James and copping a few rocks for free from him as usual. And I also wanted some dick too. The nigga promised to come by the crib, and he doesn't show.

I walked off down the block, and there was James standing in front of a black Escalade, paying attention to his niggas and his money. By now, I knew people around the way knew we were
fucking, so I didn't bother to keep it a secret anymore. At this point, I didn't care who saw. James made me feel good. Good enough I risked friendship and my man for that feeling.

I strutted up to him being in all smiles and shit. He had a wad of cash gripped in one hand and passed a burning L to his man next to him.

“James,” I called out.

He turned to look at me, and I noticed an attitude appear on his face. “What you want, Shy?” he asked, looking at me with the irate look.

“Why the attitude?” I asked, trying to be humble.

“Because I'm busy. Yo, what you need?”

“I need you to come over, and I also need that thang,” I stated. He knew what I was talking about.

He snickered, “Yo, Shy, slow your ass down. You've been hittin' my shit fo' free fo' too long now. I'm gonna start chargin' you fo' it.”

“Charge?” I responded, getting upset. “Fuck you mean charge? I'm sayin' you promised me you'll come by and bless me wit' a lil' sumthin'. Why you actin' up in front of your niggas?”

“You hear this bitch!” James mocked. “Shy, ain't shit free in this world. You gotta pay fo' my shit just like everyone else. You ain't wifey. You got the bomb pussy, but it ain't platinum.”

“What?”

“Bitch, you heard me. You got cash? Twenty dollars, love,” he proclaimed.

“Nigga, you serious? I had you stayin' up in my crib and fuckin' me, and you dissin' me like this!”

“Shy, stop wastin' my fuckin' time. You either pay up or
fuckin' bounce, you dumb bitch. I ain't got time to be fuckin' around wit' you right now,” he said.

His niggas starting laughing while I stood there looking stupid. Then I heard one of 'em say, “Damn, James—you got Roscoe's bitch strung out like that! Oh, shit!”

James laughed and gave his man dap. “Nigga, you know how I do. Bitches be on my dick like that.”

I felt so stupid. All I could do was look at him. He played me. He fucked me, got me high, and now the nigga was playing me. I cheated on Roscoe for his dumb ass, and now my business was all out in the streets, and now these niggas were looking at me like I was some bird-bitch. I remember niggas respected me when Roscoe was home. They all wanted to holla, but knew Roscoe would bash their fucking heads in if they attempted. But now, they looked at me like some plain druggie bitch.

I suddenly became belligerent toward him and shouted, “Nigga, fuck you! I'm gonna tell Roscoe, and he gonna get someone to fuck your ass up. . . . Watch, bitch!”

“Fuck Roscoe, bitch! That nigga ain't runnin' shop out here no more. Fuck that nigga. This my shit—what he gonna do? Fuck him and you! Cunt bitch!” he shouted as he stepped up in my face and towered over me with rage and his fist clenched.

I tried to hold my ground, being in heels and shit. But there wasn't shit I could do.

“Step the fuck off, Shy,” James said.

A few tears began trickling down my face. I was hurt. I felt I had nothing. I betrayed my man for this asshole and lost friendship because I fucked this asshole.

I didn't even expect it, or see it coming. But James cursed me
when I turned around to leave, and he kicked me dead in my ass, knocking me down to the floor and scraping my leather.

They all laughed as I kissed the concrete.

“Yo, that's fucked up, James. How you gonna do that to shorty,” one of his friends said, but laughing as he said it.

“That's where she belongs—on her knees, right, Shy? You good on your knees, bitch,” James spat.

“Fuck you!” I cried out.

“Been there, done that,” he quipped back.

I picked myself up and left in a hurry. I still heard them laughing at me from a distance. I scurried back to my building, with the most anguished look on my face. I was hurt. My reputation, ruined. At that point, I felt like killing myself.

I
hated coming to Rikers Island, but I had to. Roscoe called me and requested to see and speak to me. He had some information for me. But he didn't want to say over the phone. I understood. You can't say too much on a prison phone.

So the following week, I jumped on the bus to Rikers. It was crowded with women. Christmas was only a few days away. I had on a pair of tight Baby Phat jeans, a sweater, and a brown leather coat. I knew Roscoe had to know about Shy already. The whole hood knew Shy was on crack and fuckin' James. And the news would reach Roscoe shortly. I knew Roscoe wanted to hear from me personally about his woman being a druggy.

I was nervous when the bus pulled up to the visiting center. I was the last one to get off the bus. I knew the routine, it was well-known to me, I dated men who had been behind these walls one too many times. And Cream was one of 'em. It took me about forty minutes to actually see Roscoe. I sat in the visiting hall, quiet as a mouse, my legs crossed, waiting patiently. I caught a few eyes looking at me, mostly men, who were probably fantasizing about me being naked.

Roscoe finally came out. He was in line with three other men, all who were wearing gray prison jumpsuits with DOC printed on the back. He had on white tube socks with brown sandals. He had changed a bit. He had a scruffy beard and his braids needed to be done. He gave me a faint smile as he walked toward me. I flashed a quick smile back.

“Hey, Camille,” he greeted me.

I stood up and gave him a hug. “Hey, Roscoe. I came like you asked. What's on your mind?”

He took a seat across from me and glanced around the room. He gave an inmate a head nod, then turned back and looked at me.

“I got a lot of shit on my mind, Camille. I heard about my baby, Shy—” He paused; I guess he started thinking about Shy's fucked-up predicament. He then rubbed his scruffy beard and continued. “You know, you trust niggas to handle shit for you while you locked down. But dis game is grimy. You can't trust anyone. I thought Shy had my back, and my boy turned her out.”

“Roscoe, I can help Shy. She's not herself,” I said.

“She's dead to me, Camille. Fuck her! What's done is done. In here, you see who your real friends are. You're good peoples, Camille. Thanks for coming down here,” he said.

“What's so important that you made me come here to see you in person?”

“I've done a lot of fucked-up shit in my life, yo. A lot of crazy shit. I know who set me up, Camille. He a hating-ass nigga. Yo, I should have seen it coming,” he said in a low tone.

“James, right?”

“He kept telling me about this new connect for a minute
now. But I wasn't buying it. I was comfortable wit' the niggas I was dealing with. But James kept coming at me, sayin' we ain't gotta fuck wit' the Dominicans anymore. He wanted to scratch them out, and put me on to these Haitians that could get us a better price. I'm a loyal client to my connect. But James, he a greedy fuck. He don't give a fuck about nothin'. He knew he couldn't deal wit' the Haitians unless I approved, and he knew it wasn't happenin'. So the nigga tried to have me killed the night I got arrested for murder. He had to cut a deal with the Haitians, and I don't trust them niggas.”

I was definitely listening, but I knew that there was more to the story. Roscoe didn't just call me up here to tell me about how grimy James was. He had something planned.

“Camille, in Jade's crib, under her bed you'll find a .357 hidden under a loose floorboard,” he told me.

“A .357?”

“It's James's gun, and it got bodies on it. He's too stupid to get rid of it because it was his brother's gun, and his first gun. He loves that gun,” he whispered to me. I knew he had to be careful, because I knew where he was going with this. And if I was right, he was about to snitch.

He continued: “But one particular body on that gun you'll be interested in hearing about. It happened six years ago at a party. We had beef wit' this nigga on the block. Yo, he wouldn't stop running his mouth about him being on the come up and getting down with Kahlil and his crew. He thought he was a badass. He robbed James and me one day of five large, and thought he couldn't be touched. So one night, we followed him to Kahlil's party. He came out wit' his girl; they were hugged up on each other tight and didn't even notice us watching them.
They went up into this Explorer to fuck, so that's when we made our move.”

Ohmygod,
I thought. I started to remember what he was telling me. It was the night Raheem was killed. I was there.

“We pulled Raheem and his girl out of the truck and beat on him. His girl came charging at us, so I punched her in her jaw and dropped her to the ground. Then James fired two shots into her boyfriend. We didn't even stick around. We bounced.”

“Roscoe, ohmygod—”

He continued, “Yo, I didn't even know it was Shy when I met her. When I first saw her, I kept telling myself, ‘Yo, home-gurl look so fuckin' familiar.' But I couldn't place her face. She was young back then. She was beautiful. I found out it was her when I saw a picture of her and Raheem. I felt bad for her, so I promised myself that I would look out for her and take care of her. But I ended up in here. Camille, I love Shy; don't get me wrong. I wanted the best for her. I owe it to her. I helped take her boyfriend's life right in front of her. I knew that fucked her up. So I'm giving you the gun. It got James's prints on it and everything. He don't move the gun. It stays hidden under Jade's bed. You do what you gotta do, Camille. I'm sorry that I had to tell you this. And tell Shy I'm sorry,” he said. He then got up and instructed the CO that his visit was over.

I was shocked. I watched Roscoe leave. He never looked back at me. I guess he figured that this chapter of his life was over, why look back.

Two days later, Cream and I went out to eat. I had to reluctantly break the news to Cream that I couldn't make it out to Cali with him. What Roscoe had told me was a bombshell. I didn't know if I should tell Cream about it first, or just go
straight to the police with the information. I knew that if I went to the police, it would implicate Roscoe. Maybe he wanted to implicate himself, but why? Maybe it was his debt being paid to Shy for helping take Raheem's life. I figured if he was going down, then he was going to bring James down with him. I wanted James to go down though, that's for sure.