Street Chronicles Girls in the Game (13 page)

“Oh, shit, Bob. Something's going on in there,” I said frantically.

“Come on. Follow me to the garage. Let's see if the garage door is open. Here, take this.”

He handed me a .45-caliber pistol and we walked around to the side of the house. Sure enough, the garage door was open. Bob raised the garage door. I noticed Tank had a Range Rover and a Lexus GS430, just about a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of cars in here. All of this from selling drugs. He was out there distributing drugs to people like my mother, who would do anything for a hit, while he lived the glamorous life. On top of it all, he was trying to ruin my life so he could keep pushing drugs on the streets of Richmond, where people were getting hooked on a daily basis. I wanted this bastard bad!

We tiptoed through the garage to the kitchen and moved slowly through the first floor of the house, trying to detect some sort of movement, but there was none. When we reached the front hall where the steps were, a male voice could be heard. It was muffled, but apparently he was the only one talking. I could only assume it was Tank. Bob motioned for us to move up the stairs, and by this time I was a little nervous. I wasn't sure if Tank had killed Renée, or if Renée had watched Tank kill somebody else. At this point anything was possible.

We followed the male voice until it got closer and closer. We passed by a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom before reaching the bedroom where the voice was coming from. Now we could hear the voice clearly, as well as a female crying softly. Maybe he didn't kill Renée after all. Bob put his finger over his lips and we listened for a moment so we could get an idea of what might be happening on the other side of the door.

“Renée, baby, please, put the gun down. Come on now, please. You don't want to do this. Just put the gun down,” Tank said.

“How could you do this to me? Huh? After all I've done for you?” screamed Renée.

“Renée, look, we can't talk like this. You need to give me the gun before somebody gets hurt,” Tank said.

“Bitch, get out of the bed. Get out of the bed
nowl”
Renée yelled.

“Please don't kill me! Don't kill me! I didn't know! Please!” said another female voice.

“So, the joke's on me, huh? I know you so well. I call you on your cell. You don't answer. I call you at home. You don't answer. I go out to the restaurant. You're not there. I had to come all the way out here to find you in bed with another bitch. In the meantime, you change the plan and don't tell me, while at the same time you're fucking her? What did you think would happen,
Tank? Huh? Thought maybe you could pin everything on me? Huh? Do you know what you've done? Do you?” Renée yelled.

The other female in the room was whimpering, and little by little the story unfolded. Renée was telling Tank's other woman the whole plan, and I listened, feeling more and more used by the minute. Renée and Tank set me up. This whole relationship was all a setup to keep her drug-dealing boyfriend out of prison. So the joke was on me, too.

“See, bitch. You see what I've done for him, and this is how he repays me? Do you think I should let you get out of this alive? Shit, I don't have anything to lose, now, do I?” yelled Renée. Just as angry as Renée was, I was even more furious. Without any warning I pushed open the bedroom door. Tank was lying in a king-size bed, naked. There was a light-skinned woman standing beside the bed, naked, and Renée was standing a few feet away from me.

“Isn't this a nice little party?” I said. They all turned to look at me as I pointed my gun at Tank.

“Chris, what are you doing here? Get out of here! This is between me and Tank!” Renée exclaimed.

“No, the way I see it, this is between me, you, and Tank. I heard everything,” I said. “All this, a setup to keep your man out of jail, and this is the thanks you get. Umm, umm, umm. Damn, they say what goes around comes around, but I never, ever thought it came around so quick.”

Bob was standing beside me with his gun drawn, not sure who he should be pointing it at. The look on his face told me that he was pissed at me for barging in without giving him warning, but I didn't care. I was ready to take that punk Tank down, as well as that cunt Renée.

“Everybody, please calm down. I'm a detective,” Bob said.

“Aw, damn! This motherfucker was just here! Ain't this a bitch!” said Tank.

“Renée and Chris, I need you to put your guns down. Right now, come on,” Bob said. Renée seemed to be unmoved by the whole gesture as she focused her attention back on Tank and the other woman. I was watching Tank's every move, wanting to put a bullet in his chest for what he'd done to me.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Chris had no business coming here! Now my plan was ruined.

“Chris, please, can you just leave? I told you to let me handle Tank. Why did you come here?” I said.

“You need to answer that question for me. How could you do this to me, Renée? All this was just a setup? I thought you loved me,” I said.

“Chris, please, just get out of here and let me handle this,” I said while still aiming the gun at Tank. With Chris and the detective here, there was no way out of this mess now.

“Renée, can you just put the gun down? You almost killed me! Come on, I mean, shit. This bitch don't mean nothing to me. I just did her to pass time while you were with that nigga,” Tank said.

“You're a fucking liar!” I screamed.

I pulled the trigger and fired, missing Tank as he fell to the floor to take cover while grabbing a gun from his nightstand that was blocked minutes before by the naked woman. At the same time the woman dropped to the floor and crawled over to the corner of the room beside the mahogany oak dresser. The detective
tried to grab me, but Chris pushed him back with such force that he hit his head on the corner of the bedroom door and fell to the ground. Now he was out cold. I turned to face Tank, who was now pointing his gun at Chris, while Chris and I were both pointing our guns at him.

“I guess it all comes down to who gets the first shot off, huh? You feelin’ this nigga or what?” Tank asked coldly.

“I need to be asking you the same thing about her,” I replied.

“Renée, the ball is in your court. Tell me so I can be sure. You love that nigga?” asked Tank.

“That's right. I love him. Fuck you, Tank. Go to hell,” I yelled.

All of a sudden Tank's eyes grew extremely cold, and before anybody could do anything, he aimed his gun at me and was about to shoot, but not before I fired two shots at him. Chris was still standing there with his gun aimed at Tank, which was unnecessary, since there was a hole in Tank's chest dripping blood. The bullet he took looked like it was right on the mark—his heart. Tank's limp body was sitting up against the nightstand, lifeless, gun still in hand. I walked over to him slowly to get confirmation that he was really dead. Then I looked over at the woman in the corner, who was still squatting. I was feeling a mixture of emotions, not sure if I should be sad and crying because Tank was dead, or happy and relieved because I made it out of this mess alive.

Before I realized it, Chris walked over to me and took the gun out of my hand.

“Chris?” said Bob, who was coming around. Chris went over to him and helped him up. It was obvious he was still a bit dazed, because he stumbled as soon as he tried to stand.

“It's over. Tank is dead. Renée shot him in self-defense,” Chris said.

He then turned to me, and we stared at each other like we were
the last two people on earth. At that moment I realized he still loved me, and when this was all over, I'd prove to him that I truly loved him, too.

“I'm going to help Bob downstairs to his car so he can get some suits out here. You two coming?” he asked.

“We're right behind you,” I said as I watched the woman, who was now slipping on a T-shirt and some pajama pants. Chris wrapped Bob's arm around his neck, and they headed toward the stairs.

“So, Shelly, you okay?” I asked once Chris and Bob were gone.

“Yeah, Renée, I'm okay. This shit got real tonight, didn't it?” she said.

“I didn't think it would turn out like this. My God, I can't believe Tank is dead. I never wanted to kill him. That wasn't part of my plan. I was just trying to look out for myself like Tank was looking out for himself.”

We both stared at Tank's corpse. I didn't know what Shelly was thinking, but I wished there was a way I could change the outcome of tonight. Falling in love with Chris wasn't part of the plan, but it happened. Once I found out that Tank had taken the bait with Shelly, I realized he didn't possess the type of love I needed. Therefore, I had to come up with a plan that would benefit me. I always knew Shelly had a thing for Tank and would be willing to sleep with him, if the price was right. Being the businesswoman that she is, Shelly was more than happy to take care of Tank, while at the same time ripping him off bit by bit. After tonight she would have made off with close to $100,000 of Tank's money, thanks to me providing her with the combination to the safe. I only wanted to prove to Tank that his street power couldn't touch the power of love, nor could it touch the power of revenge. For once I wanted to teach him a lesson. But now it was too late. My first love was growing colder by the minute.

“Well, it is what it is,” Shelly said. “Nothing we can do to change it. I'm sorry Tank had to die, but it was self-defense. Everyone in this room knows that. Hmmph, he was really good, in more ways than one. But, you know, bailers come and bailers go. That's why I never get attached. When I'm involved, it's all about this.” Shelly patted the front of her pajama pants. I guess her power was in the pussy. She picked up a leather bag that was lying in the corner.

“We make a good team, girl. Any chance of working out a similar deal with Mr. Hall? He looks like he has a few dollars,” Shelly said jokingly as she glanced into her bag full of Tank's money.

“Not a chance,” I told her, and headed downstairs.

K
ayla “Bossy” Tucker had been given the nickname Bossy by her Nana when she was just a toddler because of her take-charge personality She was an attractive woman—and she knew it. She had a caramel complexion that turned bronze during the summer months, and her straight, long, naturally auburn-colored hair hung midway down her back. Her body alone made men fall at her feet, but there was something else about her, something not easily defined, that brought them to their knees.

Bossy sat at her cherry oak dining room table packaging freshly cooked crack cocaine with a joint balancing between her lips. She was racing against the clock to wrap up the latest shipment for Twan, a young blood who reminded her of herself during her early years in the game. He would be knocking on the door at any minute. Just when Bossy thought she would finish on time, the phone rang. She got up from the table, walked over to the counter, and removed the phone from its cradle.

“Hello,” she said with an attitude, removing the joint from between her lips. She had answered the phone as if the person on the other end should have known that she had a deadline to meet and should not have been calling her.

“Bitch, stay the hell away from Twan. He got a family,” a young female voice roared through the phone receiver in an attempt to sound threatening.

Because she was single and beautiful, many of Bossy's days began with petty phone calls such as this. She could usually pinpoint who the jealous, stupid broad on the other end of the phone was, and when she couldn't it was because the silly bitches would get their little girlfriends to call on their behalf. She knew the identification of this particular caller, because she had met her on an occasion or two and recognized her voice. It was Twan's main girl, Lajetia.

According to Twan, Lajetia bitched a lot about the hours he kept and had accused him and Bossy of fucking. The girl just didn't understand that hustlin’ ain't got no time frame. It wasn't like hustlers, street pharmacists, pimps, and hos could clock in and out. The streets never shut down. The need for drugs, sex, and money was constant, and if you weren't available when a client wanted you to be, there was always someone ready to take your place.

Bossy removed the phone from her ear, stared at it, and laughed.
Is this shit for real?
she thought. She then placed the phone back up to her ear and spoke.

“You're just a young girl with stars in your eyes,” Bossy said, snickering. “I'll give it to you, though: You must be feeling pretty strong callin’ my house trying to start shit over some dick. Or you're pretty insecure and thought making this juvenile call would run me off,” said Bossy in a whisper while blowing out smoke from the joint she was tokin’ on.

“I'll tell you why I called—” Lajetia spit.

“That's where you fucked up,” interjected Bossy, “thinking I'd give a damn why you called!”

“Aw, bitch, I'll—”

“You'll what? All you've done is shown your ho card. I care as much about that nigga as I care about you.”

“I just want you to know that Twan has a woman and we got kids together,” whined Lajetia.

“And what does that mean to me?” Bossy asked to piss Lajetia off even more.

“It means he ain't goin’ nowhere. He stayin’ wit’ me!”

“Good, that's where I want him—with you. I ain't feedin', clothin', or housin’ no nigga. So keep him right there with you.”
Click!
Bossy couldn't hang up the phone quickly enough in order to get back to her business at hand. She felt as though it was way past time to end that conversation.

These young, insecure girls nowadays have a lot of nerve callin another woman's house over some punk-no-good nigga,
she thought.
They find a number in a pants pocket or on a cell phone call list and think they man laid up someplace. It ain't even rockin like that at 539 Falls Avenue, Apartment B.
Bossy felt that even if she were sleeping with another woman's man, why should his chick step to her?
I ain't the one cheatin and lyin to her ass.