Street Divas (6 page)

P
rofit is dead. Profit is dead.

I shove one foot in front of the other down a cracked and fucked-up sidewalk. Inside my head it's like there are two people—one who keeps replaying LeShelle firing bullets into Profit and another person vowing revenge.

Profit is dead. Profit is dead.

The only reason I know that I'm crying is because of my blurred vision. I make a lazy swipe at my face, and from the corner of my eyes, I catch two niggas hugging a street corner and pointing in my direction. My trembling, bloody hands clutch tighter the silk robe I stole out of LeShelle's bathroom while I inch toward the edge of the sidewalk. On this side of town, there's a good chance that these niggas are Gangster Disciples foot soldiers. If LeShelle discovers I'm gone, she's liable to put out a street APB and have my ass hauled back to Shotgun Row. Shit. She might even offer my captors another go at me as a reward.

Fear slithers down my spine while a sob lodges inside my throat and chokes the shit out of me.

Don't be stupid. LeShelle is your sister. She would never do something like that to you. She loves you.

In answer to that bullshit, the image of Profit's murder is replaced with the image of Dreadlocks pulling at my legs as if they were a wishbone and then pumping and grinding his stank-ass on top of me.

Your mind is playing tricks on you. That never happened. LeShelle would never allow something like that to happen to you. She has always been your protector.

Then the image of Dreadlocks is replaced with Dusty Afro, and then another nigga and then another. Now my vision is completely fucked because tears are pouring down my face like a waterfall.

LeShelle wouldn't—

PROFIT IS DEAD,
the other voice screamed.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the voices in my head. I know what's happening. One part of my brain wants to submerge into denial while the other wants me to face reality. Right now, denial is so fuckin' attractive to me. Why wouldn't it be? Denial would mean that Profit is still alive, our limo was never jacked, and LeShelle . . .

I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and waver on my feet for a few seconds.
Profit is dead.
NO!
And it's all your fault.

“T!”

My eyes pop open and my heart stops.
She found me!
Suddenly, I'm surrounded in a bright light and there's a loud
BANG
! I jump and take off running. I don't know where the energy comes from, but I'm eating up the ground in my bare feet.

Run! Run!

“T, wait up!” a voice yells out.

I hear the loud roar of an engine and then the stench of burning oil. I'm in full panic mode because I know what LeShelle and her rapist goons will do to me if they catch me. I release my hold on the robe so I can use my hands to swing and give myself more momentum. When I get a good stride, I clip something in the middle of the sidewalk, and the next thing I know I'm airborne. I don't have time to shift my hands forward to try and help break my fall, so I hit the concrete hard and slide for quite a ways. I'm aware of parts of my legs, arms, and even breasts scraping off, but I'm still physically numb and am able to jump back up and continue running.

“Goddamn it, Ta'Shara! It's me! Essence!”

It's a trick. Keep running!
Hearing the car come up onto the sidewalk, I make a sharp right and hoof it toward a fenced backyard. It shouldn't be any problem jumping this muthafucka, but when I place my hand on the fence, this huge German Shepherd appears out of nowhere and jumps up.

“Ahhhhh!” I jump back in time to avoid the dog's vicious-looking teeth as they snap away at where my hands were.

Feet race up behind me.

“Ta'Shara!”

They are going to catch you!
I take off toward the front of the house, with the dog running and barking from the other side of the fence.

“Drey, get her!”

No! No! No!
An arm wraps around my waist and lifts me clear off the ground.

“Gotcha!”

Another scream rips from my throat as I twist around and rake my fingers down this nigga's mug shot.

“Aaaaaagh!”

His scream is like music to my ears as he drops me. However, my knees hit the backs of his legs, and we both tumble to the ground.

I land on something hard poking out of the ground, and the wind is knocked out of me. I can't even get my thoughts together.

“You crazy fucking bitch! What the hell is wrong with you?”

He grabs me by the shoulder, flips me over onto my back, and then pins my arms out like a crucifixion. The sight of another man straddling and pinning me down is all too much. I can't take it. I can't. Drawing a deep breath, I scream from my very soul while mentally curling into a fetal position and checking out of reality.

T
a'Shara's wild, gut-wrenching scream shocks the fuck out of me and causes each hair on my body to stand up. For a second, I back the hell up and look around to double-check that there ain't nobody thinking we're doing something to this girl. But as usual, the few dealers and crackheads who are hanging tough out here in the middle of the night are minding their business. They don't see shit, hear shit, and damn sure ain't about to call the po-po to come fuck up their cash flow.

“What the fuck is wrong with this bitch?” Drey shouts, still struggling to keep Ta'Shara pinned down.

I shake my head while my gaze falls back down to the ground to take in the whole scene. Despite it being dark as fuck, I am able to get a good look at T's bloody body and the dark, purpling bruises on her arms, chest, and face. Somebody worked her ass over real good.
What the fuck?

Drey twists his head over his shoulder. “Essence! Are you going to help me with this bitch or not?”

Blinking and then mentally shaking myself out of shock, I rush over and drop down next to my girl. “T! Please calm down!” I try to still her thrashing head so that she can get a good look at my face. The shit ain't easy because she's strong as fuck and blasting my eardrums wide open.

“Let's let her crazy ass go,” Drey shouts. “Clearly, she ain't right in the head.”

“Have you lost your mind? Can't you see that something has happened to her?”

“Something happened to me, too! Look at my face!”

Crude, jagged, and bleeding scratches ran down his face. “Shit. She did that?”

“Didn't you see her?” He pauses for a sec. “Wait. How bad does it look?”

I ain't about to tell him that Ta'Shara has fucked up his face. The vain nigga might retaliate or some dumb shit. “Let's get her to the hospital,” I say, changing the subject. “T, look at me!” I lean down until we're nose to nose. “See, Ta'Shara, it's me.”

“Hospital?” Drey echoes.

There isn't an ounce of recognition in Ta'Shara's eyes. Only fear.

Oh my God. Who did this to you?

“Look, Essence. I ain't taking this girl to no fuckin' hospital,” Drey says. “Ain't no fuckin' way.”

I whip my head around. “We
have
to take her to the hospital. Look at her!”

He's shaking his head the whole time while I'm talking. “Ain't going to happen. Those muthafuckas ask way too many questions, and I don't know shit. Don't wanna know shit and even if I did, I wouldn't tell them any goddamn way.”

“But—”

“She's
your
girl. Not mine. I ain't getting involved in this bullshit. Look where the fuck we are. We're in GD territory—our shit. You think I'm going to help the po-po bring heat over here? Shit. You're out of your goddamn mind.” He foolishly releases Ta'Shara's hands, and my girl comes up swinging, clocking both me and Drey on each side of our heads.

“Owwww!” The shit stuns the fuck out of me, and while I'm reeling to the side, I hear this loud
crack
!

“Goddamn it, bitch!”

While I'm blinking stars out from behind my eyes, I realize that Ta'Shara's screaming has stopped. I pick myself off the ground and look over to see Drey shaking his hand while T is knocked out cold beneath him.

“What the fuck did you do?” I check to see if my girl is okay.

“What the fuck does it look like? I shut her the fuck up!”

There's a pulse and she seems to be breathing evenly.

“You're welcome.” Drey climbs off of her. “I'm getting the fuck out of here.”

“Whoa, whoa. Wait!” I grab his wrist. “Where are you going?”

“Home. Fuck this shit.” He tries to shake me loose. “This shit ain't my problem.”

I tighten my grip. “You can't leave us here.”

Drey laughs and snatches his hand free. “Watch me.”

Jumping up, I chase after him. “Drey, please. You gotta help me!”

“I ain't gotta do shit.” He strolls back toward his car.

“Goddamn it.
Please!
I swear, I'll do anything you ask. Just help me with my girl.” That shit gets him to slow down. “Absolutely
anything
you want.” I grab him by the shirt and pull him up against my body. “Anything
and
for however
long
you want it.” I slide my hands down inside his pants and give his hairy nut sac a good squeeze. “Word is bond.”

A small smile hooks the side of Drey's lips as he peeks down into my chocolate cleavage. “Any
freaky
shit I want?”

“Anything.” I move my hand from his balls to grip his dick for a few strokes. Niggas around here don't do shit without getting something in return.

“A'ight, then.” He nods before turning back around. “You better not renege on this shit neither.”

My shoulders slump with relief as I follow him back. While she's still passed out, Drey has no problem scooping her up off the ground and carrying her to his rusted-out piece of shit, where he tosses my girl into the backseat like she's a rag doll.

“Goddamn it. Be careful,” I bark, and then climb into the backseat, too.

Drey rolls his eyes. “Muthafuck that bitch,” he mutters under his breath, and then slams our door. “Lucky my ass ain't dumping her ass into the trash.”

Ignoring him, I turn my attention to Ta'Shara. I don't know whether I should wake her or let her sleep this shit off.
But what the hell happened to her? And where the fuck is Profit?
I close the robe she has on because her bruised chest and breasts are making my stomach churn and lurch.

Drey climbs behind the wheel and then shifts this death contraption into reverse, which of course causes his busted-ass tailpipe to complain with another loud-ass
BANG!
“Where to?”

“The Med. That's the closest, right?” I ask.

“Fine. But we're doing a drop-and-roll.”

“But—”

“Save the bullshit. That's the deal or both y'all muthafuckas can get the fuck out of my ride right now.”

“That's fucked up.”

“Nah. Whoever done that shit to your girl is fucked up, but you need to stop and put two and two together before you start thinking about getting involved.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He rolls his eyes like I'm the stupidest muthafucka who has ever walked the earth. “The last time we saw your girl, she was rolling up out of the prom with that slob Profit. They were both cheesing and rubbing on each other like they didn't know they were violating a whole much of fuckin' rules. GD and Vice don't mix, you feel me?”

“Ta'Shara is not a Queen G.”

“She is by blood. You know that shit. Don't play crazy.”

I do know it, and I haven't wasted another moment's breath trying to convince Ta'Shara of the dangers of her and Profit going public. Hell, even her sister had stepped to her and told her ass point-blank to end the shit. But my girl has been dick-crazy. The more you tell her not to do something, the more determined she is to stay with the muthafucka.

“That dead nigga we saw being chalked earlier,” Drey continues. “Your girl's missing nigga and her ass looking like that tells me that some street politics has caught up with they asses and it was done by our people. Why else was she on this side of town? Huh?”

Everything this corner hustler is saying is making perfect sense.

“Check her ass.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Check her ass and see if she's been branded.” He hits a switch, and the interior light comes on.

I hesitate for a moment but then roll Ta'Shara over to confirm what we both already know. Sure enough, on her ass are the dirty, bleeding initials
GD
. My stomach stops churning and starts knotting at the sickening sight. Only one name floats to the top of my head. “LeShelle.”

Drey nods. “Damn. Maybe you
are
a little smarter than you look.”

“Shut the fuck up and drive,” I snap, blinking back a few tears.

“Fuck. Don't get mad at me. I ain't had shit to do with this. But you think I'm going to be able to convince the po-po of that shit? They'll take one look at her ass and these tats on my neck and then haul my ass downtown. You, too, Lil Queen G. We'll either have to take the heat or snitch. How the fuck you think that's going to go down?”

Now I feel sick.

Drey shakes his head again. “We'll drop her ass outside the ER, and then we roll the fuck out. Cool?”

Torn, I glance down at Ta'Shara's face. T is my best friend. I've had her back for a long time now, but . . . shit. This puts me in a bad situation—a life-or-death situation.

“MUTHAFUCK!” Drey leans forward to get a good look at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Look at what that bitch did to my face!”

“Calm down!”

“Calm down? Fuck that. You need to clean that bitch's fingernails. Shit. I watch
CSI
. They can pull my DNA off some shit like that.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Look around back there and find something to clean her nails. I ain't taking the rap for no goddamn body.”

“Drey—”

“I FUCKIN' MEAN IT!” He jerks the steering wheel to pull over to the side of the road.

“All right. All right. I'll do it. Just fuckin' drive.” I glance around the floor of the backseat and find a screwdriver. It's better than nothing. Satisfied, Drey continues driving while I try to dig the skin and blood from beneath Ta'Shara's fingernails. However, the act feels like a betrayal, and I feel a rush of tears threatening to flood my eyes. “Why didn't you fuckin' listen to me,” I mumble low, shaking my head. I don't even want to think about what probably happened to Profit. No doubt the brothah is dead, but how he went out was probably brutal as hell.

Goddamn these fuckin' streets.
I swipe my tears, but deep down I know that nothin' is ever going to change out here. If anything, it'll only get worse. Profit's death will only set off a vicious chain reaction. I hate to admit it, but Drey is right. The last thing we want is to be implicated directly in this shit. It would be like painting a target on the center of our foreheads for the Vice Lords.

“What the fuck is this shit?” Drey asks. He hits the dashboard, and the interior lights go out.

“What?” I glance up as he rolls into the hospital's parking lot.

“Those niggas right there . . . and over there . . . and there.”

Sure enough, posted outside the emergency room are at least seven different groups of niggas, all flaggin' gold and black.

“It looks like a muthafuckin' Vice Lord convention out at this muthafucka.” Drey huffs out a long breath. “SHIT! I knew my ass should have left you two bitches back there. I must have a neon sign over my head that says ‘stupid muthafucka.' ”

“Shut the fuck up!” I pop him on the back of the head while I peek out the situation. “Something has gone down.”

“Duh! You fuckin' think?” This time he rolls his eyes so hard it's amazing the shit doesn't get stuck in the back of his head. “I'm getting the hell out of here.”

“Wait! What—”

“We can't drop her off here. I'm willing to bet on my nanna's life that this shit here has a lot to do with your girl's missing man. All these muthafuckas gotta know that he took her ass to the prom. They catch us with her, they going to put two and two together and come up with six. Ya feel me?”

“Goddamn. This is some fucked-up shit.” I'm starting to panic, too. The realness of this situation is hitting home like a muthafucka.

Beside me, Ta'Shara groans.

“Aw, fuck! If that bitch wakes up screaming, I'm personally going to put a bullet in her head.”

I pop Drey again. “You ain't going to do shit.”

“Fuck. I'll cap her ass before they cap me. Believe that shit.”

“Whatever, nigga.”

“Bet. You better makes sure her ass stays quiet back there.”

Drey loops around, and his busted-ass shit catches a few niggas' attention.

My heart leaps into my throat. I have no idea what we'll do if any of these muthafuckas decide to follow this smoking bucket of bolts. “Hurry,” I urge, pushing his shoulder.

“I ain't going to speed through this muthafucka. They'll know that something is up.”

A tall figure, dressed in all black but stacked with feminine curves, emerges from the emergency room and strolls across the parking lot toward a black SUV.

“Hey, I know that chick.”

“Good for you,” Drey mumbles.

I search my memory Rolodex, and it flies back to nine months ago, when Ta'Shara and I were down at this very hospital because Profit had gotten into some shoot-out with the police. When we went up to his room, that bitch there was standing outside his door along with a bunch of other Vice Lords like a string of personal bodyguards. Ta'Shara told me her name later on.
What is it?
“Lucifer,” I whisper.

Drey's eyes bug. “Who? Her?”

I nod. “You know her?”

“Yeah. Fuck this shit.” Drey slams his foot on the accelerator and peels out of the hospital like a bat out of hell.

“Hey!” I grip the backseat so that I don't fall back against my girl. “I thought you didn't want to draw attention?”

“I also don't wanna die tonight, so you need to shut the fuck up! You done got my ass into some bullshit. That's all I know. The sooner I get y'all out my damn car, the better.”

“Well, then let's try another hospital.”

“Fuck that! I ain't risking that shit no more.”

“We had a deal!”

“And I drove y'all ass out here. It ain't my fault the place is crawling with cockroaches. Who to say they ain't got niggas at
all
the hospitals looking for that bitch?”