Boss Divas (11 page)

“L
ucifer?” I ask, turning toward Python. I ain't gonna lie, the bitch's name has a way of making a heart skip a beat. After all, she and Profit popped up out of nowhere and mowed down half our wedding party. “What the fuck do you want with that bitch?”

Python drops into the leather chair across from Diesel's desk. “You can ask that shit after she and your sister's lil boyfriend turned our nuptials into a red wedding?”

My smile twitches. “You're thinking about extracting a payback?”

“Fuck yeah. I don't have patience for bitches who think they have bigger balls than I do. It's past time to check that bitch and her crew of cockroaches. They destroyed the Pink Monkey, the construction company, and even cost the set our Colombian connect with that massacre on that last delivery.”

“That shit ain't on us,” I argue, outraged. “McGriff cut that deal tryna sneak a come-up. For all we know they were in it together. Sheeiit. If you ask me, those muthafuckas got what they deserved. That's why I capped McGriff 's sneaky-ass bitch, too.”

Python shakes his head. “The shit is still on me. McGriff was my representative and I'm supposed to be in charge of protection. As far as the cartel is concerned, McGriff was operating under my authority. To heal any hurt feelings is gonna take a whole lot more cash than I have on hand. That's why I figure that we should go with Diesel's supplier so we can get some more candy on the streets quick and bring back our loyal customers.”

“I know that you're not suggesting that crackheads have loyalty.”

“No, but they value quality product. And Diesel here only fucks with that top-echelon shit that has never been stomped on. We're talking pure as fresh-driven snow. Muthafuckas down in the A can't get enough of it.”

“Uh-huh.” My gaze slices back to Diesel as he eases back in his chair with a cool, confident smile.

I know what he's doing and he knows that I know.

My clit thumps again. It takes everything I have not to jump over the table and rape his fine ass.
Fuck.
I look away when I realize the thoughts I'm having inside my head right in front of my man. But I don't do it fast enough because when I look at Python, he's staring dead at my ass.

“Like I said, cuz,” Diesel continues like he doesn't notice shit. “Whatever you need, I got you. I'll call up a few of my top niggas from the A until we get everything set up here. We'll have our shit up and running in no time.”

“
Our
shit,” I correct him, not liking how he included himself.

Diesel cocks his head. “Yeah. That's what I said.”

“Are you two finished?” Python interrupts, irritated. “If we're going to move, then we're going to need to do it soon. With that dirty-ass Captain Johnson finally off to suck on the devil's nut sack, the Vice Lords' weapons supply is going to dry up. They're going to be on the hunt for a new connect. There are only a couple of muthafuckas arms dealing in the tri-state area. You,” he says, looking at Diesel, “and those crazy-ass, racist, Hell's Angels–wannabe muthafuckas who want to help us speed up the city's genocide.” He shrugs. “Maybe there's one or two others I don't know about—but they would be the main ones.”

I know exactly who he's talking about. “The Angels of Mercy? They would never go to them. Who would want to deal with those racist fuckers?”

“Business is business,” Python says. “Everybody's money is green.”

“That it is.” Diesel laughs, reaching for the phone. “Let's call them up.”

My ass does a double take. “You
know
those assholes?”

His laughter deepens. “How in the hell do you think they get
their
shit?”

Holy shit. This nigga is deeper in the game than I thought.
What makes this shit even slicker is that he has them on speed dial. I'm looking at him with brand-new eyes. Why doesn't Python have that kind of reach? Diesel hits the speaker and we listen in.

“Yell-o?”

“Thor! How's my white nigga doin'?” Diesel greets heartily.

A deep-baritone laugh rumbles over the line. “Not so good if your ass is calling.”

They exchange brief chuckles.

“Look, my man. I need a solid from you.”

“Yeah? There's a first time for everything,” Thor says. “What can I do for you?”

“I'm looking to stake a mean bitch by the name of Lucifer. Heard of her?”

A long pause hangs over the line.

Everyone's brows go up as we exchange looks and then lean closer to the phone.

“She's on your radar?” Thor finally asks.

“Got her in my crosshairs. Has she come to you yet?”

“Been doin' business with her for a few months.”

I'm stunned.What in the fuck did that shit mean? The Vice Lords and Captain Johnson split off
before
his death?

“If you'd called a couple hours ago, I could've handed the phone over to her,” Thor says.

“She placed an order?” Diesel asks.

“Yeah. Her and her crew—big niggers, about your size.”

Diesel's hand shoots out to pick up a pen. “When and where are you supposed to deliver?”

“We got a warehouse off of Rivergate. It's a large order. We arranged delivery for next Friday night. Ten o'clock.”

Big smiles break across our faces as we hover over the phone.

“Tell you what, Thor. My cuz and I are gonna take that order off your hands and handle it personally.”

“It's all yours, my black brother.”

“F
uck the police.” I toss up my hands in front of the bathroom mirror while bitching to my husband. I know that he gets tired of me bringing my work home, but I can't help it. I'm so frustrated, overworked, and flat-out tired. “You know, I'd respect people more if they would come on out and just say that shit. Instead I have to put up with people always lying to my face and thinking my ass is stupid. Take this Barbara Lewis chick. Her story doesn't make a lick of sense—or there's a whole lot of shit she's not telling me.”

“The woman that was kidnapped?” Drake asks, focusing most of his attention on shaving.

“Yeah. One of them.”

“What do you think she's hiding?” he asks.

“I don't know. I'm supposed to believe that this crazed mental patient escapes, kidnaps her sister, kills the sister's boyfriend and some bystander in the neighborhood off Shotgun Row, takes the sister to their childhood home—I don't even know how the extra body, Arzell Carter, fits in. Maybe he was Alice's accomplice. Anyway, some time later, Alice goes to Captain Johnson's place, kills him and his wife, tells the kid, Christopher, that she's his grandmother and then, on her way out the door, kidnaps Barbara Lewis. But
nobody
knows why any of this happened? C'mon.”

Drake shrugs. “Sometimes you can't explain crazy.”

“I'm not buying it,” I say. These people are insulting my intelligence. “Mrs. Lewis's story doesn't pass the smell test.”

“Well.” He leans over the vanity sink. “If anyone is going to figure it out, it's you, babe.” He kisses my cheek, leaving a dab of shaving cream on my face.

“Hey. Watch it.” I swipe my face and toss it back at him. However, my mind goes back to the Johnson case. “I don't know. Maybe Ms. Lewis really was at the wrong place at the wrong time, but it still has my Spidey senses going off.”

“Oh. I married a superhero?”

“Oh. I got all kinds of powers,” I brag, reaching over and grabbing him by his cock. He may not be a brotha, but he must have some black genes somewhere because my man is hung like a horse.

Drake laughs. “All right now. Don't start nothing you can't finish,
Captain.
”

I glance at my watch and moan. “Maybe a rain check?”

“Uh-huh. That's what I thought.” He slaps me on the ass and then goes back to his shave.

Once again, my mind goes back the case. “Why didn't Alice kill Barbara Lewis at the captain's home? Why take her with her?”

“You're like a dog with a bone.”

I slap him with my towel. “I'm serious. Why?”

“Maybe she planned on torturing her.”

“
Exactly
,” I agree. “The shit was personal. The two knew each other. Why not admit it? Why hide it?”

“Did you ask her?”

“Of course I did. She denied it, and then threw up a brick wall so fast, I nearly broke my face on it.”

“What about the other one?”

“Maybelline—Carver.”

Drake stops and meets my gaze in the mirror. “Momma Peaches?”

I shrug, but Drake knows that Momma Peaches has been a source of fascination for me since long before I joined the Memphis Police Department. The old woman is practically a legend, with a rap sheet that takes up a few gigabytes in the system. I've never had any direct dealings with the infamous lady gangsta until yesterday—but it has always been a matter of time before we met.

“So what do
you
think is going on?” he asks.

“I don't know—but you can bet your ass that I'm going to find out.”

Drake cocks his head at me. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“I'll sleep in my next life,” I tell him. “I better go. I have a full schedule today—which includes another press conference.”

“Oooh. My baby is going to be on
teeveee
.” He slides behind me and loops his arms around my waist. “Since I can't have sex this morning, maybe I can get your autograph?”

“Quit it.” Smiling, I try to wiggle out of his arms. “I'm going be late.”

He nuzzles my ear and squeezes my ass. “Well. If you're already late.”

“You're incorrigible, you know that?”

“You might have mentioned it once or a million times. I can't remember.” Laughing, I push him off and head to our adjoining bedroom.

Drake grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Aren't you forgetting something?”

I frown as he reaches for the flesh-colored bandages on the vanity counter. “Oh.” I roll my eyes for being so absentminded.

“Turn around,” he says.

I follow his order and sweep my hair out of the way so that my husband can cover the large, six-pointed star of the Gangster Disciple tattooed on my neck.

I
feel like death warmed over. Make no mistake about it, I'm happy to be alive, but all this poking, prodding, and pricking me is riding my last nerve. I'm ready to get the hell up out of here. Two days of hospital food and old bitches—
pardon my language, Lord
—sponge-bathing and wiping my ass is driving me up the wall.

Why did Alice come after me? Why did she kill Cedric Robinson? Who helped her escape the mental hospital? Who was Arzell Carter's backstabbing ass? What about Rufus Jones, who was found dead in the backyard? What is my relationship with Barbara Lewis? Have I ever met her before? Was I sure? Why did Alice kill Captain Johnson? On and on the questions went until my head felt like it would explode.

I should've gone with the truth. I'm too old and tired to try to keep up with a lie, plus I promised the man upstairs that if he got me through Alice's crazy, bat-shit meltdown I'd turn over a new leaf.

What can I say? Changing is harder than I thought.

Between interrogations and catnaps, I sneak glimpses of the local news from the television mounted on the wall. The constant up-to-the minute updates on the death of the city's beloved Captain Johnson have the city reeling.

“Hello?” A new nurse sticks her head into the room. “Time for another blood draw.”

“I'm not going to have any blood left by the time y'all get through.”

She laughs, but I'm not joking. The nurse sets up by the bed and glances up at the television. “Damn shame.” She pricks my arm without warning. “This city is going to hell. You'd think we live in a third-world country or something.”

“Humph.” This nosey bitch knows that I'm tied to the case. She and the others have been creeping in here every chance they can, trying to get my ass to talk so they can have something to gossip about around the nurse's station. I don't have time for messy bitches—
Excuse me, Lord
. Yet, the old me wants to say, “That grimy, punk-ass bitch nigga with a badge finally got what the fuck he had coming to him.” He made most of his career-making busts off the backs of the Gangster Disciples. He even put my husband, Isaac, in the clink ten years back. Hell, Captain Johnson was gunning for Isaac since he rolled in from Chicago. Yet, at the end of the day, Captain Melvin Johnson lived by the streets and he died by the streets.

End of story.

Now, knowing the role he played in Mason's disappearance, I hope his ass is roasting in hell with a fucking apple in his mouth.

On the screen, the news replays this morning's press conference. Captain Hawkins stands in front of the cameras looking like a deer caught in headlights. It's almost funny since she's more competent and on her game in person than she comes across on TV. Still, I keep staring and thinking that I know her ass from some place. I don't usually forget faces—but then again, I'm stacking some years on this old body and maybe one or two names have slipped between the cracks.

The Memphis Police Department is going out of its way, trying to convince the public that they're united in getting the city's growing violence under control. They ain't fooling nobody. The city is broke, and niggas here outnumber the police by a wide margin.

“All right. That's it,” the nurse says after filling the last vial. “I'll see you in a few hours.” She grabs everything up and then swishes her thick hips toward the door.

“Afternoon!” Captain Hawkins says, strolling into my room with a forced smile. “You're looking good today.”

Instead of answering, I swing my gaze to the tall, lanky cop waltzing in behind her.
Who in the hell is this?

“I'm sorry. This is Lieutenant John Fowler. He will be the lead investigator on your case. Of course, I'll be working with him and overseeing everything while transitioning into my new position.”

“It's nice to meet you,” Lieutenant Fowler says, extending his hand.

Reluctantly, I accept the handshake, only to wince when his grip is too tight and aggravates the butterfly needle that's controlling my IV.

“Sorry about that,” he apologizes.

“It's okay,” I mutter before returning my attention back to Hawkins. “Look. I've already told you everything I remember.”

She nods with that tight smile of hers. Clearly, she doesn't believe a word I've told her. “Well, I guess we may never know what really caused Alice to snap like she did.”

“She was mentally ill,” I say, dropping my gaze.

“Apparently.” Hawkins clasps her hands behind her back, and then stares at me.

Normally, I like to think of myself as being too old of a cat to be scratched by a kitten—but there's something about this woman's laser-like stare that has me squirming in this bed.

“I was wondering if you'd heard from your nephew Terrell,” Hawkins bombs me nonchalantly.

My eyes snap back up. “What the hell kind of question is that? He's dead.”

“Missing,” she corrects. “We never found his body.”

Hope is a young woman's game, but here I am grasping at this news with a mustard seed of hope, while cursing myself at the same time. “He's alive?”

“Anything is possible. Just like . . . it's possible that Terrell may be Christopher Johnson's father.”

This bitch is dropping missiles all over the place. I'm not sure how to play this or how to figure out her game plan. “I always tried to stay out of my nephew's personal business. He was a grown man.”

Hawkins bobs her head—again, not believing me. “Well, I'd hoped to get answers when I got hold of Christopher's birth certificate. But it turns out his mother didn't list the father's name—so, dead end.” She shrugs, but I see the trap door that she's aiming to push me through. “Unless, you wouldn't mind submitting to a blood test to see if you're related.”

“I mind.”

Her fake smile turns slick. “I thought you might. Guess we'll just have to test him using Alice's DNA. At least she's not in any position to protest.”

“Well. I guess we should let you get some rest.” She taps her partner on the shoulder, signaling that it's time to go.

He gives me his own tight smile. He knows that his new boss just handed me my ass.

Before she is able to take a step toward the door, an image on the news catches her attention. “Do you mind if I turn this up?”

Like I have a choice.
“Knock yourself out.”

Hawkins walks over to the television and turns up the volume.

Yolanda. That poor child . . . and my great nephew!

I chew on my bottom lip while I digest all the crazy bullshit that has gone on while I was trapped down in that damn basement. Maybe my family has some biblical curse on us. I don't know how else to explain it. Bad things keep on happening. I want to put my trust in the Lord, but it's hard.

A part of me also wants to put this on Python. He dragged Yolanda into his mess. I loved him, but he plopped out more shit than a barn full of horses. He knew better than anybody what kind of life Yolanda had been through and he knew her light bulb wasn't screwed in too tight.

I liked the girl. I don't know why. There was just something about her that tugged on my old heartstrings. Back in the day, Yolanda's momma cared more about keeping a man in her bed than she did about her child. That is an epidemic in this city. I mean, damn. I like a good dick like the next chick—
excuse me, Lord
—but there's no way I'd ever sacrifice a child.

Twelve-year-old Alice flashes in my head.

Shoving my guilt aside, I return my thoughts to Yo-Yo. Did anyone mourn her death? The girl had so many strikes against her when all she wanted was to fit in—but she never could. It wasn't until she grew up and filled out her Coke-bottle curves that she caught people's attention. Next thing anyone knew, she spit out three kids by three different niggas. Python's would have been the fourth. What will happen to Malcolm, Amin, and Vivian now? Damn. I don't even know how in the hell I remember their names.

The state took Yo-Yo's kids when her momma reported her as an unfit mother. Maybe she was, but her heart was always in the right place. The last time I spoke with Yolanda, she talked about getting herself together and getting her babies back. The problem was that she was depending on Python to make that happen and her head got too big. She openly flaunted her jump-off status in front of Python's wifey, LeShelle.

Big mistake.

LeShelle cornered and pistol-whipped her in the middle of Fabdivas Hair Salon in front of everyone. The situation got so dire that Python had to move her ass off Shotgun Row and stash her some place safe. Now her picture is flashing all over the news. I don't have to be a detective to figure this one out.

LeShelle killed that girl. I'm willing to bet everything I own.

Hawkins sighs as she turns away from the new report. “Another one of the cases lying on my desk.” She shakes her head and then stops. “Yolanda Terry was your neighbor, wasn't she?”

Here we go
. “Yes. She was a sweet child.”

The captain's hawkish eyes narrow on me. “Any idea who'd want her dead?”

“No.”
I'm going to hell.

Hawkins's expression calls me a liar. “Well. Just thought I'd ask. Get yourself some rest. Let's go, Lieutenant.”

The confident captain heads out with strong, powerful strides. Clearly, she is not the bitch to be fucked with. Hell. Who knows? Maybe she will be able to turn this damn city around.

When Hawkins reaches for the door handle, it suddenly flies open and a huge figure fills up the doorway.

My heart stops on a dime. I haven't seen that face in years.

“Oh, excuse me,” Captain Hawkins says, pausing briefly to take in the large man.

“No. Excuse me,” the man volleys.

“Diesel?” I blink, thinking my eyes are playing tricks on me. “What are you doing here?”

“Aunt Peaches!” His full lips stretch while dimples wink at me. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, strolling farther into the room with a bundle of flowers in one hand. “My favorite aunt is laid up in the hospital and you think I wouldn't come running?”

Captain Hawkins freezes by the door, looking
waaay
too interested in my new visitor.

I'm still blinking as Diesel strolls toward me, stretching his arms out wide. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” When he leans over the bed and envelops my old, frail, body, I feel only one thing . . . fear.