Gangsta Divas (17 page)

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Authors: De'nesha Diamond

BOOK: Gangsta Divas
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25
LeShelle
D
espite drifting on a cocktail of drugs in the middle of the night, a bitch can't get any sleep in this hospital. I'm grateful for the drugs because after a month of physical therapy, I constantly ache everywhere. Every hour on the hour, a nurse floats into my room to prick my hands and arms for more blood. I've gotten so used to it that I don't even flinch when the door swishes open.
“LeShelle.”
Confused, I battle to open my heavy eyelids. I get about half an inch, but then have a hard time making out the fuzzy image in front of me.
“Hey, bitch. Wake your ass up.”
“Kookie?”
“The one and only.” Kookie cocks a smile. “Your vacation is over. We're busting your ass out of here.”
“Music to my ears.” I roll my head around. “What about the guard?”
“You mean that muthafucka over there?” Kookie steps back so that I can see the tall cop slumped over on the floor with a huge hypodermic needle jammed into the side of his neck. “Nigga never saw what hit him.”
“Cop killer?”
“Nah. He's just knocked out,” Kookie says.
“We got to hurry and get her out of here,” a voice says.
Groggily, I roll my head to the other side to spot the silent nurse from earlier.
“Maureen is going to be back soon.”
Kookie rolls her eyes and dismisses the girl. “Girl, ain't nobody stuttin' your boss.” She produces a key and unlocks the handcuffs.
“Where's Python?” I ask. “I thought he was comin' to get me. A month ago”
“Don't worry.You'll see him in a few.”
“What—so just you?”
Kookie removes the bracelet from my wrist and then lowers the guardrail while the nurse rushes around the bed with a wheelchair.
“C'mon. C'mon. C'mon,” the nurse chants. She looks and sounds about as scared as a deer running in front of a den of lions.
Kookie brushes my legs over the side of the bed and then leans over to help me sit up. “Can you stand?”
What kind of fuckin' question is that shit?
I shove myself off the bed, but one second I'm up, and in the next, my ass drops like a stone.
“Whoa.” Kookie and the nurse catch me before I eat linoleum. “That first step is always a bitch.”
I try harder to shake off the drugs.
“Push yourself up,” the nurse coaches. “Yeah. There you go.”
Back on my feet, I sigh in relief. Kookie rolls a wheelchair up to the bed and together they help put my legs in the metal footrests.
“All right. Let's get the fuck out of here.”
“We out this bitch.” Kookie grabs the handlebars and we take off.
The nurse pokes her head out of the door first and then waves for us to hurry and come on out.
The intensive care unit looks like an abandoned graveyard. There's not a soul in sight.
“This shit don't look right,” Kookie mumbles.
At least we agree on something.
We take off like a bat out of hell toward the elevator bay. I have to admit that I'm still stunned at this low-key operation. After Python's note, I'd envisioned him blazing through this muthafucka like the Terminator to rescue me. He did that much when he thought Mason's ass was walled up in the hospital.
Kookie jabs the down button about a dozen times in quick succession.
“Is Python waiting out in the car?” I ask.
“Huh? What?” Kookie jabs the button twelve more times. “Goddamn. What's takin' this muthafucka so long?”
Something's not right.
I shake my head to clear the drug fog. The elevator doors slide open.
Kookie grabs the handlebars again and we sprint into the small compartment and nearly take out the woman that's about to step out.
“Hey. Look where you're going.”
“Fuck you, bitch,” Kookie snaps.
“What?”The woman slaps out her hand and stops the elevator's doors from closing.
I jerk my head up, and my drugged gaze meets Nurse Maureen's angry one.
“Where in the hell do you think you're taking this patient ?” She glances around. “And where is her police detail?”
“Shit.” Kookie fumbles at her waist for her gat. “I'm her security detail.”
Nurse Maureen gasps and removes her hand from the door. When I think that she's about to rip out a scream, that silent-as-a-mouse nurse creeps up behind her and jabs another big-ass needle in her neck. The woman's eyes roll up and she hits the floor and cracks her head.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The little girl hops around like she can't believe what she just did.
Kookie hands me the gun and then rushes to try and move Nurse Maureen's feet from keeping the door open.
I tuck the gun in the side of the wheelchair and hope that she forgets about it.
The panicked nurse presses her hands up against Maureen's neck. “Oh my God. She's dead. I'm really going to get fired now.”
“Fuck that bitch. Help me move her legs,” Kookie barks.
“Who in the hell planned this shit—Bozo?”
“I got this shit,” Kookie grumbles, kicking the dead woman's feet. “Fiona, help.”
Fiona snaps out of her self-pity and hustles to move Nurse Maureen. “I'm coming with you,” she announces and hops onto the elevator with us.When the doors close, we all look at each other—relieved for getting off the floor. Kookie and Fiona are huffing and puffing like they're in a 100-yard dash.
“I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do now,” Fiona mumbles while eating her nails. “My momma got me this job.”
“Shut the fuck up, Fiona,” Kookie snaps.
The elevator doors slide open and my girl Pit Bull is standing there, looking mean as ever. “Well, it's about muthafuckin' time,” she growls. “What the hell were y'all doin' up there?” Her gaze falls on me. “Yo, bitch. Welcome back.”
“I stay ten toes down and ready for the world to blow up.” I smile. I'm feeling a little more loved.
“That's my bitch.” Pit Bull tosses up our gang signs as Kookie rolls me out the elevator.
“We good?” Kookie asks, peeking around the corner.
“All good in the hood.”
“I wish I can say the same shit. Fiona took one bitch out that was givin' us trouble. We gotta roll.”
Pit Bull glances at Fiona. “You're shittin' me.”
“I'm going with y'all,” Fiona's scary ass says.
We corner one hallway and see the hospital entrance's glass double doors. But then I'm sucked into a horror movie as Captain Johnson marches into the hospital.
I go for the Glock tucked at my side.
“FUCK,” Pit Bull cosigns, grabbing her shit like a gunslinger.
“HOLY SHIT,” Kookie says and makes a sharp left that nearly tips me out of my seat.
“Ohmigod,” Fiona squeals, struggling to keep up.
“Shut up,” Pit Bull barks at a full run.
Fiona either doesn't hear her or is unable to shut off her mouth. “Did he see us? Do you think he saw us? What is he doing here?”
“Fuck, Fiona. I can't even hear myself think,” Kookie snaps.
“This fuckin' escape plan is so fuckin' booty,” I complain.
“If you don't like it, we can always take your ass back upstairs,” Pit Bull tosses out as we hustle for our lives down yet another hallway.
I roll my eyes, expecting bullets to start flying behind us at any second.
Pit Bull pulls out her cell. “Ayo, Avonte. Change of plans. Superpig is in the building. Meet our ass out back.”
Pit Bull lowers the phone. “Fiona, what's the shortest way out this bitch?”
Until that moment, it hadn't occurred to her to lead instead of follow. “Uh. Uh.”
“C'mon, bitch. Don't make me punch you in your throat.”
That shit makes her stammer harder.
Is this the way I'm gonna be taken out of the game, surrounded by stupid bitches?
Fiona's brain kicks in. “This way!”
Three short hallways later, we bust out an exit door by several tall garbage bins.
“Now what?” I ask. At this point, I won't be surprised if these bitches break out bus passes.
“Avonte, where your ass at?” Pit Bull growls into her phone.
Two bright beams of light slice through the inky night a second before a loud car engine catches my ear. In no time at all, I'm able to make out a black, beat-up Oldsmobile as it screeches around the corner.
“There her ass go,” Kookie huffs in relief.
My wheelchair takes off again and we meet the car halfway across the lot.
“Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!”
More Queen Gs jump out of the car to help.
My heart bubbles over at finally seeing my fam working to get my ass up out of here. This is my real family. Ride or die. It's the game that binds us. I still have a place in this world.
I. Am. Queen.
My eyes burn with rare tears as everyone fusses to help get me into the car. I'm weak but I do most of it on my own. Once I'm tucked in, everyone scrambles back in and we float our ass out of there.
“Where to?” I ask.
Avonte glances up and meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. “It's a surprise.”
26
Ta′Shara
H
ome. The word sounds foreign to my ears and I have a hard time untangling my emotions so I can process how I feel about being released from the hospital. My attempt to kill LeShelle had been treated like a temporary psychotic break and the state attorney elected not to press charges. It was one of the few times in my life that I'd gotten lucky. However, I would have to be blind not to notice the tension my release is causing between Reggie and Tracee. In fact, Reggie doesn't even look at me.
Tracee, on the other hand, is ecstatic when they arrive at the hospital to pick me up. Her smile is twice its normal size and every move she makes is overly animated. It's too bad that she never had any kids of her own. She really would have been a great mom.
“Heeeey, Ta'Shara,” she sings, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing me tight. “Are you ready to go home?”
There's no point in trying to match her enthusiasm so I don't bother—but I do manage to push up a smile. I want to get out of this place. If you're not crazy when they bring you in here, you will be when you leave. For me, I'm hoping that my nightmares will end once I leave this place—and certainly when I finally get to see Profit again.
Ever since I learned that he had survived, I've been begging to see him. But Tracee sided with Reggie and refused to add his name to the visitors list. She also spent hours telling me that I needed to forget about Profit. He was no good for me. They also told me about Essence and I couldn't shake the feeling that LeShelle was behind her death, too.Their impassioned rant went on and on—until I dropped the subject and didn't bring up his name again.
From that moment on, I focused on getting out. I resisted taking the medicine they gave by tucking the pills in my cheek, much like how I would a blade. The doctors wanted to talk about the night of my rape, but I lied and said that I didn't remember anything about that night. No matter how hard they pressed, I stuck to that story. Once they realized that they couldn't break me, the doctors recommended my release.
The drive home is a long one with the tension nearly choking all three of us to death. It's so bad that I doubt that things can ever go back to being the way it used to be. This is just one more thing that LeShelle destroyed.
“What do you say I run you a nice, warm bubble bath?” Tracee asks, as she helps me out of my coat.
“Thanks. That'll be nice,” I tell her.
“Great.” She kisses my forehead. “I'll go run it for you right now.” Then she is off, leaving me alone with Reggie.
After looking around skittishly, he tosses his keys on top of the bombé cabinet in the foyer, shoves his hands in pockets, and rocks on his feet.
“I guess I should go up to my room,” I suggest and head toward the stairs.
He nods, and then waits until my foot lands onto the first stair before he speaks. “I'm glad you're back home.”
Stunned, I turn back around and meet his direct gaze.
“I mean it,” he says with his eyes wetting up. “That night. When we opened the front door and saw you lying there . . .” Reggie shakes his head while his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. “I've never been so terrified in my life. I . . . I blamed myself for that night because I didn't want you going to that prom with that boy. I knew that after the hospital shooting he was nothing but trouble. I went against my better judgment. Then . . . I blamed my wife for talking me into letting you go. Then . . . I blamed you.” He stops while his last sentence hangs in the air.
I should say something, but I have no idea what. Should I thank him for being honest or tell him to kiss my ass and that I don't give a damn about what he thinks?
“I was wrong,” Reggie confesses.
Stunned, I stare at him dumbfounded.
“It wasn't your fault. It wasn't Tracee's fault . . . and I said things during that time that I'm not proud of . . . and I can only hope that one day you will forgive me.”
I must have been staring at him for too long because his nervousness showed—and I was touched. “I forgive you,” I tell him, letting him off the hook.
At that moment, tears leap over his lashes and roll down his face like twin rivers. He closes the distance between us with two confident strides and then wraps me in his strong, powerful arms. When his body starts to quake, I feel my own face flood with tears.
Ten minutes later, I ease my aching body into a tub of lavender-scented bubbles and try to relax—but can't. In my mind I'm counting the minutes until Reggie and Tracee go to bed so that I can try and reach out to Profit. I could sneak out and steal Reggie's car again, but I'm not all that confident that Ruby Cove will welcome me with open arms. I have no idea where my cell phone is so I'll have to call Profit on the house line. That's not going to be easy. Tracee and Reggie are going to be watching me like a hawk. I decide on 3:30 A.M. Unless they are going to monitor the phone in shifts, I figure it's later than Tracee can manage to stay awake.
I remain in the tub until the last bubble pops before climbing out and making it to my old bedroom. It feels strange to see the stuffed animals and the princess-like décor. It's the room of a child—but what little innocence I once had is long gone.
There's a knock on the door behind me and, when I turn, Tracee pokes her head through and smiles.
“Are you getting settled in?” she asks, grinning.
“Yeah. Everything looks exactly how I left it.”
“If you want, I can brush out your hair before you go to bed,” she offers, entering the room.
“Actually . . . I'm really tired. I'm going to go ahead and go to bed.”
Her smile falls. “Oh. Okay then. Well, good night.” She backs out of the door, but hesitates in closing it. “If you need anything, me and Reggie are right down the hall.”
“Okay,” I answer. I want to tell her that there's no need to crowd me so much, but I don't want to hurt her feelings.
Tracee slowly closes the door as if hoping that I'd call out for her to come back in. When I hear the soft click, I sigh in relief and then turn toward the bed. The door springs back open and Tracee pokes her head back inside. “What was that? Did you say something?”
It's all I can do not to laugh at her endearing eagerness. “No. I didn't say anything.”
“Oh.” She smiles. “Good night.”
“Night.”
We do the whole door dance again, but this time, I'm too afraid to make any noise as I inch my way over to the bed. When I climb under the sheets, the clock on the nightstand reads 11:00. After clicking off the lamp, I stare up at the ceiling and listen as the clock ticks off the minutes.
At 11:15 a pebble of anxiety rolls around in my chest.
11:30—it's a rock.
11:45—it's a boulder.
I don't know how in the hell I'm going to make it to 3:30 A.M. Plus, what am I going to do if he doesn't answer his phone? What if he's changed his cell phone number? How would I find him? How would I get in contact with him? I wish Essence was here—not just to help me with this shit, but because I miss her sass and her way of trying to talk sense into me.
11:55—a mountain sits on my chest.
At the stroke of midnight, I hear a strange pecking. Suspicious, I hold my breath to see whether I hear the sound again. I do—and it's coming from the window. I bolt up and reach for the light, but then think better of it in fear that Tracee will run back in here.
PECK. PECK. PECK.
I climb out of bed with my anxiety dissolving into hope.
PECK. PECK. PECK.
I tiptoe over to the window, praying and begging God for a miracle. “Profit.”

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