King Divas (16 page)

P
ython is back.

I return to the crib to see that he's already up and moving around. He looks like he's still in pain, but he's doing what he's got to do. I'm not going to worry about the fever in his eyes. I'm sure in a few days that he'll be able to shake that shit off. Meanwhile, he's inhaling a plate of food like he ain't ate shit in weeks.

“Morning, baby. I left you some food on the stove.”

“Nigga, you cooked?” I walk into the kitchen to verify the shit myself. “What's the fucking special occasion?”

“No occasion. I got up early 'cause I got some business meetings lined up today. Gotta get our shipments and arms back up so I can get more money in our soldiers' pockets.”

I like the sound of that shit. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I sent June Bug and Kane to round up the chief enforcers and deputies. Time to do some restructuring and take back some of the land we done lost.”

“Does that mean we're going back to Shotgun Row?”

“Naw.” He shakes his head. “Not with this mug shot. Pigs will pick my ass up before we even get in the door good.”

My smile falls.

“But we're going back to Memphis,” he says, turning my smile around. “There's this one crib that I've been eyeballing that may be perfect and off the police grid while we rebuild.”

“Oh yeah?” My nigga is finally saying all the shit I want to hear.

Python waves me back to the dining room table and then pats his lap for me to take a seat. “Thanks, babe.”

“For what?”

“For keeping your damn foot up my ass these past few months. If it hadn't been for your damn stubbornness, we'd be sipping on margaritas in Tijuana or some shit.”

“Nah. That shit will never be me.” I tug on his ear and then plant a fat kiss on his lips. “But I'm ready to ride by your side and take these damn streets back.”

“That's what the fuck I'm talking about.” He winks and then smacks me on my ass.

Kane does his special knock on the door, letting us know that it's him.

“I'll get it.” I don't want Python overexerting himself. I open the door and, sure enough, Kane and June Bug rush inside, both looking as though they've seen a ghost. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”

“King Isaac wants to see you,” Kane announces, stumbling over his own tongue.

“What?” Python and I say in unison.

“He's out.” June Bug bobs his head. “He got out two days ago. When we rolled over to Shotgun Row, he told us that he was handling Momma Peaches's funeral and that he wanted to meet.”

Python pushes up onto his feet. “Where at?”

My mind races.
What the hell does this mean? Has my king been bumped down to a prince? I now have two muthafuckas crouching in on my territory? What kind of shit is this?

“He gave us an address for a warehouse out in Frayser.”

“Let's go,” Python says, wincing in pain as he walks.

“Wait. Without me?”

“It's not just business,” he says, dropping his gaze. “I wanna know what he's doing about Momma Peaches's funeral arrangements. You know that everybody that's anybody is gonna be there. I wanna make sure that he sends her out the right way, know what I mean?”

I study him. “You're not thinking about going to the services, are you?”

He sighs. “I wish—but that's off the table. The feds would love for me to do something that damn stupid.”

“Mind if I play tag?” I've never met Python's stepfather. He's been behind bars the entire time that we've been together. Of course the streets stay talking about the days when King Isaac ran shit with an iron glove. The way that some folks tell it, you'd think all his folks in the GD Nation feasted like royalty and lived off streets paved in gold.

When Python stepped up, he had some big shoes to fill. This past year has been the only hiccup. But now that his head is on straight, nothing can stop the Folks Nation from beating back the greedy Vice Lords.

Python surprises me by agreeing. “You wanna come, you can come. The old man probably will want to meet you anyway.”

“Cool.”

Frayser is a small town south of Memphis. It's an economic wasteland where the majority of the residents live well below the poverty line. The place also has enough abandoned buildings that are perfect for our purposes.

The second we cross the city line, danger clogs the air. Niggas that ain't got shit don't blink at killing a muthafucka just because it's Tuesday. I keep my eyes and ears open to every dreads-wearing muthafucka who turns his head our way when we roll by.

“Shelle, relax,” Python says, reaching over to rub the tension out of my left shoulder. “We good.”

We pull up to a redbrick warehouse that's at least a hundred years old. “How in the fuck did y'all find this place?” I ask, climbing out of the car.

“There you go, worrying about the wrong damn thing again.” Python wraps his meaty arm around my neck and then tucks my head under his arm like it's a fuckin' football.

“Let go.” I tug on his arm, but he chuckles while he drags me to the door and releases me. Then his mood slowly turns more sober.

June Bug pulls open the building's heavy metal door. The rusty hinges squeak and groan in protest, announcing our arrival.

My stomach twists into knots. It's been a long time since a muthafucka has made me nervous. I'm about to meet a legend in the game.

I follow Python as he limps across the threshold, while Kane takes up the rear.

“Is that my boy?” A voice booms like a clap of thunder.

Python chuckles under his breath.When we turn a corner, there, standing in the center of this huge dusty warehouse, is King Isaac.

My heart quickens. He's an imposing figure, an inch or two shorter than Python, but with muscles a good couple inches bigger. He also has the sexiest bald head I've ever seen and his rich chocolate skin is tattoo-free.

“My boy!” He throws open his arms and the two men embrace. There's no mistaking the genuine love between them. As they pull back, they take a few minutes to assess each other.

“You're looking good,” Python praises.

“Can't say the same for you,” Isaac says honestly. “You seeing anybody about those nasty burns?”

“Yeah. My old lady here is handling it.”

Isaac casts his gaze in my direction.

I flutter on a nervous smile and pray that he doesn't hear my heart galloping in my chest as he walks over to me.

“So you must be LeShelle,” he says, smiling down at me. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“I heard a lot about you too.”

An awkward silence fills the space between us before he asks, “So are you going to give your new father-in-law a hug or not?”

“Of course.” I throw my arms around him and note how good he smells.

The men face each other again and Isaac is the first to approach the subject of Momma Peaches. “I'm sorry about your aunt. You know that she loved you like a son. And I love you like a son. You know that?”

Python nods. “Yeah. I'm really going to miss her. I can't believe I'm going through this shit again. Losing her twice is hard.” He breaks eye contact to shake his head. “I wish that I'd gotten to the church sooner. I would've prevented this shit.”

Isaac's face wrinkles. “What are you talking about? You were there?”

“Yeah. I rode out to meet Momma Peaches and . . . well, she arranged a meeting with that nigga Fat Ace.”

Isaac's face turns into a sheet of rock. “Fat Ace . . . with the Vice Lords? Why the fuck were y'all meeting him?”

Dread starts to creep up my spine. I don't want to hear Python start up that “brother” crap again.

“Spit it out. If that nigga got something to do with my having to lower my baby into the ground, then I'm gonna see him for it.”

“It's a long fuckin' story.” Python looks up and asks, “Wait. Didn't you talk to Diesel?”

“Why in the hell should I have talked with Diesel?”

“He stayed behind at the church,” Python says. “He was with Aunt Peaches when she passed away.”

“The first I heard of it,” Isaac says. “When word got back to me, her body was headed to the morgue.”

Python nods. “Sooo . . . you'll take care of the funeral arrangements? She deserves a nice send-off.”

“Of course.” Isaac breaks out a wide smile. “I'll give her the best farewell party the hood has ever seen.”

“Thanks.”

The men share warm smiles. They clearly want to say so much more about the woman they both loved and now have to figure out how to live without.

Isaac says, “I wish that I'd always done right by her.” He gets a faraway look as if his thoughts are tumbling through the past. “I've made a lot of mistakes in my time . . .”

Python waits him out to see if there is more to the sentence. When Isaac remains silent, Python asks the question that hovers at the top of his mind. “So are you back in the game?”

Isaac's smile returns as well as a twinkle in his eyes. “A Gangster Disciple never quits the game. He's in it until the world blows. You feel me?”

“I hear that.” Python and Isaac slap palms.

My heart sinks. My king has been officially demoted to a prince.

“So tell me. Why is Diesel in town?” Isaac asks. “What the fuck does he want?”

Python sighs and shrugs. “I was in a tight spot when I got blasted to number one on the Most Wanted list. I needed someone that I could trust. The folks I trusted are no-longer breathing. The whole structure got shaky.” He shrugs again. “I figured that I could rely on family to get me through a rough spot.”

Isaac shakes his head. “Son, there are some branches on the family tree that you don't fuck with. You trim or prune those muthafuckas. And Diesel is one of them.”

Python tries to shrug it off. “Look. I know that you don't really care for him—”

“I'm not the only one,” Isaac says. “Your Aunt Peaches never trusted him either. She always said that something wasn't right about the boy. I got to tell you that some of the shit I've heard about him over the years don't sit right with me either. Now I know you may feel differently since you'd go down to Atlanta and visit every spring break when you were a kid. You know him on a different level. But I don't trust that boy worth a damn. And he has another muthafuckin' thing coming if he thinks he's coming to
my
city to take over.

T
onight me and the girls are going to check out Memphis's newest hot spot, Club Diesel. This morning when Romil told me where we were headed, I snatched a handful of bills out of Profit's pocket while he was staring dead in my face, and I refused to tell him what I needed the money for. I then took his car and rolled my ass to Saks for a hot dress and my first pair of Louboutins.

Dime and Mack insist on giving me a two-hour makeover while we get ready at Mack's crib. When they finish, my face is
beat
, according to them.

“Damn, girl, you're going to get some niggas shot tonight.” Mack laughs when I exit her spare bedroom to spin around in my new ensemble.

“Yeah. Profit ain't going to like niggas checking you out,” Romil tosses in.

I wave off her comment. “Chile, please. Ain't nobody thinking about Profit's ass.”

“Damn. It's that serious?” Dime asks. “When in the hell are you going to tell us what the fuck is going on with you two?”

“Hmph.” I roll my eyes. I ain't crazy. I'm not letting these girls in my personal business.

“All right. Whatever.” She waves me off, pretending like she ain't still dying to know. “I know I'm going to do me and get some tonight.”

We laugh because every time we go out, she says the same thing and I have yet to see her pull a man. But it's all been in good fun.

Tonight we're celebrating the state dropping its case against me in Kookie, Reggie and Tracee's death. Like Mack said, those pigs didn't have shit on me. They knew that shit when they embarrassed me and hauled my ass out of my foster parents' funeral service in front of the entire family.

And as far as my real crime, the murder of the liquor store clerk, I haven't heard a peep. Hell. I still haven't even told Profit about it. Why should I? He's so damn good at keeping secrets. I should have a few of my own.

Life with Profit hasn't turned out like I've always dreamed it would. We walk on eggshells around each other. He keeps asking for forgiveness and pleads nightly to crawl back into our bed. I shut that shit down. How could I let him lay with me and dream about
her
? I'm not trying to be a bitch, it's just how I feel. What would've happened if Lucifer hadn't turned him down? Would he have left me for her? Double-crossed his brother?

That thought keeps me awake at night. He's fucked up if he thinks that I'm about to be his fuckin' consolation prize. Maybe when the pain stops, but that isn't happening either. At the moment, as far as I'm concerned, “we” are a wrap. Even though I, technically, still live with him, I spend all my time with my girls. They are my new family.

“What you need to do is stack your own money,” Mack tells me. “I don't know what's going on with you and your man right now, but take it from me, these niggas out here ain't loyal. And you never know when one of them is about to be locked down and you're stuck out here defending yourself. If I've seen it once, I've seen it a million times. Bitches get booed up, think their asses are King Bey and Jay-Z, making it rain in all the stores. The nigga gets capped or locked up, and then that balling bitch is on the street corner, sucking dirty dicks to pay her light bills.”

“Real talk,” the girls cosign.

“The real lesson from King Bey is to hustle for your own shit. Don't let what some nigga brings home be all you have to eat, you feel me?”

“You're right,” I agree. “I need to get a job. But who in the hell is going to hire me? I don't even have a high school diploma.”
Shit. I was going to be a fucking doctor.

My girls burst out laughing.

“What's so funny?”

Romil shakes her head. “You. Ain't nobody talking about getting no W-2. We're talking about you making some real money. Easy money.” She slides two perfect lines of coke onto a mirror.

I smile. The girls know what I need for a little pick-me-up. The coke has replaced my bottles of Xanax, Inderal, and Tofranil that my doctors had placed me on since leaving the hospital. To be real with it, the street shit is much better in controlling my anxiety and keeping me numb to the bullshit that has become my life.

I drop my head and vacuum up the pretty powder. Instantly, my nose blazes up, but my fucking high is instant. “Whooo!”

The girls laugh as I climb to my feet and start shaking my ass. “We're going to party tonight.”

“And you know this, mannnn,” Dime says in her best Chis Tucker voice.

The party train ready, we dance our way out to Romil's black Range Rover and pile in.

“You know you should come work for us,” Mack says, settling down beside me in the back. Dime takes the front seat next to Romil.

I frown over at my girl. “Shit. Now that I think about it, I don't even know what the fuck it is that you do.”

“I make money. Daaamn good money,” she brags. “Don't let the middle-class crib fool you. My shit is all the way fucking right.”

“All right. I'm listening.” I sniff and rub my nose. “What kind of work are you talking about?”

“I run a few businesses, but my most profitable shit is this credit card situation I got set up. The money is fuckin' sweet.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, intrigued. If I can make my own money, then I can move out and find my own place.

“And the shit is easy. I got girls who work all over town supplying us with people's names and social security numbers, right? And what we do is open a few credit accounts in their names. My main nigga, Harlan, has the hook-up with this small lender company that secures us some open-line credit under muthafuckas' names, and
cha-ching!
Bitches are paid.” She pops her fingers and wiggles her ass.

I laugh, but shake my head.
Credit card fraud?

“Whatcha think?”

“Sounds interesting,” I say, not wanting to fuck up our vibe. “Let's talk about it later.”

Mack bounces her head to Snootie Wild's latest hot track. “That's my muthafuckin' nigga,” she says, bouncing her head.

I laugh because she says that shit about every damn song. The rest of the conversation we have during the ride flows in one ear and out the other. My buzz is on point. I don't know who Mack knows, but we blast to the front of the line at the club and are ushered through the velvet rope by a winking security guard.

“You ladies enjoy yourselves.”

I giggle and whisper loudly to Dime. “He didn't even check my fake ID.”

“Shhhh.” She smacks me on the arm and glances over her shoulder to make sure no one heard me. “What the fuck?” She laughs. “You're going to get our asses thrown out of here before we even have our first drink. C'mon here.” She grabs my wrist and tugs me deeper into the crowded club.

“Damn. This joint is nice,” Romil says, sidling up to the first bar we come to. “These niggas in here got pensions and shit.”

“It's nice,” I agree, taking it all in and hoping that they don't plan on staying hugged up at the bar all night.

“Wanna dance?” a rich baritone asks from behind.

“Yeah,” I answer before turning around and seeing who asked. It doesn't matter because I'm already having a hard time standing still. But lucky for me, my new dance partner is a fine chocolate brother with a white-picket-fence smile.

“Be back,” I tell the girls and bounce off to one of the club's many dance floors.

Between the music, the coke, and the nigga grinding on my ass, I'm flying high and not worried about a damn thing. Three songs later, me and my dance partner are damn near fucking on the dance floor. His thick-ass dick is grinding on me
that
hard. I'm sweating so hard that my damn roots are kinking up, after my girls spent so much time ironing the shit straight.

“What's your name, shawty?”

“Shawty?” I laugh. “Where are you from?”

“Atlanta,” he says, grinning. “You?”

“M-town, baby. All the way.”

“And that name?”

I peep out his fine frame and estimate that he has a good seven to eight years on me. And though he's
GQ
'd up, I sense that he's a thug to his core. “Ta'Shara,” I finally tell him.

“Ta'Shara,” he repeats, pressing his hand against the small of my back.

“And your name?”

“My government name is Benjamin, but my friends call me Beast.”

“Beast?” I laugh while getting all warm and tingly. “And why do they call you Beast?”

He nuzzles his head in the crook of my neck to whisper, “Because I'm a beast with everything I do.”

Shit. I think I just came.
I lean back and he allows me to ease from his strong embrace. “Well, Beast, you're gonna have to put you on a leash for a minute while I take a trip to the ladies' room.”

His handsome face twists into a frown as he pulls me back even closer for another good two-step grind. “Mmmm. I don't wanna let you go.”

The way his voice drops into a deeper baritone is sexy as hell. “I'll be back,” I promise and manage to pry his arms from around me. Our hands remain linked together until I move out of his reach.

I float on a cloud as I maneuver my way off the dance floor in search of a bathroom. Before I know it, Dime and Romil flank me.

“Damn, girl. Who is that fine nigga?” Dime asks. “He was all up in your business.”

“Girl, bye.” I giggle.

Romil shakes her head. “Nah, girl. She ain't lying. I think I got a Plan B pill in my purse. Do you need that shit?”

“Y'all stupid.” We locate a bathroom and push our way inside. The place is packed, but the line seems to be moving at a steady pace. After a quick piss and hand wash, we are approached by the bathroom attendant, who offers us a bit more than sanitizer and breath mints.

Dime waves her ass off, not wanting to sample some random's product. Romil and I are curious and buy a couple of packets of nose candy from her. We quickly rush back into one of the stalls and pull out our hand mirrors.

“Damn. That's some good shit,” I marvel the second the candy hits my system.

“Oh. Fuck. Your nose is bleeding.”

“Really?” Laughing, I reach for the toilet paper to fix the problem. When we exit the ladies' room and blend back into the crowd, I'm mentally fucking gone. I dance with a handful of random men and even a few chicks before Beast finds me again.

He says something. I laugh. I don't know what the fuck is going on. I'm feeling too fucking good.

Suddenly, Mack snatches me by the arm. “Girl. Profit is in here looking for you!”

“What?” I glance around and then jerk my arm back. “So?” I try to return to dancing with Beast.

Mack ain't having it. “So. Your nigga looks hot to death. We got to get you out of here.” She tugs on my arm again.

“Bitch, let go!”

“Is there a problem?” Beast asks, stepping up.

“No. I—”

“TA'SHARA!”

My small group turns their heads and sure enough, Profit and a cluster of Vice Lords come blazing toward us.