Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang (32 page)

“Whatever, yo. Who else you lettin’ hit that?”

I shake my head, steppin’ outta the shower. “No one at da moment. But, trust. That can change at any time. Right now a bitch is chillin’.”

“Yeah, aiight. Let me find out ya biscuit head givin’ out Daddy’s goods.”

I laugh. “Ohhhhhhhmigod, you so fuckin’ ova ya’self.”

“And I’m tryna be all over you, but you wanna be on some ole other shit.”

I walk into my closet, pullin’ out a red long-sleeve Gucci tee and a pair of pencil jeans. “Mmmph; if you say so.” I decide to pick the nigga’s brain to see how he feels ’bout kids. “Would you eva deal wit’ a chick wit’ kids?”

“I don’t know. I’ve fucked chicks wit’ kids, but I ain’t neva wanna wife any of ’em. I’m not sure if I would wanna be dealin’ wit’ a chick wit’ ’em on some exclusive shit unless she doesn’t have a buncha baby daddy issues. A muhfucka ain’t beat for that. Why, you got some kids you ain’t tellin’ me ’bout?”

“Maybe; maybe not.”

“Yeah, aiight.”

“Well, what if I did?”

“Well,
hypothetically
, if you did. How many you talkin’ ’bout? One, two?”

“One,” I tell ’im, slippin’ a pair of socks on my feet. He tells me one is cool. But since it’s me, two is aiight, too. Then he tells me as fine as I am I could have twenty and he’d still wanna rock wit’ me on some solo-type shit as long as my pussy stayed right.

“Then again, that shit could be wide as an ocean and I’d still wanna wife you. You’d just have’ta let me beat that asshole up e’ery night.”

I laugh. “Nigga, you a real fool, you know that, right? You know damn well you ain’t runnin’ that big ass dick in my ass e’ery damn night.”

“Then we’ll rotate that shit,” he says, laughin’ wit’ me. “One night in ya throat, the next night in ya ass.”

My doorbell rings.
It’s showtime
, I think, peekin’ outta the bedroom window. I peep the state car in the driveway.
Let’s get this shit ova wit’
. “Yeah, whateva. Listen, I gotta go. Call me lata.”

“I got you, baby.”

I suck my teeth. “Muhfucka, what I tell you ’bout callin’ me that?”

“Yo, chill out wit’ that dumb shit. I call you what I want. You know you Daddy’s baby.”

“Nigga, suck my ass and daddy on this,” I say, disconnectin’ the call and headin’ down the stairs to greet these state hoes.

Alex sends me a text:
Yo, u got my dik hard wit’ that shit.

I text back:
Whateva.

I hope these bitches don’t say nuthin’ slick and have me flippin’ da fuck out.
I swing the front door open, pastin’ a phony-ass smile up on my grill. “Hi, glad you made it. Come on in.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Shoot ’em up…bang-bang…Glock cocked…ready to pop… muhfucka thought he could run ’n hide…nigga done ran outta time…thought he was gonna get away way wit’ da crime… ain’t got no clout…justice ’bout to be dished out…gonna show ’im what revenge’s ’bout…bum-ass nigga…and it’s a ruthless bitch who’s ’bout ta pull da trigga….

“
Yo, pretty baby, wasssup? We found da muhfucka you were lookin’ for. Holla back. Oh, yeah, and a muhfucka’s still waitin’ for you to come through wit’ anotha pair of them panties. A muhfucka’s tryna get his sniff on. Take care of that, pronto.” He laughs into the phone. I delete the shit, rollin’ my eyes.
This fat muhfucka
, I think, hittin’ ’im back.

“Yo, you get my message?”

I suck my teeth. “Nigga, why else would I be callin’ ya black ass? Geesh, you dumber than you look.”

“Yeah, aiiight. Keep talkin’shit, and get ya fronts knocked, Kat.”

“Cash, listen carefully…” I pause. Wait ’til it gets quiet on the otha end. “You listenin’?”

“Yeah, wassup?”

“Nigga, kiss my ass. That’s wassup. Now, what you got for me?”

He laughs. “Yo, ma, you funny as fuck. You betta be glad a muhfucka fucks wit’ you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now let’s cut da shit. Where’s this bum-ass nigga at?”

“The muhfucka’s been hidin’ out down south in some small-ass country town in North Carolina called Como.”

What da fuck kinda place is that
, I think, twistin’ my lips up.
Do they even gotta airport?
“Where?” he repeats the name. “Mmmph. Corny-ass nigga had to run off to some backward-ass part’a the country. Do you know how he’s livin’? Is he down there wit’ someone?”

“Yeah, he’s there wit’ some chick stayin’ up in one’a them trailer homes.”

Probably some country-coon trash he done bagged on da run
.
Now I gotta think how I’ma get at this nigga wit’out drawin’ heat to myself.
“Listen. I need’a fava.”

“I got you, wassup up?” I tell ’im I need ’im to handle the arrangements. Set up the hotel shit and have my items I need to dust this nigga’s top sent down like old times. I tell ’im I need’a report of how the nigga moves, a list of his comin’s and goin’s.

“You got that. You need anything else? A disposal crew?”

A part of me wants the nigga to be found wit’ his eyes rolled back up in his head and his brains splattered. Then anotha part wants it to look like the nigga done got ghost all together. I decide I want the nigga to disappear, for good.

“Aiight, bet. I’ll have a crew on standby. When you tryna get it in?”

Shit, I gotta go up to da hospital. And I got these ACS and court bitches I gotta deal wit’.
I tell ’im to give me a few days to handle some things, then disconnect.

I stare at myself in the mirror hangin’ on the wall in my foyer.
“Bitch, after you put a bullet in this nigga’s head, this gotta be da last time you pull da trigga on another muhfucka.”
Ho, you gotta get ya mind right, quick. There’s a baby you gotta start thinkin’ ’bout.

E’vry since his birth, he’s been on my brain, heavy. Sittin’ up at the hospital e’ery day, watchin’ ’im cling on to life, fightin’ to get stronger, has been wrackin’ my nerves. It hurts me. A bitch’s heart fills wit’ guilt e’erytime I look at ’im. I am so fuckin’ scared, but I gotta do right by ’im. I gotta try to give ’im what Juanita was neva able to give to me—
love
. Doin’ that nigga has to be it for me.

I take a deep breath, glancin’ at my watch. It’s eleven o’clock. I grab my keys and pink Gucci clutch bag, then race out the door to make my way to the Family Courthouse in Brooklyn. I am finally gonna handle the paperwork to get legal custody and guardianship of Juanita’s baby, and make this shit legit.

When I’m done filin’ all the necessary paperwork, I drive ova to the hospital to see the baby. The last few days I’ve been tryna come up wit’ a name for ’im. I wanna give ’im a name otha muhfuckas ain’t pushin’ heavy. For some reason, the names that I’m really diggin’ are Zion and Zaire.

I take the elevator up to the neo-natal unit. As I’m walkin’ down the hall, a bitch’s ’tude shoots from zero to a hunnid when I see Patrice’s ho-ass standin’ at the window lookin’ into the unit, wipin’ tears. I wanna snap and tell the bitch to bounce, but I decide to let shit play out. I swallow my ’tude, walkin’ up on ’er.

She snaps ’er neck in my direction. “Before you stop poppin’ shit, I ain’t here to beef wit’ you,” she warns, turnin’ ’er attention back to the baby. “I’m here to see my lil’ nephew, then I’m out.”

“Good,” I say, shiftin’ my handbag from one hand to the otha. “No need for you to linger any longer than you have’ta.”

She turns and stares at me. “Kat, answer me this. Why do you have so much hate in you? What happened to us?”

“You fucked my man; that’s what happened to us. I trusted you. And you shitted on me.”

“Ohmiimuthafuckin’god, let that shit go, Kat. That shit happened years ago. And da nigga’s dead. When you gonna get ova it? We done fought ova his ass twice and—”

“No, boo, we didn’t fight ova that nigga. We fought ova you tryna play a bitch. Big difference; don’t get it twisted.”

She shakes her head. “And you let some dick come between us. I can understand if you wanted to be pissed for a few weeks, even a few months, but to be draggin’ this shit out for
years
, Kat; that’s some real ’xtra shit. That nigga didn’t give’a fuck ’bout you, or me. All da nigga saw was some young, hot pussy.”

“Well, guess what. Maybe da nigga didn’t care ’bout me, but
I
cared ’bout ya trick-ass. I loved you like a fuckin’ sista, bitch. And you hurt me.”

“I watched my moms bury two of my sistas in da same month, Kat,” this bitch says, changin’ the subject. “And you didn’t even have da decency to show up to ya own moms’ funeral. Why?”

I tilt my head. “I had my funeral for that bitch a long time ago, so that shit ya’ll had for ’er was only a formality.”

She frowns at me. “I feel sorry for you.”

“Oh, no, Boo. Don’t feel sorry for me. Betta yet, don’t feel nuthin’ for me. I’m good; trust.”

“Okay, if you say so. I know I’m not.”

“Well, that sounds personal,” I say, surprised that I’m still standin’ here entertainin’ this ho. After all these years, this is the first time we’ve talked wit’out the otha snappin’ off.

“Life is too fuckin’ short for da bullshit,” she says, turnin’ ’er attention back to the nursery. “In da grand scheme of things, this corny-ass beef you got wit’ me is a fuckin’ waste of energy. So, trust, sweetie. On e’erything I love, I’m done beefin’ wit’ you.
Movin’ forward I’m not gonna get into it wit’ you ova dumb shit. I have a beautiful lil’ nephew my sista left behind. You and ’im are da only links I have left to ’er. You wanna stay hurt, stay hurt. You don’t wanna have shit to do wit’ ya family, then don’t. But…”

Okay, now a bitch is ready to bring it to this ho and tell ’er to suck the shit outta my ass ’cause she ain’t gonna eva get ’er hands on that baby. But I know a real bitch gotta know when to play it smart. She gotta know when to keep ’er mouth shut and let’a bitch keep flappin’ ’er cum trap. And, in listenin’ to this ho rattle on, the one thing a bitch is finally certain of is that that baby layin’ up in there wit’ all them tubes in ’im, ain’t goin’ no-muthafuckin-where but wit’ me. And if I gotta make sure e’ery last one’a them hoes gets bodied to make that happen, I will.

“…that baby in there is gonna be surrounded by his family. And we will raise ’im and love ’im, no matter what.”

Okay, bitch, it’s time to spin-off on this ho,
I think, glancin’ at my watch.
You’ve heard’a ’nough of this shit.
“Well, listen. You do what-eva you feel you gotta do.”

“I plan to,” she says, glancin’ ova at me.

I smirk. “Bitch, you’re delusional. But good luck.”

A
WEEK LATER
, I’
VE LANDED AT
N
ORFOLK
I
NTERNATIONAL
A
IRPORT
, and now I’m pickin’ up my rental to take the hour-and-a-half drive to Ahoskie, North Carolina. It’s where Cash booked my hotel room. It’s also a few miles away from the town Como. A bitch is amped to get at this nigga swiftly, then be on the next thing smokin’ back to Jersey. But shuttin’ his lights is gonna pose a problem since the nigga only leaves his spot at night. So a bitch gotta lay low and work the area for a few days ’til I can run up on ’im. Cash hipped me to these spots called Shot Houses—homes
of muhfuckas who sell drinks ’n shit. Where they play music, cards and shoot pool and whatnot.

I get into my rental, pullin’ out my Tom-Tom GPS system, typin’ in my destination.
Ahoskie? I can only imagine what kinda shit I’ma see when I get there
. I pull outta the airport, and turn onto Azalea Garden, then Military Highway.

My cell rings. It’s Chanel.

“What’s good, hooker?”

“Shit. A bitch is bored as fuck.”

“Poor thing,” I say, mergin’ onto US 13 South toward I-264 West. Then outta nowhere a bitch has this crazy idea to bring Chanel down here to help me work these country coon-muhfuckas ova. I quickly shake the shit outta my head.
This ho ain’t built for puttin’ in this kinda work,
I think, glancin’ at my reflection in the rearview mirror. “Sounds like you need some dick?”

She laughs. “Fuck you.”

“Where’s Divine?”

“He’s on his way home.”

“Then let that nigga be da one fuckin’
you
. Wit’cha freak-ass.”

“Whateva. I’m comin’ to Jersey to chill for a few days. You home.”

“Sorry, sweetie, I’m outta town.”

She sucks ’er teeth. “Figures. When ya ass comin’ back?” I tell ’er in a few days. She grunts. “Mmmph, you always dippin’ on a bitch.”

“Awww, let me find out you feelin’ all salty ’n shit,” I tease. “You know I love you, Sugah. But get ova ya’self. I need you to do me a fava.”

“Wassup?”

I tell ’er I need ’er to go up to the hospital to spend time wit’ the baby ’til I get back. I tell ’er I finally came up wit’ a name for
’im. “Girl, you know I got you. What you gonna name ’im?” I tell ’er I decided to go wit’ Zaire. “Ohhhhkaaaaay now. I like.”

“Me too,” I say, smilin’.

“So who you outta town wit’, Allstar?”

It dawns on me that I haven’t heard from the muhfucka in’a couple’a days. I’ve been so sidetracked wit’ my own shit that I hardly noticed ’til now.
Mmmmm, that’s strange. Da nigga must be real busy.
“No, I ain’t heard from da nigga.”

“Realllllly? Ya’ll still cool, right?”

“I guess. Like I said, I ain’t heard from ’im.”

“Hmmm, da nigga must be preoccupied.”

“Whateva. Da nigga ain’t my man.”

“I feel you, boo. Da only man you gonna need in ya life is Zaire. Fuck’a Allstar or any otha muhfucka.”

“And you know this, trick,” I say, laughin’. She asks how my visit went wit’ them CPS bitches. “You know I kept it real cute wit’ them hoes. They gonna do a corny-ass background check on’a bitch, but I ain’t sweatin’ it.”

“I know that’s right. Then what?”

Then a bitch gonna eitha sink, or swim, or die muthafuckin’ tryin’.
I swear I don’t wanna be one’a them hoes you read ’bout in the news who tosses ’er baby outta a window, or leaves it locked up in a closet. I start feelin’ fucked up knowin’ a bitch ain’t have a mother to show—or teach—’er how to
be
a mother.