Retribution (21 page)

“Miss Pasha, girl. Mmph. Some'a these hoes callin' up in here need some phone manners. But they gonna learn today.” The phone rings again. “Nappy No More.
What?
This is
Booty
. Now who is you? And how can I help you…?”

I clutch my chest and grit my teeth.
Please, God!
I walk off, hoping like hell this bitch doesn't have me put out of business by the time I get her ass in my chair, and the hell out of my salon. I glance up at the clock. 11:10
A.M.

I walk over and give Janelle a hug, then quickly usher her to my station. I look over at Kendra, who's engrossed in a conversation with her client about cheating men, and let her know I scheduled her a twelve o'clock.

“Okay, cool,” she says, looking up from her client's head. She goes back to curling her client's hair, waving the iron in the air every so often as they go in on dumb-ass women who always want to blame the jump-offs and mistresses, like they're the problem, when the real problem is lying up in bed with her.

I tune the conversation out. “Janelle, girl, how you been?”

“Fine. You know me; work, work, work.”

“I hear that.”

Chris Brown's “Don't Judge Me” floats through the speakers. I start humming along as I snap the cape around Janelle's neck. All of a sudden the volume goes up and I see Booty jump up, a hand waves in the air, then she starts swaying. She yells over the music, “Yessssss, goddammit…don't judge me…'cause things can get ugly…gonna have me take it to ya face…!”

I blink. Swallow hard.

A few people laugh, shaking their heads.

“Janelle, hold on one minute.” I quickly pop my hips back out to the front, tell Booty to lower the volume and to stop all that cussing and dancing up in here. She gives me a blank look, then turns her attention to the ringing phone.

“Girl, when'd you hire that one?” Janelle wants to know when I return to my station.

“I didn't. She decided she wanted to help out.”

Janelle chuckles. “Looks like you're going to have your hands full. How long is she going to be
helping
out?”

“If that's what you want to call it—
not
long. Only for the next”—I glance up at the clock—“forty-five minutes. Trust me. I was caught by surprise, girl, when I walked up in here and saw her carrying on.”

She shakes her head. “She's a piece of work; quite entertaining that's for sure.”

I swallow, feeling my stomach tightening. “Yeah, to say the least.” I'm thankful Janelle is only here for a wash and set. I can quickly whip her up and get her under the dryer, then get Cassandra's ass in this chair.
Who the hell told her to take it upon herself to answer my goddamn phones?
I fling the chair back, almost banging Janelle's head on the edge of the sink.

She jumps.

“Oooh, girl, forgive me. Something must be wrong with this chair.” Janelle gives me the eye. I smile. Every time the phone rings, I cringe inwardly and my stomach knots. I try not to focus on what kind of irrevocable damage Booty's up front causing to my business, how many potential clients she's chased away, the hundreds—maybe
thousands
—of dollars I might lose in the next forty-two minutes and counting if I don't hurry up and get Janelle out of this goddamn chair.

Janelle grunts and winces. “Ugh…Oooh, ooh. Mmmph…ugh… ohmygod, Pasha…”

I blink, apologizing profusely for digging and clawing my nails into her scalp and swinging and jerking her head under the spigot, getting water and shampoo all in her eyes.

Goddamn you, Cassandra!

“Girl, what's going on with you today? I like it a little rough and I don't mind a little hair pulling. But in the sheets, behind closed doors.
Not
in my stylist's chair.”

“Janelle, I'm so sorry, girl. Forgive me. This one'll be on me.” I quickly rinse the shampoo out, then run conditioner through her hair. “My mind is all over the place today.”

She chuckles. “Girl, no worries. You know I'm only messing with you. But you do seem a little distracted.”

“Chile, I am.”

I glance out toward the front area of the salon as the door opens. A brown-skinned guy sticks his head inside the door. I can't see his face clearly since he has the brim of a blue Yankees-fitted pulled down low over his eyes. But I see when Booty hops up and plants a hand up over her hip, then she storms over toward the door.
My God! Please don't let her get to cussing and fighting up in here!

I quickly summon one of my security guards over, then quietly tell him to stay posted up in the front. And to toss Cassandra's ass out if she even sneezes, blinks, or looks wrong.

“You know what, girl,” Janelle says as I start combing through her hair, “I think I want you to give me a trim and add a little color to my hair.”

I blink.

Bitch, you have got to be kidding me?!

I glance up at the clock. 11:30
A.M
.

I can already tell. This is going to be a long goddamn day!

The unveiling of truths can become a nigga's salvation or the key to his demise…

“I
see you got that triflin' bitch answerin' the muthafuckin' phones over there now. Why the fuck you ain't answerin' ya shit when I call you, yo…?”

I glance up at the clock on my office wall. It's a little after two in the afternoon. And this nigga's been blowing up my phone all day, calling back to back, sending me crazy-ass text messages. When I landed in Newark this morning from my flight out of L.A., and turned on my phone, I almost screamed when I saw that I had over a hundred and thirty text messages from this nigga.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Don't let this nigga get under your skin.

I haven't seen or spoken to this motherfucker since I chewed his balls up two days ago. And why I'm even wasting my time talking to him now is beyond me. But, what I do know is, Jasper's going to learn you don't
ever
fuck with (or fuck over) a bitch who knows all of your dirty little secrets. And Jasper's hands are real
fucking dirty. He doesn't think I know where most of his stash houses are. But I do. I just haven't said anything.

Anyway, his fists, Booty's theatrics, and multiple shots of Hennessy on Tuesday, were all the motivation I needed to march back up in here—
after
I lit into Rhodeshia's gossiping ass—and place a call to Bianca, one of my salon clients and good friend. I called her to speak with her fiancé, Garrett, who's a state trooper and who also happens to be related to my cousins Persia, Paris and Porsha on their father's side.

I hadn't seen Garrett in ages. But I'm always kept abreast of his life either through Bianca whenever she comes into the salon. Or Paris, whenever we talk. So seeing him at my wedding with Bianca was a sight for sore eyes.

At the reception, while Garrett and I were sharing a dance, he pulled me into his arms and whispered, “I truly hope you know what you've gotten yourself into, Pasha. He's a real slick one.”

I nodded knowingly. The DEA, the FEDs, they all want a piece of Jasper. But Jasper has always been able to slip under their radar.

“Who you love or who you marry is none of my business,” Garrett had said to me as we danced to Miguel's “Adorn,” “but you and I go way back, Pasha. We're like family. If there's anything—and I mean,
any
thing—you ever need, you call me.”

And with that said, he kissed me on the cheek, then stepped aside to allow Jasper—who had been eyeing us the whole time we were on the floor dancing—to cut in.

So when Garrett called me twenty minutes after I hung up with Bianca, I told him what happened, but made it clear I didn't want Jasper arrested; just to stay the fuck away from me. He said he'd make a few calls, and get back to me. Ten minutes later, he called back and told me everything was taken care of. All I had to do was
stop down to the precinct in my town when I left the salon. So I did.

Of course, before he hung up with me, he tried to persuade me to file criminal charges. But my mind was made up. Charges and a potential arrest were not an option. No. I wanted Jasper's black ass to know playtime was over. I wanted his ass to be served those papers before the sun went down.

And he was.

I sigh heavily into the phone. “What do you want, Jasper?”

“What the fuck you mean what I want? You fucked my balls up, yo. Got my shit fuckin' swollen ‘n' shit. A muhfucka still can't fuckin' walk 'cause you wanna be on some funny shit. Word is bond, yo. That was some foul shit you pulled, Pasha. But I'ma see you, yo.”

I grunt. “Oh well, nigga. You had no business putting your hands on me. Next time, I will make sure I rip them motherfuckers off. Now come
see
about that.”

“Real shit, Pasha. I'ma bust ya ass for that shit. Then you stuff all my shit in trash bags ‘n' dump 'em out in front of Stax's yard. What the fuck, yo?! Got muhfuckin' bum-ass niggas rummagin' all through my shit. Then, on top of that shit, you hit me wit' a fuckin' restrainin' order, yo. What the fuck is you doin', yo?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

“I see you wanna be grimy, right? Is this how you wanna do it, yo? Huh, Pasha? You bite my shit up ‘n' pull a fuckin' burner out on
me!
Then have me put outta my shit. You really feelin' ya'self, yo. You let that bitch get ya ass all gassed for some shit you ain't ready for, yo. But it's all good, baby. I'ma bust ya muthafuckin' ass; believe that.”

“Jasper, do what you feel you need to do. But know this, I'm done with you, nigga. And I mean that.”

“Fuck outta here. You pulled some real savage shit. But I'ma see you.”

“I know, Jasper. You already said that. Now what?”

“Oh, you wanna be a smart-ass, right? Keep talkin' slick, Pasha, aiight? I know that ghetto-ass bitch, Cassandra, got you doin' all this dumb shit…”

I pull my cell away from my ear, looking at it incredulously.

“Cassandra didn't put me up to do shit.
You
did. You put your hands on me one time too many. And I've had enough. I'm done with you and your jealous ass, nigga. Period. The
only
savage is
you
. You staged having me kidnapped and sexually assaulted, then practically beat me to death,
knowing
I was pregnant with
your
son and you're calling
me
a savage. Nigga,
please!
Drop dead! You're fucking delusional. And the only motherfucking thing you're going to
see
is the lid of a coffin if you come anywhere near me.”

“Yo, what the fuck is you back on that shit for, huh? I tol' ya ass it was over wit'. What happened; happened. It is what it is. You took ya lumps for what the fuck you did to me. And I forgave ya ass. Now let the shit go. Move the fuck on. I tol' ya ass what it was if I ever caught ya ass playin' me, yo. So what the fuck is you still on this shit for, huh? Ya whore-ass was the one out here suckin' muhfuckas off while I was on lock! Got me sittin' in that muhfucka stressin' ‘n' lookin' like a fuckin' fool, yo!”

“Like I've said a million and one times, I know what I did was fucked up, Jasper. I accept that. I've owned it. But,
you,
nigga…you took the shit too far. What
you
did to me was
brutal
and fucking
repulsive! I
don't
forgive
you for that shit! And I'm
not
over it.”

He starts yelling like a maniac. In my mind's eye, I see him foaming at the mouth like the rabid savage he is. I think to hang up on him, but decide to hear him out. Nothing he can say or do
at this point will stop what's already in motion from happening. But I want to hear what he has to say. And I want answers.

“Yo, what the fuck?! And you don't think what the fuck ya cum-guzzlin' ass was out here doin' wasn't repulsive, huh? Fuck outta here!
You
fuckin' humiliated me, yo! Got muhfukas talkin' all sideways 'bout what the fuck you was out here doin'! And I'm checkin' muhfuckas, ‘like nah, you got the wrong one, yo. My girl ain't on no shit like that.' And, come to find out, ya trick-ass was! How the fuck you think that made a muhfucka feel, huh?! Like a muthafuckin' joke! A fuckin' pussy, yo.
You
did that shit!
You
had my muthafuckin' heart ‘n' you shitted on me…!”

For the first time since all of this shit happened, this is the first time I really hear the hurt in his voice. I swallow back what's left of my own hurt, and guilt, knowing I caused this. Still, it doesn't change shit!

It's too late.

“So yeah, muhfucka, since you love suckin' random muhfuckas off ‘n' shit, I had muhfuckas bang up ya throat. I tol' ya ass you don't know who I know, or who the fuck I got watchin' shit! And I tol' ya ass what I was gonna do if ya ass was outta pocket! I kept fuckin' warnin' ya ass, Pasha! I gave ya ass fair warnin', yo, And enough muthafuckin' time to stop doin' whatever the fuck you was out there doin' before I touched down! But ya slut-ass still kept doin' grimy shit! Now all of a sudden, ya muthafuckin' ass wanna act like you traumatized. Bitch, ya ass wasn't all that concerned when you was takin' muhfuckas to the back of the throat! Get ya ass into counselin', yo, ‘n' work that shit out. Stop fuckin' around, Pasha! Go drop that fuckin' restrainin' order! And get them fuckin' robo cops up off'a my muthafuckin' property so I can get the fuck back home, yo!”

“You're
not getting back into shit. You did what
you
felt you had to do. Now, I'm getting ready to do what needs to be done. I'm not dropping
shit
. The locks have been changed. All of the security codes to the house and garages are changed. And,
yes,
since obviously you tried going over to the house, I now have a security team on the property, in addition to all the security cameras that
you
made sure we had. So, if you come anywhere near
my
property, you will be arrested for trespassing—if a bullet isn't put in your head, first. All of your clothes and other shit are in those trash bags. Anything else you want out of
my
house, you had better come with a police escort and a court order because that is the
only
way you're ever getting inside to get shit else.”