Street Divas (22 page)

P
rofit is never going to wake up.

The more time that passes, the more I'm convinced that he will never be more than what he is right now: a living, breathing vegetable. After all, it's been a little over two months and he hasn't so much as twitched a finger when I hold it. I've been telling myself that I want him to wake up so that I'll at last have some good news to take over to Ta'Shara. Maybe his recovery will somehow spur hers—or vice versa. Shit. I don't know. I'm not a damn doctor.

While I'm sitting here in the room, rubbing cocoa butter into Profit's arms and hands, I'd be lying to myself if I didn't admit that I didn't feel . . . something for the cute brother. Hell, maybe I've always felt something, even as far back as the day that he and Ta'Shara met at the mall. I was the first one to peep him out, but he was staring at my girl so hard, I brought it to her attention.

I was a little jealous at how he threw money around, buying us anything our hands touched. But when he let it be known who his damn brother was, I was honest when I told my girl to squash any and all thoughts about hooking up with his ass. I'd been in the game too long not to believe that nothing but trouble was going to come of it.

While I'm being honest, I completely understand why Ta'Shara didn't listen to reason. Profit ain't like any of the other niggas I've ever come across. He has this smooth, old-time gentleman flavor to him, but his ass also knows how to flip the script the next minute and be like the hardest gangsta walking. If his ass was a GD, then I'd say that he was the total package and I might've given my girl a run for her money.

Realizing that the thoughts racing through my head are seriously fucked up, I lower Profit's hand and step back from the bed. Even then I can't pull my gaze away from his still face. Like Ta'Shara, I can't help but wonder what is happening inside his head. Wouldn't it be something if they were somehow together in their weird comatose state? Maybe they're dreaming that their limo hadn't got jacked on prom night and that they made it to the Peabody Hotel.

I can only imagine how well Profit can work a woman's body. Shit, I've already stolen my fair share of looks at what type of equipment he's working with underneath his hospital gown.

My jealousy is complete.

That
was what my girl has been riding all that time? No wonder her ass couldn't think straight. I creep back to the side of the bed and lift up the sheet.

“Well, I'll be damned,” a voice thunders.

I drop the sheet as my gaze jerks up to Qiana. Pulling up the rear are a couple of her roughneck Flowers. My hand inches back into my jacket and then wraps around my gat.

“I heard that some fucking Queen G bitch was coming up here every day, but I thought that was some street bullshit.” Qiana cocks her head as she struts into the room. My eyes are drawn to the ugly, crude gashes that Ta'Shara's razor blade made on both sides of her face a few months back. “I mean, you got to be a real stupid muthafucka to roll your ass up here.”

I take another step backward. “Look. I ain't looking for no trouble.”

“That's too muthafuckin' bad now, ain't it?”

She makes it to the foot of the bed while I inch my way back near the top. These bitches are ready to jump and whup my ass, and frankly there's not a damn thing that's going to stop them. I bump into Profit's IV stand and then trip when I try to move around it. Falling, my hand squeezes the trigger on my gun.

POW!

I hear a gasp, but by the time I hit the floor, these bitches are on me like white on rice. We scrap, and we scrap hard. I catch a couple of hard blows against my head, but I land a few of my own. Hell. I got brothers. I ain't no punk. But let's face it. I'm still outnumbered, and these stank hoes are punching body blows like heavyweight champions.

“Grab that bitch and let's head out,” Qiana barks.

That shit ain't going down. If they manage to get me out of this room, it's lights-out and my ass will be standing before Jesus within the hour. I go for my gun again but discover that the muthafucka has fallen out of my jacket. I try to feel around as these bitches are lifting my ass off the floor. Kicking and punching with everything I have, I catch two of these bitches dead in their mouths, and it's enough to stun them and make them drop me.

When I hit the floor again, hip first, pain like I've never known ricochets throughout my body, and I scream out like the punk bitch I was trying
not
to be. The tears that rush my eyes blind me for a second, but I still have the presence of mind to feel around the floor for my gat.

“Fuck it. Just fuck that bitch up!” Qiana barks.

In the next second, these bitches are back on me, knocking down poles and machines that almost crack my skull open.

I'm vaguely aware of a loud, beeping noise filling the room, but that shit is so not important compared to my ass struggling not to black out. When my fingers brush against my Glock lying underneath the bed, the door bursts open and a voice thunders, “What the fuck is going on in here?”

I keep throwing aimless punches and clock Qiana upside her head before grabbing one of her big door-knocker earrings and yanking that muthafucka clean off.

“Fuuuuuuck!” Qiana rears back and then punches me so hard that my mouth fills with blood.

After that, this big nigga I've seen off and on guarding the door lifts this screaming bitch off of me. I scramble to get up but end up slipping and sliding in a pool of blood. Whether it's mine or someone else's, I don't know. I want to get the hell out of here.

A foot away from me, Qiana is rolling around and gripping her arm.

“That bitch shot me!”

“That's not all I'm going to do.” I grab the gun again and swing the muthafucka her way so I can put this bitch down once and for all. When I squeeze the trigger, this big, gorilla-looking muthafucka kicks the gun out of my hand, and the shot goes more toward the bed where Profit still lies.

Horrified, I slap a hand over my bleeding mouth and try to stand again.

Everyone holds their breath and leans over to see if my stupid ass shot a comatose body. When it's clear that the bullet completely missed him, we all go back to breathing again. However, I'm still the most unpopular girl in the room.

Get the fuck out of here.
I push the pain in my hip to the back of my mind and scramble again to get to my feet. By that time, doctors and nurses start pouring in.

“What in the hell is going on in here?” one of the dudes in a white coat asks as another Vice Lord grabs me by my waist and lifts me effortlessly into the air.

“Get off me, muthafucka!”

I throw more punches, not giving a damn about where they land. I may be small, but I'm not going to let these muthafuckas kick my ass, and if I'm gonna cop a charge, then I'm going to make sure that it's for something that I can pump my chest out with pride while I'm in the clink.

“Pipe the fuck down, small fry. Your ass is in enough trouble as it is,” this nigga barks, and gives me a good shake. “Ain't nothing going on,” the nigga lies with a straight face. “We were having a little family disagreement.”

The small staff scatters. The two nurses rush to pick up the beeping machines and poles off the floor.

“We heard shots,” the doctor says, looking around. When his eyes land on the puddle of blood on the floor, he starts to inch back toward the door.

“It's nothing. The little girl here fell and busted her lip. She's going to be all right.” He gives me another shake. “Ain't that right, shawty?”

He's looking to me to back up that stupid lie? When I open my mouth, this angry nigga gives me another hard shake that rattles around the few marbles I have left in my head. I bob my head along to cosign whatever lie this nigga wants to tell.

Across the room, Qiana's jaw is clenched tight and her narrowed glare says this shit ain't over by a long shot. From now on, I'll have to be looking over my shoulder for this bitch.

The doctor pushes up his glasses. “Look, this is a hospital, not a—”

“Oh my God!”

Everyone's head swivels toward the gasping nurse, and our eyes follow her line of vision to the bed.

A
s much as I want to give the green light to Bishop to make a move on Python and his pussy-ass paper gangsters, I know that it's no longer my call to make. After putting down Killa Kyle, my boys and I roll over to Ruby Cove to check in with Mason, who, by all appearances, has survived another dance with the devil—barely.

“Did that nigga talk?”

The question is thrown at me the second I stroll out of the sliding glass door and into the backyard. I look over to see him concentrating on moving his silver walker an inch at a time across the back patio.

Sweat is pouring down his face like a waterfall. “What are you doing?”

“What in the fuck does it look like I'm doing?”

Oh yeah—his attitude sucks, too. I turn around and give Monk and Droopy the
give us a few minutes
look and then slide the glass door closed again so that we can talk privately.

“You're going to overexert yourself,” I warn him.

“I didn't ask for your opinion,
Doctor,
” he barks as he inches the walker along. “I think I know what my body can and
cannot
handle.” He barely gets the sentence out before his legs buckle and he and his trusted walker go their separate ways.

I jump into action and rush to help.

“I got it,” he says, but when I don't back away fast enough, Mason damn near takes my head off. “Goddamn it, Willow, I said I got it!”

I lift my hands up in the air and move back.

Turning away from me, he struggles to right his walker and pull himself up. After a while, his upper body trembles and quakes so bad that he looks like a human earthquake. Cutting him a break, I reach over and loop one of his arms around my shoulder and lift him off the ground and over to a nearby chair.

“You're welcome,” I tell him after it's clear that he's not going to say anything.

He grunts.

“What was that?” I challenge.

He cuts a hard look over at me but then spits out, “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.” His mismatched gaze meets mine, and his apology is clear in his softening expression.

“Really. I mean it,” I add before grabbing his sunglasses up off the patio and handing them over.

“Thanks,” he says again.

I nod while an awkward silence hangs between us. If I'm not careful, I'll fuck up and tell this nigga, my best friend, how I feel about his ass—about how tired I am of being scared that the next bullet he takes might be his last. I mean, damn, I'm no mathematical genius, but common sense would tell a nigga that he can't keep outsmarting the devil every time you roll through his crib.

Sooner or later, he's gonna trap his ass down there, and where would that leave my ass—blasting through the city seeking revenge? And what happens after that? It hasn't been easy holding shit down this last time. Sure, I have my people's respect and loyalty, but I was as much a wreck on the inside as Bishop, thinking that we—I—was going to lose him.

“So whassup? You get that nigga to talk or what?” Mason asks again.

I push up a smile. “They always talk.”

“When you're doing the wet work—no doubt.” He leans forward and rubs his hands together. “So who was the fucking trigger man?”

“Trigger
woman
. The rumors on the streets might be true.”

Mason twists up his face. “No shit?”

I shrug. “Apparently.”

“How come your snitch didn't toss her ass up then?”

“Maybe she didn't know.”

“Bullshit.” Mason shakes his head. “That's all right, though. I got a muthafuckin' bullet with that bitch's name on it.” He removes his Mark-23 from beneath a towel lying on the patio table. “Believe that. I'm going to handle her ass right after I earth her nigga Python. This muthafuckin' city ain't big enough for the two of our asses no more. I'm tired of playing with him and his fucked-up crew on the south side. I say that we blast up the whole heart of their organization—right now. Smoke that nigga out. We fire enough bullets, we'll hit someone his ass gives a fuck about.”

“Is this about Profit . . . or Melanie?” I ask.

His gaze cuts back over at me with enough fire to blaze my ass up.

“Dead is dead. You feel me?”

I choke on a sudden surge of jealousy. The bitch has been dead and in the ground for damn near two months. “Whatever.”

“What?” His voice is as hard as his glare.

“Nothing.” I stand. “Bishop called in. He found Python over at Goodman Construction. I told him to sit on his ass while I check in with you.”

Mason bolts up onto his feet. “And you're just now saying something? Fuck!” He grabs his gat. “We're rolling the fuck out.” He takes one step and is falling again. “Shit! Fuck! Goddamn it!”

I bite my tongue and go to help him again, but this damn time he pushes my ass away. “Goddamn it, Willow! Leave me the fuck alone. Shit!”

“Fine. Stay your ass down there, then! See if I give a fuck!” I march toward the sliding glass door. “You can just stay a crippled muthafucka since you don't need no damn body.” I jerk the door open and stroll back into the house with my eyes stinging with what feels like acid tears. I pop Monk on the shoulder and tell him, “Let's roll out.”

He and Droopy jump but then cast a hesitant gaze back toward the backyard.

“I SAID, ROLL OUT!”

They get their asses moving this time.

“Lucifer,” Mason yells.

I keep marching toward the door. “Don't you fuckin' stop,” I warn Monk and Tombstone, though I can tell by their slouching shoulders that they're torn.

“Goddamn it, Lucifer!” Mason barks again. “Don't leave me out here like this!”

I stop as Monk opens the front door. He and Tombstone cast me this weird look, and I'm so irritated that I'm actually thinking about busting a cap in both of their asses for dragging their feet. Instead, I take several deep breaths to calm down. “Shit,” I mumble, and then jerk back around to see if Mason can now talk like he's got a little damn sense.

“What?” I say, entering the backyard again and folding my arms while I hover above him.

“Don't
what
me. Help me up.”

“Why the fuck should I do that? You don't
need
me. You can handle all this shit all by yourself,
right
?”

“Willow—”

“Don't fuckin'
Willow
me either. It's Lucifer. Use the fuckin' name you gave me.”

Mason sighs, but it's way too late for me to feel sorry for his rude ass. “Let's get something straight, right here, right now. Despite what your goddamn ego tells you at night, you didn't get on top by your damn self. If it wasn't for me, your ass would've been dead and buried waaaay before you got the crown. You feel me?”

“I know.”

“If I hadn't rolled up when Python tried to blast you and Juvon at that little corner at the mall back in the day, that nigga would've fucked up more than just your fuckin' eye....

 

 

“I don't care what you say, Willow. You ain't coming,” Juvon yelled as he stormed around his dirty bedroom. “You ain't locking down no corner, blasting no niggas and getting your thirteen-year-old ass in no bullshit out here in the street.”

I rolled up on him and mushed him in his fucking head. “Don't be talking to me out the side of your neck, Bishop—or whatever the hell you're calling yourself this week. The last time I checked, you weren't my damn daddy!”

Leaning against a wall on the other side of the room, Mason chuckled and flipped down his shades. “She got a point there, Bishop.”

“You stay out of this,” Bishop barked at his boy.

Mason tossed up his hands, signaling that he was going to mind his own business.

“Traitor.” I jutted my chin and folded my arms. Every damn time Bishop and I got into it, Mason acted like his ass was Switzerland and wanted no part of it. It would be nice if someone had my back every once in a while, especially since he spent as much time at our crib as he did with Smokestack. Sometimes I wondered if he regretted not moving to Atlanta with Dribbles and his younger brother, Raymond. I knew that he missed them.

“You're not going,” Bishop shouted again. “And that shit is final.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Talk that bullshit while you're walking. You can't stop me. I'm gonna do whatever the fuck I want to do. If there's paper to be made, then I'm gonna get mine just like y'all.”

Juvon clenched his fists, but if he even looked like he was ready to start throwing those muthafuckas around, I had something for his ass—and he knew it, which was why his hands stayed at his sides.

“You ain't got to worry about making no paper. I'm the fuckin' man of the house. I'm handlin' the bills around here.”

“What bills? Nigga, please.”

“I'm serious, Willow,” Bishop warned. “Stay your ass here.”

“Stop calling me Willow. I done told you about that shit.”

“I'm not going call you no fuckin' Lucifer. You need to stop smoking whatever the fuck you've been smoking and get your head right.”

Out in the driveway, Tombstone laid into his car horn.

Bishop glanced at Mason. “Nigga, you ready to roll out?”

Mason pushed up his sunglasses and twisted his ball cap to the back. “Yo, I've been waiting on you, nigga.” They exchanged fist bumps and headed toward the door.

I thrust up my chin, puffed out my small titties, and followed right behind their asses.

“Willow, I ain't playing with you,” Bishop warned without turning and looking back. “So don't fuckin' try me.”

I didn't answer his ass. I kept marching right behind them.

Once we reached the front door, Juvon roared, “GODDAMN IT!” He whipped around with his fist raised; just when he launched that muthafucka toward my face, Mason's hand came up and caught it in midair.

“Nah, my nigga. I can't let your ass do that shit.”

I didn't even flinch, but had he landed that punch, it would've been the last muthafuckin' thing he ever did in life.

“What's going on in here?” My mother thundered into the room, and we all broke apart like she'd caught us stealing money out of her purse—again. Since we looked suspicious, her eyes narrowed and scanned each one of us.

“Nothing,” Bishop lied, forcing up a smile. “Me and Mason are heading out. I done told Willow she can't go, but she won't listen.”

“Tattletale,” I hissed, because I knew what was coming next.

“Willow, leave your brother alone. You're getting too old to be following him around everywhere,” Mom yelled, settling her hand on her hips.

“Exactly.” Bishop gave me a smug look. “Catch you later, Willow.” He jerked open the door and then blew me a kiss.

I cocked my fist, but my mother barked, “Willow!”

My punch hung in the air, but I gave Bishop a look that told his ass that this shit wasn't over by a long shot. “Willow Elizabeth Washington!”

I dropped my fist and turned back toward my mother. It couldn't have been a worse time, since Cousin Skeet chose that moment to stroll his ass up into the living room, wearing my father's old robe and pair of slippers. Smiling, he wrapped his arm around my mother's slim waist and kissed her upturned cheek.

“Morning, baby.”

Whatever annoyance my mother felt toward me melted away, and a big-ass smile covered her face. “Morning, honey. You hungry?”

“After what you put me through last night? Hell yeah.” He slapped her on the ass. “Morning, Willow. Don't you look . . . nice this morning.”

I glanced over my shoulder to see whether Bishop and Mason were getting a load of this shit, but those two niggas had already crept out the fucking door. In the driveway, I heard a car pulling off.

“Dammit.”

“I don't know why she insists on wearing black all the time,” my momma complained. “She always looks like she's on her way to a funeral.” She turned and headed into the kitchen.

Cousin Skeet remained rooted in the living room, his eyes raking over me like an X-ray machine. “Damn, Willow. If you keep it up, you're going to be a real looker like your mother. You're not going to be able to keep the boys off of you—or the men.”

“Eww.”

Cousin Skeet laughed.

It took everything I had not to hurl right there on the spot. That muthafucka must've thought I was dumb, but I knew exactly what he was getting at with all those long stares on my titties or touching my knee whenever my mother or brother wasn't around. Pervert.

“Willow, did you clean your room?” my mother yelled from the kitchen.

“I gotta get out of here.” I turned and rushed out the front door.

“Yo, Lucifer,” Dominic hollered from way down the street.

Since I wasn't raised in a barn, I wasn't about to be hollering back down the street. But I did jog down off the porch and headed toward Hoskins Road, where Juvon and Mason usually held down their corner.

“Lucifer, wait up,” Dominic yelled again.

Since I don't wait up for miscellaneous niggas, I kept walking until he caught up with me, all out of breath and shit.