Street Divas (3 page)

Ta'Shara doesn't move and I have to jerk open the back door. “Don't make me go through this shit again. If I have to get you out of the car, you're not going to like it.” Her ass moves even though it's slow as molasses. But when she pops up from my leather seats, I see a large smear of blood. I glance at the back of her light blue dress and see fresh blood soaking through and even trickling down her legs. Suddenly there's a large boulder in the center of my throat and my eyes burn as if they are marinating in acid.

Slamming the back door, I grab her left wrist and tug her toward the house. I fiddle with the lock and then rush her straight to the bathroom, despite the fact that she still makes a trail a blood through the house. I turn on the shower and force her to get underneath the spray of hot water. Even then she stands there as I rip off what's left of her dress. Her slim, curvy body is a tapestry of black and blue bruises, and the engraved initials on the side of her ass look nasty. It's probably going to get infected. I turn away from the shower and walk over to the vanity counter next to the sink and grab the alcohol. When I do, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look like shit. Hair windblown and Profit's blood sprayed across my face and clothes. I press a hand against my cheek and smear some of that nigga's blood.

“Fuck!” I turn on the sink's faucet to wash this shit off when the front door slams and the whole house shakes. Python is home. “I'll be right back.” I bolt out of the bathroom and up into the living room, but I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of Python's large, muscular body covered in blood.

I open my mouth to ask what the hell happened when he pushes a kid forward and tells him, “Go on into the back bedroom on the right and shut the door.”

My gaze falls onto the kid's face, and I see Python's spitting image blinking up at me. “What the fuck?” I step back like they just one-two punched my ass. “Why in the hell you bring this lil nigga up here?”

“Watch your fucking mouth. That's my
son.
” He shoves the boy again. “Go on and do what I told you.”

“Oh, hell no.” I stop the boy, turn him around by his shoulders, and shove him right back toward his damn daddy. “He can't stay here. You need to take him back to the bitch you got him from.”

“Don't start with me, LeShelle. I'm in some shit right now, and I ain't in the mood.” He pulls up his wife beater and his complete left side looks like pulverized flesh.

“Shit. What the fuck?” I move toward him again.

“Chris, go on in the back. NOW!”

The kid jumps and then scrambles around me. I clamp my jaw shut. Clearly we're going to have to finish this another time. But one thing's for sure—that jizz baby ain't gonna be living up in here.

Python slumps his way over to the leather couch, and I rush to check out how bad the damage is. One plug above his hip.

“Who did this shit?”

“That ugly, punk muthafucka Fat Ace.”

Thunderstruck, I bounce up. “What? When? Where?”

“Fuck, Shelle, squash the muthafuckin' questions and do something about this shit. My goddamn guts are bleeding out.”

“A'ight. Calm the fuck down.” I twist my face at his rude ass. “Did you at least earth that muthafucka?”

“Shit. I don't fucking know. Muthafucka flew out the damn window like he had on an invisible Superman cape.” Python hisses and sucks in a deep breath as he presses a finger through the hole. “Are you going to get the molasses out your ass and take care of your man or what?”

“Hold up. Be back.” I roll my eyes and storm back toward the bathroom. Removing bullets ain't nothing new to either one of us, but this shit couldn't have happened on a worse night. In the hallway, his seed is standing there crying and peeing on himself. “What the fuck?” I glance down at the piss on the floor. “Ain't your ass potty trained?”

“T-there's a snake in there,” the kid whines.

“LeShelle, leave him alone and do what the fuck you're supposed to be doing! Goddamn!”

“Nasty ass.” I roll my eyes and then push open the bathroom door and get another surprise. The shower is still going, with thick white clouds fogging up the place, but Ta'Shara is nowhere in sight.

“Ain't this a muthafuckin' bitch?”

M
orris High School's prom is whack as hell. To get away from the lame bullshit that's happening on the crowded gym floor, I let Drey Faniel's fake balling ass talk me into sneaking up into the boys' locker room. I don't know why he couldn't come correct like the other niggas at the prom and spring for a muthafuckin' hotel room. Then again, it's probably because he spends all his corner money on sneakers. Sneakers. Not bling or a tricked-out ride, but fucking sneakers. He has so many of those muthafuckas I doubt that I've seen his ass in the same pair twice.

It's all right, I guess. Drey is all right. He ain't necessarily fine, but he ain't going to scare nothing out of the dark either. He got a nice, even caramel color and eyes the color of Milk Duds. Nothing special. Underneath his tuxedo, I know he got a few tats. Most he got after a couple stints in juvie—a couple of six-pointed stars and a few pitchforks repping the Black Gangster Disciples. At least I'm not in this piece with someone who's busted like my girl Hayley's man, Pookie. That brothah's complexion is the color of crude oil, and he has eyes and teeth the color of butter. Despite being ugly as sin, there are plenty of girls throwing panties his way because his hustle is tight and he loves raining money on bitches on the regular.

On the flip side, my girl Ta'Shara and Profit rocked the house. Hands down, they were the flyest couple up in here tonight. And the boldest. These weak niggas who rolled through were mad eyeballing the back of their heads. Vice Lords and Gangster Disciples don't fucking mix in this city. But I can't tell my girl nothing. Hell,
I
think Ta'Shara's ass is crazy, yet at the same time, I admire her, too. If you don't stand for something, then you'll fall for anything, right?

Shit. I can testify to that shit. That's why my ass has been in and out of juvie since I learned how to spell the muthafucka. It's not because I'm bad but because I'm a part of the Queen Gs' family, and you don't pay a membership fee to get in. You got to prove your ass is down for whatever, whenever. No questions asked. We're the Black Gangster Disciples' ride-or-die chicks. Period. In the course of keeping it real, I don't mind it so much. Family is important. My momma and daddy are both locked up, so me and my brothers and sisters are being raised by my grandma near Shotgun Row. We're all GD, and up until now, I've been proud of it.

The fact that Profit and his people are Vice Lords complicates the fact that Ta'Shara's sister is the head bitch in charge of the Queen Gs. Street politics clearly states that what's going on can't stand. I might not agree with my girl Ta'Shara dating a grimy Vice, but at least Profit's ass was willing to come out the pocket and get them a nice room at the Peabody. Instead, I'm with this broke muthafucka who got my ass up against this cold-ass locker with my red dress up around my waist and my panties jacked to the side.

“Hold up. Give me a sec.” Drey pants as his softening dick slips and slides around my pussy. “Is this it?” he asks, jamming his dick against my clit.

“Nah, nigga.” I pop him on the shoulder. We've been at this shit for twenty minutes. My shit is drying up. My buzz is halfway gone, and I'm starting to get the munchies. He's going to have to roll my ass through somebody's drive-through before he takes me home. “Ain't you done this shit before? Can't you tell that ain't a muthafuckin' hole?” I ask.

“Shit. Hold on.” Drey fumbles around some more. “I'm going to get this shit. You know my ass is high as fuck—and it's dark in this muthafucka, too. Sheeiiit.” He rams his shit forward, and a surge of pain has my ass jumping higher up on these hard-ass lockers.

“Oww.” I slap him on the back of his head. “That's the wrong damn hole, you dumbass.” Tired of the shit, I shove him away and pull my panties back in place. “Forget it. I'm out.”

“
What?
”

Smoothing my dress back down, I march toward the door. To no surprise, Drey's desperate ass snatches me back by my hand and gets up in my face.

“Whoa. Slow down, baby. Where are you going?” His big lips stretch into a wide cheese-eating grin. “You promised me some pussy if I took you to this bullshit prom.”

My face nearly twists off. “I ain't promised you no such damn thing. I just said I'd like to go. If you didn't want to take me, trust and believe that another nigga would have.” He knows that I'm speaking the truth, too. I may be pocket size, but this year I got tits and ass with a tiny little waist. Whenever I walk by, more and more nigga's tongues be rolling out their damn heads. Sometimes even in front of their girlfriends. And what I do? Come here with this broke-ass nigga. “You see any other nigga up in here trying to get their fuck on in this stank-ass locker room?”

“Nah. That's why this shit is perfect. We got the whole place to ourselves, and we can still hear the music playing downstairs. And lookie over here.” He releases me and runs over to one of the lockers.

I fold my arms as I watch him fiddle with the combination lock. After opening the muthafucka, he reaches inside and pulls out a bottle of MD 20/20 red grape. “You have got to be shitting me.”

“What? This is the shit right here.”

“That cheap bullshit? Negro, please. Nobody drinks that bullshit other than bums and winos.”

“Don't trip. I got some Thunderbird, too.” Drey reaches back into the locker and pulls out the other bottle. “Sheeiit. We're going to toss it up tonight.”

“Drey, that shit ain't going to do nothing but tear up the lining in my stomach. Your ass couldn't even spring for no Grey Goose or Hpnotiq?”

“Tsk.” Drey rolls his eyes as he crosses over to me. “C'mon now. Don't get all bougie on me. Trust and believe this shit is as good, and it's going to get the job done.” He tucks both bottles under one arm and then makes a grab for one of my hands.

I pull my shit back and turn for the door. “Um. No. I'm out.” Bolting out of the locker room, I try to wrap my brain around how fucked up this night is turning out while blocking out Drey storming up behind me.

“You're just going to roll out?”

“Later,” I say, bolting back into the gym. Now I got to beg some muthafucka for a ride back to my grandma's crib. That shit is going to be hard since everyone is all grinding on each other as foreplay or getting ready to head out to the hotels to sweat out their girl's perms and weaves. Who in the hell is going to want a third wheel?

Drey keeps whining like a bitch behind me. “After all the money I spent on you tonight? This is how you act? Damn, girl. You're rude as hell.”

“Whatever, broke muthafucka. You going to spend five dollars on some alcohol and call that money? You probably found that shit in between the cushions of your momma's damn couch.” I thread through the crowd, trying to decide who I should hit up for a ride.

“Essence!”

“Get away from me with that bullshit.” I stop in the middle of the floor and look around. There's got to be somebody up in this muthafucka who can help a sister out.

“Now what are you going to do? Your girl Ta'Shara has already left with that scabby crab Profit. How you getting home?” He reaches around me and slides a hand down to my crotch for a quick squeeze.

I spin around with fire boiling my blood. “Try that slick shit again and see if your ass don't be missing an arm next damn time.”

“Spit that shit if you want. You ain't doing nothing but getting my dick hard.”

“Now you just need to find a bitch who's willing to draw you a damn map so you can find a hole to stick it in. Me? I got better shit to do—like hook up with a nigga who knows what the fuck to do with pussy.”

He snatches me by the arm. “Keep your fucking voice down.” Drey looks around and catches a few eyeballs aimed our way. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?”

Niggas laugh dead in his face. Shit. He ain't nobody major. Just a corner boy who can get you 10 percent off at Foot Locker.

Drey's grip tightens.

“Let go.” I snatch my arm and glare up at his ass. I ain't scared. My being short is an advantage. I can tear up a nigga's kneecaps before he even knows what hit his ass.

“You know what? Fuck it. You do you.”

“Believe that shit.” I turn away, ready to storm out of this muthafucka. Shit. All I have to do is call up a cab and I'll be home to peep out
BET: Uncut
before midnight. Sad muthafuckin' way to spend a Saturday night. I reach for my purse that should be looped around my shoulder but grasp air. “Shit.” Turning back around, I damn near crash into Drey's chest.

“What? Whatcha looking for?” he asks, and then holds up my purse. “You looking for this?”

“Boy, give me my shit back.” I make a swipe for it, but Drey pulls it up higher so that my five-foot-two frame can't reach it.

“Since I brought you, you might as well let me take you home.”

“Ain't going to happen, broke ass.”

“All right. Keep clowning and I'm going to stop being a gentleman.”

“Nigga, who the fuck you think you're talking to?” I rake my eyes up and down his six-foot-three frame. “Newsflash, Einstein. A gentleman wouldn't have pulled that bullshit up in the boys' locker room with some fucking Mad Dog and Thunderbird whiskey. Shit, I think my great-great-great-grandfather used to drink that bullshit. I'm a fucking street diva, not some twenty-dollar trick, nigga. I deserve to be treated with some muthafuckin' respect.”

“Stop breaking my balls and loosen the fuck up. Why the hell should I break off a chunk of my hard-earned shit for some pussy I'm only going to be up in for a couple of minutes?”

“Nigga, what?” Cobra-necking, I can't stop my eyes from rolling. “Sheeiit. If you're going to be nutting that damn fast, then you need to go ahead and step off the curb.”

“Don't worry. I would've made sure that you came first.” Drey flicked his tongue out, and the damn thing rolled out past his damn chin. My eyes perk up. Maybe this broke nigga actually has a hidden talent.

“All right. Fine.” My eyes do another good roll. “Take me home. If you keep your mouth shut, I
might
let you get a taste. If it turns out that you know how to work that shit, I'll let you try to hit again.”

Drey's eyes light up, his anger a distant memory. “For real?”

“For real. Now give me my purse and bring your ass on over here before I change my fuckin' mind.” He hands me my shit, and I storm away, rolling my eyes. I'm going to let him eat my pussy, and I don't care if the muthafucka has me coming so hard I see Jesus—he ain't getting another chance to put that limp dick anywhere near my shit.

His smile spreads wider. “I thought that you might see things my way.” He offers me his arm as if that's somehow going to make me forget that he tried to get me twisted off some fucking MD 20/20.

“C'mon before I change my fuckin' mind,” I say, grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the exit. Out back, Khaled and his boys are tossing dice and smoking some serious shit that is forming muthafuckin' green clouds. “Goddamn,” I saying, fanning that shit away from my face. No way anybody is going to convince me that shit ain't fucking up niggas' lungs. “What the fuck is that shit? Toxic waste?”

“Why?” Khaled barks, pulling his full frame up and twisting his face. “You plan on snitching, bitch?”

Quick as lightning, a pistol appears in Drey's hand and he's all up on Khaled like a soldier on the front line. “What you getting all swoll for, crab? My lady asked you a muthafuckin' question!”

Khaled laughs. “I ain't got to answer to your bitch!” He barely gets that last word out before Drey flips his gun and then swings that muthafucka across Khaled's jaw like a golf club. There's a loud
crack,
and Khaled hits the pavement like someone yelled, “Timber!”

The niggas Khaled was out here playing dice with jump up like a group of jack-in-the-boxes, but instead of coming to their homey's aid, they cover their mouths and crack the fuck up. Then one hollers to grab Khaled's shit and the muthafucka gets jacked while he's out cold.

Hell, I can't help but laugh my damn self.

Drey shakes his head and then wraps his arm around my waist. “C'mon. Muthafucka should be happy I didn't put a couple bullets through his head, talking to me out the side of his neck.”

I slide into the passenger side of his rusted-out '72 Buick Electra. The car would be dope if Drey spread some cheese and got his shit hooked up. As it is, big gray clouds of smoke choke their way out of the tailpipe the minute the car turns over. There's also the stench of burning oil seeping through the vents. I ain't going to say shit. I want to get the fuck home as fast as I can.

Drey rolls his big-ass car through the school's parking lot, and when it comes time to make a right out onto the main street, he has to manually move the blinker lever up and down in order for his turn signal to work. It's all I can do to keep my eyes from rolling to the back of my head. I'm soooo over this shit.

He reaches over to the radio and blasts Lil Wayne's latest joint. But hell, even his speakers are all fucked up. Rattling and buzzing. Shit. What kind of nigga don't even keep his sound system on point?

“So where you want to serve up some of that good pussy at?”

“Take me home.”

“What? You're going to let me sneak into your grandmomma's crib? Ain't you scared you're going to wake her up?”

“Nah, nigga. You can't come up in her spot. You can hit the lights in the driveway or some shit.”

He cracks up. “Sho'nuff? You want me to eat you out in your grandmomma's driveway?”

“Not if you don't shut the fuck up and drive!”

“A'ight.” He raises his hands off the steering wheel for a second, and the car starts to pull right. “I got to get the alignment fixed on Baby Girl,” he says, reaching up and rubbing on the dashboard.