Welfare Wifeys (6 page)

Of course it would’ve been too much to ask for Mookie to have washed the tub out after ringing it with God only knew how many days’ worth of street soot. Cursing under her breath, Jada washed the tub and opted for a quick shower instead of the long soak she’d planned. Even after scrubbing the tub thoroughly, the memory of the dirt ring soured her on the idea.

Moving as quietly as she could so that the kids and her grandmother wouldn’t notice her, Jada slipped into her room and locked the door behind her. She tossed the towel she’d been forced to wrap herself in into the corner and stretched out naked on her bed, praying for the sleep that had eluded her during her binge. No sooner than her eyelids began to drop, her bedroom phone rang. Jada snatched the phone up and answered with attitude. “Yeah?”

“Thieving ass bitch, you gonna get just what your hand calls for,” a muffled voice said on the other end.

“Eat a dick and die!” Jada slammed the phone down. She had started receiving the disturbing phone calls about a week or so prior, not long after her last blowup with Miles’s father, Cutty, over some missing money. Even though the argument had happened weeks
prior she still remembered his sharp words as if he had just said them.

She had been ducking Cutty’s phone calls for more than a week, but he caught her out there that time by having someone call her on three-way. The moment she had heard his gruff voice come over the phone an icy finger ran down her back.

“What the fuck is popping, Jada?”

“Damn, hello to you too,” she said sarcastically.

“Yo, now ain’t the time for ya fucking mouth, B. I’ve been trying to track you down for over a week and couldn’t get through. What the fuck did you get that extra line installed for if you ain’t gonna be around to answer it?”

“My fault, I’ve been busy.”

“So busy that you’ve forgotten the ones who’ve taken care of you?” he shot back.

Jada looked at the phone as if she’d heard him wrong. “Cutty, don’t come at me with that jailhouse bullshit because I’ve been taking care of me and these kids since you left. I’ve got a massive headache right now, so please don’t add to it.”

“If you stayed in the house instead of running out boozing all night then you might not have this problem.”

“Cutty, I don’t know who you’ve got on the line that you’re trying to impress, but knock it the fuck off,” Jada capped.

Cutty laughed. “Apparently you must’ve forgotten who I am?” Cutty was one of the fallen legends of Douglass Projects. Before the same streets they praise decided to betray them, Cutty, Rio, and Shamel had been like the Holy Trinity of the crack game, but even the best runs come to an end. Cutty received twenty-five to life, but he got off easy compared to his comrades. Shamel had fallen in the line of duty, and Rio fed himself a bullet after the accidental death
of his girlfriend. There had been a number of heirs to the projects to come after them, but none were as well remembered as the trio.

“Ain’t nobody forgot nothing, Cutty, but you can’t eat a memory,” Jada shot back.

“See you’re gonna make me say some shit to you over this phone that might get me another charge.”

“As if it would make a difference,” Jada mumbled.

“Fuck all the smart shit you’re talking. What happened to that thing you were supposed to do for me a few weeks back? You were supposed to meet up with my man’s sister so you can settle that debt for me and you never called her.”

“My bad, I had to go to Davita’s school and when I tried to hit shorty back to reschedule I kept getting the voice mail. I’ll get around to it,” she said as if it was nothing.

“Jada, you know better than to come at me with that bozo shit. I’m in prison, not the streets. You can’t really promise a nigga something in here and not come through. Behind the wall all you got is your word and Cutty’s word is his bond.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“So I’m noticing. You’re not only sorry, Jada, but you’re trifling too.”

“What kinda bullshit are you talking about now?”

“I’m talking about after I couldn’t get you on the line I had my mom go to the stash-account to take care of it for me.”

Jada was shocked. “Your mother? I know you didn’t let your mama have access to our bank account?”

“
My
bank account and yes, I did. What you thought I was gonna jam myself by only allowing you to have access?” Cutty laughed. “This ain’t Casino, baby, and you ain’t Ginger.”

“Cutty, that’s some real shady shit to say,” Jada told him.

“Nah, what’s shady is the punch line of this fucked up ass joke. My mom said that account is short.”

“Cutty, I know that money is only supposed to be for emergencies,
but I had to tap it to take care of a few things. Welfare don’t hardly give you enough to make ends meet. Just last week I had to go to building fifty-five and—”

“Jada, if you say one more thing other than the truth, as God is my witness I’m gonna reach through this phone and rip your fucking lips off,” he cut her off. “I’m missing almost twenty thousand dollars and I wanna know where the fuck it is?”

Jada was speechless at first. She had been tapping into the money here and there, but she hadn’t expected the tally to be so high. “Cutty, you mother must have it wrong because—” she began, but he cut her off again.

“Jada, you’re already insulting my intelligence so please don’t insult my mother too. The bottom line is that I wanna know where my money is, and if you can’t tell me that then you need to tell me how you plan to put it back.”

“Nigga, I know you ain’t trying to call me no thief?” Jada got indignant as she tried to spin a plausible lie in her head that would explain where the money had gone.

“I ain’t
trying
to tell you shit. What I
am
telling you is that if you don’t produce my bread, immediately, me and you gonna have a problem, bitch.”

“Hold the fuck on. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“I’m talking to the trifling cunt that my dumb ass trusted with my life and my kid!” he raged.

“Fuck you, ya mama’s a cunt! Cock-eyed old bitch!” Jada yelled back.

“Jada, I don’t know what the fuck you’re out there doing with my bread, but you better give me back what belongs to me or you’re gonna be the sorriest black bitch in Harlem,” Cutty warned her.

“I know you ain’t trying to send no threats this way like I’m some punk bitch?” Jada’s tone darkened. “Cutty, you know how the Butlers give it up so please don’t take it there.”

“Shorty, the way I feel right now, everybody in your house who didn’t come outta my nuts can get it!”

Jada was hurt by the way he was speaking to her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing it. “I hear you talking, gangsta. When I was running around out here for you making moves, and sucking your dick on the dance floor, I was your lifeline and now you’re talking to me like I’m just some bitch you’re fucking. We’re gonna see how tough you talk when it’s all said and done.” Jada’s mind immediately went to the shopping spree she was going to go on with what was left of Cutty’s money.

Cutty laughed. “Bitch, I know you like I know my own dick, so you can rule out the petty ass bank robbery in your head. I already had my mom remove your name from the account and my lil man’s and them from B.K. know not to put another dime in your hands. The ride is over, boo.”

“So this is how you’re gonna do it, Cutty? You’re just gonna leave me and the kids out here with nothing?” Jada was emotional.

“My
kid
is gonna be straight. My mother is petitioning for custody so you should be getting the paperwork any day now.”

“So how am I supposed to get by?” The tears had escaped and were streaking her cheeks.

“Get by on that punk ass twenty thousand you stole, whore. If you need to get ya ones up then here’s a thought for you. Why don’t you stop giving that washed-up pussy away so freely and try selling it?” It was a low blow and they both knew it.

With that statement Jada knew that it was the end of her and Cutty. “That’s some cold-blooded shit, but I should’ve expected as much from a low-life convict like you. But that’s alright, Cutty, you’re gonna rue the day you crossed a bitch like me.”

“Trust me, I already do. Outside of my money and my son we ain’t got shit to talk about. Get my money, Jada.”

“Well, here’s a
thought
for you, Cutty. The night you got fall down drunk and me and J.C. had to carry you home, not only did I fuck
him in your bed while you were laying there sleeping, I sucked his dick and let him cum in my mouth. See you in twenty-five years, ass-pirate!” She ended the call.

Jada had always considered herself one of the coldest young chicks in the streets, but she had always had a tender heart for Cutty . . . a heart that had been stomped into pieces. True, she was guilty of tapping his bank account and skimming a little of what he had coming in, but Jada felt like she was entitled to it. When Cutty got knocked and everyone kept living their lives, Jada put hers on hold to ride with her baby daddy. From risking her freedom by visiting him with a vagina full of heroin, to bleeding other dudes so they could eat, and now he wanted to cast her aside like trash. With having the financial rug pulled from under them a lesser broad would’ve fallen apart, but Jada was a Butler and it would take more than idle threats for a dude doing two decades to break her spirit.

“Fuck it.” Jada pushed the memories from her mind and nestled into her covers to get some long overdue sleep. No sooner did her eyes close than her cell phone rang. Without even looking to see who it was she flipped the phone open, prepared to get her spazz on, but the anger drained away when she heard who was on the other end.

“Oh, shit. What up, cousin, Gucci?”

When Arthur Weis lifted his head from his desk he looked like he had been hit in his face with a ball of flower. His cheeks and nose were a ruddy shade to match his heavily veined eyes. On his cluttered desk there was a hand mirror smeared with cocaine. As he peered down at his chalky reflection in the mirror he didn’t see the successful attorney who had fought his way up the ladder into his own lucrative private practice, he saw the monster his greed had made him.

From the time when he worked as a legal aid in Manhattan Criminal Court, Arthur had made a name for himself as an attorney who would go above and beyond in his pursuit to win a case. Unlike some of his colleagues, Arthur didn’t care to barter with the prosecution for reduced sentences, there was no money in that. Arthur knew to stick for the long bread he had to make a name for himself as a shark and only then would he be able to crawl out of the shitty position he was in. It didn’t take long for Arthur’s name to be circulated among the career criminals he helped beat the system and they all came to Arthur when they got in a jam and needed someone to look the other way.

When he was able to establish his own practice, clients flocked
to him like disciples, and carrying cash in barrels for his services. The lifestyle that his clients led was so enticing to him that he often found himself letting his career and personal life overlap. You could often find Arthur in the back of the club popping bottles with notorious killers and bosses. He quickly became one of the darlings of the underworld and reveled in the adoration he got from some of the ghetto’s most powerful organizations. For as sweet as the life was for him, Arthur was mortal and therefore subject to the larcenies that lurk in the hearts of men.

Arthur got greedy and instead of doing his job he just collected money. Even if Arthur knew he couldn’t win the case he would feed the clients false hope just to get their money and march them to their demises with a straight face. Quite a few of his former clients didn’t take kindly to being railroaded and had promised to settle up with Arthur, but he knew none of them were stupid enough to actually touch a lawyer as high-profiled as Weis. His biggest headaches were coming from the state, thanks to a sour client and some sloppy money laundering. Arthur’s life was slowly becoming a shit storm and he was standing in the middle of it with a broken umbrella.

When Arthur heard his door click open unexpectedly he jumped out of his seat and knocked over his coffee on the brief that had been sitting on his desk. Arthur was so focused on saving what little bit of cocaine he had left that he had the mirror held up in plain sight when his assistant walked in. She was a pretty young brown-skinned girl with bright eyes and a nice shape.

“Jesus, what the hell are you doing just busting in here like that? I told you to cancel my appointments for the day, I don’t wanna see any more clients!” he barked on her. Her mouth opened but no sound came out as fear had made her mute. When Arthur saw the shadows materialize behind her he knew just what her fear was like because it crept into his heart too.

“I’m not a client, I’m the bitch you’ve been fucking for the last
six months.” Don B. walked in, draped in black leather and heavy jewels. He was flanked by several hard-faced men wearing murderous scowls. Don B. was anything but your typical rags to riches story. He had once been a ghetto superstar, handpicked and tutored by the old kings of Harlem, and on the fast track to being the next hood legend. He was a natural hustler, but more importantly he had a sharp mind. Don B. had seen the writing on the wall and knew that he could only bleed the streets for so long before they eventually bled him, so he set his sights on music and started Big Dawg Entertainment and the wheels of fate were set in motion. Seemingly overnight he watched Big Dawg go from a startup company to one of the most successful labels in the music industry. From the hottest upcoming rappers to R&B veterans, Big Dawg had it all. But nothing was without its price, which Don B. would learn over the years. True, Jah, Pain, Lex, the list went on so long that many of them had become little more than nameless faces, but the Don remained and so the show would go on.

“What’s up, Don? I didn’t see you on my calendar for today. Is everything cool?” Arthur asked nervously.

Don B. stepped forward and stared at Arthur from behind his black shades. He ran his finger across the saucer, then over his gums, pausing for a minute to feel the potency. “No, everything ain’t cool, muthafucka. I don’t appreciate being fucked unless you’re a bitch that throws it like a porn star. Are you a porn star, Arthur, because you’ve surely fucked me?”