CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Muhf*cka dicked ova a lotta hoes…turned ’em out…then dismissed…gotta nutty-bitch pissed…’bout all da shit she took… horny ho couldn’t let go…now da nigga stretched out…wit’ bullets in da chest…nigga breathin’ done stopped…shoulda gave me da info…crazy ho coulda been dropped…coulda been next on da list…now look…
“Ma’am, can you give me a description of the shooter?” the detective—a medium built brown-skinned man wit’ big brown eyes and a thick nose—asked, flippin’ open a pad, then pullin’ his pen outta the pocket of his white button-up. I notice he has a coffee stain splashed up on the right side. He looks at me, waitin’ for me to respond. I think, try to remember what the f*ck the bitch looks like.
“Yeah,” I say, glancin’ down and noticin’ there’s blood on my muthaf*ckin’ white Louis sneaks. I’m too through. “Give me a minute to refresh my memory.” I close my eyes and think back to the day at the salon when the ho stepped to me.
“Take your time,” he says, holdin’ his pen in his hand, pressin’ its tip to the paper.
Once her face comes to me, I say, “She’s a crazy-ass, Spanish-lookin’ bitch wit’ brown hair and brown eyes. She’s ’bout five-seven, and a buck-thirty.”
“Okay. Did you actually see her shoot him?”
I frown. “I saw someone in all black standin’ in my driveway pointin’ a gun. No, I didn’t actually see da bitch pull da trigga. But, trust me. I heard it. I seen ’im drop. And I know she did it. Alex has a restrainin’ order on ’er. And da bitch was stalkin’ ’im. That’s enough for me to know it was ’er.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Yeah, ’er name is Ramona and she—” I stop myself, rememberin’ I took the nigga’s phone to call his fam. Good thing I had the passcode to his phone; otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to contact ’em. I pull the phone outta my bag, then press in the passcode to retrieve his messages. “Here, you listen to these messages and you tell me if you think da bitch did it.” I put the phone on speaker and let him listen to ’em. He writes on his notepad, then asks if he can have the phone for evidence. I tell the muhf*cka no. Tell ’im that he can get it from Allstar’s attorney. I don’t know if the nigga has one or not, but that’s what I tell ’im.
“Okay, then. Do you have a number where I can reach you in case I have any more questions?” I give ’im my digits, then warn ’im to hurry up and get that bitch off the streets before I do. He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Ma’am, I ask that you not take matters into your own hands. We’ll find whoever did this.”
I raise my brow. “Be clear. There’s a nutty bitch still out there somewhere wit’ a gun. And ’er name is Ramona sumthin’. She’s already come up on my property twice. And you heard those messages she left on his phone and da one ’bout what she was gonna do to me. So, if you think I’ma sit ’round and wait for da po-po to track ’er ass down, you done banged ya head. So as far as I’m concerned, the bitch should be considered armed and dangerous, so work it out. Get that bitch off da streets. Or I will.”
I spin-off on his ass. Stoopid muhf*cka talkin’ that dumb shit. I see Allstar’s moms walkin’ toward us wit’ a tall, buffed, bowlegged older version of Allstar. I know right off the bat it’s his pops. Mygaawd, that old-head is fiiine.
I speak. “Hi, Missus Maples.”
“Hello, baby,” she says, walkin’ up to me and givin’ me a hug. “Good to see you again. Thanks for callin’ me.” She points to Allstar’s twin. “Raynard, this is Alex’s friend, Katrina. The young lady I was telling you about. Katrina, this is Alex’s father.”
I smile at ’im. “Hi, Sir, it’s nice to meet you.”
He smiles back at me. “Ohhh, so you’re the young woman my son keeps talkin’ about.” He looks me up and down. Oh no this nasty muhf*cka ain’t tryna get his eye-rovin’ on. “He wasn’t lying when he said you were a beauty, and sexy, too. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Thanks,” I say, shiftin’ my weight from one foot to the otha. While Alex’s moms is talkin’ to the detective, I tell his father that he had to be rushed into surgery to try ’n stop the bleedin’. Tell ’im he was shot twice in the chest and once in the stomach. Tell ’im one of the bullets barely missed his heart.
“What’d he have to say?” Mr. Maples asks, pointin’ ova to the detective when she walks back ova to us.
“He said they’re gonna do everything they can to find that bitch. That they are puttin’ out an all-points bulletin on her crazy ass.”
I smirk, hearin’ ’er talk my kinda talk.
“Did you tell him about the restraining order?” Mr. Maples asks.
“Of course I did. But he already knew about it.” I tell ’er I told him ’bout it. She takes a deep breath, shakes ’er head, then starts spazzin’. “I knew some shit like this was gonna happen,” she says, wipin’ tears. “I knew one day I would be gettin’ this call. He’s so f*ckin’ hard-headed. I told his ass time and time again that him and that fat, black dick of his was gonna get his sex-crazed ass in some deep shit. I told his ass he can’t keep f*ckin’ over these women and not expect one of them to snap.”
“Alice, not now,” Mr. Maples says, pullin’ ’er into his arms. “No need in goin’ off about something that has already happened. We need to concentrate on what’s going on right now. The most important thing is that he makes it through this.”
Ohmiiif*ckin’gaawd! I can’t believe this shit. I knew I shoulda neva f*cked wit’ this nigga. Got me sittin’ up in this muhf*cka wit’ blood all ova my f*ckin’ shirt and sneaks. I take a seat in one’a the chairs. I’m f*ckin’ drained. I overhear Mister Maples tell his wife that he was goin’ to try and find out what was goin’ on. Alex’s moms watches ’im walk off, then sits next to me. She grabs my hand and tells me how sorry she is that I had to see ’er son get shot. Tells me how he was tryna change his life; how he dismissed all of his hoes. Tells me how much the nigga cares ’bout me.
“I told him to tell you what was going on with that damn girl. But he’s just like his father, stubborn and thick-headed. I didn’t like that tramp from the moment she tried pinning a baby on him. I knew her ass was trouble.” She pauses, takes a deep breath. “He is my only child. And I know he has a lot of shit with him, but I tell you this…” She looks me dead in the eyes. “I will beat… that bitch’s…ass if he dies. I promise you that.”
I squeeze ’er hand, smilin’. Ohhhhkay, Momma, let’s get it crunked, Boo! “Mmmph. Well, stand in line, ma’am, ’cause I gotta asswhoopin’ wit’ ’er name on it, too.”
Alex’s pops comes back and tells us that he’s still in surgery. I watch as he nervously paces the floor. “Ray, won’t you come and have a seat,” Ms. Maples says.
“I’m fine,” he says, holdin’ his head in his hands.
She gets up and grabs his hand, pullin’ him ova to a chair next to ’er. “Sit,” she says, slippin’ ’er fingas through his. I can’t help but smile. If Allstar hadn’t told me that they were divorced, I woulda neva believed it.
Sittin’ here in this waitin’ room has me thinkin’ ’bout Zaire bein’ up in the hospital by himself. It has me thinkin’ that this—sittin’ here wit’ Alex’s fam, isn’t where I’m ’posed to be. I get up. Tell ’em I’m leavin’.
“Sweetheart, you sure?” his moms asks. I tell ’er I am more sure than eva. She tells me she knows Alex would want to see me when he comes outta surgery. I tell ’er I’m really not interested. Tell ’er that tonight’s episode was a bit too extra for me. And I’m exhausted and disgusted by it. She gets up and gives me a hug. “I understand.”
I decide to give it to ’er real like a real bitch should. “Missus Maples, no disrespect, but ya son got a buncha shit wit’ ’im. And I ain’t beat for that. This shit wit’ that chick is it for me. I didn’t sign up for this kinda craziness. And I ain’t tryna stick ’round to wait for anotha nutty-ass ho to come from outta da woodwork. I’m done.”
“I understand, trust me.” Mr. Maples watches and listens to us talk, but keeps his mouth shut. “Well, I’ma tell you this, and you do what you want wit’ it. My son has never expressed any kinda interest in a woman as he has with you. And the fact that he isn’t rippin’ and runnin’ the streets like he used to says a lot.” She looks ova at his pops. “Doesn’t it, Ray?”
“Yeah,” he says, tryna act like he isn’t ear-hustlin’. He chuckles. “You got that boy’s nose wide open. I never thought I’d see it happen.”
“You gotta do what feels right for you,” she says, givin’ me anotha hug. “But I’d really like to see the two of you together. I think you’re the kinda woman he needs in his life. So I hope you’ll give ’im another chance.”
I smile. “I can’t make you any promises.” I give ’er my cell number, and tell ’er to call me when he gets outta surgery. Then I reach into my bag and hand ’er his cell phone. I look ova at his pops. Tell ’im it was nice meetin’ ’im, then dip.
TWO DAYS LATER, I’M BACK UP AT THE HOSPITAL TO SEE ALLSTAR. His moms had called to tell me that he made it through surgery and was lucky to be alive. She said he was in and outta consciousness. I could tell she was cryin’. I felt ’er pain. The whole time she was talkin’, I kept thinkin’ that that coulda been me sprawled out on the ground, leakin’. I kept seein’ Zaire’s cute lil’ face and the shit f*cked my nerves. If I didn’t know before, a bitch knows now. I’m muthaf*ckin’ done! I’m outta this muhf*cka. As soon as my court hearin’ next week is ova wit’ and Zaire is finally able to come home, I’m sellin’ my house and gettin’ the f*ck outta Jersey, and far the hell away from New York. I gotta.
I walk in Allstar’s room. He’s lyin’ up in bed wit’ tubes through his nose and there’s a heart monitor beepin’. I hate hospitals. His upper body is bandaged. And he has a bandage ’round his head. Apparently when the bitch dropped ’im, he had hit his head and suffered a concussion.
I walk up on ’im. His eyes are closed. I stare at ’im. He looks all f*cked up. Damn, muhf*cka, I really dig ya ass. And I dig da dick even better. But good dick attached to a muhf*cka wit’ a buncha damn drama ain’t good for a bitch like me. And it damn sure ain’t good for a nigga like you.
Me poppin’ this nigga’s top flashes in my head. I blink. The last thing I should be thinkin’ ’bout is what if I was the bitch who got nutty for the dick. Unlike that Ramona bitch, when I drop a nigga, it’s final.
Speakin’ of that dumb-ass ho, they found ’er ass late last night in some project buildin’ down in Camden—a part’a south Jersey where e’ry day muhf*ckas get it poppin’ wit’ the gun work like its Fourth of July. Stupid bitch got slapped wit’ a buncha charges. Violation of a restrainin’ order, attempted murder, possession of a weapon, and two othas I can’t remember. All I know is the bitch is lucky they got at ’er before I did.
I reach ova and stroke the side’a his face. He slowly opens his eyes, blinks a few times, then smiles. “Hey,” he whispers. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He scrunches his face up in pain. “Aaah, this shit hurts.” I tell ’im to try not to talk. He bites down on his bottom lip. “She really tried to do me in. Did they find ’er ass, yet?”
I nod. “Yeah, last night.”
“Good. Uhh, shit.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe this shit. That bitch really shot me.” Believe it, nigga. Ya stupid ass had no muthaf*ckin’ business entertainin’ ’er ass.
I lean in his ear. “Nigga, I feel like punchin’ you in ya muthaf*ckin’ chest for bein’ so damn stupid.”
“I know. I f*cked up, baby.”
I sigh. “I’m not ya ‘baby’.”
“Uhh…whatever, yo. Can’t you see I’m in pain? I’m not tryna hear that right now.”
“Mmmph. Well, hear this then: If you’re head wasn’t wrapped, I would slap da f*ckin’ shit outta you.”
He tries to laugh. “Aaah, oh f*ck…Don’t make me laugh.”
“I ain’t laughin’.”
For some reason, this old-school joint starts playin’ in my head. I feel like hummin’ it. He musta read my mind when he says his moms used always tell ’im it’s a thin line between love and hate. I smile. “Why you smilin’?”
“I was standin’ here thinkin’ the same thing. Actually I was hummin’ da song in my head.”
He grins. “Damn, you so f*ckin’ sexy.”
I shift my bag from one hand to the other. “Listen, you should rest,” I tell ’im, ignorin’ the comment.
He reaches for my hand. “I’m so sorry for bringin’ that shit to you, baby.”
I take a deep breath. “Listen, I’m just glad they got da bitch off da streets. And that you’re okay. Hopefully, it’ll be a lesson, a warnin’, to be very careful who you f*ck wit’ and how you f*ck wit’ ’em.”
He nods. “You’re right. This shit right here is definitely a wakeup call. I’m done. The first chance I get, I’m gettin’ da f*ck outta Jersey.”
Muhf*cka, whereva you go, you takin’ you wit’ you, so if ya mind ain’t right, nigga, you ain’t gonna be right. And all you gonna get is da same bullshit. I keep my thoughts to myself. Keepin’ shit real, I know the shit applies to me as well. I don’t tell ’im I’m bouncin’, too. Still don’t mention anythin’ ’bout the baby. Shit, it’s really none’a his business.
I glance at my watch, thinkin’ ’bout Zaire. I need to get up to da hospital. I don’t like ’im bein’ up there too long wit’out someone up there wit’ ’im at all times. Chanel is there for me when I’m not, like now. Still…that’s where I’m ’posed to be. Not standin’ here f*ckin’ wit’ this nigga. “Look, I gotta go. You take care of ya’self. I’m glad you’re okay.”
He stares at me. “Damn, you say that like I’m not gonna see you again.”
I lean ova and kiss the nigga’s soft-ass lips, then look ’im in the eyes. “You’re not,” I say. He looks sad. When he tries to speak, I kiss ’im, again one last time, slippin’ my tongue in his mouth, then walkin’ out wit’ ’im callin’ for me to come back so we can talk. There ain’t shit else to say. A bitch gotta know when to keep it cute, and dip on a muhf*cka.
WHEN I FINALLY GET TO BROOKLYN, PARK MY WHIP, THEN MAKE my way up to the nursery, it’s almost one o’clock. Chanel is holdin’ and feedin’ ’im. And I can’t front. A bitch is feelin’ some kinda way ’bout it. I’m da one who should be feedin’ ’im. Yes, a bitch’s jealous! It’s a feelin’ I ain’t used to. But I keep it real cute, and toss my lips up into a smile.
“Hey,” she says, smilin’ back at me. “He is sooooo cute, Kat. Ohmigod, he’s gonna be a real problem.”
I nod knowin’ly. “Yup.” I go wash my hands, then come back into the room. She hands ’im to me. “Heeeey, snookems,” I say, surprised at how much joy this lil’ boy brings. “I can’t wait for you to get da fu—” I catch myself before I let the f*ck word slip outta my mouth—“heck outta here.”
Chanel is starin’ at me, smilin’. “Awww, look at you bein’ all fuzzy ’n pink, boo. I neva thought I see da day ya evil ass—”
I cut ’er off, suckin’ my teeth. “Ugh, watch ya mouth, ho.”
“Girrrl, this not cussin’ shi…uh, mess is gonna be a real struggle for me.”
“Puhleeze, tell me ’bout it.”
“How’s Allstar doin?” I tell ’er he’s aiight. “Did you tell ’im you wasn’t rockin’ wit’ ’im no more?”
I nod. “Not in so many words. But I think he knows.” She shakes ’er head. “What?”
She twists ’er lips. “Nuthin’. When’s he gonna get outta da hospital?” I tell ’er he’ll be there for at least anotha week or so from what his moms told me. “Oh, okay.” She pauses. Tells me she’s gonna come to Jersey tomorrow and stay the night.
I roll my eyes. “What Divine do now?”
She laughs. “He ain’t do nuthin’. He’s actin’ like he got some sense this week.”
“Whateva, trick. You da one wit’out any sense.”
She keeps laughin’. “Oh, and you should talk. There’s a muh—” I shoot ’er a look—“a man layin’ up in a hospital room who you know you diggin’ and who you know is diggin’ you. And you dump ’im. What kinda sense is that?”
“It’s common sense, ho. Sumthin’ you obviously don’t have.”
The white nurse on duty catches my eye. She smiles and gives me a slight nod of the head as if she knows exactly what the hell I’m talkin’ ’bout. We sit up at the hospital for a few hours wit’ Zaire ’til Chanel decides to bounce. I tell ’er I’ma check for ’er in the mornin’. She already know what it is. A bitch ain’t goin’ no damn where tonight.