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Authors: De'nesha Diamond

BOOK: Gangsta Divas
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12
Shariffa
C
RIP RIDDA.
Standing before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I smile at my new tat inked across my lower back. This shit is gonna put a smile on Lynch's face when I'm riding his shit tonight. I tend to get all extra tryna erase my new set's memory that my ass ain't always been flagged for the Grape Street Crips. Five years ago, my ass was the HBIC of the Queen Gs—that is until a Crip nigga by the name of King Loc got my ass in a twist. Next thing I know, I was creeping on my nigga, Python, thinking my ass was too muthafuckin' slick.
But shit done in the dark always comes to light. Python rolled up on King Loc and riddled him with so many bullets his ass had to be identified by dental records. After making my ass watch, Python turned his wrath on me. I only remember the first couple punches before I blacked out. When I woke up, I was laid up in the hospital and sucking on a tube for months.
For a long time, I hated that I even woke up. I was dead to the Gangster Disciples and I knew when I crawled out of the hospital that any member from my old family was going to blast my ass on sight for the disrespect.To add insult to injury, Python wasted no time putting another bitch in his bed and crowning her head bitch.
I know my ass was wrong, but it didn't mean that I didn't love Python. If anything, I loved him too hard. But why was it okay for him to drop seeds all over the place? I was tired of being played. The straw that broke the camel's back was when I learned that Python was still dealing with some cop's daughter who he had feelings for back in high school. His ass was still in love with the bitch and thought my ass didn't know.
Shit. Every bitch gets tired of being played.
I looked for a nigga that was gonna make
me
feel special.
In the end, that shit almost got me killed.
Fuck that ugly muthafucka. Him and them nasty-ass snakes he always had slithering in the bed. That shit was demonic as fuck. The muthafucka could only bust a nut when he was drilling a bitch's ass and choking her out. I didn't need to get that fuckin' close to death in order to bust a nut. Besides, that nigga never loved me—he was still hung up on that bitch-ass cop whose daddy ran the ultimate street gang: the police.
Still, I felt some kind of way when I was replaced so fast.
Python's new bitch has made a rep for herself.Word spread quickly that her ass wasn't the bitch to fuck with. She made a lot of bitches across all sets step up their game. Now it's common knowledge that Queen Gs, Flowers, and Crippettes put in more work than the average foot soldier.
Starting over in a new set wasn't easy. In fact, it was damn near impossible. I lived with the constant threat of sucking on a nigga's 9's. Nobody trusted my ass. I went through some humiliating shit to climb up the ranks. But what else was a bitch gonna do, roll over and die?
Naw. Muthafuckas got me twisted if they thought that shit. I'm a fuckin' survivor.You can drop my ass in the middle of a deserted island and my ass would munch on seafood and coconut milk like a muthafucka.
Shit started looking up for me with the Grape Street Crips when I cliqued up on a bank robbery. My ass rocked a Kel-Tec KSG Shotgun like I birthed that muthafucka. The Fat Albert security guard tried me and I deflated that gut like a flat tire. The score took less than two minutes, but it was a score that changed my rep and my life.
Sure. Every now and then a bitch looks at me sideways, but I always make sure that it's the last time.
Lynch, a chief enforcer, peeked my gangster and liked that I kept my shit tight with my fitness. Bitches always kill me how they let they shit go sometimes.You can go hard, but you ain't gotta look hard. Anyways, Lynch caught my eye, too. Not only is his gangster on point, but he's a cute muthafucka. Six feet, Hershey's-Bar-brown and built like a football quarterback—complete with a tight ass—I couldn't wait to eat his chocolaty ass.
I'm not sayin' my new man ain't got his own fetishes, he does. But it's shit that I can deal with.
Two years after we hooked up, I birthed our twin boys and took his last name: Rodgers.
My ass is official—sky's the limit. I make sure that my nigga knows that there's nothing that I won't do for him. Now, looking back on all the shit I've been through, I have to say I wouldn't change a muthafuckin' thing.
Karma is a bitch.
The Gangster Disciple and Vice Lord drama is playing in the streets and all over the news like a bad hood soap opera. Ain't nobody been able to confirm shit about Python's status, but shit is a hot mess on Shotgun Row. Ain't no telling how those niggas over there are feeding themselves. Things a little different over on Ruby Cove with the Vice Lords—them muthafuckas have too many chiefs and not enough Indians. That don't mean we ain't trying they asses though.We play this shit right and we can rule the whole damn city. I smirk while an image of Python's car flipping off that bridge plays in my head.
Yeah. Karma is a muthafuckin' bitch.
“You like it?” Crunk asks, shutting off the needle and admiring his work.
“Yeah, nigga.You did your thang.” Instead of cash, I pass his ass a care package. “Go ahead and rock it up.You earned that shit.”
Crunk pockets his shit. “Stay skeemin, diva.”
“Watch me push on all they asses.”
He chokes on a couple of staccato chuckles as I look around for my bitch, Trigger.
I spot her ass in the back rubbing her titties on some underage corner boy. Muthfucka is probably skeeting in his pants with her titties in his face. I'm gonna hand it to my girl, bitch is a quarter piece in a jar of dimes. Men loved her Heinz-57 ass. Her Asian momma gave her silky black hair and half-moon eyes and her mulatto daddy gave her his green eyes. Niggas fall into a trance wherever she goes.
“Bitch, you ready?” I ask, glancing down at the time on my smartphone. “We gotta roll out.”
“I'm always ready, bitch,”Trigger says, turning with a smile. “I was getting tired of playing with this nigga anyway.”
Young buck glares at me the second Trigger steps back.
I laugh in his face and then roll out of Crunk's Ink. At seven sharp, we hook up with our girls Shacardi, Brika, and Jaqorya, and gear up. I ain't talking about no regular combat shit. We got our flyest shit on, causing a scene. By the time we get our stroll on, laughing and acting silly, every nigga we pass on Orange Mound try to push up on us. We flirt with a couple, but keep it moving. When our target is in sight, we slow down, making sure the lookout boys get an eyeful.
“Yo, shawty. Let me holler at you,” says this lanky-ass nigga with dreads hanging to the center of his back, flashing his yellow teeth.
We look around, tryna figure out who the hell he's talking to.
“You, China doll,” he says, pointing to Trigger. “What yo name is?”
Trigger puts on her shy act and creeps on up to the duplex to hear his game. But the second she pushes her titties up on him, muthafucka also gets a .45 pressed against his temple. “The name is Trigger, Rasta—as in I have an itchy one. Now make the wrong fuckin' move.”
Rasta freezes up as me and the girls rush up the stairs. We pull hardware out from our titties and panties and force the dude out front to be a human shield.
“Open the door,” I hiss.
“A'ight. Chill,” he says in a squeaky-ass voice.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, grinding my .357 in his back. He gets the point and opens the door of the VL trap house. Quiet as a mouse we creep through the door. Ain't shit on the first floor—no furniture, no TV—nothing. The only option is to head up the staircase. Shacardi and Jaqorya hang back and hug the front door. Trigger and I force our hostage to another door on the top floor.
“Open it,” I order, feeling a surge of adrenaline.
“Y'all bitches don't want to do this,” he argues back.
“Fuck this,” Trigger says, then blasts the lock and kicks the door down.
We shove Rasta through first.
He screams as his boys on the other side blast his ass full of holes. We break out Charlie's Angels-style from behind our human shield, picking these niggas off left and right.
We keep our shit tight and in less than three seconds we got seven dead niggas at our feet, a table stacked with money, bricks, and weapons.
Ka-ching!
“Move it! Move it! Move it,” I shout. We take another thirty seconds to grab as much shit as we can and then run our asses back out of the door. As we race downstairs, the back door bursts open.
Shacardi and Jaqorya start blasting holding back those black and gold niggas. The five naked bitches are lying face down on the floor, screaming and shit as the place turns into a complete war zone. We get to the front door, only for more bullets to whiz by our heads. In the distance, wheels squeal and the beautiful sound of Brika's TEC-9, mowing niggas down, fills the air as she jets her Denali to our rescue.
Heels be damned, we get our G.I. Jane on, taking niggas out like a fuckin' video game. In a blink of an eye, we all jump in with our stash and then peel off the block, laughing our asses off.
“C'Z UP, NIGGAS!”
Three trap houses in three days—this shit is like taking candy from a baby.
13
Lucifer
P
ropped up in my bed looking half-mummified for two weeks, I can't stop myself from watching the YouTube news clip of Dougie and Python crashing on the old Memphis-Arkansas Bridge. The force with which the SUV hits what has to be the gas line of the Monte Carlo takes my breath away each and every time because I know Mason was in there and was probably burned to a crisp by the time the car hit the Mississippi River below.
Oh God, Mason.
When I'm not playing this clip, I'm playing the clip of the city's search-and-rescue team extracting the vehicles out of the river. So far, they've only recovered Dougie's body, halfway to Louisiana. Any day, they'll find Mason.
Any day.
“That can't be healthy.”
Startled, I jerk my head up to see Cousin Skeet, our resident dirty police captain, standing in my doorway out of uniform. “What are you doing here?”
“What the hell do you think? You guys got a little carried away and turned the whole fuckin' city into a damn war zone.”
“Don't play stupid.You know how we get down.You supplied the fuckin' weapons.”
“I always supply the weapons, but I didn't expect y'all to get sloppy. I got the whole fuckin' city breathing down my neck.The body count is so high Homeland Security is looking at us sideways.”
“You got your grandson back.”
“Yeah.That's the one good thing you guys got right.” Skeet sucks in a deep breath. “Thank you.”
I would say he was welcome, but since I lost Mason, I didn't think it was a fair exchange.
“So. How are you holding up?”
I frown.
Are we supposed to be friends now?
“How does it look like I'm holding up?”
Skeet's gaze sweeps over the cast on both my arm and leg. “It looks like all the king's horses and all the king's men put you back together again.”
I smile without having meant to.
“As for . . . Mason,” he clears his throat. “I'm sorry for your loss.”
My heart clenches like a mild heart attack. “Thanks.” I study him to see if there's any trace of him grieving for the son he never claimed or knew was his. In the end, I couldn't tell. “I'm sorry for your loss as well.”
He looks confused. “Melanie,” I say. “I never gave you my condolence for the loss of your daughter.”
He nods. “Thanks.”
We fall silent for a few awkward seconds before he remembers some more news. “By the way, LeShelle Murphy is laid up in the hospital.”
“I heard.”
Skeet chuckles. “Apparently, her younger sister snapped out of her psychosis out at the mental hospital and damn near stabbed her to death with a pair of sewing needles. She's listed in critical condition at Baptist Memorial.”
“I'll send—”
“No. No. No.” Skeet shakes his head.
“I wasn't asking for permission,” I tell him.
“Hands off. I can't have or afford for you guys to go shooting up the hospital again. And as much as I want to strangle the bitch myself for what she's put Christopher through, she's going through the system. That's
if
she survives.”
“You gotta be shitting me.What the hell am I supposed to tell Profit?”
“I don't care what you tell him. Keep his ass out of that fuckin' hospital. I gotta start closing cases before my new boss tosses words like ‘early retirement' around. Matter-of-fact, I'd appreciate it if the Vice Lords eased up on the body count for the rest of the year.”
I laugh. “We're in the middle of two wars and you want me to call a cease-fire?”
That's the last thing my soldiers wanna hear from their first female chief.
“Look. It is what it is. I'm cutting you off on any more weapons until the first of the year. If you gotta eighty-six somebody, please do me the courtesy of dropping the body over the state line.”
“Oh. You're cutting
me
off?”
Muthafuckas are already testing me.
“Shit, Willow. Don't take it personally. It's just for a couple of months.”
Pissed, I glare at him until he starts backpedaling out of my room.
“I'm glad that we are able to come to an understanding.” Skeet winks at me. “I'll see my way out.”
“You do that.” It takes everything I have not to throw something. A few minutes later, I hear my mother giggling downstairs. No doubt he's turned on the charm. I swear I don't know what the fuck she's see in that man. A few minutes later, I hear Bishop coming into the house.
Round two.
I get less than a minute to prepare myself before Bishop fills my doorway. “Got your summons,” he starts in on my bad side. “What's up?”
“C'mon in. Sit down.” I gesture to the foot of my bed.
He hesitates and then finally drifts inside.
“I wanted to give you a heads-up that I'm gonna call a meeting with our high-ranking members sometime next week. I'm going to lay out some new plans and directions for our set going forward.”
Bishop's brows clash in the center of his forehead.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs and does a slow drag over my two casts. “Just . . . do you really think that you're up for something like that?”
“What do you mean? We have chairs, I've certainly mastered the art of sitting on my ass these past couple of weeks.”
“I know. It's just . . . nobody's going to blame you if you take a little more time for yourself. I mean, I can handle things until you're back on your feet.” He reaches over and squeezes the knee on my good leg. “You should be focusing on getting better.”
The used car salesman's smile creeps me out. “I appreciate the offer, but I'm fine.”
“C'mon, Willow. You're pushing yourself too hard. Clearly, you're still having a hard time dealing with . . .” He glances at the laptop. “. . . Mason's passing. You're not eating. You're not sleeping. I didn't want to say this, but you look like hell.”
“Yeah. It looks like you were struggling to tell me that.”
“I'm going through it, too. You know how much Mason meant to me. He was like the brother I never had.”
That part of his story is true. “I know.”
“Then let me do this for you. I want to.”
“You mean that you want to take over permanently,” I correct him.
“Sure. I mean,…uhm….”
Unable to hold it in any longer, I laugh. “Juvon, who in the hell do you think you're fooling?”
“What?”
“This whole concerned bullshit.You can't possibly believe that I'm falling for it.”
“What?” He stands up from the bed. “You think I'm faking this?”
“I don't think, I
know.
You might want to get those wheels in your head greased because I can hear them turning a mile away. I'm not even in the mood to pretend that I don't know what you're up to.”
Bishop's face performs all kinds of acrobatics while he tries to think of something to say. “I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.”
“You don't know what I'm talking about?” I'm heated.
“No,” he says, stubbornly sticking to his lie.
“All right then. When were you going to tell me that you've already called a meeting with the leaders for
tomorrow?
”
Blood drains from his face while it does that whole acrobatic shit again.
“See.You're showing me all kinds of disrespect right now. You know that, don't you? If you were
any
other nigga I'd be going upside your head.”
Our gazes crash.
I decide to give him one more warning. “Don't come at me sideways.”
Bishop rolls his eyes and backs up just in case I go for the cane next to my bed and carry out my threat. “A'ight. So I called a meeting—but it wasn't because I was tryna sneak behind your back. I was tryna to help—like you always did for Mason. Didn't you always have his back? Didn't you step in whenever he was locked down or laid up? I don't remember you always asking for permission to step in or step up. What's the problem?”
“The problem is people are already whispering about you plotting to come at me for the throne. Seems some disloyal and gossiping soldiers are swoll about having a woman running the game. Now here you come cock-blocking—again. What the hell am I supposed to think?”
“That's not what's up,” he insists, looking guilty as hell. “Besides, since when do you listen to gossip?”
“Every time my name comes up.”
“Fine. You see it how you see it. I didn't come here to argue with you.”
“That's because you don't have an argument. I told you once, now I'm going to tell you again. Fall back and play your position. If I have to tell you a third time, it's gonna be a fuckin' problem.”
Bishop clearly got something to say so I wait for his ass to say it, but then he punks out. “Anything else?”
“I canceled your meeting,” I tell him.
He grinds his teeth together. “Anything else?”
“Nope.We're good.”
He nods and then storms out of the room.
This is not going to be the end of this.

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