Hustlin' Divas (18 page)

The crowd whoops and hollers, and it looks like at any moment Profit is going to go down…but he doesn't. He takes punch after punch, but his legs refuse to fold. Tears stream down my face. How long does this have to go on? As more punches fly, there's a shift in the energy. There's clear, growing respect for the punishment Profit can endure.

At long last, Fat Ace finally ends the fight. I race over to my baby and wrap him in my arms. “You're so stupid. I can't believe you did that. You're so stupid.” The whole time I'm saying this, I'm raining kisses all over his face, grateful that his ass is still breathing after that vicious beating.

Profit chuckles while his eyes swell shut. His lips, too, are busted to hell and back. “All I want to know is, do you still love me?”

I laugh as I smother his face with more kisses. “Of course I love you. You stupid, stupid boy.”

“F
uck Python.” I disconnect the call on my cell phone and then throw the damn thing against my bedroom wall. I can never get that nigga on the phone when I need him. His visits have gone back to being too few and far between, which means that he's added another bitch to the dick Rolodex. Why the fuck do I keep doing this to myself?

Just remembering all that bullshit about him loving me and making me his wife has me feeling ashamed and stupid—again. I must have Boo-Boo the Fool stamped on my forehead. There's no other explanation. Terrell Carver is never going to change.

Things at the department have eased up a bit. No red flags have been raised over O'Malley's murder. But every once in a while, I catch my dad making a point to see me, but he never really has anything to say. It's odd and making me paranoid.

O'Malley received a hero's funeral, and I was assigned to desk duty until Internal Affairs was satisfied with my four visits to the department's shrink. Now that that stint is over, I'm back on patrol but currently without a partner.

“Mommy, am I still going to Grandma's house?”

Struggling to rein in my temper, I cut a hard look over to the door to see Python's mini-me staring wide-eyed back at me. It hurts to admit it, but I hate the fact that Christopher looks so much like his father. It's nothing but a constant reminder of the man who continues to fuck me over at every possible chance he gets. “Yeah. Hurry up and go get dressed,” I snap.

Christopher lingers at the door. Undoubtedly he senses I'm angry about something, but he's too afraid to ask me about it because he doesn't want to get his head taken off. However, when he doesn't move, I explode anyway.

“I SAID GO GET DRESSED!”

Christopher races from the door.

Instantly I'm ashamed. “Fuck,” I mumble under my breath. I don't chase after him to apologize, mainly because my temper needs a cooling-off period. Yet, it's hard to cool off when I still feel like a fool for falling for the same lies time after time.

Suddenly my stomach lurches. I slap a hand across my mouth and race to the adjoining bathroom. The moment I remove it, my breakfast splashes across, around, and then finally into the toilet. My face is hot while my stomach muscles clench as tight as a Charlie horse while it empties every little morsel it can find. Even after that, I dry heave until I'm begging God to end the torture.

When it is finally over, I pull myself up off the floor, stagger over to the sink, and splash cold water onto my face.
This can't be happening. This can't be happening.
I shut off the water and then pat my face dry before glancing at my reflection in the mirror.

“You dumb
bitch
.” The tears come next, pouring from my eyes as if some invisible dam broke. I try to stop but then just give up and allow myself this one weak moment. Twenty minutes later, I end my pity party and clean up before rushing to finish getting dressed.

A few minutes after that, I go to check on Christopher, and I can't help but smile at seeing him all dressed up in his church clothes. Despite being just seven years old, Christopher is a meticulous dresser. His small black shoes shine, his suit is pressed, and his clip-on tie is straight.

“Now, aren't you handsome?” I ask, swiping away a tear.

Christopher smiles and turns away from the mirror, but the moment his small eyes sweep up to my face, he blinks. “Have you been crying, Mommy?”

I'm on the verge of lying when I feel one last tear slide down from my wet lashes. “Just a little bit.”

My sensitive son rushes over and takes my hand. “What's wrong?”

Guilt washes over me. Just a while ago I was hating how much my son looks like his father, and now I realize that I don't deserve to have such a sweet and loving kid. “Nothing's wrong, baby. Mommy is all right.” I lean down and press a kiss against one of his chubby cheeks.

Christopher looks as if he doesn't believe me.

“Are you about ready to go?” I ask, ready to change the subject.

He nods and then takes my hand.

I smile and rush us both out to the car. One glance at the car's clock and I know that my mother is likely throwing a fit, because she's now going to be late for church—something she hates. My days of attending church ended the Sunday after I moved out of my parents' house for good. I never forgave the whole congregation for turning up their noses at me and my family when I got pregnant. Many of them had the teenage pregnancies, the drug addicts, and a host of other bullshit up in their own families, yet they sat up on their high horses and were just as giddy as flies in shit casting judgment on me. That is also part of the reason I never admitted to who Christopher's father was—it would have made things worse, especially with my father.

If only I knew then what I know now.

By the time I roll up into my parents' driveway, they are waiting outside and pacing next to the car. To spare myself a good tongue-lashing, I stay in the car. “Give me a kiss,” I tell my son.

Christopher unbuckles his seat belt and leans over the armrest and kisses me.

“Be good,” I warn, watching him turn and climb out of the SUV. I wave to him and then to my parents. True to form, my mother just rolls her eyes and then ushers Christopher into the car. A few minutes later, I pull up into the Pink Monkey. There are just a couple of cars in the parking lot. I didn't intend to come here, but what can I say? A part of me is still a glutton for punishment.

“Well, I'll be damned.”

I turn toward a grinning McGriff. “Now, why aren't I surprised to see you here?” I ask, returning his smile.

“Because some things never change,” he says. “I'm guessing you're looking for the big man?”

“Is he around?”

McGriff's lazy gaze drifts over my curvy figure. “Remind me why we never got together?”

I roll my eyes.

“Nah. Check it,” he says, moving into my personal space. “Other than that pig's badge you be toting, you still got it going on.”

“Uh-huh. Better not let your
boy
hear you talking to me like that.”

“Please.” McGriff laughs while his eyes roam freely over my tight curves. “That nigga got too many bitches as it is now. He needs to start spreading the love. NahwhatImean?”

I clench my jaw and ball my hands at my side. “Where is he?”

McGriff's eyes light up. He knows he's struck a nerve with me. “In his office. I'm sure that he'll be happy to see you.”

“Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.”

He steps aside and allows me to walk toward the back of the club. Sad to say, I know my way around.

Storming past McGriff, I take a deep breath. And as I approach Python's office, I'm still not sure whether I'm about to cuss Python out or just drop the news on him and keep it moving. However, the decision is taken out of my hands when I open the door and see Python ramming his dick into a woman on her knees and clutching at a belt that's wrapped tight around her neck.

“TAKE THIS DICK. TAKE THIS DICK, BITCH!”

The blond-haired black ho's eyes are rolling to the back of her head, and she's getting ready to pass out.

Python is so wrapped up in what he's doing, he either doesn't see me come in or he just doesn't give a rat's ass.

“AH, SHIT. I'm gonna come in this ass,” he brags. “THIS MY ASS, BITCH. YOU HEAR ME? THIS MY ASS FROM NOW ON!”

The woman chokes and gurgles while one of Python's beloved corn snakes slides up between her full breasts.

Python roars and pulls out; his thick, gooey cum shoots out against the woman's round ass, back, and even in her hair. When he releases his tight hold on the belt, his plaything collapses, wheezing and gasping for air.

“What the fuck, McGriff? Are you taking notes?” Python pants and then turns toward the door. “Melanie…”

“Yeah. I'm taking a lot of notes, muthafucka!” I reach over and grab some heavy metal statue of some kind and hurl it straight at his head. The muthafucka ducks and the damn thing takes a chuck out of his desk. After that, I just turn and storm out.

“WAIT! MELANIE!”

I take off because at any minute I'm going to start crying again, and I can't have that shit. Not here. Not now.

“MELANIE!”

McGriff folds his arms as he watches me race by. “Make sure to come back and visit us again,
Officer.”

I hop into my vehicle and tear out of the parking lot without a backward glance. Two blocks later, the dam breaks again. Tears flood my eyes and make it impossible for me to see straight. “Fuck that muthafucka.” I slap my hand against the steering wheel. “FUCK HIM! FUCK HIM! FUCK HIM!”

Up ahead, I see a Walgreens and I suddenly know what I have to do. I whip into the convenience store and buy another prepaid cell phone. Back in the car, I dial and then punch in my code. After that, I wait.

Two minutes later, the phone rings.

“Hey, it's me. I need to see you.” I sniff.

“Is there a problem?” the rough, gravelly voice asks on the other line.

“I need to see you.”

There's a long pause and I find myself compelled to add, “Please?”

“All right. You know the spot, right?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Can I come over now?”

“Sure. I'll let the boys know my girl is rolling through.”

“Thanks.” I disconnect the call and start the car again. This time I drive in the opposite direction, toward Elvis Presley Boulevard. Ten minutes later, I pull into J. D. Lewis & Son Funeral Home. The parking lot is crowded with mourners for a late-morning service.

I remove my gun and place it in the glove compartment before climbing out of the vehicle. I keep my head down as I shoulder my way into the lobby and then work my way toward the back of the building.

“This must really be important.”

I look up to see a familiar person dressed immaculately in a man's black suit, black tie, and polished shoes. The only odd thing about it is this person is clearly a woman.

“You clean up well,” I say just for shits and giggles.

She cocks one corner of her lips while her onyx gaze remains flat. “Follow me.” She turns and pushes through an exit door just as “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” cues up in the parlor.

I fall in line behind her and follow her through the funeral's prep room, past Sub-Zero freezers, out another door to the garage, and then finally to an adjoining office.

“Hold out your hands,” she orders.

“What? You're going to pat me down?” I challenge.

“It's part of my job.”

I start to argue but know that it won't do any good. “Fine.” I hold out my arms.

She smiles and proceeds to give me a pat down—it was a little too thorough. “Was it as good for you?” I ask when she's finished.

“Don't flatter yourself.”

I shake my head and walk through the door.

“Mel, baby!” Fat Ace's deep baritone booms as one milky eye and one brown eye lands on me. He stands from a desk stacked high with bricks of cocaine and money. “Good to see you.”

Fuck Python.

F
or the past half hour, I've been standing in front of my bathroom mirror, unable to pull my gaze from the bruises around my neck. They're nasty-looking: black, blue, red, and even yellow. I've stopped touching them, and I'm trying my best not to take any deep breaths. The rest of my body feels like it's going through trauma as well—my tits from Python's biting, my legs from being pulled in every direction, and my ass from being busted wide open. Python is a fuckin' beast…and all those damn snakes?

I shudder and then try to force that shit to the back of my mind. But it won't stay back there. It keeps flashing to that panic attack I had when Python first looped that leather belt around my neck and the dozen or so times when I thought I was seconds from dying. But I'd be lying to myself if I didn't acknowledge that there was
some
pleasure as well.

Still, is any of this shit worth it?

I lift my gaze to meet my stare in the mirror. Shit. I look like I've been run over by a Mack truck. Quickly, I rake my hands through my hair so it can lie flat, but just as quickly I give up. While I'm plotting and trying to make moves, clearly there's another bitch in the picture who hasn't been on my radar. But seeing how fast Python moved when she walked in on us means that heifer is somebody to Python. She wasn't no jump-off, that's for sure. But who is she—and does LeShelle even know about her?

My cell phone on the bathroom counter starts ringing, and I glance down to see Baby's picture and number pop up on the screen. This bitch got a lot of nerve calling after I ain't seen her ass since she left me stranded in the fuckin' parking lot. I should let the shit go to voice mail, but my curiosity gets the best of me and I snatch the shit up.

“Yeah?”

“What the hell kind of way is that to answer the phone?” Baby asks.

“It's my muthafuckin' phone, ain't it? I'll answer it how I want to answer it. Now what the fuck do you want?”

“Damn, girl. What's with you? You on the rag or something?”

“Oh, so you wanna play stupid. Is that it?”

There's a brief pause while I listen to Baby draw in a deep breath.

“Yeah. That's right. You were wrong and you know you were wrong. What the fuck were you doing wildin' out at my job, busting bottles over that bitch's head and shit and then leaving me to hoof it home?”

“Man, Yo-Yo, I was just…fuck it. I don't know. It just wasn't my fuckin' night, I guess. My bad.”

“Your bad? That's it?”

“Shit. What else you want me to say? I'm fuckin' sorry. Damn.”

She's putting bitches in hospitals and she's just sorry? “Whatever.” We hold the phone for a few seconds, neither of us saying shit.

“Well, all right. I was just calling to see how you were doing and everythang. I hadn't heard from you or nothing. I'm about to go out here and make this money.”

“Thank you for finally acting like you give a damn. Better late than never, right? I'm fine and I'm gonna always be fine—especially now that me and Python have hooked up.” I couldn't help but let her ass know that everything was going according to plan. Still, I don't know why I'm expecting her to congratulate me or something. That shit is not in Baby's character.

“What the fuck you expect?” Baby chuckles. “I ain't met a nigga yet who will turn down pussy, especially the ones always waving it in their faces.”

“Fuck you, Baby.”

“What?”

“Why can't you just be fuckin' happy for me? Shit. You know this was my plan from the giddy up.”

Baby's laughter blasts my ear off. “I'm supposed to be happy that you've gone from hooker to ho? Is that what the fuck you're saying? Sheeeiiit.”

“You know what, Baby? Fuck you and the pussy you came out of.” I disconnect the call and toss the phone back onto the counter. I'm tired of haters hating. I swear to God.

Momma starts hammering down the door. “Yolanda, how long you gonna be in there?”

Now here she goes. “I'm getting ready to take a bath.” I turn toward the bathtub and turn on the hot water.

“DON'T BE IN THERE ALL DAY!” she shouts over the running water, and then hits the door as a final exclamation point.

For real that bitch is on my nerve. I can't wait to roll up out of here, collect my kids, and live ghetto fabulous for the rest of my life. I bet everybody be kissing my ass then. After sprinkling in some bath salts, I ease into the hot water, hissing and wincing at the stinging pain in my ass.

Is it worth it?

I can hear my momma stomping and bitching outside the door. Her unappreciative ass ain't said shit since I've been able to break her off a little of what I've been making at the Pink Monkey. In fact, the more, I give her the more she needs. Greedy bitch. And on top of that, I get to hear about how I'm going to hell every time I turn around. Shit. The only damn place I'm going to is the muthafuckin' bank. Money moves every fucking thing around Memphis. So the answer to my fuckin' question is
HELL, YEAH.
I'm going to give it to Python just the way he wants it and I'm going to smile, moan, and act like I love the shit.

My cell phone on the counter starts ringing again. I know that it's Baby, but she can just lick the crack of my ass. Bruises heal, pride can be swallowed, and money pays the bills. From now on, I'm just going to do me—all the way to the fuckin' top.