Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang (10 page)

“Wassup, Trick? Anyone make you they bitch yet? Mmmph, whateva, ho…yeah, yeah, yeah…well, guess who I’m wit’? No stupid…Kat. Hold on…” she hands me her phone. “Here, someone wants to speak to you.” I ask who. “Don’t worry ’bout it.”

“Well, I hope it ain’t that nasty bitch, Tamia.”

“No, it ain’t Tamia, ho,” she says, suckin’ her teeth. “Just take da damn phone.”

I snatch it outta her hand. “Hello?”

“Wow,” is all she says. And as soon as I hear the voice the hairs on the back of my neck raise up. I shoot Chanel a look. She smirks, poppin’ another shrimp into her nasty-ass cum trap.

Nigga, don’t play me…did you fuck da bitch or not?
I hear the muhfucka say,
Yeah.
“Oh, wassup, Iris?” I say, nonchalantly. But inside I’m ready to bring it to this ho. Oh, what? I know you didn’t think I forgot how this dick garglin’ bitch was ridin’ down on Naheem’s dick while I was fuckin’ ’im, too, and never, ever, opened her muthafuckin’ nut-coated mouth to let me in on it. Not! Ain’t shit change. I’ma still fuck this bitch up when I see ’er. And I don’t give a fuck how long I gotta wait.

“Damn, bitch,” she says, soundin’ disappointed that I ain’t all amped to hear her voice. “I ain’t talked to you in a minute and that’s the best you can do?
Wassup?
A bitch gets locked down and now it’s fuck me, right?”

“Looks that way,” I say, takin’ a swig of Ciroc.

“That’s fucked up, Kat. We used to be girls ’n shit. What happened?”

Bitch, you fucked my man, then smiled all up in my muthafuckin’ grill.
“Sweetie, what you thought it was gonna be? You let ya’self get tricked out and started mulin’ for some nigga, so you get what you got. A bitch like me ain’t entertainin’ no dumb-ass hoes. I told you that from da rip.”

“Fuck you, Kat,” she snaps. “How da fuck you gonna turn ya back on ya girl ’n shit. I’ve been locked up for almost two-and-a-half years and not once have you dropped a bitch a card, a letter, nuthin’.”

“Bitch,
you
ain’t my girl. Be clear. What da fuck I look like
jailin’ wit’ you. I’ma real bitch, ho. And real bitches, ain’t doin’ no bid wit’ a dumb-ass bitch who knew betta.”

“No,
bitch
,” she yells into the phone, “a real bitch stands by her girls whether she agrees wit’ her choices or not! Not turn her back on ’em. I did what I had’a do.”

“No, bitch, you did what you
wanted
to do. It’s not what you had’a do. Big difference, so don’t go there. Save that bullshit for a bitch who don’t know betta. I told ya ass before you got knocked what it was. And that’s what it is.”

“Oh, so you real brand new, I see.”

“Bitch, I’m keepin’ it a hunnid wit’ ya dizzy ass; how da fuck you see that bein’ brand new?”

I feel myself ’bout to bring it to this bitch, but I bite the inside of my lip.
Keep it cute, ho,
I think, starin’ at Chanel. She has the blunt hangin’ from her dick suckas, gawkin’ at me. I walk over to her and snatch it outta her mouth. She sucks her teeth, laughin’. I take a pull. I decide to flip the script. “So, how you been?”

She laughs. “Oh, now you wanna know how a bitch’s doin’? Mmmph, fuck you, Kat.”

“Bitch, fuck it, then.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ evil-ass bitch,” she says.

I laugh. “Yup; tell me sumthin’ I don’t already know.”

“Whateva, bitch. When you gonna get ova ya’self and come through? Or is that too much for a real bitch like you? And don’t give me no bullshit, either, Kat; we’re bigger than that.”

I grin.
Oh, bitch, you just made splittin’ ya shit that much easier.
“Where they got you?” She tells me she’s holed up at a federal correctional facility in Danbury, Connecticut. Tells me they had her down in Tucson, Arizona before movin’ up here. “Oh, well, I guess I can squeeze a day trip in. I’ll let you know when I’m beat to see ya silly-cock-washin’ ass.”

The stupid bitch grunts, soundin’ agitated. “You know what bitch? I’m done. Put Chanel back on the phone.”

“Toodles,” I say, laughin’.

I hand Chanel back her phone. “Girl, don’t pay her crazy ass no mind,” she says to Iris. “You know the bitch is touched.” She laughs.

“Bitch, whateva. Both of you slut-boxes can eat shit.”

Chanel sucks her teeth, givin’ me the finga. “I know, right. But, don’t stress that shit. We’ll be up there to see you, soon. I know. We got you, ain’t that right, Kat?”

Yeah, I got that ho-ass bitch, aiight
. “Yup, wit’ muthafuckin’ bells on.”

I sit back in my seat, grinnin’.
Oh, yeah, I’ma serve that ho up a nice dish of whoop ass
. The idea of breakin’ Iris’s jaw makes my clit twitch. I spark another blunt, takin’ it straight to the dome. Chanel finishes up bullshittin’ wit’ Iris’s trick-ass, then lays her phone back on the table.

“Bitch, you was dead wrong for that,” she says, tossin’ her hair to the side. “Why you do her like that?”

“Fuck that bitch,” I say, turnin’ the volume up on the stereo when Raheem Devaughn’s “Love Drug” plays. “She was fuckin’ Naheem, or did you forget that?”

“Bitch,” she snaps, takin’ the Ciroc to the head. “That ho fucked that nigga years ago. We all were mad young…”

“Yeah, and that bitch was mad nasty; and she still is.”

“You need to let that shit go. You ain’t fuckin’ wit’ the nigga, so who gives a fuck if she had his dick in her throat? That’s old news.”

“Ho, I ain’t lettin’ shit go. That trick-ass, cum-guzzlin’ bitch was grinnin’ all up in my muthafuckin’ face and suckin’ da snot outta my man’s dick at the same time. I don’t think so. Say what da fuck you want, but that shit ain’t sweet.”

“Bitch,” she huffs, “hand me the fuckin’ blunt.” I take another pull, then pass it off. She snatches it. “Listen to how da fuck you sound, Kat. That shit popped off, what, almost ten years ago? The bitch is locked da fuck up. And you soundin’ extra crazy, for real. Give the ho a pass, damn.”

I smirk. “You know what, Trick? You right. I’ma let da ho live. We been through too much to let some dick come between us. Let’s make plans to go see her ass, soon.”

She grins. “Now that’s more like it, Boo. I knew you’d come to ya senses and see shit my way.”

Please, you can sit here and think what you want. But I’ma beat the cum outta that bitch, trust!

CHAPTER NINE

Chocolate muhfucka likin’ what he sees…hopin’ ta get a fly, sexy bitch down on ’er knees…gotta keep brushin’ da nigga off…but da nigga stay tryna press…yeah da muhfucka’s fine…but a bitch ain’t beat for da stress…this kind’a nigga cums wit’ a buncha bullshit-ass mess…

“Yo, it’s Alley Cat.”

“Come again,” I ask, fuckin’ wit’ ’im. “You got da wrong number. I don’t know no nigga named
Alley Cat
.”

He laughs. “Well, in another six hours or so, you will. So you might as well start gettin’ ya sexy ass ready.”

“Get ready for what?” I ask, sittin’ up in bed. “I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you.”

Yeah, aiight, ma. Front if you want. You already know.”

“I don’t know nuthin’, muhfucka. So what you sayin’?”

He sucks his teeth, sighin’. “Yo, here you go. We already went through this shit. I told you yesterday I was comin’ through to scoop you. Ain’t shit changed, ma. So don’t play.”

“Who said I was playin’?”

“Gimme ya address, ma.”

I smirk. “Oh, so you really here in Jersey?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way to the crib as soon as I stop past my
moms to see wassup wit’ her.” This is the first time I’ve ever heard him mention his moms. It dawns on me that all the times we’ve talked on the phone, I never asked the nigga where at in Jersey he rests; never asked ’im if he had any brothas or sistas. Come to think of it, we never really talked on some real shit. I decide to ask, but the muhfucka shuts it down. “Listen, all that social work shit you tryna get into ain’t important, right now; gettin’ ya address and snatchin’ you up is.”

“Nigga, I ain’t goin’ off wit’ a mufucka I don’t know shit about.”

“Aye, yo, stoppin’ makin’ ’xcuses; I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know tonight, when I see you.”

“Yeah, ohhhhkaaay. And don’t be thinkin’ ya nasty ass is gettin’ any of this pussy, either. ’Cause I’ma hate ta shut ya ass down.”

“C’mon, ma. Give a muhfucka more credit than that. I mean, yeah…I pop shit to you and whatnot. But, it ain’t that serious. Real talk, I might wanna get up in them hips. But, for now…I’m good, yo.”

Might? Oh, puhleeze, this nigga is frontin’ like hell.
I laugh. “Yeah, right; whateva. Don’t gas me. If I threw this pussy up in ya face you’d be all up in it, tryna eat my ovaries out.”

He laughs. “Yo, you right, I might. But, check this. I get all the pussy, ass ’n throat I want. A muhfucka ain’t ever gotta sweat you for no pussy, and that’s some real shit.”

“Then we good.”

“No doubt, so where you rest at?”

“I’m not available,” I tell ’im, lyin’ back in bed.

“Yo, ma, what the fuck? Why you gotta make e’erything so fuckin’ difficult? I wanna see you,
tonight
. Not tomorrow, not next week, or the week after that.
Tonight
, you dig? And I’m not takin’ no for an answer. So stop bullshittin’ and tell a muhfucka where you rest…
damn
.”

Oh no this muhfucka didn’t.
The nigga got me gaggin’. But I ain’t gonna front, either. The muhfucka’s aggression got’a bitch’s clit to twitch.

“Difficult?”

“Yeah, difficult. Do you need me to spell it for you, too?”

Oh this muhfucka is really pushin’ it
. “Oh, hell no, nigga. You really tryna get da heat—”

“Yo’ hol’ up. Take that volume down, ma. All that ain’t necessary.”

“Muthafucka, you callin’ me; you pressin’ me. Don’t get it twisted, nigga.”

“You know what, you right. Fuck it. All a muhfucka’s tryna do is chill wit’ ya stuck up ass, but you too muthafuckin’ retarded…”

What the fuck? Is this muthafucka really tryna get it poppin’? “Muhfucka who is you talkin’—”

“Yo, on some real shit,” he snaps, “shut ya fuckin’ dick suckas. I’m talkin’ now. Dig this. I let you come at me all crazy ’n shit ’cause you mad sexy, and a nigga’s diggin’ you. But you not gonna keep comin’ at my neck anyway you want. All you wanna do is give a muhfucka ya ass to kiss. You got me fucked up, ya dig? You wanna be on some extra shit, then do you. But all that fucked up attitude you got is gonna keep ya ass lonely and miserable.”

The line goes dead.

“Hello? Hello?” I say, pullin’ the phone from my ear, starin’ at it. The screen reads:
DISCONNECTED
. “Ohmyfuckin’gaaaawd, this nigga hung up on me,” I say out loud, still holdin’ the phone ’n starin’ at it in my hand. “I don’t believe this shit.”
And the nigga read ya ass for filth!
This muthafucka actually cursed me out, then hung up on me. Now I’m pissed! “Who da fuck that black muthafucka think he is? I will straight take it to his ugly-ass face,” I’m snappin’ to myself.
Bitch, stop frontin’. You just got finished sayin’
how fine da nigga is, now you callin’ his ass ugly. It’s ’bout time somebody brung it to ya ass.

Ten minutes later, my cell rings. I glance at the screen.
I should let da shit go into voice mail.
Of course, I don’t. “Yeah?” I answer wit’ ’tude.

“Yo, ma…let’s start this shit over. I apologize for comin’ at you like that. But, yo, you really know how’ta make a muhfucka crazy. Ya mouth is real extra, ma; for real.”

I ig the apology and the slick-ass comments. “Ummm, did we get disconnected?” I ask already knowin’ the answer, but I wanna hear the nigga say it.

“Nah, I hung up on you,” he coolly states. He sighs. “You ready to talk like you got some sense?”

“You know what, kiss my ass. You arrogant, egotistical, sonofa—”

He laughs. “Temper, temper. Why does this gotta be a big-ass production? All I wanna do is chill, blaze, and get to know you; no pressures. No bullshit. Is that too much for a muhfucka to ask for? Shit, I ain’t even had the pussy, yet. Don’t even know if the shit’s worth all the damn drama you be tryna bring.”

“Then step, muhfucka. Delete my shit, and make ya way onto da next.”

He laughs. “Yo, Kat, stop, aiight? You and I both know if you wasn’t beat for a muhfucka you wouldn’t be givin’ me all this air time. You a grown-ass woman, and I’ma grown-ass man, so wasssup…you givin’ me ya address or what?”

Bitch, you know you diggin’ the nigga, so get ova ya’self.
I blow out a frustrated sigh. “What time you wanna pick me up?” I finally ask, surprisin’ myself.

“Aaaah, that’s wassup. Finally, we’re gettin’ somewhere!”

I suck my teeth. “Whaaaaateva.”

He laughs. “Yo, you a piece’a work, for real, ma. But check this. The nastier you are, the hornier I get, so how ’bout you try bein’ nicer so a muhfucka don’t have’ta walk around wit’ a hard dick all day.”

“Don’t press ya luck.” I give ’im my address. He tells me he’s scoopin’ me up at six. I glance at the clock. It’s already eleven in the morning. Shit, I’ma need to get my ass in gear if I plan on bein’ ready by then. “And don’t come up here ringin’ my doorbell all late ’n wrong, either. ’Cause a bitch ain’t one for waitin’ ’round for no nigga.”

“Yo, chill. You ain’t gotta stress ’bout shit like that; I’ma on time type nigga. The only thing I ever make a chick wait for is this hot, creamy nut, feel me?”

I suck my teeth. “Nigga, you are so full of ya’self.”

He laughs. “Yo, I’m keepin’ shit real.”

“Whateva,” I say, dismissin’ ’im. “Where you takin’ me?”

“Relax. I got this.”

“Relax hell. I need’a know how’ta dress.”

“All you need to know is you wit’ me.”

“That’s not—”

“See, that’s ya problem, ma,” he says, cuttin’ me off. “You don’t know how’ta go wit’ da flow.”

“Oh, so you think you got me all figured out, hunh?”

“Nah, not really; but I know what I know.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you like givin’ muhfuckas a hard time.”

“That’s not true,” I say defensively. “I’ma cool-ass chick; I’m just not beat to be sweatin’ a nigga’s balls.”