Ruthless (6 page)

I sigh, running my hands through my hair.
This shit is getting crazier by the minute.

I brush my teeth, then take a deep breath and walk back out into my office. I buzz out front. When Anna, one of my nail technicians who's covering the front desk answers, I tell her to please hold all of my calls and that I am not available for any walk-ins, then hang up.

“I need me a goddamn blunt,” Booty says, rummaging through her handbag. “I'm so fuckin' sick, Miss Pasha, girl. I heard you in there throwin' up your guts. I feel like I'm 'bout to have the shits, my stomach's so tore up. I can't believe this. I don't wanna believe it. No, no, not Jah'Mel. That nigga-bitch wouldn't do me like this. Yeah, he might not pay his child support. And his ass might even drive on the revoked list 'cause the nigga stays gettin' his license suspended. But I know goddamn well I ain't spread open my legs ‘n' push that long-dick nigga-bitch outta my cootie-coo for him to become some motherfuckin' kidnapper. I woulda aborted his ass if I woulda known this is how he was gonna do me. Oh,
FahverGawd,
for the love of sweet black dingaling, I know you ain't gonna do me like this. I know you tryna learn me for slicin' off that nigga-coon's dingaling. But you know he was tryna do me,
Fahver?
You know I ain't have no other choice but to shut him down.” I eye her as she shakes her head, having a personal conversation with herself. “No, no, no, no…I know he ain't do me like this, Miss Pasha, girl…”

I feel bad for her. But the shit she's going through at this very moment is not my concern. He's a grown-ass man. The nigga knew right from wrong and made his choice, as we all have. And now, son or not, he has to get it, too.

But how he gets it is another story.

Truth is, I have no real plan. And never really thought out what I would do to the niggas who snatched me from the mall if I ever
found out who they were. Or what I'd ever do to The Calm One if I found him. The only niggas I've focused on were the ones down in that basement shoving their dicks down in my throat, cumming in my mouth, in my face, disrespecting me. And the nigga who had been harassing me, calling me here at the salon with his threatening and condescending voice, threatening me, doing whatever he could to make my life a living hell. Then attacking me in my own yard.

He had become a thorn in my side. I had fleeting thoughts of how to dispose of his menacing ass if I ever found out who he was. I imagined myself, setting him up, agreeing to suck his dick since that's what he was so pressed for, then thrusting a blade up into his balls. Sometimes I'd imagine taking a scalpel and slicing off his dick. I still might.

“You sucking this dick?”

“I told you…Hell. Fucking. No!”

“I guess having the back window of your whip knocked out of that fancy whip of yours still isn't enough, is it, ho?”

“Fuck, you!”

“Yeah, like how I'm gonna fuck that throat of yours. I'ma call every day. And I'ma ask you the same shit. And every time you say no, I'ma give your dumb ass something to remember me by…”

Yeah, that dirty nigga definitely has it coming to him. Until then, the minute I learn of his whereabouts, I'm going to toy with him, tease him. Keep him wanting and waiting. Then when he least expects it, I'm going to swoop down on him the way he did me.

In the still of the night.

Caught off guard.

I reflect back on the memory of him acting all thirsty when I sent him an email last Sunday, telling him I wanted to reach out
and touch, suck, lick that dick. I could practically see him nutting on himself at the idea of getting some of this throat work. Little does he know, it's all a ploy to reel him in. Then do him in.

Yeah, dirty motherfucker. This just in: By the time I'm done with you, you're going to wish you'd never fucked with me!

“I can't find my shit,” Booty says, cutting into my thoughts. I glance at her. She takes a deep breath, placing her hands in her face, shaking her head. She takes a moment, then looks up at me. “Why this nigga do me like this?”

I try to keep my face expressionless. But I feel like snapping, “Bitch, he didn't do shit to
you!
I'm the one he snatched up. I'm the one he hit upside the head with a gun. I'm the one who got tossed inside the back of a van, driven to some unknown destination, then dragged down to a basement, kept tied up until they were ready to force me to suck their dicks. So stop talking about how the nigga done did
you
. The only thing he's done to
you
is, embarrass your ass!”

Let it go, Pasha. Let this bitch have her victim moment.
I bite the inside of my cheek, getting up and walking over to the locked closet door. I unlock it, pulling out a
CANCUN
shot glass and another bottle of R
ÉMY XO
that I'd been given as a gift from one of my clients last year. The bottle hasn't been opened, yet. But seeing Booty all broke down is cause to crack it open. She obviously needs something to soothe her.

I pour her a drink and hand it to her, sitting the bottle next to her. “Here, take this. Maybe it'll help calm your nerves a bit.”

“Sugah-boo, I got me a long throat. I'ma need me somethin' a lil' bigger to coat the back of this neck—after this shit right here. But, thanks.”

She tosses it back before I can even get back in my chair good.
She reaches for the bottle and pours herself another shot.

“I can't believe that nigga-bitch would do some shit like this. Kidnappin'? Mmmmph. That nigga-coon done lost his motherfuckin', goddamn mind.” She looks up at me, then tosses her drink back.

“Cass, girl, I'm sorry you had to find out that he was a part of this shit.”

She pours another drink.
“You?
Shit, this done tore my drawz down to the seams.” She takes a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. “No,
FahverGawd.
I don't wanna believe this shit.” She brings her attention back to me, shaking her head. “Miss Pasha, girl, I ain't raise his ass to be caught up in no grimy shit like kidnappin'. I raised him in a clean, good goddamn home.

“No, I ain't do a whole buncha prayin' ‘n' maybe I shoulda did a lil' more huggin' ‘n' a lot less beatin' his ass. But I ain't ever abandon his ass, neglect his ass, or goddamn abuse his ass. So he ain't got no excuse for doin' some coon-nigga shit like this. I'ma beat his skull in, goddammit! This nigga-coon done embarrassed me, Miss Pasha, girl.” She starts digging through her bag again. “Ooooh, where's my motherfuckin' stash? I know I packed me a lil' somethin' in this goddamn bag. I need me a lil' get-right to ease the ache in my damn bones. This nigga done cut me deep.”

I watch as she dumps the contents of her bag out onto her lap. I blink, surprised at the things that come toppling out: a can of mace, brass knuckles, a sleek chrome pistol, a bottle of Platinum Wet, and a butt plug.

I'm too through!

I think to ask her about her essentials but decide not to.
It's none of my business.
“Cass, are you sure this
Jah
is your son? I mean, it could be someone else with the same name,” I reason, taking in
the pained expression on her face.

“No, Miss Pasha, girl. Ain't no other nigga 'round here goin' by
Jah
'cept for Jah'Mel Theopolous Goddamn-Simms. I don't wanna think it's him. I swear I don't.”

She pours herself another drink, then guzzles it down. “I've always tried to do right by my kids, goddammit. Yeah, I did a lil' boostin' here ‘n' there to keep my fashion up when I ain't really have my stacks ‘n' sponsors up. And, yeah, I even had me a lil' credit card hustle goin' for a hot minute. I even pussy-popped these hips up on tables when I had to. But I ain't never teach my kids to be no goddamn criminals.”

I blink.
Is this bitch serious right now?

“I've laid on my back ‘n' dropped down on my knees to keep a roof over my kids' heads. And, yeah, I done some shit that I prolly shouldn't be proud of. But guess what? I ain't livin' with regret ‘n' I'm damn sure not fuckin' with guilt. I did whatever I had to do, by choice, goddammit. I ain't
never
let none'a my kids be without
shit.
I ain't ever let 'em be homeless, or hungry. And this is how Jah'Mel do
me?
He out there kidnapping bitches. I feel like that nigga-bitch done sliced me in the face with a rusty goddamn blade.”

I don't know what to say to her, so I don't say shit. I figure it's best to let her talk it all out before we move on. I glance at the clock on my wall, relieved that I have another two hours before my appointment gets here.

“Cass, I know you're hurt, girl. If this is your son, what he did—what all of them niggas did—was dead wrong.”

She pours herself another drink, this time filling the shot glass all the way up to the rim. She leans forward and slurps some down to keep it from spilling over, then lifts the glass to her lips and slings it back. I can tell by the glassy look in her eyes that the brown
elixir is working its magic, making her more relaxed.

“Miss Pasha, girl. Tell me what them niggas who snatched you at the mall did to you, so I can get my mind wrapped around it. I need to know e'ery-goddamn-thing. Don't hol' ya drawz back on me either, Miss Pasha, girl. Peel 'em all the way back so I can see it raw.”

She asks if I can remember anything about the two niggas who snatched me that night. I close my eyes, tightly, recollecting every conscious moment of that night. Starting with the phone call from Jasper as I walked out of the mall toward the parking garage with him asking me if I was still at the mall, telling me how horny he was, telling me to hurry home, then to my head being yanked back and the click of a gun being pressed against my temple.

I replay in vivid, excruciating detail how one of the niggas punched me in the mouth and the other nigga in back of me pressed a blade up under my throat and told me he was gonna slice my fucking throat. The haunting memory spills over into being gagged and bound and blindfolded, riding in the back of a vehicle, then being dragged out by two other niggas.

I blink Booty back into view as she's pouring herself another drink. Her sixth shot. She tosses it back. “Aaah!” She shakes her head. “Yes, goddammit. Miss Remy is doin' me right, Miss Pasha, girl. I needed me a lil' bit of this dark ‘n' lovely devil juice to help get me together right quick. Now I can think straight, sugah-boo.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head from side to side. “Yes, gawd, I feel it heatin' my bones.” She opens her eyes, fixing her gaze on me. “Miss Pasha, girl, did them niggas really take it to your head out there in that parking lot?”

I nod, wincing from the memory.

“I need you to tell me, Miss Pasha, girl. Did you see what them
nigga-coons looked like before they dragged you into that van?” It looks like she's holding her breath as she waits for my response.

I shake my head. Tell her they were both wearing black ski masks, and that they were both tall, like six-two, six-three. That one of them was taller than the other. I tell her I remember one of them having a deep voice.

She bites her bottom lip. I can tell she's still genuinely all broken up over the information I've shared, over the possibility of her son having been involved—even though I know she's trying hard not to show it.

“Cassandra, if it's true that it really is your son, how do you wanna handle?”

She narrows her eyes. Clenches her teeth. “I pray to
gawd
, it's not him, Miss Pasha, girl. But, he's the only nigga I know in the streets called
Jah
. So I know it's him. I know it in the pit of my cootie-coo, it's his black ass. So, I'm sorry, Miss Pasha, girl. That nigga-coon gotta get it like e'ery goddamn body else.
If
Jah'Mel had his goddamn hands in any part of what happened to you, then…” She takes a deep breath. I can tell she's fighting back tears. “We gonna have'ta do his ass good, Miss Pasha, girl. But you ain't wanna kill 'im, did you?”

She twists in her seat.

I close my eyes, then slowly open them, shaking my head. “No, girl. I don't want anyone else's blood…” I pause, catching myself. Hoping she doesn't catch the almost slip-up. She seems too distressed over not having a blunt tucked in her bag to have noticed. I press on, “I don't want anyone else getting killed. Maimed,
yes.
Beat up real bad,
yes
. But nothing more than that—unless someone tries to take it there.”

She nods slowly. Her chest heaves in and out. She reaches for the bottle again, pouring herself another drink. I watch as she
swishes it around in her mouth, then swallows. “Thank you,
Fahver
Gawd!
I'm glad you ain't wanna take his life, Miss Pasha, girl. I don't know if I coulda cosigned no shit like that. But I'ma kill the nigga-coon for you.”

I gasp. “Cass, killing him isn't going to solve anything. You already have one bod…” I stop myself from saying the rest. There's no need to mention JT's murder.

“And I'ma 'bout to have me another one on these hands in a minute. I brought that nigga-bitch into this world. And I'ma be the one to takes his black ass outta it; the minute his black-ass get outta the county, I'ma welcome his no-good ass home with a hometown beatdown.”

She wipes a single tear that falls from her eyes.

“Cass, you don't have to do this, girl. This is
my
fight. Not yours. You've already done enough. Hell, you're the one who struck the match under my ass to finally make shit pop. Your son can be spared. All I want him to do is tell me everything he knows about that night.”