Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

done wit’ it.”

The crazy bitch keeps tryna bring it. “Bitch, on e’very-muthafuckin’-thing I love, I’ma beat the dog shit outta you. You ain’t shit for turnin’ ya back on ya family; especially ya moms. I’ma give you the beatdown she shoulda gave ya ass a long time ago, you stuck up lil’ bitch.”

I laugh. “Bitch, you must be back on crack talkin’ that whack ass shit to me. You need to grow da fuck up; for real ho. You got da nerve to be someone’s grandmother actin’ like a certified trick-ass, gutter-rat bitch. Fuck outta here wit’ ya clown ass. Boo-boo, you got da game fucked up if you think I’ma stand ’round and let you or any muthafuckin’-body else do shit to me. You got two minutes, and countin’.”

“YOU FUCKIN’ SNOTTY-ASS BITCH!” she yells into the phone. “FUCK ALL THAT DUMB SHIT YOU TALKIN’. MY FUCKIN’ SISTA IS ON MUTHAFUCKIN’ LIFE SUPPORT AND YOU NEED TO GET YA ASS DOWN TO THE GODDAMN HOSPITAL TO SEE HER!”

Interestin’ly, I keep it cute; stay calm. “Thanks for the public service announcement, Sweetie. Time’s up,” I say, disconnectin’ the call. My cell rings, again. This time it’s Chanel’s ass. “Oh, bitch, you must know you ’bout ta get cursed da fuck out for givin’ that crazy bitch my muthafuckin’ number after I specifically told ya cock-washin’ ass not to give my muthafuckin’ number out to none of them bitches.”

“Damn,” she says, suckin’ her teeth. “I was hopin’ to get to you before she called you.”

“‘Damn hell, ho. I hate e’erything ya stankan azz stands for right now. You always doin’ dumb shit, bitch.” She laughs. “Bitch, ain’t shit funny. That ho called here tryna bring da noise. And you know a bitch wasn’t feelin’ that shit.”

“Ooops, my bad,” she says, gigglin’.

“Ho, I should slap the shit outta ya ugly-ass face.”

“I’m sorry, boo. I knew you was gonna be heated, but Patrice sounded real fucked up when she called me early this mornin’. And I felt bad.”

“Bitch, what da fuck you feelin’ bad for?”

“’Cause it sounded like she was cryin’ ’n shit.”

“Boo-hoo,” I say, suckin’ my teeth. “I don’t give a fuck. You still had no muthafuckin’ business givin’ out my digits. You shoulda called me, first, before doin’ some corny-ass shit like that.”

“I know, I know. But ya ass woulda said hell no, anyway.”

“Exactly, ho. But you turn ’round and do what da fuck you want. Fuck it. It’s done now. And ya ass done loss diva points for that bullshit, bitch.”

She starts laughin’. “Now you goin’ too damn far, bitch, snatchin’ my diva points ’n shit.”

“Whateva. You make me sick. I hate e’erything ya slutty ass stands for.”

“Okay, bitch, that shit’s all good ’n all, but are we still smokin’ today?”

“Hell no, I ain’t smokin’ wit’ ya crusty-ass. Go burn wit’ Rosa ’n Patrice since ya no-count ass was so quick to give them bitches my cell number.”

“Mmmmm-hmmm. And when ya crazy-ass aunts jump on that ass you make sure you remember that shit ’cause I’ma sit there ’n smoke up all they shit while they peelin’ da skin off’a that ass.”

“Bitch, you sit there and let them hoes jump on me and you don’t jump in ’n help set it off on ’em wit’ me, I’ma toss acid in ya face ’n set ya hair on fire, okay? Try it if you want. Ya ass’ll be laid up at the nearest burn center, okay. Then let’s see how many niggas gonna be checkin’ for ya bald-headed, crispy-baked, hoass.” We both bust out laughin’.

“Girl, ya ass is stoopid.”

“Yeah, okay.” She decides to ask how my phone convo went wit’ Rosa. I tell ’er.

“Damn.”

“Mmmph, girl, that crazy bitch sounded like she was back on crack.”

“So she was wildin’ like that?”

“Girl, that ho was blackin’ like someone smoked da last rock.”

“Daaaamn. That’s some shit. I think it’s really fucked up ya’ll can’t get along, though; especially now wit’ ya moms bein’ brain dead.”

“Please, I don’t know what da problem is. The bitch calls here poppin’ a buncha rah-rah talkin’ ’bout I need to get to da hospital to see her sista ’n shit, and the bitch’s dead. How stupid is that? The bitch ain’t ever gonna know I was there, so what’s the fuckin’ point? Not that I was goin’ up to see ’er ass, any-damn-way. Then they fuckin’ wastin’ taxpayers’ dollars keepin’ the bitch chained to a tube. Hello, she’s dead! What da fuck they tryna keep ’er ass alive for?”

“’Cause she’s pregnant, Kat.”

“Say, whaaat?!” My muthafuckin’ mouth drops open. I am certain I haven’t heard ’er right. I ask ’er to repeat what she just said. She does. And a bitch feels like she’s ’bout ready to pass the fuck out!

CHAPTER TWELVE

Close my eyes ’n count ta ten…take’a deep breath…blaze’a few trees…then do it again…tryna wrap my mind ’round da dumb shit muhfuckas do…how many times’a bitch gonna keep gettin’ burned…’til she wakes da fuck up…takes control of ’er life and sees da lesson to be learned….

It’s been two days since Chanel dropped the bomb on me ’bout Juanita’s retarded ass bein’ pregnant—again! Why I’m feelin’ some kinda way ’bout ’er ho-ass bein’ knocked up is beyond me. But I do! Maybe it’s ’cause—once again—the selfish bitch didn’t think ’bout no one else but herself. No, scratch that shit. The bitch was thinkin’. She was thinkin’ ’bout the sorry-ass muhfucka who beat her silly ass. Only a stupid bitch would keep lettin’ a nigga pump ’er insides up ’n not be on some kinda birth control. That nigga kicked ’er all up in her stomach the last time he put ’er in the hospital. And she still went back to his ass. Got her dumb-ass knocked again. And now she’s brain dead. Shit makes no sense. Now I gotta wonder how many other times the bitch got knocked. How many other babies did she have stomped outta ’er.

For some strange, sick reason, I am consumed wit’ wantin’ to know what the fuck happened; need to know why her dead ass is still carryin’ a baby that she ain’t ever gonna be able to take care of. So I wait ’til after midnight—when I know I won’t run into any of my nutty-ass aunts; particularly Rosa, then hop into my whip and make my way to the parkway toward the Verrazano Bridge.

As I’m drivin’ I start to feel my nerves rattle as images of Juanita’s lifeless body shoot through my head. The thought of seein’ her after all this time has a bitch all antsy ’n shit. I need a blunt, I think, pushin’ in the lighter, then reachin’ for my stash. My cell rings. I reach for it, glancin’ at the screen. It’s Nut.

“Hello?”

“Yo, wassup, ma? How you?”

“Nigga,” I snap, sparkin’ my blunt, “do you know what time it is?” I take a deep pull.

He laughs. “Yeah, it’s time for ya sexy ass to spend some time wit’ a muhfucka. You played me the other day when I came through. That was some foul shit, ma.”

I laugh. “Nigga, I told you what it was. Nobody told ya dumb-ass to come out tryna check for me.”

“Yeah, aiight; whatever. You got that. So when I’ma see you again?”

“Neva,” I say, crackin’ my window and blowin’ out weed smoke.

He sucks his teeth. “Yo, fuck outta here. Where you at?”

“Nigga, what I tell you ’bout tryna check for me?”

He starts laughin’. “Yo, you mad funny; for real for real.”

This time, I suck my teeth. “Whateva. I ain’t laughin’ muhfucka. Why is you callin’ me this time’a night, anyway?”

“’Cause a muhfucka was thinkin’ ’bout you; that’s why. You gotta problem wit’ that?”

“Do you,” I state, goin’ through the E-Z Pass toll for the Verrazano. “I got more pressin’ shit to be concerned wit’, than you tryna stalk’a bitch.”

“Oh, yeah? Anything you wanna talk about?”