Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

to ya demise…

“Detective Samuels, speaking.”

I clear my throat. “Detective Samuels, this is Katrina Rivera. I’m callin’ regardin’ my mother, Juanita Rivera. She’s the pregnant woman who was beaten up, and is on life support.”

“Yes, I know who she is,” he says wit’ a lil’ too much ’tude for my likin’. But I let it slide. “How can I help you?”

“Well, it’s my understandin’ you’re one’a the detectives assigned to the case.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, I was wonderin’ if you have any leads yet.”

“Not at the moment. However, there is the boyfriend that we are still trying to locate.”

“Is he a suspsect?”

“No, but he is definitely someone of interest we’d like to bring in for questioning.”

“Well, have you at least been able to track down his whereabouts?”

There’s a moment of silence, then rustlin’ of papers or some other shit. “We’re still search—”

“So basically that means ya’ll muhfuckas ain’t doin’ shit, but sittin’ on ya asses,” I interrupt, lookin’ outta my bedroom window. I peep a big-ass U-Haul truck ’cross the street, movin’ someone in.

“Miss Rivera, I understand your—”

I disconnect the call, hopin’ I get at that snake-ass muhfucka before they locate his ass. I see someone called and left a message while I was on the phone. I check the voicemail, shakin’ my head.

“Watch ya back, bitch. I’m outta jail, ho. You knock my fuckin’ teeth out. Break my nose. Lie to them muhfuckas talkin’ ’bout I threw a brick through ya window. Bitch, you know you did that shit. Then you have me arrested. Bitch, I’m gonna gut ya face. You think I give’a fuck ’bout a muthafuckin’ restrainin’ order, or goin’ to jail. Bitch, I’m from da streets. You really crossed da god-damn line this time, ho, disrespectin’ ’n threatenin’ my mutha and comin’ at me all reckless. So watch ya face ’cause when I’m finished wit’ ya ass, da only thing you gonna be good for is da circus.” I save the message, decidin’ to be finished wit’ this bitch for good. I’m done fuckin’ ’round wit’ this crack-head bitch.

I walk ova to my handbag and pull out my other phone. I turn it on, then press open the call history. I place the call. Wait for the nigga to answer. “Yo.”

“I need’a hire a crew,” I tell ’im, wishin’ I didn’t have’ta call this fat-nasty muhfucka, again. But’a bitch done worked my last nerve, and—aunt or no fuckin’ aunt, I need ’er ass handled. I know I promised myself I would never body a muhfucka for personal reasons unless they were tryna play me. And I definitely said I would neva body children or chicks. But, I ain’t the one pullin’ the trigga, so it’s whateva. Rosa has got ta go. I need this bitch outta ’er misery and outta my damn space. The sooner, the betta. She’s the type’a bitch who’ll try ’n bring it e’ery chance she gets. One or two times, cool. But that ho will fight to the death. So I need’a take ‘er down, and keep ’er down —swiftly.

“Damn, you really know how’ta make a nigga’s dick brick. Two calls in da same week, I think I’ma nut on myself.”

I suck my teeth. “Muhfucka, get a grip. Ain’t nobody tryna hear that dumb shit. I got more pressin’ shit ta do.”

“Yo, chill out. I’m only fuckin’ wit’ you, ma.”

“Well, take that shit ova to da next bitch. I need sum work put in.”

The nigga changes his tone. “Aiight, what kinda work order you need done?”

“I need’a jack gone bad,” I tell ’im, sittin’ on the edge of my bed. It’s the code for makin’ a murder look like a robbery gone wrong.

“Aiight, cool-cool.”

“How much?”

“It’ll be on da house,” he says.

This crusty muhfucka thinks he’s slick, tellin’ me some shit like that. He’d be turnin’ ’round tryna stress a bitch for some extra shit. And I ain’t havin’ it. “Nah, nigga, I know you. How much?”

He starts laughin’. “Nah, baby girl, I got you. No extras. You my peoples. So if sumthin’s gotta be mopped up, then it’s done; no questions asked. That’s on e’erything I love, ma.”

“Mmmph. And you ain’t gonna be pressin’ me for some pussy?”

He keeps laughin’. “Yo, I’ma always wanna get in them drawers. You keep a muhfucka’s dick bricked. So what’s good? You finally gonna let a muhfucka stretch ya seams?”

I frown. “You still fat?”

“Yo, a muhfucka ain’t fat. Just gotta lotta meat to go wit’ all this bone.”

“Mmmph…I’ll take that as a yes. You still black?”

“All muthafuckin’ day ’n night, baby.”

“You still ugly?”

“As eva.”

“Then ain’t shit changed, nigga. Ya fat, black, ugly ass will neva stretch shit on me, muhfucka.”

He laughs. “Yo, you real funny, ma. But, damn…I’m sayin’. Can a muhfucka at least smell them drawers? Let me bust this nut in them panties. Help a nigga out, ma. You already know what it is.”

“Nigga, I know you can kiss my fat ass, so get da fuck ova ya’self. Now can you handle this shit for me or not?”

“Aye, yo, slow ya flow, fam. I told you I got you.”

“Then let’s wrap this shit up, and get back down to basics. I want this shit done, like now. It’s been a messy situation for longer than a bitch can stand. I need it cleaned up quickly.”

“Say no more. Any birdies need’a go down with this mess?

“No. They can keep flyin’, for now. I’ll deal wit’ ’em as needed.”

“Cool. You remember da spot?”

“Yeah; when you wanna meet?”

“When you free?”

I glance at the digital clock. It reads: 11:47 a.m. “I can be there at two.”

“Bet. See you then. Oh, and that other situation. I’m still researchin’. My squad should have a location in a few more days.”

I smile. “Perfect.” We disconnect.

Threaten me, bitch, I think, walkin’ into my walk-in closet. I don’t think so. You just sealed ya fate. I press a button hidden under the right side corner of the mahogany island that sits in the middle of my closet. A wall panel opens up. I step in, then press in the code, then place my two fingas on the finga print recognition panel to my Paragon safe. It unlocks itself. I pull the door open, inhalin’ rows of paper. I count out a twenty-five pack, packin’ the stacks into my Michael Kors python satchel. I decide I ain’t beat for a free ride. So I’ma hit Cash wit’ twenty-five gees, then be on my merry way. I don’t want that nigga eva thinkin’ I owe ’im shit. I shut the safe door, then step outta my panties and remove my bra.

I grab my titties and start squeezin’ ’n tweakin’ ’em. The idea of Rosa’s lights bein’ shut, gotta bitch’s clit twitchin’. Bitch, you ain’t shit to me…after tonight, ya ass’ll be a long gone memory.

I pull out an eight-inch vibratin’ dildo and harness, then strap it to my stool. My pussy is on fire, knowin’ a bullet is gonna pop Rosa’s skull open. Oh yes, bitch, I think climbin’ up on the stool. Ya muthafuckin’ ass is gonna be eatin’ dirt before the sun rises. I pull my ass cheeks open, lower my hips down on the tip of the dildo, then slowly wind down on it. Oh, yes…they gonna blow that bitch’s head off… I slam my pussy all the way down on the base, grind my pelvis, press on my clit and moan. “Ohhhhhhh, yesssss, bitch…they ’bout to take it to ya muthafuckin’ dome…uhhhhh… aaaaaaah…”

I toss my head back, close my eyes. See blood and brains and skull splattered on the concrete, splashed up against the wall. E’erything in me starts to shake. My pussy tightens “…ohhhhhhhhhh…yesssssss, biiiiiiiitch…you ’bout to go down…”

I cum.

I scream.