Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

He tries to kiss me again, but I push ’im back wit’ my hand. “Whoa, slow down, Playboy. Let me give you da ground rules. You not my man. We chillin’ to see what kicks off. I tilt my head. “We clear.”

“Yo, fuck outta here wit’ all that ‘you not my man’ shit.”

“Aiiight, muhfucka. Be stupid if you want. You get three strikes; nuthin’ more, nuthin’ less. You fuck me ova, you get fucked up.”

“Whatever, yo. Am I gonna be ya man or not?”

“Like I said, three strikes, muhfucka.”

“I ain’t strikin’ out, shit. So go ’head wit’ that. Now stop all ya bullshittin’ and give ya man a kiss.”

Ohmigod, this muhfucka is a piece’a work, I think, lookin’ up at ’im, smirkin’. I keep my mouth shut. Let ’im press his lips up to mine. We kiss for a few minutes wit’ this nasty nigga tryna play wit’ my clit and run his fingas up in my pussy. But I shut it down, openin’ the front door. My eyes ’n mouth pop open.

His whip is kissin’ the ground; somebody done slayed all four of the nigga’s tires. He races out the door, snappin’. “What da Fuck?! Who da fuck got at me like this?”

The bitch who did ’im in wrote PUSSY-ASS NIGGA in big red letters across his windshield. And you AIN’T SHIT is written on the back window. The nigga looks wrecked.

I fold my arms, leanin’ up against the doorframe wit’ my lips twisted, watchin’ ’im walk ’round his whip, lookin’ like he’s ready to flip his lid. I don’t say shit. Shit, ain’t shit to say. A bitch’s mind is already made up. Nigga, strike one!

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Decisions, decisions, decisions…what’a bitch gonna do?…Tell da nigga it’s a wrap…that a bitch is thru…dead it ’fore he gotta get jacked ’n slapped…nigga poppin’ sum good shit, though…still…a bitch ain’t tryna be played like she type-slow…

“Yo, why you actin’ all funny ’n shit? You actin’ like I did some shit to you. What’s good, yo?” Alex asks two days after that shit went down wit’ his whip. Today’s the first time I’m fuckin’ wit’ ’im since the shit happened. And the nigga sound mad tight, too.

“Muhfucka, I’m still tryna figure out why ya shit got housed on my muthafuckin’ property and what bitch you done pissed off and got tailin’ ya ass to my muthafuckin’ spot. That shit ain’t it, nigga.”

“Yo, you act like I know who da fuck did it. I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ no one. I told you. I cut all them birds off a minute ago; true story.”

“Well, maybe you did; maybe you didn’t. I don’t know what da fuck you’ve done. But I do know this: whoeva da fuck it is, the bitch fucked up, bringin’ that shit here. So ’til you find out who da fuck it is, ya black ass ain’t comin’ here.”

“Aiight, cool. Then you can come down and chill at my spot.”

I frown. “Nigga, you done got the shit twisted. I ain’t ’bout to be ridin’ up ’n down da parkway for a muhfucka who gotta buncha shit wit’ ’im. You need ta handle them bitches you been fuckin’ first.”

“Yo, stop sayin’ that shit. I told you, I ain’t fuckin’ no one. Damn.”

“Then one’a them needy bitches ain’t tryna let go. Either way, I ain’t feelin’ da shit; especially since you done brought the shit up to my doorstep.”

“Yo, I ain’t bring it to ya door.”

“Nigga, puhleeze. Obviously da bitch followed you here. So, as far as I’m concerned, you brought da shit here. Say what da fuck you want.”

“Yo, you actin’ like I got control over what da fuck some nuttyass bitch does. What you want me to do?”

“Muhfucka, you know what, don’t do shit. Just keep on doin’ what you do, but leave me outta it. A bitch got more pressin’ things to deal wit’ than to be wrapped up in a muhfucka wit’ a buncha drama.”

He lowers his voice. “Yo, c’mon wit’ that bullshit. I ain’t beat for da drama, either.”

I huff. “Nigga, I can’t tell.”

“Yo, I’m tellin’ you.”

“Yeah, and what you tellin’ me don’t mean shit. All of a sudden out da blue ya shit sittin’ on da ground and all tatted up wit’ paint. Nigga, puhleeze. That’s the handiwork of some ho you done pissed off. You need’a handle that. And I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you ’til you do.”

“I ain’t tryna hear that shit, yo.”

“Well, too bad. It is what it is. So get ova it.”

“Nah, fuck that. I don’t have nuthin’ to hide from you. I gave you all my passwords and shit, so you can see for ya’self. What da fuck I gotta lie for? Why da hell would a muhfucka give you access to all of his shit if da nigga wasn’t tryna be on the up ’n up wit’ you? C’mon, Kat, give a muhfucka some credit, damn, yo. Have you checked the shit?”

Mmmm, da nigga gotta point. Still… “Yeah, I checked da shit once,” I admit, steppin’ outta my panties, then walkin’ into the bathroom. I turn the shower on. The same day he gave me the shit I went upstairs and ran all through his shit. Read his messages, emails and the shit on his Blackplanet guestbook. The nigga has thousands of naked-ass hoes up on his shit, throwin’ the pussy at ’im. It was mad extra. I even read notes and emails he sent. But, nuthin’ really popped out to make me think the nigga was tryna be on some playground shit.

“And?”

“And, there wasn’t shit to see.”

“Aiight, then. That should tell you sumthin’.”

“Nigga, that don’t tell me shit. All it says is that day there wasn’t shit to see—that time. That doesn’t mean that next week or week after that that some extra shit ain’t gonna pop off.”

“Yo, then keep checkin’ da shit anytime you want.”

“Nigga, my name ain’t Inspector Gadget. I ain’t da kinda bitch whose gonna keep investigatin’ shit. Only dumb-ass, dick-whipped bitches do that stupid bullshit. I’m good.”

Me and this nigga go back ’n forth for anotha ten minutes wit’ ’im tryna convince me that ain’t shit extra goin’ on on his end. That he’s kept it funky wit’ me from the rip. I wanna believe the nigga, but I know how crafty and slick muhfuckas can be. I start zonin’ out on the nigga ’cause the shit’s startin’ to cramp my asshole. “Look, I ain’t beat for this convo. So you either change it, or hang up,” I tell ’em, puttin’ the phone on speaker. I step into the shower.

“Yo, what…you in da shower?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, word? What you gettin’ ready to get into?” I tell ’im I got business to handle. The fact that I got these child welfare hoes comin’ up to my spot to complete their background investigation ain’t really none’a his concern. Nor is tellin’ ’im that I’m goin’ up to the hospital to sit wit’ a baby that I’ma be raisin’. I get knots in my stomach just thinkin’ ’bout it. If I decide to keep this nigga in my space, then I’ll eventually tell ’im what’s really good. I know it’s not sumthin’ I’ma be able to keep from ’im. But for now, he only needs to know the basics. Not much. Shit, takin’ on a baby is gonna be mad responsibility. Shit, I don’t even know if I’ma be beat for. So the last thing I need is to be fuckin’ wit’ a nigga who’s gonna come wit’ a buncha distractions. “What time you gonna be done?” I tell ’im not ’til late. Tell ’im I might be stayin’ in Brooklyn. “Wit’ who?”

I suck my teeth. “Damn, nigga, wit’ Chanel.”

“Yeah, aiight, yo.” The nigga gets quiet. “Dig, if you ain’t beat to fuck wit’ a nigga, let me know so I can fall back before a muhfucka’s head gets all fucked up.”

“Nigga, puhleeze. Ya head’s already fucked up. You know you ain’t ready to let go’a this pussy heat.”

“Whatever, yo. Who else you lettin’ hit that?”

I shake my head, steppin’ outta the shower. “No one at da moment. But, trust. That can change at any time. Right now a bitch is chillin’.”

“Yeah, aiight. Let me find out ya biscuit head givin’ out Daddy’s goods.”

I laugh. “Ohhhhhhhmigod, you so fuckin’ ova ya’self.”