Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

The nigga is groanin’ and shakin’ his head.

I walk back ova to the bed. “Lights out, muhfucka. Thanks for the nut.” I press the silencer to his temple and pull the trigger again—Therrrssp!—blowin’ a hole in his skull. “This is for killin’ my mother, bitch.”

Next I shoot ’im in his dick and balls. “And this one’s for da son you left motherless, you fuckin’ bastard!”

I walk into the bathroom, glancin’ at my reflection in the mirror. A bitch has tears runnin’ down ’er face. I swipe ’em wit’ my hand, pullin’ out my phone. I call Cash, tell ’im what’s what, then fix my face and wig piece. I put back on my glasses, then quietly ease myself on out the room, slidin’ outta the hotel. I hop in my rental and pull off, neva lookin’ back. I take a deep breath, ready to get back home, anxious to finally be free.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Still lookin’ for change…lookin’ for a new groove…tired of all da extras…bitch ready to make a move…ain’t tryna be locked down…ain’t tryna take no tests…sumthin’ gotta give…wanna start things fresh…face da future…butta bitch gotta life to live…step in my way…get a face full’a sutures…

“Yo, sexy ma, what’s good? It’s Tone.”

I smile. “Shit, nigga. Chillin’. Wassup on ya end?”

“Coolin’. You know how it is. Yo, you get them papers yet?”

Oh shit, there’s been so much shit goin’ on I ain’t even had time to go through any’a my mail, I think, walkin’ ova to the stack of mail sittin’ up on the kitchen aisle countertop. “You know what there’s been so much goin’ on since I got back here I haven’t even given them any thought. Hold on, let me go through my mail.” I start siftin’ through the pile ’til I come ’cross a letter from the State of California. “Oh shit. I gotta envelope right here from ’em,” I tell ’em, rippin’ it open.

“Well?”

“Hol’ on, hol’ on, let me get it open, first.” Ohmigaawd, my hands are shaken. I pull the letter outta the envelope, and slowly read it. I scream. “Aaaaaaaahhhhh, what nigga, what?! A bitch done passed the exam!”

“Yo, sexy, that’s wassup. That’s what it is, for real—for real. What you gettin’ into tonight, we gotta go out ’n celebrate.”

“True-true. And you know this. Wait. Where you at?”

“Oh, damn, my bad. I’m in Jersey, ma. That’s why I was callin’ you for in the first place. I wanted to link up wit’ you before I bounced. But now we definitely gotta get it in tonight, feel me?”

“Yup-yup; I feel you. Well, I’m free tonight. And you can have’a bitch all night,” I say wit’out thinkin’. I am startin’ to feel overwhelmed. I keep myself from cryin’. Aside from gettin’ my high school diploma, this is the first real major shit I’ve eva accomplished in my life. And it feels real good. No, scratch that. It feels fuckin’good!

“Cool-cool. That’s wassup. So what time you wanna link up?” I tell ’im ’round seven. “Oh, yeah…and don’t think I didn’t catch that last comment.”

“Uh, what was that?”

“That I can have you all night.”

“Yeah, muhfucka, to celebrate, not run up in my pussy.”

He laughs. “Aaah, there you go. Ain’t nobody say nuthin’ like that. You always thinkin’ the worst.”

“Yeah, whateva. So you sayin’ you ain’t on it for no pussy.”

“Nah, never that, ma.”

I laugh. “You’re such a fuckin’ liar.”

He laughs harder. “Nah, I ain’t on it like that.”

“Nigga, you know you want some more’a this pussy; stop frontin’.”

“Aiight, aiight; only if you tryna get it poppin’. Otherwise, nah…you cool peeps, Kat. I dig how you move. You a real thorough type chick; real talk. Any cat would be a fool not wantin’ you on his team.”

“Well, since you so full of compliments,” I tease, “I might give you a lil’ treat and let you eat my pussy. But I ain’t suckin’ ya dick and I ain’t makin’ no promises for anything else, muhfucka.”

He keeps laughin’. “Yo, Kat, you funny as hell. But I got you. So let me get ya address.” I hit ’im wit’ the info and directions, then ask ’im where he tryna take me. He tells me he’s gotta spot in the city he wants to try. Tells me to serve it up real classy.

I have anotha call comin’ in. It’s Chanel. I let the nigga know if he ain’t here at ’xactly seven, it’s a wrap. Let ’im know I don’t wait on no nigga, then click ova. “Hello.”

“What time you comin’ up to da hospital today?”

I decide to go through the rest of my mail while I’m talkin’. There’s mostly a buncha bullshit solicitations and a few bills. I glance up at the wall clock. It’s ten a.m. “I need to be gettin’ my ass in gear soon. I gotta be back here by five.” I share my news wit’ ’er.

“Ohhmiigod, Kat, that’s great. I am so proud of you, boo. So now whatchu gonna do?”

I shrug as if she can see me. “I don’t know, yet. I guess at some point, I’ma have’ta go back to Cali for a minute to see what’s what.”

“Oh cool. Then Zaire can stay wit’ me while you tryna get shit poppin’ out there.”

I frown. What da fuck?! “Leavin’ Zaire wit’ you? No, da hell I’m not. When I go, he’s goin’, too.”

“Hol’ up, bitch…why you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like, ‘bitch, I ain’t leavin’ my baby wit’ ya nasty, stank-ass.’”

I laugh. “Chanel, that’s not how I meant it. I’m sayin’…”

“Well, I don’t know what you sayin’. But I know how da fuck it sounded.” I can tell I done hurt ’er feelin’s. “Like a bitch ain’t shit. She good enough to be up at da hospital when ya trick-ass is whiskin’ all ova, but not good enough to take ’im when he gets outta da hospital. What kinda shit is that?”

Ohmiigaaawd, this lil’ nigga got bitches beefin’ ova ’im already. And da nigga ain’t even slingin’ dick, yet. “Girl, I’m sorry. You know that’s not how I meant it. It’s just that while he’s a baby I don’t wanna have’ta leave ’im alone wit’ anyone unless I really, really have’ta.”

She grunts. “Mmmph. You didn’t even want his ass; now all’a sudden you wanna be all protective ’n shit. Bitches kill me.”

I take a deep breath. “Look, bitch. I said that’s not how I meant it. I apologize for it comin’ out like that. If you wanna keep draggin’ da shit out, then…” I stop in midsentence when I get to a letter from Child Protective Services in New York.

“Hello?”

“I’m still here,” I say, rippin’ the letter open.

“Well, finish what da fuck you was sayin’ so I can continue cussin’ ya funky-ass out.”

“Ho, fuck you. I ain’t thinkin’ ’bout ya ugly-ass right now. I got a letter from CPS.”

“Well, what it say, bitch?” I read the letter. Tell ’er it says that all allegations against a bitch have been unsubstantiated. That no case will be opened against me. “Now, that’s what da fuck I’m talkin’ ’bout!” she yells into the phone, forgettin’ ’bout the mini-beef she was tryna set off. “We one step closer to bringin’ our baby home. And, bitch… Be clear. I will be takin’ ’im, too!”

I laugh, then almost faint when I come ’cross anotha letter. This one’s from Brooklyn’s Family Court. I scream into the phone. Ohmiiimuthafuckin’gaawd! Today is my muthafuckin’ day, I think, tearin’ the shit open. “Ohhhhhhhhhmiiiigod, ohhhhhmiiiigod, Chanel!”

“Whaaat da fuck happen? What is it?”

“Bitch, fuck all that one-step-closer shit; we at the muthafuckin’ finish line. I gotta court hearin’ at Family Court August third at nine a.m.”