Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

“Then why da fuck didn’t you call da police on ’er ass?”

“I did, yo. And them dumb muhfuckas thought da shit was funny, askin’ me dumb shit like was I really afraid of ’er, did I really think a lil’ chick like ’er could hurt a big nigga like me and shit like that.” He pulls out his cell. “But when she started leavin’ me all kinda crazy-ass messages, I went down to the station again and played ’em for them muhfuckas.” He retrieved his voice messages, then put the phone on speaker.

“Hi, baby. Call me. I miss you. Our baby misses you.”

I cringe, pacin’ the floor, listenin’ to this kook-bitch.

“Alex, call me, big daddy. I need to see you. Why won’t you return any of my calls?”

“Alley Cat, you pussy-ass nigga. You scared of this pussy. Stop fucking avoiding my calls, nigga.”

“Motherfucker, until you come back where you belong, until you fuck me wit’ that big-ass dick, I’m going to keep fuckin’ with you.”

“Fuck you, nigga. You ain’t shit, Alley Cat. I hope you rot in hell, motherfucker! I promise you, you gonna pay for hurting me, nigga. Oh, and that lil’ stuck-up bitch you been fucking, the next time I run into her, I’m gonna toss acid in her pretty face. She broke my nose, but I promise you I’m gonna bring a hammer to that bitch’s skull. Let’s see you run behind that bitch when she’s all burnt and banged up.”

A bitch is pipin’ hot, okay? That stinkin’ bitch gonna threaten me. “So this bitch is still out on da muthafuckin’ loose, poppin shit.”

“I filed a complaint on ’er.”

“Well, why da fuck didn’t you do that shit in da first place?”

“Them muhfuckas wouldn’t let me. They told me there wasn’t nuthin’ they could do.”

I stare the nigga, down. “What’s that bitch’s last name and address? That bitch is barkin’ up da wrong muthafuckin’ tree and she’s ’bout to get chopped da fucked down.”

“C’mon, baby. Let da police handle it. I don’t want you gettin’ caught up in this shit.”

“Nigga, is you serious? That bitch has been to my home. She slashed ya muthafuckin’ tires in my driveway, did you forget that? And the bitch is talkin’ ’bout she gonna do my face. I don’t think so. I told you before I wanted that bitch’s address, and you fuckin’ thought I was playin’. I coulda had that bitch dropped months ago. But noooo, you wanna protect da bitch.”

He takes a deep breath, rubbin’ his hands ova his face. “It’s not like that, yo. You don’t understand, this bitch’s crazy.”

“Nigga, I understand more than you think. And guess what? I don’t give’a fuck ’bout that bitch bein’ crazy. I want that nuttyass ho’s address. And I want it now!”

“No, baby. I got this.”

I glare at ’im. “No? You still wanna protect that crazy bitch?”

“Yo, I don’t give a fuck ’bout ’er. I ain’t protectin’ that bitch, yo. I don’t want ’er comin’ at you; that’s all.”

“Fuck outta here wit’ that dumb shit. You brought da bitch straight to my muthafuckin’ doorstep, number one; and number two, ya black ass kept all this bitch’s crazy-ass antics from me. Why?”

“I was tryna handle da shit on my own.”

“What da fuck?! Muthafucka, you retarded as hell. Why da fuck was you even talkin’ to da bitch when you knew ’er ass was a nut from da rip?”

“I know I—”

I’m done fuckin’ wit’ this nigga, I think, puttin’ my hand up to stop him from sayin’ shit else. Strike three! I stare at ’im, disgusted. “You know what, nigga. Get da fuck outta my house.”

He gets up and walks ova toward me. “C’mon, baby. I promise you, da police are lookin’ for ’er as we speak. You don’t need to get ya’self caught up in this shit.”

I huff, grittin’ my teeth. “Muthafucka, I’m already caught up in this shit. The minute that bitch stepped to me at that salon it became my shit, too. Now get out!”

“No. I ain’t leavin’.”

I blink. “No? Uh, you ain’t leavin’? I tell you what. Hol’ that thought. I’ll be right back.” I run upstairs to my bedroom, swingin’ open my closet. Muhfucka gonna tell me he ain’t leavin’ up outta my shit. That nigga don’t want it. I’ma show his cocky ass. I open my safe, pullin’ out my 9mm. I screw on the silencer, then pop my hips back downstairs. The nigga is sittin’ back down on the sofa. Ohmiigaaawd, this muthafucka is fuckin’ crazy.

I point my gun at ’im. The nigga jumps up, shook. “Nigga, I asked you to get da fuck outta my house. Now I’m tellin’ you. Get da fuck up, and get da fuck out, NOW! Or I’ma blow ya muthafuckin’ face off.”

“Yo, c’mon, baby, why you gotta pull ya shit out on me. All I wanna do is talk.”

“Muthafucka, you done said all I need’a hear. Unless you givin’ me that slut’s last name and address, da only thing I wanna hear is ya ass screechin’ outta my driveway.”

He stands here lookin’ at me all crazy-eyed ’n shit. This nigga really don’t think I’ll take his face off. I cock the gun. “I’ma tell you one more time, then I’ma pop off ya top. Get. Da. FUCK. OUT. NOW!”

He shakes his head, puttin’ his hands up. “Aiight, Kat, you got that. You made ya point. I’m out.”

“Good. Now get ta steppin’.”

I watch ’im walk toward the door and open it. He turns to face me. “Yo, hol’ up. Check this out. I didn’t do this shit intentionally. A muhfucka thought I could keep that bitch quiet ’til I could figure out how’ta get ’er ass off my back. I didn’t want ’er fuckin’ wit’ you; that’s all. And I damn sure wasn’t tryna bring drama up in ya space.”

“Well, too bad, nigga, you did. Now bounce.”

He opens the door and walks out, shuttin’ it behind ’im.

I drop down on the step and sit, holdin’ my head in my hands. Relieved the nigga left up outta here before I had’a blow his head off. I lay the gun down on the step, starin’ out the livin’ room window waitin’ to see his car lights go on, then disappear outta my driveway.

When it takes the nigga longer than I think it should for ’im to roll out, I get up off the step to see what the fuck he’s doin’. As I swing open the door, I see him standin’ outside by his car, talkin’ to someone but I can’t see who it is. And it looks like he has his hands up. I flip on the outside light, then, Boom! Boom! Boom! The next thing I know, Alex hits the ground.

“Ohhhmiifuckin’god!” I race back to get my gun, then flee out the door. But whoeva it was that shot ’im, has hopped in they car and sped the fuck off. I race back in the house to get my cell phone, then run back outside, callin’ 9-1-1. “Ohhhhmiigod, Alex, can you hear me?” The nigga doesn’t respond and he’s bleedin’ real bad. As soon as the dispatcher picks up, I tell ’im what’s what, and tell ’im to hurry the fuck up and get someone here. I drop down beside Alex and try to steady his head. I scoop ’im into my arms and rock ’im, hopin’ like hell the nigga doesn’t die in my arms. “Hol’ on, Allstar…don’t you die on me, nigga. Help is on the way.”

One of my neighbors—a white man I neva fuck wit’—runs ’cross the yard ova to us, carryin’ a buncha towels. “You alright?” he asks, handin’ me towels. I tell ’im I am and thank ’im for the towels. “My wife and I saw everything,” he says, gettin’ on the otha side of Alex. He puts pressure on the wound. “We were on the phone with the police when the woman fired her gun.”

“He’s losin’ a lotta blood,” I say, tryna keep my composure. My hands start to shake. Nigga, why da fuck didn’t you give me that bitch’s address when I first asked you for it? This shit woulda neva went down like this.

Just as three cop cars are pullin’ up alongside the house, the nigga stops breathin’ and it takes e’erything in me not to pass the fuck out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Muhfucka dicked ova a lotta hoes…turned ’em out…then dismissed…gotta nutty-bitch pissed…’bout all da shit she took… horny ho couldn’t let go…now da nigga stretched out…wit’ bullets in da chest…