The Kat Trap

me.” She filled her shot glass, then tossed it back. She set the glass back down on the table and continued. “As long as I can get into the clubs for free with my girls, then the nigga serves his purpose.”

“Girl, you know I understand a bitch tryna do her,” Chanel said, “but I’m with Kat. That shit’s crazy. If shit gets hot, you know that nigga will hang ya ass to dry.”

“It ain’t even like that,” she stated, gettin’ all defensive ’n shit.

I sucked my teeth. “Why, because you fuckin’ him?”

“Yeah, we fuckin’ ’n all. But he ain’t even on it like that. On some real shit, the nigga asked me to do him this solid. He’s diggin’ me, and I’m diggin’ him. Real talk.”

If that wasn’t the dumbest shit I ever heard this bitch say. No nigga who is really feelin’ you, or tryna wife ya, is gonna get ya ass caught up in some shit like pickin’ up and movin’ his packages. Fuck that. He’s gonna try to keep ya ass outta that shit. Get his muhfuckin’ niggas or some trick to handle that shit. I don’t give a fuck what ya say. Now I might carry a nigga’s gun into a club or some shit like that, like I used to do when I was fuckin’ with Naheem, but that extra shit…you can kiss my beautiful round ass!

“Bitch, please,” I said. “Like he’s diggin’ the other six bitches he got runnin’ shit for his ass. Girl, the only thing that muhfucka is diggin’ is ya back out. That nigga don’t give a fuck ’bout you ’cause if he did, he wouldn’t’ve asked ya ass to do no shit like that in the first place. So fuck what ya heard.”

“You don’t know what you talkin’ ’bout.”

“Yeah okay…if you say so. But I know all that nigga is doin’ is usin’ ya silly ass. And you too stuck on stupid to see it.”

Tamia chimed in. “Kat, you always comin’ outta the side of ya neck with shit. Iris is a grown-ass woman, so let her do her. If the nigga is tryna play her, she’ll peep it, and in the end his ass’ll get played ’cause that’s how we do ours.” She lifted her drink toward Iris. “Girl, I’m with you. Get that paper. Just know when to dip out.”

“Exactly,” Iris said, clickin’ her glass with Tamia’s.

“Bitch, fuck that. If we ’posed to be girls, then girls check each other when shit ain’t right. And this shit don’t sit right with me, so, I’m sayin’ somethin’. But at the end of the day, I know the bitch is gonna do what she wants. But that still don’t mean I ain’t gonna call her on it.”

“And you know I appreciate it, but I know what I’m doin’.”

I stared at her ass like she had six heads and a dick hangin’ outta each one of her mouths. “Humph. Yeah, okay. Who is this nigga, anyway?” I asked.

“Don’t worry ’bout that,” Iris replied, suckin’ her teeth. “You don’t need to know all that right now.”

“Aww, shit,” Chanel said. “So now we keepin’ secrets from each other?”

“I’m not keepin’ secrets. I need to keep this on the low for now. But, this bitch here,” she said, flickin’ her thumb in my direction, “tryna put me on blast ’n shit.”

“Because I care ’bout what happens to ya dumb ass.”

“Don’t worry. I got this.”

“Well, I tell ya what, Miss I Got This. When the nigga turns his back on ya ass, you make sure you got enough bail money to get ya dumb ass outta Rikers, and enough money for a lawyer to keep ya ass from bein’ sent up the way, ’cause Tamia’s broke ass ain’t got it to help ya ass since she wanna be on ya team ’n shit.”

“Whatever,” Iris said. “I know you ain’t talkin’, bitch. You the biggest secret keeper up in this piece and ain’t none of us ridin’ ya clit tryna find out how you makin’ ya paper.”

“I ain’t bein’ no nigga’s mule,” I said, frownin’. “That’s what the fuck I’m not doin’.”

“Well, answer me this,” Iris said, takin’ another blunt from Tamia. She took three pulls and passed it to Chanel. When Chanel tried to pull me into the rotation, I told her ass, again, I was good. “Is how you makin’ ya ends legal?”

“Ho, what I do or don’t do has nothin’ to do with ya dumb ass runnin’ drugs for some nigga. Don’t try ’n flip this shit on me.”

“Bitch, pass me the blunt,” Iris ordered Chanel, who’d held on to it three tokes too long for Iris’s likin’. “Your trick ass holdin’ onto that shit like it’s a dick or some shit.”

Chanel took another toke, then exhaled. “Ho, bite me,” she said, laughin’, “with ya fiend ass.”

I had had ’bout enough of this back ’n forth bullshit. Fuckin’ with these hoes was startin’ to give me a headache. A bitch needed a blunt! I reached into my Gucci bag and pulled out my stash. “Hand me a light,” I said, lettin’ out a deep disgusted sigh.

“Oh, bitch, what…you too good to smoke with us?” Tamia asked.

Chanel tossed me her lighter.

“Basically,” I said, sparkin’ up.

“Since when?” she asked with ’tude.

I eagerly took two pulls, then held the smoke in my lungs before lettin’ it swirl up into my nose, and out of my mouth. Okay, this was startin’ to remind me of that game Truth or Dare. See, a bitch who ain’t ready to face the truth would rather be dared to do some off-the-wall shit, instead of facin’ shit dead-on. But a real live bitch is gonna give ya ass the truth and even take the dare as a bonus. Tamia’s raggedy-ass ain’t gonna do either ’cause the ho ain’t real with hers.

“Since I don’t know where ya nasty-ass mouth’s been, that’s when,” I answered, blowin’ smoke up into the air.

“Bitch, and I don’t know where yours been either,” Tamia stated, cuttin’ me the evil eye. “But that ain’t never stop us from blazin’ together before. And now you wanna be on some new shit. Fuck ya snotty ass, then.”

“Ya right. You don’t know where my mouth’s been. But you ain’t never heard no shit ’bout me either. You, on the other hand—”

“Wait a minute, bitch!” she cut me off. “What the fuck is you tryna say? You ain’t heard shit ’bout me.”

“Humph. We mighty defensive, aren’t we?”

“I ain’t defensive ’bout shit,” she snapped.

“Ain’t that special. Word on the streets is you got herpes,” I said, takin’ a long pull from my blunt. Everyone in the room almost chocked on their drinks and smoke.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Chanel said, coughin’ and wavin’ the thick smoke outta her face. “Where’d you hear that bullshit?”

“Naheem called me last night and said some nigga up there got peoples on the bricks sayin’ she gave it to ’em.”

“Fuck that lyin’-ass nigga,” Tamia said defensively. She poured herself another drink. “He don’t know what the fuck I got.”

I eyed her. “Well, what do you have?”

“The same shit you got, bitch. Fuck is you talkin’ ’bout, tryna come at me on some bullshit. I’m real with mine, bitch.”

“I seriously doubt it, ho!” I yelled at her. “You can say whatever the fuck ya want. But like I said before, you ain’t never heard no shit ’bout me from no niggas or bitches. Believe that. But you, bitch, ya name has always been all up ’n down the streets. Ya name was floatin’ all through the projects, ho. And you know it. So, please! You the one who had to start fuckin’ with them Queens and uptown niggas ’cause most of Brooklyn had already ran up in you. Then when ya name started floatin’ outta them niggas’ circles, you crossed over the water and started fuckin’ Jersey niggas. So, bitch, don’t even clown. If the Centers for Disease Control ever got word on how much dick mileage ya pussy got on it, and the number of nuts dumped up in it, they’d have ya ass up on the Most Wanted Hoes list, so you can front if ya want.”

“Fuck you, Kat!” She slammed her drink down onto the table. “You act like ya ass is so fuckin’ on point. You got dirt under ya nails and rug burns on ya back, too, bitch.”

I laughed. “Uh-huh, I sure do. But I don’t have blisters on my pussy, bitch. See, the difference between you and a bitch like me is I know how to move. And, you, you real sloppy with your shit. Because you rockin’ a few labels now don’t mean shit ain’t still poppin’ off ’bout ya nasty ass. But I tell ya what. Since you so real with yours, ho, how many niggas used ya fuckin’ throat to plant their nuts in, huh, you dirty bitch?”

“That’s none of ya muhthafuckin’ business.”

“Oh, really?” I asked. “Since when? It never stopped ya ass in the past. Now all of a sudden who ya fuckin’ ain’t nobody’s business.” I started laughin’. “Trick, please. You always been a walkin’ billboard for sex on the go. You been poppin’ dicks in ya mouth like Tic Tacs since the sixth grade. And now you tryna be brand-new. And the