King Divas (14 page)

O
ne stop that I've been dying to make while I'm back in Memphis is a trip to Fabdivas Hair Salon. It's the best place to announce to the other Queen Gs that momma is back. The amount of gapes and wide-eyed stares when I walk through the door is enough to boost my ego into the stratosphere.

When the initial shock wears off, two dozen Queen Gs jump to their feet and bum-rush me with a million questions.

“Bitch, you back?”

“Where have you been?”

“Did you hear about Momma Peaches?”

“Who the fuck is this Diesel muthafucka?”

I hold up my hands and laugh. “All right. All right. Calm the fuck down. Can't a bitch just come in here and get a blowout?”

One bitch ain't hear that. “Girl, they saying that King Isaac is back.”

“What?” I twist up my face at the scrawny chick rocking a head full of Rainbow Brite hair colors.

“Yeah. People are saying that he's out of jail.”

“Girl. You need to stop listening to rumors. He got like another year or so,” I tell her, wanting to mush her in the face.

“But Chantal said he got out early.”

“Don't you think I'd know if King Isaac was out?” I ask her.

She buttons those big-ass lips of hers and blinks those equally big eyes at me.

“Exactly.” I look around for my favorite hairdresser, Nekeva, standing at her station. “Can you squeeze me in? I got something special planned with my
husband
tonight.”

“Yeah, girl. You know I got you.” She pops the mousy trick who is sitting in her chair on the shoulder.

The girl screws up her face. “What? I was here first.”

I head to Nekeva's chair, but before I reach the disrespectful bitch, a group of Queen Gs snatch the girl with a head full of creamy crack out of the seat. When she tries to buck again, she gets smacked dead in her mouth.

I fucking love and miss this shit. Within seconds of my ass being planted in the chair, the owner, Ms. Anna, is handing me a glass of pink Nuvo and asking whether I'd like to get a mani/pedi too.

However, the buzzing Queen Gs don't stray too far away.

“So everything is still cool with you and Python?”

“Are you guys coming back to Shotgun Row?”

“When is Momma Peaches's funeral?”

I sigh and tell the girls that nothing has changed and that Python is definitely still running the Gangster Disciples and Diesel ain't no damn body. He's a temporary fix to a temporary problem.

Then the complaints start about how all the gang wars are affecting everybody's pockets and niggas ain't eating like they used to. Did I know that Fat Ace was back and did I know that Lucifer was pregnant with his baby?

On and on until my ass has a damn headache. They follow me from the chair to the bowl to the damn dryer. The best that I can tell them is that we are going to turn everything around—but they act like they didn't hear shit. The complaints continue.

Nekeva hooks my shit up. It's been a while since I've had my do done. I love the way my girl fixes my shit so that my hair hides my damaged ear from when LeShelle tried to chew the damn thing off. Of course when she asks what happened, I give her the mind-your-own-damn-business stare before she shuts the fuck up.

By the time Avonte and I roll out, my Queen G crown is tilted to the side. Python and I have a lot of work to do when we move our operation back to Memphis. When muthafuckas start bitching about their money, trouble is usually not too far behind. It also makes me wonder what the fuck Diesel has been doing if not feeding these niggas in our absence.

As Avonte rumbles through the streets, I recognize the area where Python bought a few of his exotic pets.With it being a minute since he had one of his beloved snakes, I have the idea of surprising him when I return.

An hour later, I leave Reptile Emporium with a handsome Burmese python in a cage. Avonte doesn't look too thrilled to have the snake in her car, but she manages to keep her mouth shut and delivers me back out to West Memphis promptly.

“Do you still need me tonight?” she asks, referring to my meet with Qiana at Hack's Crossing.

“Definitely,” I tell her. “And I need you to get a couple of Queen Gs that you trust to keep their mouths shut.”

Avonte nods.

“No. I mean it,” I tell her. “I don't want anybody asking a whole lot of questions. Just bitches who know how to follow orders. You got me?”

“Got it.”

I slap the top of the car's roof and watch Avonte pull off. A weird, ominous feeling comes over me. It's strange because it comes out of nowhere and before I can question it, it's gone.

I
'm sorry that Profit lost his mom. I hate seeing how it's tearing him up inside—
but
I'm unable to comfort him. I know that shit makes me an asshole, given how he was by my side when Reggie and Tracee were killed, but I can't help how I feel.

It's been two days and I can barely stand to look at him, just like I can't stop all the questions looping in my mind. The number one question is
why?
And
when?
As in when did he stop loving me? When did he start being attracted to
her
?

I replay all those times when Profit pretended to hate or resent Lucifer.Was all that shit for show—for my benefit?

And what now? What are we supposed to do now—
pretend
like the shit didn't happen? I can't do that. I won't do that.

For now, Profit is huddled up with his brother Mason in our living room. I'm still trying to get used to calling him that. He's always been Fat Ace—the dangerous and notorious Vice Lord gangster who was second only to Python, the Gangster Disciple. I watch the brothers, bonded in grief, as they try to come up with a plan to avenge their mother. Behind me in the kitchen is Lucifer, strangely playing the role of happy homemaker as she serves bottles of beer and a variety of snacks. Who in the hell can eat?

When I'm not watching the brothers, my gaze creeps over to Lucifer. More now than ever, I study everything about her, especially her growing belly. More questions pop and roll around in my mind.
What if?

No.

I shake my head and then try to shame myself for even thinking this shit,
but
anything could've happened while I was in the hospital and Lucifer thought her man was dead. Anything.

My heart sinks even lower and when Lucifer approaches me with the last bottle, I snatch it from her hand and then wait to see if she says anything. She doesn't—but she gives me a stare-down that
feels
like an ass whupping.

I glance away and clench my jaw. There's no sense in my ass trying her. She could take me with little effort—pregnant or not. Again, I can't bottle what I'm feeling—but clearly neither her or Profit wants their lip-lock session to get to Mason.
That's
the battle that's raging inside of me right now. Why should I be the only one suffering from their betrayal? Why should I be the only one in pain?

My gaze zooms back over to Mason, whose head is bowed and shoulders slumped. He's still blaming himself for Dribbles's death.

“I should have never agreed to go to that damn meeting. It wasn't going to accomplish or change anything. Muthafuckas can't change the past.”

He's not talking to me, but his words crush me all the same. I don't know how many times I've wished that I could go back and this time pay heed to Essence's words and ignore Profit's ass the minute he told me who his people were. If I had, she would still be here—and me and LeShelle would—what? Still be sisters? Do I miss that?

Kind of.

It's hard being at war with someone you've spent your whole life loving. Before this past year, LeShelle had always been my protector. Sure, she's rough around the edges, but it's only because she has been through so much. I loved her and I thought that I understood her. For years we bounced around from foster home to foster home. I can't begin to count the number of nights I lay awake, frozen, as men crept into our rooms and raped my sister. In the earliest years, LeShelle would fight and then cry into the pillows next to me. After a while the fighting stopped and then later so did the tears. Before long, LeShelle was hard and jaded. And she would often warn me that one day, when I developed my tits and ass, those foster daddies would start coming for me.

She was right.

One night when we stayed with Ms. Ruthie and her white husband, Abdul, shit went seriously left. Before it all went down, LeShelle had asked me to run away with her, but my young mind didn't understand where we would go. It was so dark and scary outside—gunshots were always popping off. And at that time, I thought crackheads were zombies looking to eat children's brains. I don't know where in the hell I got that shit. But LeShelle must've had some type of premonition, because a few minutes later, Abdul crept to our room smelling like he bathed in cat piss and beer. We both dove under the covers and I could hear LeShelle praying,
“Please, God. Not this shit again. ”

God never answered LeShelle's prayers—but I'd hoped that that time he would . . .

A knock at the door snatches me out of the past and lands me back in my present hell.

“I got it,” Lucifer says before I can climb up out of my seat.

Who in the fuck does this bitch think she is? She's running
my
crib like it's her own. I give Profit a sharp look, but he turns his head from me like his ass doesn't want to get involved.

“Yo, T. We . . . Oh, hi, Lucifer.”

I glance up to see Mack, Romil, and Dime crowded around the door. Their gazes all shoot toward me. “T,” Mack shouts. “Can we holler at you for a minute?”

“Now is not a good time,” Lucifer tells them.

I pop up out of my seat. Who the fuck does Lucifer think she is—my mother? “Yeah. I got a few minutes,” I say, overriding her.

Lucifer slices a look in my direction, but I ignore her
and
Profit as I march toward the door. If he isn't going to check Lucifer then he sure in the hell ain't going to check my ass.

Lucifer moves away from the door.

I step outside and close it behind me. “Yeah. What's up?” “What the fuck do you mean, what's up? Why didn't you fuckin' tell us about what happened with Emerald and Nisha at that liquor store?”