King Divas (7 page)

S
itting on the edge of my bed, doubled over in pain, I come to the realization that I'm a dead bitch walking. There's no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I have no one to blame but myself. I fucked over the wrong bitch. Now it's time to pay the piper.

Diesel kicked and stomped my ass into the floor last night after drugging and fucking me and . . . I don't even want to think about what may have happened with that damn Doberman pinscher, Solomon.

I shiver in disgust and then block the hazy memory from resurfacing. After I got my ass kicked, LeShelle ran my taxi off the road, killed the driver, and was seconds from murking my ass. Fortunately, she needs something: the baby. The baby I sliced out of one of LeShelle's enemies. I named him Jayson when I brought him here to live for a few months. I cut him out of his momma because LeShelle had failed to tell me that her man's side piece was due to deliver that child at any moment.

My clique, Li'l Bit, Tyneshia, and Adaryl, weren't down with killing a bitch who was nine months pregnant. So I solved the problem. Tyneshia still balked so I got heated and blasted a bullet straight through her dome. Fuck. I never liked the bitch any damn way. Plus, it got the other bitches to fall back in line so we could do the damn job. A deal was a deal, even when you make it with the devil. Recently, I had to secretly move Jayson because the cops came snooping around here. I'm just a half-step ahead of Captain Hydeya Hawkins and now a half-step behind LeShelle Murphy.

The deal: LeShelle murked one of her own bitches, Essence, who I felt had violated the laws of the street by hanging around Profit. In return, I got rid of one of her man's baby mommas. Still, I didn't trust the bitch and thought that keeping Jayson could serve as insurance. The plan backfired. Once LeShelle learned the baby was alive, she came after my ass. I'm alarmed at how easy it was for her to reach out and touch me. And I wasn't prepared for the bombshell that Diesel, my new nigga, was Python's damn cousin. I'm such a fool. Here I thought Diesel was this cool muthafucka with a mean dick game. Turns out, that nigga just gassed me up for information.

Diesel and Jayson had the same horseshoe birthmark in the same damn place. Li'l Bit told me that shit didn't seem right—but did I listen? The birthmark must be a family trait. No. In fact, I never fuckin' listen. I've been through so much shit, and for what? Profit? Hell. That nigga was one of the reasons I went toe-to-toe with Ta'Shara—when she sliced up my face. The whole sweet, innocent shit is a damn act.The bitch's blade game ain't no joke.

Looking back, I never had a chance. Profit's nose has been shoved so far up Ta'Shara's ass, her farts must smell like potpourri. Shit has changed in the past year. Ta'Shara is a Vice Lord Flower bossed up with the prince of the Vice Lords. The bitch lives right across the street from me. The other girls in the set have welcomed her with open arms.

She won.

And now I'm stuck with her psycho-bitch sister. The shit ain't right.

My stomach pitches again. I race to the bathroom and empty my guts. I have less than forty-eight hours to turn Jayson over, but I know if and when I do, LeShelle is going to kill both of us.

“Fuck!” I'm hit with another wave of bile and upchuck the rest of my Hot Pockets breakfast. After that, I dry-heave until my stomach locks up.

“Qiana, are you all right?”

I groan, unable to pick my head up long enough to tell GG to go away.

She knocks harder. “Qiana?”

I still can't do it.

“I'm coming in.” GG opens the door and pokes her head in. At seeing me hugged against the toilet, she freaks. “Are you all right?”

GG rushes over to help. Next thing I know, she's grabbing face towels out of the linen closet and running them under cold water.

My annoyance fades when one towel touches the back of my neck. The shit feels so good that I sigh in relief.

“It's going to be all right,” she says. “I know these hangovers aren't much fun.”

I wish it was a hangover.
This is a purging. Diesel gave me some potent nose candy last night that's still circulating in my system. While I was drugged up, Diesel easily got all the information he wanted. I gag and my stomach muscles turn into a solid knot. She places another towel around my forehead.

I sigh.

“There. You feel better now?”

At long last, I pull my head out of the toilet. “Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine,” I lie.

“I'm surprised. You usually handle your liquor better than this.”

I grunt, still not ready for a conversation. Maybe it's the way that I dodge her eyes that gets her to cock her head.

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“Goddamn it. I said that I'm fine!”

“All right. No need to snap.” She stands up. “I was trying to help.”

“I know—but I'm past that now,” I tell her cryptically.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Shit.
Now I can't control my mouth. If I'm going to keep it real with myself, I'm backed into a corner. I don't know what to do. If I tell Li'l Bit and Adaryl about LeShelle's pop up last night, they'll lose their damn minds.

I need a fucking plan—quick.

“Qiana, what the hell is going on with you?” GG asks, eyeballing me hard.

I open my mouth to tell her to leave me the fuck alone, but to my horror, I burst out crying.

GG is stunned. “Whatever it is, everything is going to be all right.” She settles on the floor next to me and then draws me into her arms. “I'm here.”

Unbelievably, I cry harder.

GG's arms tighten. I want to push her away
and
pull her closer.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
My emotions are all over the place. I'm ashamed. This is not the way for a true Vice Lord Flower to behave. We roll and bang as hard as any muthafuckin' foot soldier in the game. I've worked hard to prove that I'm a boss bitch, but now I feel like a goddamn child on a playground, whose toy has been stolen. Pathetic.

“Shhhh. It's okay. It's okay,” GG keeps saying. “You do what you need to do. I got you.”

I hate to admit it, but I'm glad she's here. An hour goes by before I settle down.

I'm exhausted and my mind is fucking numb, but I push my way out of her embrace.

“Are you all right?” she asks tenderly.

“Yeah.” I nod and wipe my eyes.

“Do you want to tell me what happened? Did something go down between you and your new boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend. Ha! Fuck that dirty nigga.”

“Okay.” She waits me out.

“Look. I appreciate your concern but—you can't help me.”

“You don't know that. Why don't you give me a try?”

Tears flow down my face. I hate myself right now.

“C'mon. I've been in some shit before. And though me and Charlie aren't married, I hope you know that I do look at you like a sister. We're family—and I want to help.”

“You can't help me. Nobody can.”

“You're being dramatic.”

“Fuck. If you only knew—”

“Then tell me! What am I missing? What happened between you and that nigga last night?”

Silence.

“Did something happen at the club? Is there another bitch—or are you still beefing with Profit's girl?”

“Fuck that bitch,” I tell her.

“Then what?”

The silence grows to the point that my ears ring. The weight of GG's stare feels as if it's about to crush me.

She takes my hand. “Please. Let me help you.”

“I did something . . . bad.” I finally meet her eyes. “I fucked up,” I start, and then tell her the whole damn, pathetic story.

“W
ho?” I ask. I'm sure I didn't hear him right.

Fowler nods. “Can you believe it? The woman is a legend, even in these sacred halls.”

The floor tilts beneath my feet—enough so that I reach for the nearest wall to steady myself. The vertigo only lasts for a few seconds, but in that time, my mind races with a million questions. The first one being: How in the hell am I going to tell Isaac?

“Are you all right?” Fowler asks.

“Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine.” I shake off my shock, but it doesn't work.At most I buy time to recover. I struggle to pin down the exact emotion that I'm feeling.
Relief? Joy? Sadness? Confusion?
Hell. It's a mix of them. After all, I have a complicated relationship with the woman—even though she doesn't know me from Adam. Since she escaped from her troubled sister, Maybelline Carver has looked into my face several times and never once recognized me. I kept waiting, since I look a lot like my father, but it never happened.

Surely Python didn't shoot his own aunt. I'd heard for years from Isaac how close the two were. No. That puzzle piece doesn't fit.

“So . . . what's the theory? She walk in on something or was she the intended victim?”

“At this point, it's anyone's guess. The shooting was called in by several people in the neighborhood, but so far—”

“Nobody saw a damn thing,” we chorus in sync.

“Of course,” I add.

“Pastor Hayes is en route. I spoke to him over the phone and he said that he saw Maybelline before heading out to the hospital. We'll get a full statement when he gets here.”

“All right.” I glance over at Fowler. “Are you going in to talk to Ms. Blackmon?”

“Yep. It's how I make the big bucks.” He winks and heads into the interrogation room. “Watch and learn.”

“Will do, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Fowler smirks as he opens the door.

I lean back against the wall and watch my former partner go to work.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Ms. Blackmon,” Fowler says, handing the shaken woman a can of Diet Coke. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, I guess,” Cleo says, shifting in her chair. “Do you know how much longer this is going to be?”

“Not much longer,” Fowler reassures her. “I want to confirm that your statement is that when you arrived at the church you didn't see anyone else there and that you weren't witness to the actual shooting. Is that correct?”

There's a beat of hesitation. “That's correct.”

She's fucking lying.
I step closer to the two-way mirror and study her expression.

“You also said that you knew our victim,” Fowler says. “Do you know if there's anyone who may have wanted to cause her harm?”

Another beat. “No. Everyone loved her—except maybe you guys. It's well-known that the po-po has been harassing her for decades.”

“Maybelline Carver has quite a police record, but surely you're not insinuating that the Memphis Police Department had anything to do with her death?”

Cleo flashes a flat smile. “I'm answering your questions.”

The observation door wrenches open. “Oh. Fowler is still interviewing?”

“Yeah. What's up?” I turn away from the mirror.

“Pastor Hayes is here.”

“Ah. Okay. I'll talk to him.” I march out of the room behind my colleague. It isn't too hard to spot the anxious pastor out in the hall.

“Pastor Hayes?” I offer him my hand. “I'm—”

“Captain Hawkins. Yes. I know. I've seen you plenty of times on TV. I, uh, came here as soon as I could. I can't believe that this has happened. Peaches, er, I mean, Maybelline—had recently joined the congregation.”

Peaches.
“Was she a personal friend of yours?”

“She was an
old
friend. She's lived in the neighborhood for at least fifty-odd years. Plus . . . I wasn't always a pastor,” he says sheepishly.

I reach for my notepad again. “What time was it when you last saw her?”

“About two hours ago.”

“And how was she?”

He hesitates. “To be honest with you she seemed . . .
troubled
.”

He has my full attention. “Troubled? What do you mean?”

“I don't know if you know, but Peaches had been through a horrific experience recently. She'd been kidnapped by her baby sister, Alice.”

“Yes. I do know all about that.”

“I had gotten the impression that Peaches was looking to turn her life around. It's not unusual after a traumatic experience. You understand?”

“Sure.”

“Peaches attended a couple of services, but when I saw her this morning, I was surprised.”

“Did she come to talk to you?”

“No. Actually, I found her in the sanctuary praying.”

“Praying?” I repeat. The image is hard for me to get my brain around.

“Don't get me wrong—that's what the church is for. It was . . . out of the ordinary. I talked to her and told her that she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted. It's just that when I was talking to her . . . I don't know. She seemed to have a lot on her mind.” He draws in another breath. “I don't understand who would do something like that—at the church of all places.”

“Was she the only person there when you left?”

“Yes—wait—no,” he waffles. “When I was leaving a church volunteer was arriving. She helps out in the office a couple of times a week.”

“Oh? What's her name and how can I get in touch with her?”

“Josie. Josephine Holmes.”