Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang (19 page)

“Bitch, get real. I love ya ho-ass.”

“I know you love me. And I love you, too. But I ain’t talkin’
’bout me. I’m talkin’ ’bout you bein’ so damn closed to lettin’ anyone else in ya space. Bitch, I love you like a sista, but I swear ya ass is too damn selfish.”

Is this slut serious?
“Ho, since when you become da expert on love? Love don’t come easy, and it ain’t guaranteed. So, a bitch like me ain’t givin’ any out unless it’s earned and deserved.”

She goes back to ’er seat. “Kat, it ain’t always ’bout you. That baby needs you. And if you ask me, I think you need it, too.”

I roll my eyes. “Girl, you sound fuckin’ crazy.”

“And, bitch, you crazier than I am.”

I laugh, dismissin’ e’erything she’s said. “You know what, ho, pass me da damn blunt. And instead of playin’ Oprah, make ya’self useful and take the lasagna outta da damn oven. Trick-bitch tryna lecture me. Not!”

“Fuck you, slut-bucket.” We go back ’n forth callin’ each otha a buncha names, laughin’ ’til it’s time to get our grub on.

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER, WE’RE SITTIN’ AT THE TABLE EATIN’ ’N
tossin’ back Jose Cuervo mix margaritas. Our convo has changed up and I’m glad ’cause I really didn’t wanna have’ta go off on my girl ’bout shit she’ll neva understand. “Mmm, this shit is bangin’, Boo. I had no idea you could throw down in the kitchen.” She licks ’er fingas, takin’ a sip of ’er drink.

“Well, Sweetie, a butta bitch like me can do more than be fly ’n fabulous.”

“Hmmmph, so I see, boo. So I muthafuckin’ see. Annnnyways, what’s good wit’ you and Allstar?”

“Shit. But interestin’ly da nigga took me to meet his moms.”

Her mouth drops open. “Say what?”

“You heard me. It fucked a bitch up, too.”

She smiles. “That nigga must really dig you. You know ain’t no nigga takin’ a ho he ain’t really diggin’ home to meet his moms; period.” I agree. “So how was she?”

“On some real shit, she was mad cool. She checks da nigga left ’n right, and was puttin’ ’im out on front street da whole time, draggin’ ’im for filth.” I start laughin’. “Ohmigod, girlfriend was airin’ his drawers all da way out.”

“What was she sayin’?”

Ohhhhkay…this is my girl and all. But, on some real shit, a bitch ain’t really up for tellin’ ’er too much ’bout this nigga. So I tell ’er just enough to let ’er know the nigga has real doggish ways.

She wets ’er throat, tossin’ back the rest of ’er drink, then refills ’er glass. “I guess you were shocked when she told you all that.”

“Kinda. I mean, not by what she was sayin’ ’cause I already knew da nigga had a buncha whores on his squad.” She sparks an after dinner blunt, takes a pull, then hands it to me. “I wasn’t expectin’ ’er to put ’im on blast in front of me. And da funny thing is, he didn’t try ’n stop ’er. It was like da nigga wanted ’er to spill his dirt.”

“Yeah, that nigga’s diggin’ you, Kat.”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

She rolls ’er eyes up in ’er head. “Bitch, whaddaya mean,
maybe?
You already know what it is.”

I put the blunt to my lips, thinkin’ back on my convo with his moms while I was in the kitchen helpin’ her wit’ the dishes. Yes, believe it or not, a bitch rolled up ’er sleeves and helped his moms out. For me, that was a first. But it gave me a chance to get to know ’er some.

“Let me tell you something ’bout my son,” she said, eyein’ me. “Alex is my only child. And I know him like I know the back of my hand. That man has never brought any woman to my home to meet me. And believe me, he has been through multiple
women. Even when he was a teenager, sneaking them fast-assed girls into my house, he wasn’t tryna have me meet ’em.

“But, for some reason, he wanted me to meet you. Now I don’t know what it is about you, but whatever it is, it has my son open. And, between you and me, I have been prayin’ every day that he’d meet someone he can settle down with. I don’t know enough about you to say if I think you’re the one. But I know enough to know that my son thinks you’re the one good enough for me to meet. So, that says a lot.” She paused, then added, “You seem like you on point. You classy, beautiful and I can tell a feisty one. And that’s what my son needs—someone who won’t put up with any shit. But I’ma tell you like this, don’t fuck him over, or you and I will have to take it to the streets.”

Believe it or not, a bitch was taken aback when she said that. But I kept it cute. The only thing I could do was smile ’cause on some real shit she brought it to me how a real bitch should—straight to the damn point.

“So, all that said, you tryna make it pop wit’ da nigga or what?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m chillin’.”

“You
chillin’
? Bitch, ya ass need’a man.”

“I don’t need shit. And I definitely don’t need ’im. Not for anything serious; that’s for sure. The nigga is too extra for me.”

“Mmmph, if you say so. Well, have you at least fucked ’im?”

I smirk. “Sumthin’ like that.”

She drops ’er fork in ’er plate. “Ohmiiiigod, you dirty whore. Since when you start holdin’ out on’a bitch? That’s da first thing that shoulda been cumin’ outta ya cock washas. Fuck goin’ to meet his mammy. Spill it. Is the nigga’s stroke game right?”

I laugh. “No comment.”

She sucks ’er teeth, rollin’ ’er eyes. “Well, answer me this. How many times you fuck ’im?”

“Twice,” I tell ’er, liftin’ my glass in toast.

She laughs. “Say no more. Da dick’s good, and you diggin’ his ass.”

I grin. “What makes you say that?”

“’Cause I know ya kind, boo.”

I chuckle. “Oh, bitch, puhleeze. You think you know so damn much.”

“Well, am I wrong?”

“Ho, finish eatin’ ya damn food.”

“Tramp; just what I thought.”

“Fuck you, Booga,” I say, gettin’ up from the table to get another bottle of Cuervo.

She bursts out laughin’. We spend the rest of the afternoon, blazin’ and drinkin’ ’til we’re both so damn lit we can’t see straight. And as usual, Chanel’s drunk-ass ends up stayin’ the night.

Bang, bang, bang! Ding-dong, ding-dong!
I
OPEN MY EYES NOT
sure if it’s a dream or if someone is really bangin’ on my damn door and ringin’ my doorbell like they two steps from crazy. The bangin’ and ringin’ continues. I glance ova at the clock. 8:47 a.m.

“Who da fuck’s bangin’ on ya door like that?” Chanel asks, standin’ in my doorway in ’er bra and panties wit’ ’er hair all ova her head. She pops ’er hips in my room, walkin’ into my closet to get a robe. I glance at ’er. The bitch’s body is bangin’.

“Beats da hell outta me,” I say, rollin’ ova on my left side and pullin’ da covers up ova my head. “Go down and see.”

She walks outta the room, goes downstairs. I hear the alarm chirp when she finally opens the door, then wonder what the fuck is takin’ ’er so long to come back upstairs.

A few minutes later she comes up and says, “Kat, girrrrrl, you gotta real problem.”

There’s more bangin’. Then pressin’ down on my doorbell. I snap up in bed. “What? Who da fuck is on my doorbell like that?”

She shakes her head. “Baaaaaaby, you might wanna boot up. It’s ya Aunt Rosa.”

My eyes buck in surprise. “Whaaaat?! Rosa’s at my muthafuckin’ door?”

“In da damn flesh. And girlfriend looks like she’s ready to make shit pop.”

Bang, bang, bang, bang!
I swing the covers off, then jump outta bed. “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. That bitch brought ’er ass to my muthafuckin’ home tryna bring da noise? Oh, hell no. I’ma fuck this bitch up once ’n for all.”

I run into my closet, snatch’a Baby Phat sweatsuit off’a hanga, then hurriedly put it on. I boot up; tie my laces tight. “I’ma break this bitch’s face,” I say, brushin’ past Chanel. She follows behind me as I race down the stairs, then peek outta the livin’ room window to see what kinda work I gotta put in.
Ohmigod, this crazy bitch came here solo
, I think when I don’t see anyone else outside wit’ ’er.

“Kat, maybe you should call da police,” Chanel says, slippin’ into a pair’a sweats. She pulls ’er hair into a ponytail. “You said there’s a restrainin’ order, right?”

“Oh, I’ma call da police alright.
After
I finish rockin’ ’er sockets ’n knockin’ ’er grill out. I’ma need you to be on watch in case some ’xtra shit pops off.”

“I got you.”

Bang, bang, bang!
“Kat, I know you’re in there, bitch! Open up this fuckin’ door and take ya ass-whoopin’ like a real bitch. Fuckin’ no-good bitch!”

Bang, bang, bang!

I decide to go out the back door and run ’round to the front to catch this ho by surprise. I tell Chanel to open the front door to
distract ’er. I grab two bricks from off’a the patio table, then race ’round to the front. I hit the bitch in the back of the head wit’ one brick and throw the otha through my front window to make it look like the bitch was the one who tossed it.

She grabs ’er head. “Aaaaaah! Pussy bitch! You wanna sneak a bitch?! You wanna fight dirty?!” She charges me, but I got the ho dazed.

I grab ’er by the hair. “Bitch!” I snap, swingin’ ’er onto the ground, then draggin’ ’er by her scalp. “You come to my muthafuckin’ home like you wanna get it in, then let’s.”

“Bitch!” she yells, tryna pry my hands outta ’er hair. “Let my muthafuckin’ hair go and fight me like a real bitch.” I don’t let go ’til I yank’a handful of ’er hair out.

“Get da fuck up, bitch. You wanna rock wit’ da hands, then let’s.” I wait for the bitch to get up; hands balled in tight fists. Give ’er a moment to get ’er thoughts in check, then we bang it out. We go at it like two bitches who have hated each other for years. She’s punchin’. I’m punchin’. My fist connects wit’ the side’a ’er face. Hers connects wit’ the side’a mine. We go blow for blow. I hit ’er dead in ’er grill. She stumbles backward. “I’m so fuckin’ sick of you. I wish you’d die, bitch!” I punch ’er again. “I want you dead!”

She runs toward me, and kicks me in the stomach. I stumble back. “I’ma fuck you up, Kat, for all da pain ya ungrateful ass caused my sista, for disrespectin’ ya grandmutha, and for comin’ at me like I’m some gutter bitch.”

“Suck’a crack pipe, slut,” I snap, punchin’ ’er in ’er throat, then kickin’ the bitch in ’er bad knee—the one I’m sure she thought I forgot ’bout—wit’ my steel toes. “You are a gutter rat.” She falls to ’er knees. “Get up, bitch! Let’s finish this shit once ’n for all.”

She gets up and, then in one swift motion, the bitch whips out
’er blade and swings it, slashin’ into the air. I jump back. She swings ’er blade again. Slashes the air again; attempts to bring it to my face. But I am smart enough to know not to get too close to ’er crazy ass.

Right now, I am too fuckin’ mad to be concerned if the bitch cuts me or not, I want ’er ass dropped. I charge ’er. “Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch, I hate you!” I knock ’er backward into a tree, grabbin’ her by the wrist, then twistin’ ’er arm ’til she drops the blade. I flip ’er onto the ground, then jump on top’a ’er. We roll ’round in the grass, slappin’, punchin’ and clawin’ each other ’til I reach for the brick that’s beside me and start rockin’ the front of ’er face wit’ it. Blood gushes out. And it only entices me; gets a bitch’s juices flowin’ and makes me wanna crack this ho’s skull open. Right now, I wanna smash ’er brains in. I bang in ’er mouth, again.

I hear Chanel scream. “Ohmiiigaaaawd, nooooo, Kat!”

Someone must have called the police. I can hear the sirens in the background, but I don’t give’a fuck. I let go of the brick, drop it on the ground, then get up, leavin’ Rosa lyin’ on the ground busted ’n bloody.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Crazy bitch shoulda stayed in ’er lane…tryna set it off wit’ a bitch like me…ho shoulda opened ’er eyes…she woulda known a bitch don’t take lightly to threats…don’t live wit’ a buncha regrets…trick bitch…welcome to ya demise…

“Detective Samuels, speaking.”

I clear my throat. “Detective Samuels, this is Katrina Rivera. I’m callin’ regardin’ my mother, Juanita Rivera. She’s the pregnant woman who was beaten up, and is on life support.”

“Yes, I know who she is,” he says wit’ a lil’ too much ’tude for my likin’. But I let it slide. “How can I help you?”

“Well, it’s my understandin’ you’re one’a the detectives assigned to the case.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, I was wonderin’ if you have any leads yet.”

“Not at the moment. However, there is the boyfriend that we are still trying to locate.”

“Is he a suspsect?”

“No, but he is definitely someone of interest we’d like to bring in for questioning.”

“Well, have you at least been able to track down his whereabouts?”

There’s a moment of silence, then rustlin’ of papers or some other shit. “We’re still search—”

“So basically that means ya’ll muhfuckas ain’t doin’ shit, but sittin’ on ya asses,” I interrupt, lookin’ outta my bedroom window. I peep a big-ass U-Haul truck ’cross the street, movin’ someone in.

“Miss Rivera, I understand your—”

I disconnect the call, hopin’ I get at that snake-ass muhfucka before they locate his ass. I see someone called and left a message while I was on the phone. I check the voicemail, shakin’ my head.

“Watch ya back, bitch. I’m outta jail, ho. You knock my fuckin’ teeth out. Break my nose. Lie to them muhfuckas talkin’ ’bout I threw a brick through ya window. Bitch, you know you did that shit. Then you have
me
arrested. Bitch, I’m gonna gut ya face. You think I give’a fuck ’bout a muthafuckin’ restrainin’ order, or goin’ to jail. Bitch, I’m from da streets. You really crossed da god-damn line this time, ho, disrespectin’ ’n threatenin’ my mutha and comin’ at me all reckless. So watch ya face ’cause when I’m finished wit’ ya ass, da only thing you gonna be good for is da circus.” I save the message, decidin’ to be finished wit’ this bitch for good.
I’m done fuckin’ ’round wit’ this crack-head bitch.

I walk ova to my handbag and pull out my other phone. I turn it on, then press open the call history. I place the call. Wait for the nigga to answer. “Yo.”

“I need’a hire a crew,” I tell ’im, wishin’ I didn’t have’ta call this fat-nasty muhfucka, again. But’a bitch done worked my last nerve, and—aunt or no fuckin’ aunt, I need ’er ass handled. I know I promised myself I would never body a muhfucka for personal reasons unless they were tryna play me. And I definitely said I would neva body children or chicks. But, I ain’t the one pullin’ the trigga, so it’s whateva. Rosa has got ta go. I need this
bitch outta ’er misery and outta my damn space. The sooner, the betta. She’s the type’a bitch who’ll try ’n bring it e’ery chance she gets. One or two times, cool. But that ho will fight to the death. So I need’a take ‘er down, and keep ’er down—swiftly.