The Kat Trap (23 page)

“So you sayin’ you don’t want ’im for ya’self?”

“Not hardly,” she said, twistin’ her lips up. “Why the fuck would I want that? That nigga ain’t shit for creepin’ on his chick.”

“And neither are you, ho,” I said, laughin’ while lightin’ another blunt. “For fuckin’ on a nigga who thinks he done wifed ya hot ass.”

She laughed. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, a ho who ain’t ready to be wifed is a ho playin’ house. And that’s exactly what the fuck I’m doin’.”

“Humph,” I grunted, stickin’ another forkful of lo mein in my mouth. “And it’s shit like that that causes a nigga to push a bitch’s biscuit in. You hoes need to stop playin’ niggas. Just keep the shit funky, and let the muhfucka know what time it is.”

“Yeah, whatever. Niggas stay playin’ us. It is what it is. You play or get played; you already know.”

“What I know is, you gonna end up with ya grill wrecked if you don’t get ya mind right. It’s only a matter of time before the shit catches up to you, trust.”

We passed the blunt back ’n forth for a while, sayin’ nothin’. I left Chanel in her thoughts and she left me in mine. Me’Shell NdegéOcello’s song “Faithful” came on, and I smiled, shakin’ my head.
How fittin’,
I thought, hummin’ along. I guess she was right when she said no one is faithful.

My house phone rang again, breakin’ the silence. I ignored it. Chanel glared at me. I rolled my eyes, suckin’ my teeth. “Aiight, aiight,” I said, pickin’ it up and answerin’ it. It was Rosa again. “Hello.”

“Kat?”

“Yeah?”

“This is ya Aunt Rosa,” she said, soundin’ outta breath. I exhaled, pushin’ my plate to the side. “You need to get down to Kings County Hospital ASAP. That nigga ya moms is fuckin’ with done beat her ass. I told her not to fuck with that punk ass, but…”

I placed the phone up against my chest, coverin’ the receiver. “Bitch,” I hissed at Chanel, mean-muggin’ her ass. “Go downstairs to the bar and fix me a hit of Rémy.” She laughed, gettin’ up from her seat. “On second thought, make that shit two hits.”

I put the phone back up to my ear.

“…he done broke her jaw and beat her face in.”

I closed my eyes tight. Bit down on my bottom lip.

“We’ve been tryna reach ya ass all damn day,” another voice jumped in. I frowned. It sounded like Patrice, but I wasn’t sure.

“Who is this?” I asked, lightin’ another blunt. I already knew this conversation was gonna turn real messy in a few minutes.

“It’s Patrice,” she said, suckin’ her teeth.

“We’re on three-way,” Aunt Rosa stated.

“Why?” I asked. Chanel came back into the kitchen with two drinks in her hand. I snatched the one she handed to me, gulped the shit down in one quick motion, then reached over and took hers from her and gulped that one down. The shit burned goin’ down.

“’Cause ya moms is in the fuckin’ hospital,” Patrice snapped. “And we’ve been blowin’ ya fuckin’ phone up, leavin’ messages ’n shit, and you don’t even have the decency to call a muthafucka back. Duh, now follow the yellow brick road, bitch.”

“Fuck you, you cum-guzzlin’ bitch!” I yelled back.

“Will ya’ll two bitches shut the fuck up,” Aunt Rosa said, “with all this back ’n forth bullshit for one goddamn minute. Kat, you need to get to the hospital.”

I rolled my eyes. “For what?”

“For what?!?” they both yelled.

“Bitch, is you serious?!” Patrice screamed.

“Didn’t you hear a word I fuckin’ said, Kat?” Aunt Rosa jumped in, soundin’ real tight. Please, like I gave a fuck. “I just told ya ass that ya moms is in the goddamn hospital and you need to get ya ass over to Brooklyn
now!”

I started buckin’ my eyes and twistin’ up my lips, mockin’ her ass. Then the bitch started goin’ off on one of her tangents ’bout how she wished one of her kids would come outta they faces talkin’ shit the way I did, disrespectin’ my moms; ’bout how she can’t believe I’d come out my neck talkin’ all sideways ’n shit after e’erything my moms had done for me.

What the fuck?
I thought, shakin’ my head.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe you,” she said. “I woulda banged ya damn grill out.”

“Oh, my God.” I laughed. “Aunt Rosa, please don’t tell me you back on that shit again.”

“Whaaat?!?
Kat, don’t have me slap the shit outta you. My name ain’t Juanita. I’m ya aunt and all, and I love ya ass to death, but ho, I’d cut ya muthafuckin’ throat if you ever come at me like that again.”

“Rosa,” Patrice jumped in. “I told ya ass how fuckin’ disrespectful Kat is. She don’t give a fuck ’bout nobody but herself. She stay talkin’ slick ’n greasy.”

I laughed at both they asses.

“Bitch, this shit ain’t funny,” Aunt Rosa said.

“You right, it ain’t. But ya’ll tryna come at me on some tag-team shit is.”

“Rosa, I don’t even know why you bother. I already told you
what it was with this bitch. Kat be on some other shit. Now you see why I don’t fuck with her like that.”

That did it. Between the drinks and all the trees, a bitch was ready to bring it to ’em. I read both of them hoes. “No,
bitch
,” I snapped, “I don’t fuck with
you
. Don’t get it twisted.”

“Kat, watch ya fuckin’ mouth,” Rosa said.

“No, you watch yours,” I said back. “You called me. I didn’t call you. And then you got the nerve to have me on fuckin’ three-way with Pat’s whore ass. So now let me tell both of you one goddamn thing. Patrice, you already know I don’t give a hot fuck ’bout you, bitch. So you can suck shit and die. And on some real shit, I’ma be the bitch to spit on ya fuckin’ grave. And Aunt Rosa, I love you too, boo. But don’t get the shit twisted. The only thing Juanita ever did was spread open her muthafuckin’ legs, and let niggas run over her. So fuck all that extra shit you talkin’. How the fuck you know what the fuck she’s done for me when ya ass stayed coked the fuck up when I was growin’ up?

“You don’t know what the fuck she’s done for me—I’m sick of bitches tellin’ me ’bout what the fuck she did for me. Poor Juanita this, poor Juanita that. Well, newsflash, bitches: Poor Juanita is a grown-ass woman who keeps makin’ the same fuckin’ mistakes. Ya’ll can go run ya happy asses down to the hospital and do whatever the fuck you gonna do. But don’t call my fuckin’ house ’bout shit ’cause I don’t wanna hear it. As far as I’m concerned, the woman who gave birth to me is dead.”

Aunt Rosa gasped. “Kat, I swear on e’erything I love, I’ma beat ya ass when I see you.”

“Well, stand in line,” I said, cuttin’ my eyes over at Chanel who was starin’ me down.

“I bet your fucked-up ass don’t even care that that nigga stomped
ya mother all up in her stomach, and she done lost her baby, do you?”

“Why should I? Good for her silly ass,” I snapped, “and good for him. The nigga saved her dumb ass from fuckin’ up another child’s life.”

“You know what?” Aunt Rosa stated. “Juanita was right ’bout ya ass. You’se a fuckin’ crazy bitch.”

“Thank you very much,” I said sarcastically. “I’m glad you finally figured it out. Now, like I said, don’t call my muthafuckin’ house again.”

I hung up. Chanel was lookin’ at me in shock. She opened her mouth to say somethin’, but I shut her ass down. “Don’t open ya trap to say shit,” I warned, givin’ her ass a threatenin’ look. “If you don’t wanna get tossed up outta here, go on downstairs and bring up that bottle of Rèmy and let’s make it do what it do. ’Cause right about now, a bitch is through.”

Three a.m., I was tossin’ ’n turnin’. I sat up in bed, tryna adjust my eyes to the dark. I was sweatin’ and had a splittin’-ass headache. At first I thought it mighta been from all the drinkin’ and smokin’ with Chanel from the night before, but the more I thought ’bout it, the more I realized it wasn’t the same kinda feelin’ I usually got after a night of gettin’ lifted. It was different; one I couldn’t put my finga on. It was like I had some kinda nightmare or somethin’, but a bitch couldn’t remember dreamin’ ’bout shit.

I took a deep breath, and looked ’round the room. My blankets and pillows were all on the floor. I stretched my arms up over my head, then leaned over and turned on the lamp on my night
stand. I picked up the telephone and retrieved my messages from my home phone. I inhaled, exhaled, then listened.

“Kat, this ya Aunt Rosa. Ya mother’s in the hospital. That nigga of hers done beat her up real bad. She’s at Kings County.”

“Kat, where the hell are you? This is Rosa again. I’m tryin’ to get in touch with you. You need to answer ya damn phones. This shit’s important. Call me the minute you get this.”

“Kat, this is Patrice. You need to call us immediately. Some shit went down with ya moms, and we ’bout to bring it to that nigga. He done fucked up, puttin’ his hands on her.”

“Kat, answer ya damn phones. Shit! I know you fuckin’ see my goddamn numbers comin’ up. This is ya Aunt Rosa. Call me the fuck back,
asap
!”

I deleted them, along with the six other messages I didn’t bother listenin’ to. I flopped back ’cross my bed and stared up at the ceilin’.
She’s still ya moms, Kat…That’s real fucked up…I bet you don’t even care that the nigga stomped ya mother all up in her stomach…He beat her face in…

I closed my eyes and fought back tears, tryna understand why she kept gettin’ her ass caught up in bullshit with muhfuckas, wonderin’ when she was gonna get sick and tired of lettin’ niggas beat her ass and disrespect her. Watchin’ my moms jump from one man to the other over the years had made me realize that women like her have a lotta emotional issues. They gotta be sick. ’Cause ain’t no muthafuckin’ way in hell a healthy bitch gonna put up with half the shit these chicks put up with from a muhfucka.

So what you gonna do, Kat?
I questioned in my head.

“Not a muthafuckin’ thing,” I answered out loud. “I didn’t put her ass in that situation. So why the fuck do I have to feel some kinda way ’bout it?”

Because she’s still ya moms,
I thought.

I took another deep breath, then picked up the phone and dialed 4-1-1 for the number to Kings County. “Hello, I’m callin’ ’bout Juanita Rivera,” I said when a woman answered the hospital switchboard. “She’s a patient there.”

“Okay, hold on…let me see.” She placed me on hold, then returned. “Let me connect you to her floor.” The hospital music came back on for a moment, then someone else picked up. “ICU, how can I help you?”

“Um, yes. I’m callin’ about Juanita Rivera. I was told she was in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry, information ’bout patients is strictly—”

“Ma’am,” I said, takin’ a deep breath before I cursed her ass out. “No disrespect to you, but I’m Ms. Rivera’s daughter and I wanna know how the fuck she’s doin’,
please.”

I heard her gasp. “Your name?”

“Katrina Rivera.”

“Ms. Rivera,” she said, soundin’ all professional and whatnot. “Your mother is in stable condition. She has two broken ribs, her mouth is wired from her jaw being broken, and she has a fractured eye socket.”

I bit down on my lip, clenched my fists. “Thank you.”

“She’s been asking for you.”

“That’s nice,” I said sarcastically. “You can tell her I send my regards.” I hung up, wipin’ tears from my face.

T
he following mornin’, after Chanel’s ass finally left up outta here, I was sprawled out on my sofa lookin’ over the photo of my next mark. I glanced at his stats: 36, five foot eleven, 211 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes. Humph. He was a smooth, dark chocolate with thick eyebrows and dreamy bedroom eyes. He had a short, fade-type haircut with a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. He kinda reminded me of a darker version of that fine-ass model Keston Karter. Humph. And that’s who I was gonna pretend I was fuckin’ until it was time to splatter the nigga’s skull; then he’d become another missin’ link in someone’s life.

The ringin’ house phone distrupted my thoughts. I picked up on the third ring without payin’ attention to the number that flashed ’cross the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Kat, this is ya Aunt Elise.”

I scrunched up my face, wonderin’ why the hell she was callin’,
although I really knew why. Elise never, ever picked up a phone to get at me, so I knew the only reason she’d be callin’ now was ’cause it had somethin’ to do with my moms. “Hey, Aunt Elise,” I said, forcin’ myself to sound happy to hear from her. “How you been?”

“Good,” she said. “But this ain’t a social call. I’m callin’ ’cause ya moms up in that hospital and e’rybody else been up there to see her but you. Now, I know the two of you don’t always see eye-to-eye, but that’s ya mother, Kat. No matter what she’s said or done to you, that is still ya mother. And right now you gotta be big enough to put aside your feelings and be by her side. That’s what families do.”

I kept my mouth shut and listened. On the inside I was so ready to shut her ass down. I wasn’t beat to hear her shit. However, outta my three aunts, she was the one who always treated me like a daughter so I gave her respect on the strength of that. But, I already knew if she came at me sideways, I’d bring it to her, too.

It’s too early for this shit,
I thought, glancin’ up at the wall clock. It was 11:08.

“My sister is laid up in a hospital bed, and she needs her family by her side. That includes you, her daughter. And I expect you to make it your business to get your ass there. Do you hear me, Kat?”

“Yeah, I hear you,” I said, pacin’ the kitchen floor.

“Good. So, what time should I tell your mother you’re coming?”

I sighed, closin’ my eyes. “You can tell her…” I paused, takin’ a deep breath. “You can tell her, I’m
not
comin’.”

“What?” she asked, actin’ like she didn’t hear me. “What did you say?”

I repeated myself, pullin’ a chair out from the kitchen table and sittin’ down. “I said, I’m not goin’.”

“And why not?”

“Because…” Humph. I wished I had a damn recorder to push play e’erytime I had to make my “fucked-up mother” speech. I sighed. “Look, Aunt Elise, no disrespect to you. That’s ya sister, not mine. That woman, mother or not, has put one man too many before me, and I’m done tryna be a daughter to someone who has never wanted to be a mother. So you can tell her I send my regards. But that’s all she’ll ever get from me. I got my own life, and I don’t ask her for shit. Whatever decisions I make, I make them knowin’ that if the shit gets me caught up, I gotta get myself outta it without her. And she needs to do the same ’cause I’m over her.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearin’ this shit come outta ya fuckin’ mouth.” I almost wanted to laugh. I knew it was only a matter of time before she dropped all that proper grammar ’n shit. “Rosa and Patrice told me you were gonna say this bullshit. I’ve never got at ya ass, Kat, but I will if you don’t make it ya business to get ya ass down to that hospital to see about ya mother.”

“Aunt Elise, listen, sweetie. I would love to go back ’n forth with you ’bout this. But my mind’s made up, and there’s nothin’ you or anyone else can say or do to change it. So, all ya threats mean nothin’ to me—”

“Now, wait one goddamn minute, Kat—”

“No,” I snapped, cuttin’ her off, “you wait. I’m not gonna argue with you ’bout this shit. I said I’m not goin’ and that’s what it is. I love you, Aunt Elise, but do me a fuckin’ favor and stay outta my relationship with my moms.”

“Kat, who the fuck you think you talkin’ to, hunh? You must don’t know who the hell I am.”

“No, I know exactly who I’m talkin’ to and who you are. Like I said, I’m not tryna disrespect you, but you callin’ my house
tryna get at me. And I’m not the one,; aunt or no aunt, it makes me no never mind. I know that’s ya sister ’n all, but she brought this shit on herself. And you know it. So she gets what she gets. Like I told Aunt Rosa and Patrice, ya’ll can run up to that hospital all ya want, but I ain’t the one.”

“So let me get this right,” she said. I could tell she was clenchin’ her teeth. “You mean to tell me that you are turnin’ ya fuckin’ back on your own mother. Is that what the fuck you’re tellin’ me, huh, Kat?”

“Basically, that’s
exactly
what I’m tellin’ you.”

“How the fuck you gonna turn ya back on her? That’s your mother; she’s ya blood.”

“The same way she turned hers on me,” I responded. “Now, I’d love to continue this conversation, but I have more important things to do. So you take care of ya’self, Aunt Elise.”

“Kat—”

“Love you, but I gotta go,” I said, cuttin’ her off, then hangin’ up on her ass. Now, trust, if I still lived in Brooklyn them crazy bitches would already be camped outside tryna get it in with me. I shook my head. “I swear I hope they don’t try it on my time,” I said out loud.

When the phone rang again, I rolled my eyes. I knew it was her callin’ back to bring it, but when I looked at the caller ID this time, it was Naheem callin’ from prison.
Oh, no, not today, nigga
, I thought.
You betta call that bird you got suckin’ ya dick ’cause I ain’t the one.
This nigga had been blowin’ my shit up for the last three weeks tryna get at me. I started to pick up to curse his ass the hell out for constantly callin’ like he was my man or some shit. I done told the nigga it ain’t that type of party, and to stop tryna burn my damn phone lines up. Yet the muhfucka still thinks
’cause we was fuckin’ that I should accept his collects anytime he calls. Humph. Muthafuckas kill me.

Anyway, for the rest of the day I layided around, got lifted, listened to some beats, watched a few flicks, ate, and played in my pussy. Before I knew it, I was knocked the fuck out.

At like four in the afternoon, all my phones started ringin’ at the same time. First it was both cell phones, then the house line. I jumped up, all groggy ’n shit, rubbin’ my eyes. I had to look around to see where the hell I was. I reached over and grabbed the cordless off the coffee table, then looked at the caller ID. It was Naheem callin’ again. I
tsked
, answerin’, “Yeah?”

I got up off the sofa to get my cell phones from the bar while the automated voice went through its bullshit recordin’. Cash had left a message on the Kat line. Grant and Chanel had called on my other line.

“What’s good, ma?” Naheem finally said over the noise in the background. “Where you been? I’ve been tryna get at you for a minute.”

Who the fuck this nigga think he checkin’ for?
“Nigga, you got the wrong number. I don’t answer to you. Now why the fuck you callin’ here?”

“Oh word, it’s like that?”

“Yeah, nigga, it’s like that. What the fuck! You called here earlier today, and now here you are callin’ again. What the fuck ya ass got to say to me that’s so important that you gotta call here back to back like we still fuckin’?”

“Yo, chill ma,” he said, keepin’ his voice calm. “Why you snappin’ on a nigga?”

“’Cause ya black ass keep callin’ here like you hooked on retarded or some shit, that’s why.”

“Damn, baby, I ain’t tryna beef with you. We ain’t talked in a minute—”

“Nigga, what the hell you mean ‘we ain’t talked in a minute’? I spoke to ya ass a month or so ago. And ain’t shit changed since then.”

“Listen,” he said, sighin’. “I wanted to hit you up to see what was good with you. It ain’t that serious. If you didn’t wanna talk, you shouldn’t had picked up.”

Ohmyfuckin’God, I was ready to bring it to this nigga. But, I let ’im live ’cause I already knew, first thing in the mornin’, I was havin’ my fuckin’ number changed. Between his nutty ass and my crazy-ass family, I was done. “Naheem, you know what? You right. I shoulda let the shit go into voicemail. But I didn’t. Now, what the fuck you want?”

“Yo, is ya peeps still pushin’ them thangs?”

I frowned. “Nigga, is you fuckin’ serious?! You actually callin’ here to ask me some dumb shit like that?”

He blew into the phone. “Yo, hold the fuck up, Kat, real talk. I’ve been lettin’ you come out ya neck all greasy ’n shit, but on some real shit. Don’t get it twisted. Just ’cause a nigga’s on lock don’t mean I can’t still get at that ass if I want. Now, I’m only askin’ ’cause if the bitch is still ridin’ the train, you need to tell her to get the fuck off and lay low. Shit’s hot; for real, for real.”

Why the fuck is this nigga callin’ me with this shit? And why the fuck is he so concerned about what the fuck Iris is doin’? Why the fuck he keepin’ tabs on her ass? This nigga actin’ like he’s been fuckin’ this bitch.
This is the shit I started thinkin’ in my head. Then all of a sudden I started thinkin’ back to when he was out on the bricks and how Iris was always grinnin’ in his face or comin’ over to our spot prancin’ her ass ’n titties all up in Naheem’s face. Back then, I didn’t really pay the shit no mind ’cause he never gave me a reason to doubt his ass. But now…hmmm, a bitch gotta wonder
what was really good with the two of them. Okay, now a bitch’s temper is ’bout to kick in. If that bitch fucked him while I was with him, I was gonna run straight in her mouth. Fuck the fact that I deaded the shit between him and me years ago. The fact that the bitch was all up in my face, knowin’ she had fucked him was just cause to take her face off, real talk. As far as I’m concerned, if a bitch in ya circle fucks ya man, then the ho done broke a cardinal rule. And her ass gotta be handled.

“Naheem, why the fuck you care?”

“I don’t,” he shot back. “I know that’s ya girl ’n shit.”

“Nah, muhfucka…wrong answer,” I said. “Come again, nigga. Ain’t no fuckin’ way you callin’ me with this shit ’cause she’s my damn girl. Who the hell you think you talkin’ to? You ain’t checkin’ for no-muthafuckin’-body unless you gonna benefit. So either somethin’s in it for you, or you done fucked the bitch. So which is it?”

He got quiet.

“Naheem?” I shouted.

“What?”

“I asked you a question, nigga. That’s what.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Nigga, don’t fuckin’ play me. You heard what the fuck I said. Now, did you fuck Iris or not? And be real with it.”

He sucked his teeth. “Here you go with this shit.”

“Here I go with what shit, Naheem? If you a real nigga like you say you are, then keep shit funky and be real with yours. Did you fuck the bitch or not?”

“Uh, listen,” he said, lowerin’ his voice.

“‘Uh, listen,’ what, nigga?” I said, clenchin’ my teeth. “Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

“C’mon, Kat, let’s not do this.”

“Nah, nigga, don’t give me that ‘let’s not do this’ shit. You callin’ here, burnin’ my fuckin’ jack, askin’ me ’bout some other bitch all concerned ’n shit like you got it in with her. You need to tell me what’s really good, muhfucka, and you need to do it right now. So I’ma ask you again—was you fuckin’ her?”

“Yeah,” he said.

I felt blood rush to my head. I sat down.

“But—”

“‘But’ hell,” I snapped. “So, you fucked her while we were fuckin’?” I asked, but I said it like I already figured the shit out.

“Only a few times,” he said. “But it was when you and me first started dealin’ with each other, and then I deaded it.”

“How many months before you ended the shit?”

“Like four or five. But she was only suckin’ my dick ’n shit. Hell, she was dustin’ the whole block off.”

“And that’s supposed to make the shit better? Nigga, do you know I’ma fuck her up when I see her? You do know this, right?”

“Kat, c’mon, don’t go there.”

“Don’t go there, hell. I’m already there. I’ma take that bitch’s face off.”

“I already told you I was fuckin’ her way before I caught feelin’s for you. Once I fell for you, I cut her ass off.”

“Yeah, but the bitch was still prancin’ her ass all up in ya face, and smilin’ the fuck up in mine. And the bitch was probably laughin’ behind my back, too. And you didn’t say shit. Now I see why she was always tryna come through and chill ’n shit. The bitch had ya dick on her breath, and ya nut on her tongue. Yeah, that ho-ass bitch got a beatdown comin’. I don’t give a fuck how long ago it was. And that’s on e’rything I love. And you know what, I ain’t tellin’ that bitch shit. I hope they run up on her ass, and the nigga shits all over her, real talk.”

The nigga started repeatin’ himself, tryna explain how he had been fuckin’ with Iris off and on before I stepped on the scene, but it was on some DL-type shit. He claimed he was just fuckin’ her and lacin’ her with a few dollars e’ery now and then, but wasn’t tryna wife her ass ’cause he already knew she was hot in the ass, and was fuckin’ ’n suckin’ e’erything movin’. He was just lettin’ her wet his dick whenever he felt like trickin’. I listened to his ass go on and on until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“You black, muthafuckin’, retarded-ass piece of shit, you already said all this.” I called this nigga e’ery fucked-up name in the book, just straight disrespected his ass. And the nigga didn’t say shit. He just kept his mouth shut and let me go off. Then, when I finally stopped blackin’, he had the muthafuckin’ nerve to ask me if I was all right.
Am I all right?

“Yeah, nigga, I’m all right. I’ma always be all right. Believe that. That fact that you was playin’ me with this bitch is one thing, and the fact that this ho was all up in my face frontin’ like we was girls ’n shit is another. But on some real shit, I’m more pissed that you never once said shit to me ’bout you fuckin’ this bitch
before
you got with me when you knew I was cool with her ass.”

“I wanted to tell you, but she wanted to keep the shit on the low. It wasn’t really nothin’ major anyway,” he said, tryna make light of the shit.