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  Only when he heard the door click shut did Tech exhale. Though Animal did grown-man things, he was still technically a child, and sometimes the traits showed. Animal was in the streets like the rest of them, but he wasn’t like them. He had layer to his character, and untold potential, but Animal was hardheaded. He could give Animal all the warnings in the world, but a man-child was going to do as he pleased. Tech just hoped that he grew out of his fascination with the great and powerful Don before he got a real taste of how the Big Dawgz played. Thinking on it, Tech wasn’t sure if he was worried more about what Don B. would end up trying to do to Animal, or what Animal was going to end up doing to him.

  PART 2

  THE BOSS BITCH

  IS BACK

  CHAPTER 9

  The minute Tionna stepped out of her building, she knew her night was going to go sour. At the same time as Gucci pulled up, Sharon was coming out of Rock Head’s building. Her hair looked a hot mess and she was walking like she had just been fucked by a mule. When she saw Tionna she tried to straighten herself up as best she could, but it was a poor effort. Sharon walked by, sashaying her hips and glaring at Tionna like she wanted her to keel over and die. Tionna’s first thoughts were to grab her by her cheap-ass weave and mop the stoop with her, but she let it go.

  “Washed-up ass,” Sharon mumbled when Tionna crossed her path to get in the van.

  “Keep playing little girl and you’re gonna get a spanking,” Tionna sang.

  “I doubt that, boo. You might’ve been the shit back in the days, but fresh meat is always the order of the day,” Sharon shot back and kept walking down the block.

  “I can’t stand that little bitch,” Tionna said, opening the van door.

  “You want me to fuck her up?” The voice coming from the back startled her. She turned around and saw two grinning faces staring back at her. She had thought it was just going to be her and Gucci, but of course Gucci had to bring the peanut gallery.

  Tracy sat in the back row, smoking a cigarette and sipping something Tionna couldn’t identify because it was wrapped in a paper bag. Knowing her, it was some type of beer. Tracy always needed something to kick-start her engine before they went out. She was older than the rest of the girls by a few years, but they’d known her since forever and she’d always been cool. It was Tracy who would go to the liquor store for them when they were too young to buy alcohol. Her doll-like face was still pretty, but age and hard living was starting to catch up with her. The eighties had come and gone, but Tracy still held fast, enjoying booze, men, and cocaine, not necessarily in that order. She and Boots were the wild cards of their crew. Tracy’s life might’ve been like something out of a Treasure E. Blue novel, but Boots was in a class by herself.

  Born Earnestine Johnson, Boots was the definition of a hood rat. She had spent more time bouncing around from project to project than a repeat offender being shuffled through the state prison system. A touch of adult acne and a slight overbite took away from her face, but she had the build of a brick house. She had an ass like Pinky and breasts like Carmen Hayes, with the good sense to learn how to use both from an early age. It was whispered around the hood that she could make a man cum in less than sixty seconds. This probably explained why she had six kids by three different dudes. Boots was what the hood called a breeder: if you so much as sneezed on her, she was pregnant. Most of her baby daddies had been hit-and-run situations, but the last one actually loved her, even though she singlehandedly flushed his life down the toilet.

  When she met Bernie he was in his second year at St. Johns and already being scouted by the pros. Back then, Boots already had two kids, but Bernie looked past that and got at her anyway. All his friends tried to warn him about Boots, but he was in love with that sweet hole. The next thing you knew, she turned up pregnant and Catholic, because she suddenly didn’t believe in abortions. Instead of being sour about it, Bernie manned up and took care of his new baby as well as the kids Boots already had, while still trying to juggle college and basketball. It was sweet for a minute, but it wasn’t long before Boots showed her true colors and was back up to her old tricks. Bernie had heard the rumors about her sneaking around, but it wasn’t until he saw her with his own eyes that he snapped. Had it not been for the patch of ice he slipped on while chasing her, he would’ve surely killed Boots that night. Unfortunately for Bernie, he tore a ligament in his ankle and his basketball career was sidelined. He tried to go back to college and even did a short stint overseas, but it seemed like every time he was about to get a break, Boots would pop out another baby. Bernie’s dreams to get out of the hood died with his basketball career and he ended up just another fallen legend who was working odd jobs and selling weed to keep food on his ever-growing family’s table.

  “Damn, Tionna, I can’t think of the last time your ass hung out with us,” Tracy commented while taking a swig from her paper bag. Tionna took one whiff and knew for sure that it was beer.

  “Me either. I missed y’all bitches,” Tionna fronted. She saw Gucci looking at her through the rearview mirror and stuck her middle finger up.

  “So you back down here now?” Boots asked from the backseat.

  “For the time being,” Tionna assured her. “Me living back on Fortieth is a temporary situation, believe that.”

  “I hear you. With me living right on top of the damn bodega, you know I get it all firsthand. These little muthafuckas keep the block jumping,” Tracy added.

  “Tracy, for as much time as you spend on the stoop, stop fronting like you don’t love this hood,” Boots said.

  “And all the drama that comes with it,” Gucci added.

  Tracy looked from Gucci to Boots. “Oh, so I’m the only one who hugs this block? We all came up on this raggedy-ass block and I don’t see none of y’all make a speedy exit up off it!”

  “You a lie. As soon as we get this shit cleared up with my baby, I’m so fucking outta here,” Tionna added. The car was suddenly very quiet. Everybody knew that Duhan had been caught by the balls, but it still hadn’t set in with Tionna. “What, y’all looking like you know something I don’t?” She looked around at her girls.

  “Nothing, T, we’re all just concerned,” Gucci said, trying to ease some of the tension.

  “Concerned about what? They ain’t got shit but the word of a snitch and the little bit of shit they caught at the house.”

  “Sometimes that’s all it takes,” Tracy said, more to herself than anyone else.

  Tionna sucked her teeth. “First Ronnie and now y’all; why does it seem like everybody is wishing prison on my nigga?”

  “Tionna, you know better than that. We fight like cats and dogs, but at the end of the day we’re still family and we wanna see Duhan get out as bad as you do,” Gucci assured her.

  “How is Duhan, with his big-head self?” Boots asked.

  Tionna sighed. “Stressing hisself, and me. That nigga act like I’m Superwoman or some shit for the way he has me running around all the time. Go see this one; I need you to snatch something from that one; you checked in with my lawyer. Word to mine: this shit is starting to take its toll.”

  “That’s what happens when you’re a ride-or-die chick. My baby’s father had my ass on that musty-ass bus every weekend for the first three years of his bid, before I finally wised up and stepped off,” Tracy said.

  “That’s you and him. I’m always gonna ride for Duhan,” Tionna said with conviction.

  “You say that now, but what if they end up hitting him with some time? For as much as you might love a nigga, becoming a prisoner’s wife changes the rules of the game. I know you’re a rider, so you gonna be on point with the visits, but what about the emotional stress? While time is standing still for him, you’re out here becoming an old maid. Baby, that’s a hell of a sentence for a young girl like you. In a sense, you’re literally doing the time with him, because your life is now dictated by the state, too,” Tracy said.

  Tionna frowned. “How you figure I ain’t the one loc
ked up?”

  Tracy looked at her quizzically. “Because when you say, ‘Baby, I’m gonna ride with you,’ it entails just that, riding with him. Riding God knows how many hours to see him, helping with the appeal, staying faithful to a man who you can’t touch when and how you want; and let’s not even go into the financial side of it. Tionna, even with the blessing of the first African American president, the economy is still so fucked up that you’ll be working two jobs and selling weed just to make sure he has cigarettes and toiletries.”

  “I hear what you saying, Tracy, but even if he catches heavy numbers I can’t abandon Duhan like that. He took care of me when he was in the world.”

  Tracy laughed. “Tionna, I would never disrespect my nigga Duhan like that. You’re supposed to hold him down to the best of your ability, but promising him that you’re gonna put your life on hold completely is putting a lot of expectation on you, and you know how your ass loves your freedom.”

  Though Tracy had raised a very good point, Tionna would never admit it publicly. She had often thought about what life might be like if Duhan blew trial. The copout was eight to ten years, and if he blew, those numbers were likely to double upon sentencing, and he’d have to eat a good chunk of it before they could even think about getting his appeal heard. She was already feeling left for dead and he’d only been gone for eighteen months. She was twenty-five with two kids and no skills: her life was already complicated enough, without going through the motions of Duhan being locked down until his kids were in high school. She had to ask herself: if the judge called his number, could she really hold him down like she’d promised?

  “Fuck all the dumb shit,” Gucci cut in. She tossed Tionna a bag of weed. “Roll that up. We gonna hit the liquor store, blow some trees, and party like rock stars, because this is a special occasion.”

  “And what’s that?” Tionna asked, splitting the philly open with a twenty-five-cent razor.

  Gucci looked at her as if she’d lost it. “The baddest bitches in Harlem ride again!”

  For the rest of the ride it was just like old times. Tionna smoked, drank, and laughed with her girls as they all boasted about how they were gonna shut the spot down. The looser Tionna got, the less she thought about Duhan and more about having a good time.

  By the time they got to the spot, three out of the four of them were on their way to the moon. Gucci only dabbled with the bottle because she had to drive, but she hit every blunt that went around the van. Tracy was just about there and Boots was running a close second, but Tionna was just buzzed.

  The few drinks and the blunt had snatched the nervous jitters she’d had while she was getting dressed that night. She’d had hell finding something to wear because everything was either too small or still in trash bags, but she finally decided on a pair of skin-tight black jeans and a wine-colored wool sweater that her mother had given her for her birthday last spring. To cap it off, she threw on a pair of three-quarter black boots with needle-thin chrome heels. The shoes were murdering her pinky toes, but they were fly, so she was willing to endure the discomfort.

  Gucci had taken it light, going with a tank top under a thin leather jacket. Resting just above her cleavage were two inverted Gs fastened to a white-gold necklace. Her weed-slanted eyes surveyed the scene from behind her signature Gucci shades and she wasn’t impressed. “This shit is looking suspect,” Gucci said, rolling her eyes at a dude wearing a tight green blazer, batting his eyes at her like he was the shit.

  “You know Mochas is hit or miss,” Boots said.

  “They can miss me with the dumb shit. I thought a listening party for Big Dawg would’ve been like a media circus,” Gucci said, disappointed.

  “It’s still early. Let’s go inside and see what it’s looking like before we write the spot off,” Tracy suggested as she made eye contact with a young-looking cat who was going inside with his friends.

  “This broad is so dick thirsty.” Boots rolled her eyes before following Tracy to the entrance.

  “Like your throat has seen many dry days,” Tracy said over her shoulder. The girls spent a few more minutes arguing back and forth about whether to go in or not, then a commotion behind them broke up their debate.

  A fire-engine-red Aston Martin DB9, topless of course, zipped past the club at a dangerous speed. It went south two blocks before making an illegal U-turn and coming back and pulling to a screeching halt in front of the lounge. The price tag on the car was almost $187,000 but the driver treated it like a hooptie. Decked out in a red and yellow track jacket and the matching skullcap, Don B. climbed from the vehicle.

  Seconds later, two SUVs pulled up behind the Aston Martin. From the vehicles spilled a flock of artists, homeys, and chicks they’d picked up along the way. The chicks and some of the guys giggled and whispered like groupies as the Big Dawg collective gathered around their benefactor. Choruses of “The Don” and “Brrrapt” could be heard as the entourage moved collectively toward the entrance of the lounge. The king and his court had arrived.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Boots nudged Tionna.

  “Looking like new money as usual,” Gucci said. “I told y’all this was gonna be the spot.”

  “Gucci, stop fronting like it wasn’t just ready to bounce,” Tionna reminded her.

  “That was then, baby girl. Let’s get up in this piece before these hood rat bitches get all up on them niggaz.” With subtle elbows and a few choice words for the haters, Gucci led her crew toward the entrance. Before they could make it, a scuffle broke out just ahead of them.

  CHAPTER 10

  “And where are you just coming from when school let out hours ago?” Reese scared the daylights out of Sharon when she snuck into the house. She was perched on a folding chair in the corner, smoking a cigarette and staring out the window. The only illumination in the living room was that cast by the streetlights.

  “Girl, you scared the hell out of me, sitting here in the dark like that.” Sharon flicked on the light. “Where are Mommy and Alex?”

  “Out.” Reese exhaled a large cloud of smoke. “And you still haven’t answered my question. Where’ve you been, Sharon?” Reese got up from the chair and walked slowly over to her sister.

  “Out. Damn, why you sweating me.” Sharon brushed passed Reese and went into the kitchen. Rock Head had beaten her guts up all afternoon and well into the night, and when she’d asked him for some money for a cab and food, he’d told her that he didn’t have it.

  Reese sniffed the air. “I’m sweating you because it smells like your little ass has been out fucking.” Reese followed Sharon into the kitchen. “L’il sis, when are you gonna learn?”

  Sharon slammed the refrigerator and rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t need you all in my business; I got this.”

  Reese leaned against the wall and smirked at her sister, who was making a huge bowl of cereal. “You got it, huh? You let a nigga tear down ya walls for free, get high, and you got it? Sharon, if that was the case, I would’ve given you the ten dollars myself and saved your pussy the unnecessary mileage. I should hope you would’ve at least gotten a few dollars for yourself, but if he sent you home hungry I’m pretty sure he sent you home broke.”

  “Fuck you, Reese. You don’t know shit.” Sharon took her cereal into the living room.

  “I know way more than you give me credit for, Sharon.” Reese followed her into the living room. Looking at Sharon’s face—a face very much like her own at that age—she didn’t even have the strength to be mad at her. “Little sister, I know you think I be on your back because I wanna control you, but it ain’t about that. I’m just trying to put you up on game.”

  “I got mad game,” Sharon declared, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. The way she was attacking it, you’d have thought she hadn’t eaten in days.

  Reese laughed. “Girl, your game is suspect at best if you’re coming in here smelling like funk and eating cereal for dinner. I don’t know why you be trying to front like I’ve never been
seventeen.”

  “Things were a lot different when you were seventeen, Reese.”

  “They weren’t that much different. It’s the same game, only the players have changed. I can remember back when I blossomed back in the days, sis. You got a nice body for a girl your age, but I was built like a grown-ass woman when I was seventeen. I had ass, titties, and attitude, and dared for anybody to try to tell me anything.”

  Sharon laughed, thinking back on how Reese used to be. “I remember guys used to sweat y’all in the hood. Every time I would try to run behind y’all, you would shut me down and make me go back to the park. I used to hate that.”

  “I used to shut you down because we were doing things that we had no business doing, much like you are now.”

  “I ain’t doing nothing,” Sharon said innocently.

  “You’re smoking weed, cigarettes, fucking, and Lord knows what else,” Reese pointed out.

  “I smoke a little weed, but I don’t do cancer sticks,” Sharon lied.

  “Sharon, cut it out. I got this out of your top drawer.” She held up a cigarette. “That’s beside the point, though. Sharon, I know you’re at that age when you’re feeling yourself, and a lot is gonna come at you real fast. All I’m telling you is to be careful; stop and think about every decision before you make it, because big or small, it’s gonna affect your future. By you running around jumping off with these dudes, you ain’t doing nothing but building a reputation and running the risk of coming up pregnant or burnt.”

  “Like you did?” Sharon hadn’t meant to say it like that, but the card had already been played.

  “Exactly like I did. You can’t throw that shit at me, Sharon, because I’m over it. But you need to listen to me because I went through it. I got lucky because I had a mild STD and Alex came out healthy, but I could’ve fucked around and got something the doctor couldn’t get rid of. Look at your friend Dena: I ain’t no big fan of hers, but my heart goes out to her for what she went through. Do you wanna end up a walking testament of a knucklehead little bitch who didn’t know how to listen?”