Forever a Hustler's Wife (14 page)

“It was a bitch.” Nasir’s voice was now barely audible. “Professional…hit.” He labored. “I shoulda…peeped it.”

“Who did this to you, baby?” Lava asked. “Tell me who did this to you.”

He tried to put his hands up to shut her up; she understood and was now quiet. He closed his eyes and opened them quickly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She wasn’t strong enough to control her tears, not even for Nasir. She could feel his pain in the depths of her stomach.

He took two ragged breaths before he began again, “A lotta niggas…”—his voice caught—“schemin’.” There was a pause, then he continued. “Always…schemin’.” Nasir took another twisted breath. “Most…frontin’ some…real.” He then closed his eyes.

“Nasir!” Lava screamed. “Naaaasir!”

Nasir managed to open his eyes one last time. “Trust…your…instincts…”

CHAPTER 18

Eulogy

D
es sat in the limo outside the funeral home, shaking his head in disbelief as he waited for the family to go inside for his nephew’s funeral. Nasir’s death still felt unreal to him. Yarni sat beside him, holding his hand.

Nasir’s mother, Emma, was screaming and hollering, “
Noooo oooo!
Why my baby, Lord? I don’t understand. Take me, Jesus.” She got out of the limo and ran around outside, screaming and yelling and putting on a show like her only son was everything to her. She had kicked him out of the house when he was sixteen after her boyfriend, whom she had met when he was in jail, was released and came to live with her. Ever since then, Nasir had practically been on his own, forced to become a man and deal with grown-up situations before his time.

Joyce sat in the limo, rolling her eyes in disbelief as a few family members put Emma back in the car. “Now, you know she should be ashamed of herself,” Joyce said loud enough for Emma to hear her. “She needs to sit her ass down. She ain’t do nothing for that boy when he was alive, and now she wants to act a fool ’cause he’s dead.”

“He was my son,” Emma snapped.

“Well, you should’ve been a mother while he was here; he don’t need you now,” Joyce returned fire.

For once, Yarni agreed with Joyce.

“Don’t start with me, Joyce,” Emma said, pointing at her ex-mother-in-law.

Joyce, who as usual was mean as a snake, pointed right back at her. “Don’t you start with me, Emma. I don’t care if we are at the funeral. I can act a fool, too.”

“Ladies, ladies,” Des pleaded.

“It’s sad that she picks now to feel guilty,” Joyce said, as always having to get in the last word.

“How you holding up?” Yarni asked Lava as the funeral director came over to the car to let them know it was time to go in.

She nodded to indicate she was doing fine, although tears rolled from under her black Chanel sunglasses. Yarni felt so bad for the girl. She didn’t want ever to imagine being in her place.

The funeral home was packed inside and out. People were crammed in the chapel like groupies at a rap concert as the family walked in to take their last view of Nasir, resting in front of the chapel. Des had to look at him a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t breathing. He kept expecting his nephew to get up any second and greet him with a smile and a pound.

When Lava saw Nasir lying there, her cries roared out. She reached to touch his hand and to kiss him, then she laid her head on his chest and sobbed, “I love you so much.” It took three people to pry her away from Nasir.

As Lava was seated, Emma approached the casket and began crying out, “Lord Jesus, why my baby? Take me, Lord. Take me.” She threw herself across the casket, wailing and screaming, before trying to climb inside, almost knocking it over. When the ushers finally were able to pull her away, her black hat was cocked at an outrageous angle and looked like it would fall off at any second, but it never did.

Joyce shook her head in disgust, and Des touched his mother’s leg, silently warning her not to make a scene.

After the choir sang and the bio had been read, the preacher got up and took his place at the podium to give the eulogy.

Although he was grieving, Des couldn’t help but notice how sharply dressed the preacher was. He had on what looked like an expensive custom-made suit and more bling than the whole left side of the funeral home.

The preacher began, “In the death of Nasir, we have lost a son, a brother, a friend, a lover, and an example of how to be genuine in life. Nasir did not invent anything about himself; he was the real thing. He was direct, brilliant, sometimes cranky, but generous and loyal. Nasir showed us that we must speak, live, and defend our individual truths with who we are, not just with what we do. He was an example to those of us struggling to truly breathe freely in our own skins and leave this often dark and harsh world a bit better than we found it.”

Des looked at the man in disbelief and laughed inwardly in spite of himself. This dude didn’t even know his nephew—Emma had insisted they get him to speak at the funeral because he was so well known in the community—but he was talking like they were the best of friends.

“In all his years, at one time or another, he encouraged, enraged, or served all of us. In some way he nurtured and defended our existence by keeping it real through thick and thin. He taught us that faithfulness and loyalty would open doors for us in this life that no amount of money could.” The preacher raised his voice, “Hallelujah…I praise God for him.” The minister used his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his pudgy face before taking a sip of water. “Nasir played fair all the way across the board. He understood what life is all about. It’s all about love. He showed his love by opening up doors for himself to change his world. And once he went through those doors, he didn’t close them behind him. He put himself in the doorjamb, using his life to keep the doors open so others might walk through—so you and I might walk through.” The minister took a deep breath and looked out over the crowd, as though gathering his thoughts. “In order for us to breathe life and change into a world that desperately needs it, we must make a difference. The Bible says in Isaiah 41:10: ‘So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’ May you find strength in knowing that Nasir has gone on to a better place and that his living has not been in vain.”

“Oh, Lord…nooo, my son. God knows I loved him!” Emma screamed, and Lava began to sob again. Des felt himself welling up, although he was not moved by the preacher’s words. He believed Nasir’s death was his fault. If he had only done things differently…If he had gone with Nasir that night…If he had never given his blessings over Nasir’s enterprise…

The preacher continued. “When I was called to do this eulogy, I wrote something out, but you know what, Church? I see a lot of folks in here, and my spirit is telling me to shoot from the hip.” He walked from behind the podium, and Des watched in amazement as the congregation began egging him on.

“Yes.” Someone on the left side of the church stood up. “Preach, Pastor, preach.”

“Ummm-humm…” some other folks cosigned.

“Pastor, preach,” another shouted.

Des couldn’t believe people were buying into what this man was selling.
Bullshit,
he thought.
This ain’t nothing but bullshit.

“See, I knew Nasir. I knew him and watched him grow up.”

That nigga lying like shit. He ain’t never met Nasir before. Emma just paid him to do the eulogy,
Des thought.

“A few years ago, I saw him driving a beautiful Infiniti Q-Forty-five, and boy, was that baby pretty—nice shiny rims, big tires, and clean as the Board of Health.” He held his handkerchief up to his face.

Everybody knew he had that car,
Des thought.
This nigga probably asked somebody when he was walking in the church what kind of car Nasir drove.
“He had to have that automobile at the car wash every day, as clean as it was. Y’all who knew him,” he said, pointing, and the crowd loosened up a bit. “Y’all know what I’m talking about. Then one day, somebody hit the car, and it was banged up pretty bad.” A few of the people who were sitting stood on their feet to let the pastor know they liked what they heard. “So he searched and he searched for someone who could fix the car for him. He was asked, Why don’t you get another car? Why save that one? and I quote him: ‘Because the motor is good in that car.’

“You see, Church, it’s not about the outside, it’s not about the flesh. Your body can be shot up and banged up like that car was. But you see, it’s the inside—the heart, the soul—that matters.”

“Ummm-hmmmm.” The cosigners nodded.

Des sat there studying the preacher’s body language as he kept it coming. He looked around the crowd, stunned that people were eating it up. He caught Slim’s eye, and Slim raised his eyebrow, silently conveying,
Do you see this game this nigga playing?

Des nodded and squeezed Yarni’s hand.

“You see, Nasir’s heart was right. We can’t worry about his body, we can only focus on his heart, and his engine was in great condition.”

The volume of sobs throughout the chapel only got louder.

This nigga should know about games,
Des thought.
He’s running one of the biggest ones I’ve ever seen.
He was so impressed with how the preacher was winning the crowd over, he stood to applaud the man’s performance. Yarni looked at Des, happy that he had gotten something out of the message.
Maybe he’ll go to church with me on Sunday,
she thought.

“Let us not indulge in too much grief. Our souls are incapable of death. And Nasir, like a caged bird that has been released, is free to fly away to purer air. Since we trust that God has him in a better place, let our outward actions be in accord with it and let us keep our hearts pure and our minds calm and stay on point at all cost.”

The entire church heard his words, but his sermon didn’t stop the people from grieving.

“God is with Nasir as well as with us. Nasir as a son, a brother, a friend, and soldier is irreplaceable; as a living symbol of love and loyalty, he will live on. He believed in the power of staying true to himself, to build us up, conjure love, make us laugh, and turn men to giants. He will be remembered. He will be missed. He will not be forgotten.

“Church, I know this isn’t your average funeral. I know Nasir would not want his life to be in vain. The kind of man he was, he would want us to let his life be a sacrifice for someone else. He would want us to use his leaving us as a way to get our lives in order. He would want you to try God, if you don’t already know him. See, Church, I may be a preacher, but I know it ain’t about me. It’s about Nasir. But God just placed this on my spirit, and I have to do what my master says. I’m looking around this church, and I see folks here from all walks of life.” He paused for effect.

“With that being said, I think, in the name of Nasir, some souls here can be saved, so I want to open up the doors of the church. Now, I know this is a funeral home and not a church, but church is any place you rejoice, and my master told me to tell you my testimony. See, I’ve been through it all. I was a stone-cold junkie who had done everything and gone everywhere all in the name of ‘Beam me up, Scottie.’”

Des looked at the preacher and continued to peep his game. The man had everyone in the audience caught up in what he was saying. The funeral home was on fire as people thought they were witnessing a man of God. Des knew better. He knew this man was talking a good game, but half the stuff he said hadn’t been true. It had just sounded good, and people were buying it, no questions asked.

“Then after running the streets of Richmond, I went to Jamaica and tried to smoke up everything in sight. Then I went over to Peru and tried to find the purest drugs I could. Then I came home, chased down some Tussionex with a Heineken, and that didn’t fix any of my problems. It only sent me to jail. I realized I had tried everything, but I had never tried God.”

The sinners and the saints were on their feet waving their hands and saying “Amen.” Des soaked up every ounce of the preacher’s game.

“So I want to open up the doors and invite anyone here who’s lost, confused, brokenhearted, or don’t know which way to turn. I have a place for you. My church is Faith and Love Ministry, located on Mockfield Lane, and you can come as you are.”

Des watched in disbelief as several people walked up to the front to give their life to Christ. A few even went up and started throwing money on the pulpit. Major players in the game were throwing hundreds of dollars at the minister’s feet and congratulating him on an awesome sermon.

As Des sat there watching the rest of the service, an idea began forming. He realized that in spite of his nephew’s death, life went on, and he smiled as he realized he had just stumbled on the perfect hustle.

The preacher paused as he wiped sweat off his brow. “People,” he said, “we can’t let him die in vain.” He stomped his foot after every word, demanding the crowd’s attention. He looked around the room to make sure all eyes were on him. “I said we can’t let him die in vain. We must take the lessons of his life and the pain of his death and use them as motivators to be successful in our present and future.” He danced back and forth in front of the podium, flinging sweat onto the members of the congregation. “Because…true soldiers,
true
soldiers don’t die. They live on through us. Though Nasir has ceased to be numbered with us, he’s entered upon a heritage of a more divine life. Since he’s gone, he knows no pain, he feels no pain, nor does he have to suffer in the game called life any longer.”