Heartbreak of a Hustler's Wife: A Novel (24 page)

“You ain’t in no position to make no deals, but I guess it depends on the song you sing.”

Cook-’em-up had no illusions about living, no matter what he told them, but he couldn’t think of anything worse than
being buried alive, encased in rock, so he sung like the choir at the Good Life Ministry.

Even Lloyd was surprised when Cook’em-up spilled the beans, and hated that he had to break the news that one of Des’s trusty sixpack was in on it.

Lloyd took one last long pull of his cigarette and blew the smoke in Cook’em-up’s face. “You ready to get this shit over with, man?”

With tears in his eyes, Cook’em-up nodded. Lloyd put the cigarette out in his face. “A’ight, y’all,” he said to his partners in crime.

The old heads walked Cook’em-up over to what looked like a predug ditch in the middle of what would later be the parking lot of the new superstore in the process of being built. They threw him in like he was a rag doll. Cook’em-up was so worn down that he could barely try to escape, even when Johnny hit the button for the concrete to pour on him. When Johnny stopped it, it was only up to Cook’em-up’s knees. Though it was hopeless, the hit man scrummed for about two hours.

The fellas laughed at him and cracked jokes as if he was their form of entertainment. Johnny hit it again and brought the concrete up to Cook’em-up’s neck. That sat for another two hours and Cook’em-up was delirious by then, and that’s when Lloyd said, “Since this is the last thing you will ever hear in this lifetime, I hope in the next one, you will remember never to fuck with a real gangsta’s family.” Lloyd spit on him. “We done wasted enough of our golfing time on this sack of shit! Put the motherfucker out of his misery.”

Breaking the Cycle

Now the cat was out of the bag that Chip—one of their oldest and once dearly trusted friends, and treasurer for the church—was one of the masterminds behind the robbery of the Good Life Ministry. Though the jury was still out on who the other one was, for now Chip would have to take responsibility for Tony’s death during the heist. There was no doubt that Black Bob wanted to make good on his word and was planning to get the name of his partner while at it. And Des and Slim swore on the graves of their loved ones to take care of Chip’s unknown partner if it was the last thing they did.

While Des was with Slim and Black Bob having a drink now that things were finally coming together, the three girls were homebound.

Desember had been keeping Desi busy while Yarni was trying
to get some work done. She decided to take a break and go downstairs for a snack, but as she reached the family room, she listened to Desember playing with Desi. The short time that her stepdaughter had been with them, Yarni had gotten used to her being there. Though Desember had her moments, she was really good with Desi.

“I want to be just like you when I grow up,” Desi said to her big sister.

Yarni cringed. Desember had grown on her and she was confident that with the right guidance the girl would go on to do some great things, but where Desember was at that very moment in her life wasn’t what Yarni had in mind for her daughter, she thought as she continued to observe her daughter looking up at Desember.

“No.” Desember shook her head. “You don’t want to be like me; you have to be better than me.”

“But we are sisters and we’re supposed to be alike,” Desi said.

Yarni smiled and thought how blessed the girls were, especially Desi—she had two parents that loved her and an adoring big sister.

Then she noticed that Desi had gotten quiet as if she was thinking something. Apparently Desember noticed it too. “What’s on your mind, small puffs?” she asked.

“My friend Morgan, who’s in my class. She has three big sisters, and if somebody messes with her, she always brags and says her sisters are going to come to our school and beat them up. Is it true that big sisters can come to school and beat people up their little sisters hate?”

“You betta believe it,” Desember said, picking up Desi. “Tell me who’s messing with my baby sister.” She leaned down and
started tying Desi’s shoes. “I’ll go up there and stomp,” she stomped the floor with her foot, “them like they’re a roach.”

Desi smiled, obviously happy that her sister had her back, then told Desember her problem. “Well, this boy named Chauncey said that my momma and daddy are gangsters and so I’m going to grow up to be one.”

Yarni damn near choked as she listened to her daughter worry about growing up to be a gangster. “When I asked my teacher what a gangster was, she said bad people. So I hate Chauncey and I put paint on his favorite chair when nobody was looking, so when movie time came, he sat in it. And everybody was laughing but nobody saw me doing it because it was dark,” Desi said matter-of-factly.

“Give me five.” Desember put her hand up. “That’s my little sister!”

Desi gave her five. “But I still want you to come to my school and stomp,” she stomped her foot, “him like the roachie bug he is.”

Yarni overheard the entire conversation and it broke her heart.

What the hell was she thinking? This life they were living wasn’t what she wanted for her daughter. A couple of years ago Desi had been kidnapped—maybe she was too young to remember. Now she had to protect herself from schoolkids who call her parents gangsters.

Tears came to Yarni’s eyes as she thought about the reality of it, that all the people Desi looked up to were gangsta: Des, Desember, Joyce, Lloyd, Bambi—well, she was borderline but could get real gully. And although Yarni hated to admit it, in her own way she was gangsta too. If she wasn’t, she was damn sure a gangsta’s wife.

When she was younger, she thought being a hustler’s wife was all fun and games. She went on to be an attorney and changed her life for the better, but when needed, she could slip back into that mind-set. She knew she had to put herself under construction and renovate her lifestyle and principles.

She had to ask herself what kind of life she was living. She could defend people tooth and nail, and saw how dirty the system was, but then she would come home and partake in the same life she got people off the hook for.

She had to admit how twisted and fucked-up it was.

Yarni knew firsthand that the life she and Des were living was dysfunctional. Desi didn’t deserve having to live this way nor did she want that for her child.

It was a means to no end, and one day their luck would run out. One day it wouldn’t be a brush with death, it would be death. And one day God would have no mercy for them.

Everything had to, and would, come to end … tonight!

Des would have to pick—it was either the streets or the sheets. Their family or the gangsta life.

No more flipflopping or riding the fence. No more of dreams of the last, the greatest or the ultimate hustle.

Enough was enough! It was time for her to put her foot down—and whatever the repercussions were, she’d take it on the chin.

She fully understood, without a reasonable doubt, what was at stake.

Tonight Yarni would give Des an ultimatum. Though she couldn’t bet on the outcome, she knew one thing: tonight her life would change,
forever!

I must thank God, whom through all blessings flow. He keeps blessing me over and over and over again with great people who have impacted my life and have my back time after time, day after day!

My dear children, I do it for you! I’m so proud that you are mine! I love you. My family and small circle of real friends … I thank you Special thanks to: Craig for always having my back no matter what. Tim Patterson, thanks for always having the words to keep me going on the rainy days and for the excitement on the sunny days. No words can express my gratitude on those days. Mia Upshaw, for those words of encouragement and for having such compassion through all the craziness. Wanda David, for your love and support, always wanting the best for me. Natakiki, for your laughs and perspective. Auntie Yvonne, for always having a solution and knowing what to say to make me feel better! My little cousin, Natalee; so glad we are so close. Alyce-Nikki Allen, I love you for your concern. Trevenia Blancher, I thank you for all those days that you drove to the country to bring me food or ran
errands and just your overall ride or die love in general. Noel, the sky is the limit. Dr. Gregory Pleasants, for being on top of my health, for caring, not just for me but all your patients. You truly are the greatest! My chiropractor, Dr. Larry Griffin (Dr. G. Stacks), you are so passionate about your work; never change the way you are. Laura Cook, OMG!!! If those walls could share our laughs, the entire world would be laughing or shaking their heads at us. Carrie K, your hands are like butter. Thanks for the great massages.

Melody, I thank you for allowing me the opportunity to bring my thoughts to print and I truly value the bond we have outside of the pages. Marc, for assisting in taking my career to such heights and seeing outside the box when no one else does. I’m so happy for you and all the great things that are happening for you. You deserve it!

And the best thank-you is always last: to you, my loyal readers. I love you for loving me and my work! Thank YOU!!! for all the love and support!

N
IKKI
T
URNER
has taken the urban literary community by storm. Known as the “Queen of Hip-Hop Lit” she is the best-selling author of the novels
Natural Born Hustler, Relapse, Ghetto Superstar, Black Widow, Forever a Hustler’s Wife, Riding Dirty on I-95, The Glamorous Life, A Project Chick
and
A Hustler’s Wife
. She is the editor of the Street Chronicles series and the “Nikki Turner Presents” line, featuring novels from fresh voices in the urban literary scene. Visit her website,
nikkiturner.com
, or write her at P.O. Box 28694, Richmond, VA 23228.