Retribution (17 page)

Booty eyes me. “Ooh, you real fancy, sugah-boo. I ain't even know you still had your place up here. I let her know I never sold it; that I've kept it empty since moving out of it. “Ooh, Miss Pasha, girl, you coulda rented that out. Got you a Section-8 tenant, ‘n' boom, sugah-boo, you coulda been makin' you some nice greenery.” I give her a confused look. “Money, sweetness. Get with the program, sugah-boo. Anyway, let me get somethin' to write with.” She walks into the kitchen and returns with a pen and notepad. She starts writing. “Okay, let's see…”

She starts going through the names we have so far. “We'll put Miss Messy FeFe first since she's the one who did you the messiest. I mean them niggas did, too. But that bitch is family ‘n' she sideswiped you, sugah-boo. And a bitch like her gotta get it good ‘n' goddamn dirty! We can scratch that nigga-coon, JT off the list since he's already dropped. So Felecia's first. Then the nigga-coon, AJ, then I guess we should work on fishin' out that nigga-coon
L.
I still can't think of what he said his real name is, but whatever. I can call Dickalina ‘n' get her to give him my number, then I'll make a date to give him some pussy. You know good pussy is a nigga's kryptonite, okay, sugah-boo. Plus, I wanna see what that dingaling look like. And I wanna see what them balls lookin' like after you done chewed 'em up.”

I reach for the bottle and pour myself another shot. Talking these niggas up is starting to shake my nerves. She eyes me, smirking as I toss my drink back. “Yes, goddammit. Wet that throat, Miss Pasha, girl, with ya ole long-necked self.”

My cell phone starts ringing. I pull it out of my back. It's Jasper.

I press
IGNORE
.

“Okay, so we now have four names, with one already down,” I say, going over everything we've discussed. “So that leaves us with three. Hopefully we can get one, or all three of 'em to tell us who else was in on it.” She asks about Stax. If I'm going to put him on the list or give him a pass. I tell her I don't know, yet.

“But you
are
gonna do what you do best ‘n' suck him sideways, ain't you, sweetness? Oooh, yesss,
FahverGawd.
I know your messy ass gonna suck his dingaling ‘n' lick all 'round them balls. Do him right, goddammit.”

I shake my head. Tell her I'm not sure. That it's a possibility—only if I really have to. I let her know I prefer to twist, squeeze,
slice and poke whatever information I can out of one of the niggas already on the list.

“One of them niggas,” I say, sitting up and slipping my feet back into my heels, “has to know something. And if they don't…” I pause not really sure what happens next if they don't rat out the rest of them niggas. Or what happens to them after they do. Letting them niggas go might not be an option. Then what?

“Then we shut they motherfuckin' lights out!” Booty finishes excitedly, slapping the back of her right hand into her left palm. Her glassy eyes narrow to slits as she says this. She doesn't even bat a lash. “We make them niggas breathe they last breaths, goddammit!”

I open my mouth to speak, but she is so amped up talking about slaying niggas and slicing throats and breaking bones and chopping off hands that I don't get a chance to tell her that I'm not signing up for murdering anyone.

She's on a roll…

“Motherfuck 'em, goddammit! After what them coon-nigga bitches did to you, Miss Pasha, girl, they gotta get served to the sewer rats. And Jasper's no-good ass gotta get it the worst. I'ma help you lure these other niggas in real right. But,
you
, Miss Pasha, girl, gonna have to handle Jasper's coon-ass. And I. Do mean…
handle.”

She shoots me a look for effect as she reaches for the bottle of Henny, pours us both another shot, then hands me a glass. “And the last bitch we gonna make sure they asses see before we seal they coffins, is
you
, sugah-boo.”

She raises her glass. “Here's to takin' it to they fuckin' skulls, goddammit!”

Reluctantly, I raise my glass. “To payback.”

“And good goddamn dingalang,” Booty adds, tossing her drink back.

I shake my head, silently chuckling inside.
Booty is all over the place.
The conversation gets serious when it shifts to trying to come up with a discreet location, somewhere off the beaten path, where it'll be hard for us to get caught, a place where we can light these motherfuckers up without any unexpected interruptions. Booty says she might know someone, one of her sponsors, who might be able to help with that. We spend another twenty minutes devising a plan. Then discuss all of the supplies we'll need. I dig in my wallet. Peel out eight Ben Franklins and hand them to her. Tell her she'll need to handle getting our supplies. She hands me the money back.

“Oh, no, Miss Pasha, girl. This is my treat, goddammit! I'ma have everything ready to go. We 'bout to light they fires, goddammit!”

“Umm, Booty…speaking of lighting fires and taking it to skulls and whatnot, exactly what
did
you do with JT's body? And
who
helped you dump it?”

She bucks her eyes. “See, now, sugah-boo. You tryna know too much. Shit, I don't even know where his dead ass ended up. And I ain't ask, either. Don't ask, don't tell, goddammit. All I know that nigga-coon got his bloody ass rolled on up outta here in'a rug. And where he landed, I don't wanna know. But I do have a lil souvenir, I'm keeping on ice.”

She gets up and walks into the kitchen. I can hear her shuffling things around. “Oh, nooo, goddammit, I know one of these lil motherfuckers ain't come in here ‘n' fuck with my shit, goddammit. I packed it right down in the bottom of this motherfuckin' freezer. Oh,
FahverGawd,
say it ain't so. I know these greedy niggahcoons ain't…oh, yes, goddammit. I was 'bout to go off.”

After a few more seconds of fumbling around her freezer, she comes back out holding a freezer Ziploc bag. “That nigga-bitch came up in here”—she opens up the bag and pulls out the Tupperware bowl—“tryna do me, and got did up real right.” She pulls up the lid. “Coon, boom-boom!” She hands me the bowl. “I got me a breakfast treat.”

My eyes almost pop out of my head. My mouth drops open.

It's JT's dick.

Frozen and thick.

Don't ever ignore the elephant in the room—hop on that big bitch and ride it…

I
t's exactly four
P.M
., when Booty finally drops me off back at the salon. “Miss Pasha, girl,” she says as I open the door, swinging one leg out of her truck, “You a real special bitch 'cause I don't let a lotta bitches up in my home. I usually entertain they asses outside on the porch or in the backyard on the patio. Shit, Dickalina ain't even been allowed to sit ‘n' kick her heels up inside my house like you. And me and her been friends for years. Then again, I know the bitch got roaches so I only let her ass stand when she comes through 'cause I don't want her leavin' none'a her lil friends behind. I always tell that bitch to make sure she takes her pets with her when she leaves. I ain't even tryna house none'a them nasty fuckers.”

I shake my head, laughing. “Cassandra, your ass is a hilarious mess. You do know that, right?”

“Uh-huh. But I ain't ever been messy.”

“Cass, I can't with you. Listen. Thanks for dragging me out of here today. Whether I wanted it or not, I needed it. Talking everything out really helped put things in perspective.”

“It sure did, sugah-boo.” She tilts her head, pursing her lips. “We gonna turn them motherfuckas
out
. You got the list, right?”

I nod, double-checking inside my handbag. “Yeah. I got it.”

“Yesss,
FahverGawd,
they not gonna know what hit they asses.” She reaches in the backseat and grabs a large black plastic shopping bag, then hands it to me. “This is for you, Miss Pasha, girl.”

I give her a quizzical look, peeking inside the bag. “What is it?”

“It's a lil treat to get this party started right.”

I pull out the box. It's a black Double Trouble Stun Gun.

“We gonna do 'em up right, goddammit. We gonna zap they asses 'til they drop, ‘n' by the time they come through we gonna have they asses hog-tied how they had you. And I ain't tryna hear nothin' else 'bout you draggin' ya heels, either, Miss Pasha, girl. Ya lumped-up face should be enough to keep the fire lit up under ya ass. And I hope you gonna do what I tol' you ‘n' suck Stax's ball sac inside out. We need to know what he knows. And the only bitch he gonna tell shit to is
you.”

I sigh. “Like I told you earlier, I'm not sure I really want to go there.”

Her neck snaps back.
“What?
You're not sure you wanna go there? Sugah-boo,
boom-boom!
You better put them lips to use ‘n' be the best cum-guzzler you can be ‘n' guzzle us out some Intel. Get ya mind right, Miss Pasha, girl! Do that sexy motherfucka. And if he ain't got shit worth sayin', at least you got to get you a mouthful of that Mandingaling ‘n' a taste of that hot cock sauce.”

I blink. The only thing I can do is smile and I let what she says go over my head. At the end of the day, I know without a doubt, Booty means well. “Again, thanks.” I reach over and grab her hand. “It means a lot to me to know you have my back.”

“I sure do, goddammit. And I enjoyed havin' you over, Miss Pasha, girl. Next time you gonna have'ta stay for a bite to eat. Now get on up outta my truck. You know Booty ain't for none'a this sentimental shit.”

I chuckle. “Get home safe, girl.” I shut the door and watch her peel off down the street, running through a red light.

I look over at my salon, wincing as I touch the side of my face. It's tender and sore. But the swelling isn't as bad as it could have been.
Fuck you, Jasper! Putting your motherfucking hands on me at my place of business! You really helped seal your goddamn fate, nigga!

My personal life may be all fucked up. But a bitch can't say shit about my professional life. I've put a lot of sweat and tears and heartache into this shop, my shop. The long grueling hours and exceptional services offered over the years have truly paid off. Despite all the personality clashes, cutthroat cattiness and backbiting that often goes along with owning a salon, my shop remains a thriving, extremely successful hair, nail and body salon. Our clientele list continues to grow, and loyal patrons from around the Tri-State continue to pack us to the seams.

I glance up at the N
APPY
N
O
M
ORE
sign hanging vertically over the shop's window and grimace in an attempt to smile. I place a hand up to the side of my face.
This is my shit,
I muse, walking toward the building.
And in a couple more weeks, it should be official. I'll be the proud of owner of Nappy No More II out in Beverly Hills. I can't wait to get the fuck away from here for a while. I only hope this shit with Jasper is over before then. Booty's right. It's time.

Through the shop's window, which I had bullet-proofed thanks to the nigga who smashed it out last year, I see there isn't anyone manning the receptionist desk and there are about ten clients sitting in the waiting area. I step through the door, immediately greeted with the sound of laughter and lively chatter over the sounds of…playing through the speakers. I speak to everyone sitting in the waiting area, then make my way toward the workstation area, catching the tail end of Rhodeshia running her mouth about…
me!

She's so busy talking sideways that she doesn't even notice me standing here, leaning up against the side of the partition.

She's parting and spraying her client's scalp. “Girl, I don't know what popped off in her office earlier today, but I heard he been whoopin' that ass every since he got home from prison and found out she was sucking other niggas' dicks.…”

Her client chimes in, “Mmmph. Depending on how long he was locked up, I probably woulda did me a little dick sucking on the side, too. Shit. It's hard jailing with a nigga, especially when he doing more than two years. We got needs, too. Shit.”

Rhodeshia grunts. “Chile, please. I know jailin' ain't easy. So go out and get you a lil boo on the side. Not a whole neighborhood of niggas like Pasha was doing…I heard she suck'a mean dick, too.”

I hear Lamar's voice coming from over the railing upstairs in the loft that overlooks the workstation area where manis-and-pedis are given. “Yo, ma, chill wit' that; you really outta pocket. How you gonna stand there and kick Pasha's back in like that in front of all these peeps, yo. You bein' mad reckless at the mouth right now.”

She sucks her teeth. “Nigga, please. Why you care? What you gonna do, run back and tell her?”

“Nah, that's not what I do.”

“Then how about you just
do
what you're paid to do and mind your business.”

“Aiight, ma, you know what. Do you. That shit still ain't cool.”

She waves him on. “Whatever. Like I said, mind yours and leave mine alone.”

Even two of my pedicurists, Trish and Anna, confront her to shut it down, but this bitch still keeps on going. I bite my tongue.

You wanna know what a bitch really thinks about you? Listen to what she says about you behind your back.

I stand here taking it all in. A few clients' eyes open in surprise
when they spot me with my finger up to my lips for them to keep quiet. A few eyes light up in anticipation for a lil juicy shop drama. Looks like today is one of those days.

Kenyatta, another one of my newest stylists, tries to clear her throat, motioning with her head over in my direction, nodding to Rhodesia on the sly that I'm standing here. But Rhodeshia's ass is too stuck on messy to pick up on it. The patrons in the chairs watch on in amazement, watching me watch her as she continues flapping her gums about me.