Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang Page 12

  I laugh. “Which one’a you called this clown-ass ho, like that’s gonna stop shit?”

  “I can’t believe you are tryna kill ya own goddamn blood. Ya mother, Kat. Who da fuck are you to do some shit like that wit’out talkin’ to da rest of her family?”

  “You stupid bitch,” I snap, “The nigga her dumb ass was wit’ killed ’er. I’m just shuttin’ shit down. And for da record, ho, I’m ’er daughter. That’s who da fuck I am, trick-ass bitch. And I have more say than you.”

  She looks over at Elise. “Oh, now this ho-ass bitch wants ta play daughter ’n shit. Well, where da fuck was you when we were callin’ ya ass. You ain’t been tryna be no goddam daughter—”

  “Ladies, please,” the administrator says, cuttin’ in. She looks frightened outta her lil’ Cracker Jack mind. “I’m sure we can talk this through rationally.”

  “Bitch,” we both snap, eyein’ the shit outta ’er, “shut da fuck up!” Her face turns beet red.

  “Had you not called this crazy bitch,” I say, pointin’ at Cracker Jack, “shit wouldn’t be—” The next thing I know, Rosa bum rushes me, and she and I are tossin’ up the office, swingin’ each other into tables and walls ’n shit. She’s hookin’ off on me, and I’m hookin’ off on ’er.

  “I told ya ass I was gonna bring it to ya fresh-ass for talkin’ all greasy ’n shit.” She slaps and punches me. “Welcome home, bitch!”

  I’m not gonna front, this ho caught me off guard. But, I’m rockin’ wit’ the bitch. I don’t wanna slice ’er wit’ my blade, and I know she don’t wanna slice me wit’ hers. So we straight duke it out. Somehow we end up fallin’ and we are on the floor rollin’ ’round like two crazy bitches. I dig my nails in ’er face. Punch the bitch in the mouth.

  “Bitch, I’ma fuck you up!” she screams.

  “Then let’s go, ho!” I scream back, punchin’ her upside the head. I have my knee in ’er throat. Now I’m tryna crush the bitch’s windpipe. “I will fuckin’ shut ya lights out, bitch, puttin’ ya muthafuckin’ hands on me.” She claws and wildly swings her arms to get me offa ’er. I punch ’er in ’er socket, shut one’a ’er lights out.

  Elise jumps on me from behind, wrappin’ her hands in my hair and yankin’ me off’a Rosa. “Oh, so you wanna fight ya aunt like she’s a bitch on da street, hunh? Oh, no bitch it ain’t goin’ down like that.” I start kickin’ and stompin’ on Rosa. Then dig my nails into Elise’s hands, tryna get Elise off’a me. But the bitch has my hair tightly wrapped ’round her hands and she’s pullin’ the shit outta it.

  “Bitch, let go of my goddamn hair and fight me like a real bitch!” I snap, rammin’ ’er back into a wall. I ram ’er again. Rosa comes chargin’ me and I lift my legs up and kick ’er backward. By the time security comes through the door, we’ve tore the office up and all of the buttons on my thousand dollar shirt are ripped open. My sleeve is torn. And the heel of my left shoe is broken off. I’m too goddamn through!

  ALL THREE OF US HAVE BEEN ARRESTED, AND TAKEN DOWN TO the seventy-third precinct. The stupid rookie pig has all three of us sittin’ in the same area, handcuffed. What a dumb fuck! I glance down at my shirt, then feet. I’m ’xtra pissed that this crack-ho bitch tore my fuckin’ blouse and I’m even more heated ’bout my muthafuckin’ heel bein’ broke off. On top’a that, I have a bangin’-ass headache from Elise tryna rip my scalp off.

  Although Elise jumped in the shit, I don’t really have beef wit’ ’er. Yeah, the bitch was outta pocket, but she was only doin’ what they do—fight together, so it is what it is. She gotta few shots off. But, a bitch like me is still standin’. I lean forward on the bench, look over at Rosa. “Bitch, be clear,” I say, lowerin’ my voice to almost a whisper, glarin’ at ’er. She’s sittin’ here wit’ a busted lip ’n swollen left eye. “This shit ain’t ova, trust. You swung off on da wrong ho.”

  This stupid bitch ain’t swift enough to keep it cute, instead she starts spazzin’ the fuck out, loud talkin’ ’n poppin’ mad shit ’bout how she’s gonna slice my face ’n shit. “Bitch, you right. This shit ain’t ova. I’ma fuck you up. I’m ya muthafuckin’ aunt, and you disrespected me. Oh, hell no, ho. From now on you like any bitch out on da streets and that’s how I’ma handle you.”

  This is where a bitch goes into ’er Academy Award-winnin’ performance. I wait ’til the officer comes to take me to the back, then bust out in tears; sobbin’ ’n slobberin’ ’bout the bitch threatenin’ me; ’bout flyin’ in from California, ’bout bein’ distraught ova findin’ out ’bout Juanita’s situation. ’Bout bein’ attacked at the hospital by Rosa and how a bitch’s fearful for ’er safety.

  “All I’m tryna do is deal wit’ my mother bein’ brain dead and plan for her funeral, and them nuts attack me ’cause we got beef.”

  “And those two ladies are your aunts?” the detective asks, raisin’ his brow and givin’ me a what-kinda-crazy-ass-shit-is-this look.

  I nod, allowin’ tears to streak my face. “Unfortunately,” I say, sobbin’ harder. “It’s a hot damn mess. I don’t need this shit right now, you know?”

  He hands me a box of tissue and tries to console me by sayin’ a buncha shit I ain’t really hearin’. I blow my nose and continue sobbin’. By the time I finish draggin’ them hoes, I’m bein’ released; charges are bein’ pressed against both of them bitches for puttin’ they muthafuckin’ hands on me. And I’m granted a temporary restrainin’ order. I pop my hips outta there, smirkin’. Fuck wit’ me if you want, biiiiotches!

  “BITCH, YOU DID WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?” CHANEL SCREAMS IN MY ear. I’m on the phone wit’ ’er dishin’ the juice ’bout how Rosa and Elise tried to bring it to me. And this bitch ain’t listenin’ to shit I’m sayin’. “Ohmiiiigaaaawd, Kat, I can’t believe you wanna pull da plug on ya moms like that. And the baby…omiiiifuckin’ gaaaawd. Kat, you’ve gone too fuckin’ far now.”

  “Bitch,” I snap. “I ain’t call you for no muthafuckin’ sermon. I’m tellin’ you ’bout them two nut-ass bitches tryna bring da noise and you talkin’ ’bout some other shit. What da fuck, ho?! Them bitches jumped me.”

  “Well, what da fuck you ’xpect? You tryna pull plugs ’n shit on their sista. And…the baby! That’s ya lil’ brotha or sista inside of ’er, Kat. Why da fuck would you wanna do some cruel shit like that? Is the baby deformed or sumthin’?”

  “Bitch, how da fuck I know what it is. All I know is, Juanita’s dead ass shouldn’t be layin’ up there wastin’ hospital space. The bitch is dead and there ain’t no sense in draggin’ da shit out. And, as far as that lil’ thing inside of ’er, I’m doin’ it for its own good. Why da fuck would I wanna see that thing come into this world all fucked up?”

  “Ohhhh, puhleeeeeze. Give. Me. A. Fuckin’. Break. You ain’t doin’ shit for nobody but ya’self. And it’s not a thing or a it, Kat. You talk like it’s an object. It’s a baby. Wit’ hands and feet and a mouth and nose. And you wanna take its life.”

  I sigh. “Oh, well. There’s ’nough motherless and fatherless babies in this world. No sense in lettin’ it suffer, too.”

  “Bitch, it’s murder!”

  “How da fuck is it murder? Do ya homework, Sweetie. As long as that plug gets pulled while that thing is under twenty-four weeks, it’s all good.”

  “Bitch, on some real shit, you’ve done and said some fucked-up shit before, but this right here goes waaaaay beyond fucked up. It’s some vicious, nasty, psycho bullshit.”

  “Ho, please. Spare me. Since when da fuck you find a set’a morals?”

  “Ohhhh no, trick, don’t try ’n flip this shit on me. You’re a real fucked-up, selfish bitch for this shit. And if you ask me, you ain’t no different from ya moms.”

  “Excuuuuuuuuuuuse you?! What da fuck you say?”

  “You heard me, ho. For years you been callin’ ya moms all kinda heartless, selfish-ass neglectful bitches. And here you soundin’ just like ’er.”

  “Bitch, fuuuuuuck you,” I say, gettin’ up off’a my bed. “I ain�
�t nuthin’ like that woman.”

  “No, fuuuuck you. And yes, you are. You just too damn blind to see it.”

  “Uhhhhhh, nooooooooooo, sweetness. You got it fucked up.”

  “Yeah, okay. Denial looks real fucked-up on you, boo.”

  “Whateva,” I say, pacin’ the floor.

  “Annnnnyway, if I was Rosa ’n ’em, I woulda jumped on ya ass, too. Keep shit real, boo. Is this about you or ya fuckin’ hate for ya moms? And da only bitch you need to be real wit’ ’bout it is you.”

  The bitch bangs on me, but I’m not fazed ’cause my mind is made up. And there ain’t shit she or anyone else is gonna say to me to change it.

  I take off my bra ’n panties, then head to the bathroom to fill the tub. A bitch need’s a real Calgon moment. I pour in bath crystals, let the water fill to the rim, then step into the steamy water. Chanel’s voice rings in my head. Bitch, on some real shit, you’ve done and said some fucked up shit before, but this right here goes waaaaay beyond fucked up. It’s some vicious, nasty, psycho bullshit.

  “Ho, that bitch read ya ass for filth,” I say, layin’ my head back. I close my eyes, inhalin’. Am I bein’ selfish? Is this really ’bout me, or my hate for Juanita? Why da fuck should I let ’er baby live? Who’s gonna care for the thing? Rosa…Elise…ho-ass Patrice?

  Before I start slippin’ down memory lane gettin’ all depressed ’n shit ’bout shit a bitch can’t change, I open my eyes, decide there’s nuthin’ to think ’bout. It is what it is. Right now, I need sumthin’ to relax me; to take my mind off’a all this craziness. I play wit’ my nipples, slide my right hand down into the water, and massage the front of my pussy. I need to be fucked nice ’n deep, I think, reachin’ for my cell. I scroll through the call log, then press TALK. As soon as it rings, I hang up, punkin’ out.

  What da fuck is you doin’, ho?

  Tryna get this pussy rocked?

  Then why da fuck ya silly-ass hang up?

  ’Cause I don’t need da drama.”

  Yeah, but ya dumb-ass needs sum dick.

  My ringin’ cell disrupts the mini conversation in my head. I glance at the screen. Fuck! “Hello.”

  “Yo, you call me?”

  “Yeah, but it was a mistake. I dialed da wrong number.”

  He laughs. “Yeah right. Stop frontin’. You know you was thinkin’ ’bout me. It’s cool, ma. You can say it.”

  I suck my teeth. “Nigga, get real.”

  Bitch, fuck all this back ’n forth shit. Tell da nigga ta cum rock ya box. “Whatchu doin’?”

  “Chillin’. Why, wasssup? You tryna get into sumthin’?”

  I take a deep breath. “Yeah, come fuck me.”

  I hear the nigga chokin’ on the other end of the phone. “Hol’ up…what you just say?”

  “Muhfucka, don’t play stupid, you heard me. Come. Fuck. Me.”

  “Oh, shiiiit…now?”

  “Yeah, now, nigga,” I huff, steppin’ outta the tub, then dryin’ myself off. “And you need’a hurry up ’fore I change my mind.”

  “Nah, fuck that,” he says, soundin’ real amped. “Change ya mind hell. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Oh, and be clear. The offer expires if you’re not here in ’xactly twenty minutes.” I disconnect the call, swingin’ my naked hips into the bedroom to slip on sumthin’ sexy in case the nigga shows up before his time’s up. I go into my walk-in closet and open up my cedar chest filled wit’ toys. If he doesn’t, then I’ma have’ta take matters into my own hands, I think, pullin’ out my my vibratin’ Long Dong and Zing vibratin’ butt plug. Let the nigga not get here, I’ma slip this plug in my ass, then slide down on the dildo and put ’em both on high speed, then make this nut pop. Fightin’ them roaches today really got a bitch horny!

  FOUR HOURS LATER, I WAKE UP WIT’ MY PANTIES DOWN ’ROUND my ankles and the scent of my sweet pussy dried up on my fingas. I get up, grabbin’ my toys and head to the bathroom to wash my hands and my lil’ fuck buddies, then strut back into the bedroom, dryin’ ’em off before puttin’ ’em back in my chest. I glance at the clock. It’s already eleven o’clock, and noooooo…Nut didn’t come through…okay, scratch that. The nigga didn’t get in. He pulled up late, so I let the nigga keep ringin’ the bell ’n blowin’ up my cell ’til he got the hint. You ain’t gettin’ no pussy; you ain’t gettin’ no brain. So take ya late ass on.

  I scoop my cell up off’a da dresser, checkin’ my missed calls ’n text messages. There’s two missed calls and’a text from Alex; one missed call from Chanel; and three calls from a three-four seven area code. Right off the bat, I already know it’s from one’a my nutty-ass aunts. I text Alex back; tell the nigga next time to get his ass here on time, then retrieve my voice messages. There’s three.

  “Bitch, I’ma fuck you up! You hear me, trick?! Don’t let me catch ya ass anywhere in Brooklyn, ho. Capiche? Don’t! I’ma bring it to ya muthafuckin’ face for puttin’ out a restrainin’ order on me and have me banned from da goddamn hospital…” Save.

  I laugh. This bitch is outta muthafuckin’ control, but I promise you this. Let da bitch try ’n serve me again, and they gonna be dumpin’ ’er ass in a box next to ’er sista. And I mean that shit. I listen to the next message.

  “Puta, que me de mi hermana. Tienes un asno ferina con su nombre para ello, está bien?” OhhhhhmiGaaawd, now this crazy bitch is poppin’ shit in Spanish talkin’ ’bout how she gotta ass whippin’ wit’ my name on it for keepin’ her from ’er sista. Bitch, puuuhleeeze! Save. The third message I don’t even listen to. I delete the shit.

  Alex texts back. It’s all good. Pussy ain’t ever gonna be sumthin’ I can’t get.

  I text back. Good for u, muhfucka!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bitches stay tryna talk slick…but they don’t really want it… junkie-ass tricks…gulpin’ a buncha dicks…eatin’ asses… smellin’ like shit…maggots stuck to them sheets…e’erytime bitches open they mouths…flies flyin’ outta they grills…but I ain’t pressed…a bitch’s ready to step outta da heels…and take it to da streets…

  Three days later, I’m at Chanel’s spot in Brooklyn, like e’erything’s e’erything. She and I ’posed to be chillin’ ’n gettin’ lifted, then doin’ some shoppin’ today, but her fat-ass, big-faced cousin Peaches—who looks more like a muthafuckin’ pumkin than some goddamn peach—done tossed shit up in the game by showin’ up. So instead of Chanel’s ass tellin’ me she was expectin’ this bitch, before I drove all the way over here ’cause she knows I don’t like the ho, she waits ’til I walk through the door to mention the shit. Now I’m sittin’ here at the dinin’ room table—disgusted, lookin’ at this fat, Hungry-Jack bitch practically chew the ends off’a the goddamn blunt. And you know a bitch ain’t diggin’ this bitch wastin’ no smoke.

  I glare at her. “Bitch, is you gonna smoke da shit, or eat it?” I shoot a look over at Chanel. “Bitch, where da fuck you find Fiona? Someone needs to teach her ass how’ta hit a blunt.”

  Chanel bursts out laughin’ ’n chokin’ at the same time. “Ooooh, bitch, you wrong for that. Be nice.”

  “‘Be nice’, hell.”

  “Who da fuck is you callin’ Fiona, bitch?” Hungry Jack snaps.

  “You, Booga,” I snap back, slidin’ my hand down into my Hermès bag in case she wants to bring it. I feel for my ice pick. See a big bitch gotta get gutted. Ain’t no time for puttin’ a razor to slice ’n dice a pork roll ho. You gotta poke her ass up. “Ya ass sittin’ here fuckin’ up good smoke wit’ ya bullshit. Who da fuck wanna be smokin’ behind some bitch wettin’ da shit up like it’s a dick. This shit ain’t no damn snack, ho.”

  Chanel cracks the fuck up. “Bitch, you is dead wrong. Leave my fam alone.”

  “Dead wrong, my ass. Next time, leave this Booga bitch outside where you found ’er.”

  Hungry Jack gives me the finga. “Bitch, fuck you; you can suck my dick!”

  I laugh. “Sweetie, you look like the kind
a chick wit’ them black, nasty fat burns between ya stumpy-ass legs, okay. And there ain’t’a ’nough smoke in this muthafuckin’ world to entice me to wanna eva get between them hamhocks to suck on ya lil’ piggy dick. So you can save that for them Chunky-Monkey bitches you roll wit’.”

  “Bitch, I don’t know who da fuck you think you is, you’ve been comin’ at me all sideways ’n shit since ya stuck-up ass got up in here. And I’m about ready to jump on that ass. You don’t know shit about me, bitch.”

  “Booga, all you gotta do is jump, and we can make it bounce up in this muthafucka, trust.”

  “Ohhhhhhmiiiigaaaaawd,” Chanel says, slappin’ the table wit’ her hand, “will you stupid bitches pleeeease shut da fuck up! I wish you bitches learn to get along. Both of you hoes are tryna fuck up my high. Damn.”

  “Ho, you need to be talkin’ that shit to ya girl,” Hungry Jack says, glaring at me. “You know it’s whatever for a bitch like me. I ain’t one to keep lettin’ no skinny, stuck-up bitch talk greasy. Yeah, I’ma big bitch. But I hit hard, okay?”

  I raise my brow, tilt my head. “Bitch, yabba-dabba-doo. You don’t really want it wit’ me, Barney, so shut da fuck up wit’ ya double-necked ass and finish eatin’ ya blunt.”

  She stares me down, openin’ and closin’ ’er fists like she’s ready to bring da noise. I smirk, waitin’. The bitch rolls ’er eyes, but she keeps ’er ass planted in her seat. Once I see this ho ain’t really tryna bring it, I take my hand off the ice pick and pull out my emergency stash—three blunts packed ’n ready to go—I keep in a Louie eyeglass case. I take one out as I tell Chanel to hand me the lighter, then spark up. I take a deep pull. Hold it in for a few, then blow smoke out over in Hungry Jack’s face. I can’t stand this bitch, so now I’ma fuck wit’ ’er.