Page 37 of Double

“I’m tryna figure out why you ain’t whup this girl’s ass,” Lucky said to me.

“Leave her alone, Lucky. Everybody ain’t no damn brawler like the chicks you date,” Journey told him.

“Right, ’cause one of my bitches would’ve had that entire venue turned the fu⁠—”

Double’s daddy, Mr. Waters, shot him a warning glance, and surprisingly, Lucky shut up.

“Where are my gym shoes?” Mama Passion asked. “I know I left some gym shoes in the office. Give me one minute to get them on and⁠—”

“What do you think you’re about to do, baby girl?” her husband questioned. “You think you’re about to take your fifty-year-old ass over there and fight?”

“She ain’t got to. Where are the gym shoes, Mama? I’ll wear ’em and whup a bit⁠—”

“You want your lick back?” Mr. Hill asked me.

I shook my head vehemently because I didn’t want to hit that girl. She could fight, and I couldn’t. If I hit her, she was just going to hit me again. I didn’t want to get hit again. One time was traumatic enough for me.

He looked at me with what was probably supposed to be sympathy but made me feel pitiful. “Cut the power, Just.”

Justus’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, sh . . . snap. Y’all don’ brought Pretty Hill back to the forefront. I thought we retired him.”

“He comes out when somebody fucks with my family,” Mr. Hill said. “Cut the power.”

Justus pulled out his phone, swiped a few times, and looked up at his grandfather. “Done.”

“Let’s ride. Somebody lock up and set the alarm over here.”

The nine of us left Hill Top Management and walked next door. Women were leaving the building in droves as we approached the door.

“There’s no power,” one of the women told us as she sashayed past.

Ignoring her, we filed wordlessly through the dark hallway with only the light from a few of our cell phones to guide us into the Angel Ballroom. Once we crossed the threshold into the ballroom, Justus restored the power. It was mayhem. As soon as the lights were restored, women began gathering their things from the tables where they stood and sat.

Justus walked right over to the DJ booth with the rest of us behind him and motioned for a microphone. Once he had it in hand, he spoke. “Listen the fuck up.”

The chatter began to die down.

Compton ran over to him. Her mouth was close enough to the mic that her words were amplified. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t know what y’all thought this was, but whatever you thought, . . . you thought wrong. One of you put your moth—damn hands on my sister-in-law, and I’mma just tell ya right now. You fucked up.”

Mr. Hill motioned for the mic, and Justus handed it right over. “Which one of you ladies put your hands on my granddaughter?”

“She left,” Compton said softly.

“I’m gonna give one more opportunity for the guilty party to step forward or⁠—”

“Or what!” an annoyed feminine voice called out.

Lucky pulled out his gun. “Or I’mma start pistol-whippin’ bitches until the truth comes out, and I’mma start with your mouthy ass.”

“Like you the only one holdin’ in this bitch!” another woman called out.

“Well, let’s let the fuckin’ choppers sing and see who still standin’.”

The women began chattering amongst each other.

“Who did it, Compton?” Justus asked her. “You want the guilty party to get it, or are you gon’ let Lucky set it off in here? ’Cause you know he’ll set it off.”