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rself and joined us a few minutes earlier, handed me a follow-up appointment slip and prenatal vitamins.
“I am very sorry for the mix-up, Ms. Jackson. Thank goodness we caught it when we did. Please make sure that you’re back in two weeks.” Oh, suddenly she was sweet as sugar. A few minutes ago she was ready to write me off as some ghetto reject, but now that she knew that her job could hinge on my reaction to her obvious mistake, she was all up my ass without lubricant.
Everything they were saying to me about the baby seemed to be said in slow motion. It was as if they were talking underwater, or something. They kept handing me more bags, bottles, and papers, and I held my hands out for them like a robot. Taking all of the information, introductory care packages, and vitamins, I was in a state of shock and happiness. Sure, I’d been spotting and not having a full period, but I thought that it was because of my birth control pills being changed so often. I had no idea that this was the reason I had been so miserable lately. I thought about every time that I had taken a drink in the few months, every time I had been around people smoking and wiling out, the birth control pills I had been taking not knowing that my fetus was struggling to maintain itself against the onslaught, and last but not least, the fact that I had almost gotten in serious physical altercations with not only Titus but his little wife when she had stepped her nosey tail into my home looking for her husband. The safety of my new child had been at stake, and I had been completely clueless!
On the car ride home, I forgot to even start the radio. My mind was so full of questions that I couldn’t focus on any of them. After several miles had passed underneath me, I realized how quiet it was in the confinement of my vehicle. Suddenly, a slow grin appeared on my face.
As I turned onto College Street in Auburn toward my apartment complex, I giddily told myself aloud, “Oh my God! He is going to have to love me now. No woman can compare to the mother of his first born child. What man wouldn’t love that? I hope we have a son, and we can call him Titus Jr. Oh, shit! That would absolutely tear Shayla up!” I giggled and psyched myself up as I pulled into my personal parking space. Titus would have to respect our relationship now, because we were bonded forever by the life growing inside of me. Having Titus’ baby would definitely solidify me as a permanent fixture in his life. I wouldn’t have to continuously worry about whether he would try to get rid of me again like he had done not too long ago before I changed his mind in his own den. For the next eighteen years, at least, he was mine.
Now, how exactly am I going to break the news to Shayla? She was the only pesky detail left in my perfect little future.
Chapter 24
Titus
Money can buy a man many things, but it can’t buy him respect. That I knew that for a fact, Jack! As I talked to Street, I remembered those valuable words from my O.G. uncle, Dex. He had always told me that I was only as strong as my weakest link. I could remember many examples where the people I aligned myself with started out cool, but somewhere down the line they started to look really unfamiliar to a nigga. Well, it turns out that the problem with all of the fucked up business that had been going down with Big Shirley was a nasty case of betrayal. My vision had been blurry on the nigga I should have had my eye on the most. My vision didn’t come into focus until my boy had completely transformed into a full-fledged foe. Cutting to the chase, Street was starting to look really unfamiliar.
First of all, how in the hell did a whole block of corner boys plus a money-drop spot get lit up like the fourth of July two nights in a row? His ass was on location both times, but he was the only one that didn’t take a bullet in the flesh. He was the last man standing to tell the story on both occasions. The first time, I was glad he made it, dapped him up, and even hugged him, because I didn’t know what I would have done if I had lost my boy. But the second time a block got hit on his watch and he showed up with the bad news without as much as a scratch, I was like nigga what?
Second of all, how was it that he purchased a Jag last week? In the middle of all of the turmoil going on with Big Shirley, my main man was out shopping for Jags. Our money was messed up because we were getting hit left and right, and he was shopping for high dollar cars! Either this nigga had a real good savings plan with IRAs, savings bonds, and some other shit Obama and ‘nem not telling all the citizens about, or he was skimming off the motherfucking top, like a fat cat!
Third of all, he was straight up foul, because I had it on a reliable source that he was spotted talking to one of the goons that busted up in my house blasting some weeks back. To be seen in the same room as one of those men was an offense punishable by death right about now. But to be talking to them, to me, was like kissing death in the face. Now, to think that he could outsmart me with my money was one thing, but to think that he could align himself with the very people that had my peeps blood on their hands was on some whole other shit. The concerning part was that he knew my whole setup, which was probably why it was so easy for them to hit us during Shayla’s party in the first place. They had to have gotten some inside information to know when and where we would be the most vulnerable.
Not to mention, several times I planned to hit them back hard, and they were prepared when we got there as if they’d been tipped off. It had to be Street, I thought reluctantly. Some of the details that Big Shirley knew were so intimate that only he, being my right-hand man, was the one that knew of the plans until minutes before they were executed. Therefore, I put him to the test by calling him up on his cell phone and told him of a bogus plan about getting back at the other squad. To put the icing on the cake, I told him that I would be there personally to take out that bitch, Big Shirley.
An informant had already told me that she showed up at the G-Room every Saturday at 11:45 p.m. sharp. My goal was to get Street to inform them of a hit on that location, so they would switch up their meeting spot for Saturday. That way, I could follow them to a less populated area away from the police department and hit them with the fire. “Okay, my nigga, you understand we are taking her ass out at the G-room as soon as she walks up in there through the side door at 11:45 sharp!” I gave Street the phony details. If my inkling was right, he was going to tell her the plan, and my informant would tell me of the new location.
He said, “Aight man. I’m ready for this ho.”
“Bet.” Yeah, I was betting that his state property, Bitches R Us ass hung up the phone and called her right away to snitch. What Street wasn’t banking on was the fact that one of the men working close to her was in my pocket, so I would know within an hour where her new spot to collect would be, and I would also find out if my boy was sheisty. Big Shirley thought she was going to be getting another dime from a nigga like T, but she sincerely had some things to learn about my resilience.
Later that evening, the time had come to hit her back hard. As anticipated, Street tipped her off, and they were at their new location. I busted into the room she’d booked at Alabama Suites, and it was twenty-men deep – all cocked and loaded. That punk nigga had the nerve to be laying up on the bed counting money like a bitch. When he saw me, he jumped up and put his hands in the air like I was five-O.
Coming through the door gunning, I didn’t even hesitate. I put two in Street’s disloyal ass and hollered, “Where the fuck is Big Shirley?” Without giving them enough time to answer, I put one in the man chest who was standing by the door and two in the man standing by the bathroom sink. I turned back around quick to catch Street staring at me with wide unblinking eyes. His head had fallen off of the side of the bed while his bullet-riddled body stayed sprawled across it. Thick congealed blood poured from his gaping mouth, and a strong iron smell permeated the room. This nigga had jeopardized not only my business, but my family and the homies, all for what? For that paper?! That gwap was scattered all across his chest like worthless blood-splattered confetti. Shit, if it had been all that, I could’ve given him some damn paper. He was supposed to be my boy. He was supposed to be… Well, it didn’t much matter what he was suppo
sed to be anymore. What he was now was casket-filler. This was no time for regrets or sentiment. This was all about the business. In this game, when you make stupid decisions, sometimes you had to get schooled. Street had to learn the hard way that there were certain things you just didn’t do. Fuckin’ with a nigga like T was on the top of that list.
My men were blasting so hard that we’d taken out everyone else moving, until I raised my hand signaling them to stop shooting. The desk chair started to swivel, and I almost emptied my clip in it. I would have, too, but I couldn’t see anyone sitting there. I figured that there was no use in wasting my ammo blazing on inanimate objects, so I lowered my piece.
As the chair continued to swivel, I felt like everything was moving in slow motion. I looked over at one of my men, and I saw the shocked look come across his face as he faced the chair. Wondering what was up, I took a deep breath and turned back towards that part of the room, ready for anything. I’ll be damned, I thought to myself, my mouth dropping open. Sitting in that chair was none other than that bitch, Big Shirley. Calm, cool, and collected, despite her entire room being blasted seconds before, she continued to allow her chair to turn all the way around to finally face me – queen pen to king pen.
When the chair finally made its full circuit and came to a complete halt, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Where the fuck was the rest of this bitch? Wait a minute…What the…? A midget?
Big Shirley was a bonafide midget wearing a little black turtle neck, little jacket, little shoes, little every damned thing! Immediately, I felt a tinge of remorse creep up on me. It was bad enough that I was there to check a woman in the first place, but to find out that woman was a midget, too! Ah, man, that wasn’t going to look good for a nigga, man. I couldn’t help myself. I let out an exasperated chuckle, scratching my temple with the warm end of my piece. I don’t care who you are… this shit was funny. A few of my men let out a couple of nervous laughs, following my lead. Abruptly, I cut off the laughter and scowled at her. Frowning my face up menacingly, I stared her in her beady little midget eyes while the silence hung in the air. The tension in the room was suffocating as everyone waited for my next move. Thinking about the blood that ho had caused my men to shed, I briskly walked toward her and yanked her out of that midget chair. I mean, I yanked her straight up out of the seat until we were at eye level. Midget or no midget, this trick had caused me some serious trouble and heartache, and I wasn’t letting up on her just because of her size. Fuck that!
Her feet were swinging in the air, and she looked like she was turning pale. To my surprise, she didn’t seem phased by the fact that all of her men were dead and that I had ten guns pointed in her direction. Gasping for air between speaking, she said, “What you gon’… do with that gun… besides make me… mad?”
I realized now that I should have recognized that nasally midget voice when I spoke to her on the phone, but I was thinking that she was just a fat bitch who couldn’t breathe right. I wasn’t expecting this mini-monster to be the queen pen of Atlanta. Her cockiness caused a little nervous to travel through my cold-blooded veins. Was this a setup? She must have had a back-up plan, considering that she was still talking shit.
Lil’ Turp yelled at me, saying, “Just shoot the little bitch, so we can get the hell up out of here.” Turp was collecting the bloody money off of the bed, stuffing it in his pants and a duffle bag that was on the bed.
I said, “I got this, mane. She’s responsible for the death of too many of my family and friends, so I’m about to beat this little bitch’s ass before I kill her.” I commenced to slapping and beating Big Shirley’s little bitty midget ass with blows that landed on her left jaw and arm while I held her up with my left arm and punched with the right. She squirmed like a worm on a hook. I only stopped punching her ugly ass long enough to cock my pistol, ready to put one in her head, and said, “This one is for…”
I had my finger on the trigger, applying pressure, and pop almost went the weasel. The only reason I didn’t pull the trigger was because I heard a word that I hadn’t heard in all the time I had been slanging drugs in east Alabama. That one word made me sorry I hadn’t taken the bitch out when I’d had the chance.
“FREEZE!” I dropped Big Shirley, who landed with a hard thump on the thinly carpeted floor, and turned around to realize that we were surrounded by SWAT. Big Shirley wiggled her fat fingers into her pocket, whipped out her badge, and said, “Yeah, freeze, punk! You’re heading downtown for murder, distribution of a controlled substance, and any other charges I can think of on the way to the station. Now drop your gun!”
The question of whether or not I should take her out where she stood, or cooperate with the police surrounding me, ran through my mind a few seconds before I dropped the gun, knowing that I was defeated.
