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Lord Jesus. I can’t. “And what did your mother say about all this?”
She sucked my teeth. “Her ‘n’ my Auntie Cass fought me ‘n’ Day’Asia in the courthouse. And they both got arrested.”
Heaven’s eyes widened.
“But, whatever. I told the judge that that bitch should’na been fuckin’ my man.”
Heaven shook her head, dumbfounded at the fact that she took no responsibility for taking a crowbar and beating that girl in the face. If anything, she should have beaten his ass instead.
Right at that thought, the warden’s voice licked at her ear. “One more incident that comes across my desk with your name on it or anywhere in it, and I promise you this: I’ll have you so hemmed up with street charges that by the time the judge finishes with you, you’ll be rotting under this prison . . .”
Heaven quickly shook the voice from her head. The last thing she needed was that bitch haunting her. Still, she knew she couldn’t afford to get caught up in any other beefs. She needed her own little stomp-out crew. A group of females who knew how to move, yet, didn’t mind getting their hands dirty if need be.
A sly smile eased over her lips as she eyed Clitina taking her finger and swiping it around the inside of the bowl, then bringing her fingers to her lips and sucking them into her mouth.
“Mm. That tuna salad was good as hell.”
Heaven smiled. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
Clitina handed her the empty bowl. Heaven took it from her, then set in the sink.
“Listen, girl,” Heaven said, lowering her voice. “I didn’t get a chance to really thank you for what you and your friends did . . .”
Clitina shrugged it off. “It was nothing, Miss Heaven. I like to fight, so it was a win-win.” Her eyes lit with excitement. “We took it to those bitches’ heads. Ooh, I wanted to bust that skinny bitch’s eyeballs out.”
Heaven cringed, feeling a smidgen of guilt for the loss of that one girl’s life.
“So who were those girls, anyway?” Heaven inquired, getting up from her bed and reaching under her bunk for a mesh commissary tote that she’d filled with pecan swirls, iced honey buns, chocolate cupcakes, tropical punch drinks, strawberry Twizzlers, assorted Now and Laters, BBQ corn chips, cheese puffs, and cinnamon graham crackers.
“Oh, two of ’em my hoes from the bricks. The dark-skin one with the long weave is my girl Weena . . .” Heaven cringed at the girl’s name. “Well, it’s Roweena, but we call her Weeena for short.”
Oh.
“And the one with the one with the short, spiky hair ‘n’ tats is my girl, Samara. And the other chick is some chick Weena knows from around the way. Plus, they over on Three East. They told me how you beat that ho’s ass over there, too.”
Images of blood splashing from the girl’s throat flashed in Heaven’s head, and she cringed inwardly. “Why did your friend, uh . . . Weena . . . why did she cut that girl’s throat? Slicing her up was good enough. But killing her?”
Clitina gave her a look. “Because that’s what she does. That bitch be on them mollies. And she do what crazy bitches do. She all burnt out on that purple drank.”
Heaven frowned.
“You know, cough syrup mixed with Sprite and Jolly Ranchers.”
“Oh,” was all Heaven was able to say. She had no understanding why anyone would want to drink a prescription cough syrup with codeine in it trying to emulate what he or she heard on rap songs. She simply couldn’t wrap her mind around it.
Clitina shook her head. “Damn, Miss Heaven, you stay lost. Anyway. Weena’s here now ’cause she beat up her moms, then stabbed her up, like ten times, with a screwdriver.”
Heaven gasped. “Ohmygod. She killed her?”
“She might as well had; she a crackhead anyway. Her life been over.”
Dear Lord. She couldn’t imagine having a crackhead for a mother. A drunk was bad enough. “How old is that girl?”
“She just turned nineteen last Sunday.”
“And the other girls?”
She slid a finger in her mouth, gliding it from back to front over her teeth, getting the last of her meal. “Samara’s like twenty-three. I don’t know how old that other chick is. She probably around my age, or sumthin’. Why?”
