Retribution (10 page)

Does she know who else was in on it?

Why hasn't she called me? No, she has been calling me, but I've been ignoring her phone calls. Maybe this is what she was calling me about. It has to be.

Even though I've heard everything Mona's said, something isn't adding up. I hop up from my seat. “I need to call Cassandra.” I grab my cell from off the desk. “There's no way I can let this shit wait. I need answers,
now.”
I scroll through my call log, then dial.

“That bitch is
ruthless,
Pasha,” Mona hisses, her tears falling unchecked.

Mmm. Sounds like we all have some confessions to make.

The truth may set you free, but payback makes a bitch feel a whole lot better!

“I
t's 'bout time you got ya mind right, Miss Pasha, girl,” Cassandra says as she struts into my office, shutting the door behind her. “You been tryna do me, goddammit. A bitch ain't had her head done since you tossed me up outta ya shop. And you know I need my damn wig did on the regular. Can't a bitch lay fingers through my hair but you, Miss Pasha, girl. And I ain't had my hair done in two weeks. I need my shit did, boo. You got me walkin' the streets lookin' like Miss
Beeeeyaaawncé
with this tore-up weave. I'm doin' head wraps ‘n' you know I ain't no damn head wrap bitch. Get your mind right, goddammit. I need my wig fixed.”

I blink, shaking my head at this heifer. She hasn't even gotten in the door good and her ass is already talking shit. But she's the kind of crazy bitch you can't even get—or stay—mad at 'cause she says some of the funniest shit. Still, she's a fucking mess. And right now isn't the time.

Still, as always, she's hood-fabulous in a pair of distressed jeans that look like they've been poured on and molded over her hips and ass. Her white blouse is tucked in. And there's a Louis Vuitton belt cinched around her tiny waist. I glance at the oversized
handbag dangling from the crook of her arm. My eyes flutter down to her feet. She has the nerve to be wearing the pink Balenciaga Revers pump I'd been eyeing. If this visit were under different circumstances, I'd tell her she was serving me for filth. But she's not here for a fashion commentary. And I'm not interested in giving one.

She keeps rattling on, “You tried to do me, Miss Pasha, girl. Tossing me up outta here when all I was tryna do is put you on notice about how messy Miss FeFe was. I tol' that bitch so what if you was suckin' a buncha dicks. That shit was none of her messy-ass business. I'm tellin' you, Miss Pasha, girl, if you wasn't my sugah-boo, I'd tell you to eat the insides of my ass for that shit you pulled.”

I frown. Cassandra is delusional. And she's never going to see just how damn messy she is. But, she's real. And you never have to second-guess when it comes to her. The bitch has no filter. She says whatever the fuck she wants.

When I called her to let her know that Mona was here at the salon and that the three of us needed to talk, she said, “Miss Pasha, girl, don't do me. Why you think I've been calling ya high-class ass the last week? But you been tryna be messy, iggin' my calls. Oooh, you been bein' real shitty, Miss Pasha, girl. Yes, we need to talk, goddammit.”

“Can you come down to the shop now?” I had asked, not allowing myself to get wrapped up in her extras. I've learned to let Cassandra be Cassandra—messy and loud, without getting sucked in. But, it's not always easy.

“Sugah-boo, I'm on my way down to the Crack House to get my snap ‘n' tap on. You know usually I turn it up on Thursday nights on Thug Night, Miss Pasha, girl. Monday nights usually ain't shit ever jumpin' off down at the club, but they doin' a male
revue tonight. And a bitch like me likes to be pressed up at the bar,
early,
watchin' all the dick swing in.”

The Crack House is one of the local hot spots for every hood star, wannabe gangster, and ghetto-fab bitch in the Tri-State area, known for their infamous drinks named with sexual connotations.

I rolled my eyes. “Cassandra, under the circumstances, this is urgent. We need to talk,
now.”

“Mmmph. Let me call Dickalina to let her know I'ma be late. Lucky for you, I'm three blocks away. I'll be there in a few.” She hung up.

And now…here she is—live and direct, and in full effect.

She glances over at Mona, sucking her teeth. “Oh, here we go with the waterworks. Sugah-boo,
boom!
I know you not still cryin' over JT's coon-ass after that nigga tried to do me. That nigga-coon got what he deserved. So you need to pull it together, boo.”

Mona glares at her. Clenches her teeth.
“Bitch,
are you serious right now? That is still my cousin.”

“Correction, sweetness,” Cassandra snaps, tossing her handbag up on my desk, “that nigga
was
your cousin. What he is
now
is shark bait. And
what?
The nigga-bitch got what he got 'cause he had it comin'. Period. So, don't do me. He told me that before he gutted my face, he was gonna fuck me in my ass, then scrape my insides out. Oh, no sweet thang, that nigga-coon got what he got for that shit. And, yes, I stabbed that nigga up real goddamn good for it.”

I blink. There's not one ounce of remorse or guilt…nothing, in her voice as she says this. And, the scary thing is, something inside of me shifts. A part of me wishes I had been the one stabbing him up. I can't say this to Mona, but…I'm glad the nigga's dead. That motherfucker shoved his dick down in my throat, and didn't have an ounce of regret for me. So motherfuck him!

Mona bursts into tears again. “I-I t-t-thought I c-c-could handle this, b-b-but I can't. T-t-this is too much. How can I look in my family's face, in Leticia's face, in his mother's face,
knowing
I know what really happened to him?”

“Bitch,” Cassandra huffs, stamping her foot and slamming a hand up on her hip. “The same way you
been
lookin' in they faces—with a goddamn smile. See. I knew ya ass wasn't built for this life. You knew it was gonna get messy. You knew that nigga-bitch was crazy. You warned me about his ass. Bitch, I don't do drama. And I don't do murders. But guess what? I did what I had to do to save me. And I'd do it all over again. I didn't wanna kill that nigga, but,
bitch
, ain't no way I wanted that nigga tryna kill me, either. So you can eat the insides of my ass with that shit. That nigga-coon tried to steal my pussy. Mmmph. No thank you, sugah-boo. That nigga-bitch had to go.”

“Look, you two,” I say, trying to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. “Bickering isn't going to change what's already happened. We all have to try to stay calm. And figure something out.”

“Mmmph,” Cassandra grunts, pursing her lips. “Oh, I'm very calm. So save that shit for that coon sittin' over there 'cause she's the one actin' like she needs a Day Stay on the psych ward.”

Mona jumps up from her seat. “Bitch, where is my cousin's body? You still haven't said shit about that.”

I watch as Cassandra yanks open her bag and snatches out a can of Mace. “Booga-coon,
boom-boom,
goddammit! Make my day. I won't beat ya ass down too bad 'cause you one'a them prissy bitches. And I can't stand tryna whoop up on no prissy bitch. But I will mace ya ass down real good up in this bitch tonight, then split your face if you even think it. I mean it, Miss Mona. So you
better have several seats
waaaay
in the back, goddammit, before it gets messy up in here.”

It takes me several minutes to get Mona to calm down. She's hysterical again. I rub her back, scowling at Cassandra. “Really, Cass? You're going to pull out a can of Mace when Mona's grieving over her cousin?”

“Sugah-boo,
boom!
I'm grieving, too, goddammit!” She tosses the can back into her bag. “I loss me a good goddamn sponsor behind that shit. So don't do me. That nigga-coon tried to slice out my cootie-coo.” She replays pretty much everything Mona said. I ask her why JT would get pissed at her for putting Jasper on blast about Felecia.

She raises an arched brow.

“ 'Cause that nigga-coon was crazy; that's why. And the bitch thought he owned me and could run me. He ain't like me hippin' you to Jasper's no-good nigga-ass. But JT knew he could eat the inside of my ass.
Big Booty
don't dance to no-goddamn-body else's drumbeat but her own. And ain't no coon-ass nigga
ever
gonna run shit over here.

“Obviously, that nigga-bitch didn't get the memo—don't.
Fuck.
With.
Me.
So he got himself a nice shiny blade plunged into his stomach, then a bat to his skull.” She snaps her neck over at Mona. “So, Miss Mona, you can sit there wringin' ya goddamn hands if you want, but you just as guilty as I am. And know this, Miss Thingaling, if I
ever
go down, I'm takin' ya punk-ass wit' me.”

Mona gasps.
“Bitch!
You can't be serious?! I'm not the one who stabbed him, or beat him with a bat. Or tossed his body God knows where!”

“No, sugah-boo, you didn't stab that coon-nigga-bitch.
I
did. And
what?
Don't do me, booga-coon. 'Cause you were down with
it, too, tryna fish Sparks to see what that coon-nigga knew. And you damn sure didn't have a goddamn problem takin' any of the money I was sharin' with ya greedy ass, with ya ole frigid ass. Now did you…?”

I shoot a confused look over at Mona. She avoids my stare.

“So, booga-coon,
boom-boom!
From where I'm sittin' that makes you a co-conspirator, goddammit.
You
took blood money, sugah-boo. Don't do me. We'll both be doin' them football numbers over at Clinton State Prison. And you better hope like hell when ya ass gets released, you don't come out lookin' like one of them He-Man clit-lickin' bitches.”

“Cassandra, fuck you! You ain't shit! Yeah, I took the money, so the fuck what?! But I didn't sign up for you killing my fucking cousin, okay, bitch. And you
still
haven't said shit about where his body is.”

“And I ain't sayin' shit, either. Report his ass missin' ‘n' let the motherfuckin' pigs do they jobs. Isn't that what y'all workin'-class bitches pay ya taxes for?”

“Okay, look,” I say, getting up from my seat. “Both of you need to lower your voices, please. Yelling and screaming”—I eye Booty—“or threatening—
“isn't
going to change what's already done.” I look over at Mona. “Mona, why were
you
taking money from Cassandra, anyway? I know you and Avery aren't pressed for money like that.”

She shrugs. “It was something the two of us agreed on.”

I tilt my head. “That's still not telling me much, or making any sense.” I want to know
why.
“There's something more to this shit.” Mona shifts her eyes. Booty toots her lips, cutting an eye over at Mona. “As far as I'm concerned, neither of you had any right trying to meddle in my business.”

Mona wipes more tears from her face. “I know, I know. But I felt bad. It was like you were hiding something, or trying to protect
someone. And you looked so broken. It hurt me, Pasha. You're like a sister to me. And you know I'd do almost anything for you. So when this crazy bitch approached me about her idea to pump JT for info, I went along with it. I let her ass drag me into this shit.”

Clap, clap, clap!
Booty stands up, her diamond bangles clacking as she claps her hands. “And the Oscar goes to…bitch,
boom!
You better pop you a molly ‘n' spark you a goddamn blunt ‘n' get yo' mind right. What's done is done.”

I lean forward, covering my face in my hands. Then look at the two of them. “This shit is crazy. Booty, how in the hell did you even get caught up with JT in the first place? And please don't sit there and tell me you were doing this
all
for me. You saw an opportunity and you ran with it.”

Booty blinks her long lashes. “Now, wait a minute, Miss Pasha, girl. Sounds like you tryna do me, sugah-boo. I wasn't thinkin' 'bout that coon-ass nigga. But the nigga stayed in my face, okay. And yeah, I saw me an opportunity. And
what?
A bitch like me is always lookin' to come-up. I stay lookin' to get to the next level of hood fabulousness, okay. But that's besides the point.”

I huff. “Well then. How about you get to the
point.”

She says JT had been pressing her for a minute, but that she kept igging him. Until, one night when he, Jasper, and Stax were down at the Crack House, and he tried to get at her, again.

“After a few drinks, it was on. I was droppin' this ass up on him on the dance floor, then next thing I know, he's tellin' me how he wants me to be his. I told the nigga to show me the money 'cause Booty wasn't fuckin' no nigga for free, especially no crazy-ass nigga like him. And you already know I love me a nigga with long dingdong and long dollars. I knew that coon-bitch had both. And I wanted me a lil taste.

“Like I said, I saw it as a way to run the nigga's pockets. Shit, a
bitch gotta keep her heels and handbags up. So yeah, I wanted to line my purse with his paper. Still, I thought it was gonna be a one-time fuck. But the dick was good, and the nigga's pockets were plentiful. Once I put this booty heat up on that nigga, he started talkin' that talk, tellin' me he wanted to keep me on-call. It costs to keep Booty, okay. And you know on-call means you tryna keep my purse lined with that greenery, ohhhkaaay. And I don't mean weed. So I decided to make the nigga one of my sponsors since he said he wanted to keep gettin' all this crack-crack. I got the nigga-coon sprung on this booty heat.”