I'm Still Wifey Page 5

  “Oh, this ain’t nothing,” I began saying, “My husband gave me this when we got married.”

  “But I thought you just said you didn’t have a man?”

  “I don’t. Me and my husband aren’t together anymore.”

  “So, what, y’all divorced?”

  “We’re in the process of making that happen.”

  “Damn! I know homeboy ain’t too happy ’bout that.”

  “Well, to be honest, I don’t know how he’s feeling because we ain’t been together for almost three months now. And we don’t talk.”

  “So, what do you do when you’re all alone?”

  “I read a lot of books. And when I get sick of that, I’ll take myself shopping.”

  “Where you like shopping at?”

  “Wait a minute! You sho’ asking me a whole lot of questions and I don’t even know your name.” I made a casual observation.

  He raised his eyebrows like he was caught off guard and said, “Damn, I’m sorry. My name is Tyree.”

  “Hi, Tyree. I’m Kira,” I told him as I extended my hand to shake his.

  “Damn! Your hand is soft as hell.”

  “Thanks,” I replied and then I pulled my hand back out of his.

  “Do you think I’ll be able to take you out?” he wanted to know. But before I answered his question, I took one long look at him from head to toe. Yeah, he seems like a cool cat to hang out with. But I wasn’t at all digging his height. I mean, he has to be every bit of 5’2”, which is three inches shorter than I am. So, I’m dissatisfied with that part from the door. However, he is making shit happen with his attire. I’m loving the hell out of his tan-linen shirt, with the shorts to match. And that huge-ass iceberg dangling from that platinum link around his neck got to be worth more than $50k. And since I know my jewelry, there’s no question in my mind that this nigga is stacking major chips. And when there’s plenty of chips involved, hoes will follow. So, I think I’ll pass on this one.

  “Nah, baby,” I began to say. “I don’t think that will be a good idea.”

  “But why?”

  “Because, I’m not ready.”

  “Is there any way that I can change your mind?” he wanted to know.

  “Nope,” I assured him. So, he stood up from his chair because one of the carwash guys walked up to him and handed him his keys.

  “Y’all finished?” he asked the attendant.

  “Yeah. Your car is right over there,” the guy told him and that’s when Tyree pulled out a huge knot of dough from his pockets and hit the guy off with a fifty spot.

  “Keep the change,” Tyree told him. And then he looked back at me and said, “I hope I see you again.”

  “You just might. If you keep your eyes open.”

  “Oh, I will. Because that’s a must in my profession,” he replied and then he walked off.

  He hopped in a Chrysler 300-Hemi sitting on twenty-twos, cranked up the loud sounds of Kanye West’s joint “Golddigger,” and drove out of the parking lot, squealing his tires like he’s a fucking stunt driver or something. I guess he did it because he thought it was gangsta. Boy, does he have a lot to learn.

  Now, I didn’t have to wait much longer for my car, which was right up my alley. After I paid the guy who handed me my keys, I headed on over to my car to inspect it. And while I was doing that, Nikki’s newfound friend and Mr. Car Wash owner pulls up in his silver Range Rover HSE. So you know that I was not about to leave until I saw this cat for myself. He is the main reason why I came all this way.

  I continued to stand over by my car like I was still giving it a full inspection. And then finally the driver side door opens and out comes this six foot tall, fine-ass nigga. But, what threw me for a loop was that it wasn’t Nikki’s friend Syncere who had just stepped out of the truck—it was my old flame, Quincy.

  And without giving it a second thought, I rushed right on over there to him.

  “Q,” I yelled.

  He turned around and the moment I was within arm’s reach of him, I said, “Boy, whatcha doing up here?”

  “Hey baby,” he spoke to me and then he embraced me.

  “You can let me go now,” I said sarcastically, which made him laugh. But he did release me from his arms.

  And once he did that, he said, “Whatcha doing in this part of town?”

  “I just got my car detailed. But you ain’t answered my question,” I told him.

  “Oh, I got my joint cleaned too.”

  “So, you pushing a Range now, huh?”

  “Nah. This is my man’s joint. I just borrowed it to make a quick run. My whip is over there,” he replied as he pointed to the same 7-series BMW, I saw him driving a few months back when he was with his chick from D.C., who looked like she attended Howard University.

  “So, where is he?” My questions kept coming.

  “He’s probably in the office.”

  “Where? In there?” I asked him, probing for more information as I pointed towards the small building on the lot, even though I already knew the answer.

  “Yeah. Me and him just took over this joint about a month ago because the last owner was in a bunch of fucking debt. He hooked up with Syncere and then Syncere called me to go in with him ’cause he needed some extra ends. I told him let’s do this. And here we are.”

  “So, how’s business?”

  “Business is good. I mean, we be coming off with at least a grand a day.”

  “Word?”

  “Hell yeah! ’Cause when niggas bring their whips through here, they be wanting wax jobs and the gloss treatments for their rims, which is forty bones alone. So you do the math and multiply that number by thirty.”

  “Damn, Quincy. Y’all pulling in some cheese.”

  “I know. That’s why I be trying to figure out how that other dude got in so much debt. ‘Cause money comes through this spot on a regular.”

  “Well, it must be real nice,” I commented.

  “Yeah. It’s cool. Because it got my parole officer off my ass.”

  “Oh, so your P.O. knows you’re part owner of this place?”

  “Hell nah! He thinks I’m one of the workers.”

  “Quincy, you always got some shit going on,” I said and then smiled.

  “Yeah. But I ain’t the only one,” he began saying. “I heard you and Ricky had plenty shit on y’all plates, too.”

  “Ricky does. But I don’t.”

  “Damn. That’s fucked up!”

  “Yep. It sho’ is. But what’s really fucked up is when you try so hard to be down for your man and he takes you for granted. That’s why I’ve decided that it’s time to start looking out for myself.”

  “What? Y’all ain’t together no more?”

  “Nope. I’m filing for a divorce.”

  “So, how much time did he get? ’Cause I heard some niggas back in D.C. said the Feds gave him thirty. And then I heard somebody else say he got life.”

  “Well, it damn sho’ wasn’t thirty.”

  “Goddamn! Now I know that nigga got to be sick about that shit! I mean, he ain’t gon’ ever see the streets again. And that’s some real shit to deal with .”

  “Well, he made his bed. Now he’s going to have to lay in it.”

  “But how can you say that, Kira? I mean, it’s not like that nigga got like a five-to-ten-year bid. He’s got to live in the pen for the rest of his life. He ain’t gon’ ever be able to come home.”

  “What? You think I don’t know that?” I replied sarcastically.

  “You sho’ don’t act like it,” he began saying. “I’m just so glad that I am not in ol’ boy’s shoes. ’Cause I’ll probably be trying to get somebody to do something to your ass for gettin’ ghost on me.”

  “Well, I guess I can count my blessings, huh, gangsta?”

  “Oh, I ain’t no gangsta. Your husband and his peoples are the gangstas. And speaking of gangstas, wasn’t that nigga Russ down with Ricky?”

  “Yeah. Why?” I asked anxiously while
feeling the butterflies in my stomach.

  “Because niggas back home was wondering what was up with him and why he was the only one from that crew that didn’t get indicted.”

  “Well, I don’t know nothing about that. Why you asking about Russ? You seen him or something?”

  “Yeah. I see him every time I go back home. Shit, last week I saw him whipping up the block in a money-green Bentley Coupe.”

  “Damn! He’s getting it like that?”

  “Yeah. I heard that cat Papi got him on his payroll. Which is probably true ’cause the last time I saw him, he was just leaving Papi’s store with his girl.”

  “Oh, he got a girl?” I wanted so desperately to know.

  “Yeah. Him and Jessica done been together for a minute now. And they just had a baby, too.”

  “You sure know a whole lot of stuff about Russ.”

  “Baby girl, I know about every cat that lives in D.C. Especially niggas like Russ who love playing Big Dawg. You know their shit gonna be on blast.”

  “Well, what’s your story?” I asked, trying to change the subject. Hearing about Russ and his baby-mama was making me sick to my stomach. Plus, my feelings started flipping out on me. I mean, how could that muthafucka’ play me like that? Lying about having a girl after all this time. And then on top of that, got that hoe and their baby riding shot gun in a brand new fucking Bentley Coupe my money bought. But he’ll get his. I’m going to make sure of that! One way or another....

  “Yo, Q,” I heard a guy yell, which instantly shifted my attention to his direction. And there, peeping his head from around the glass door, was this brown-skinned and very handsome guy with a perfectly cut Caesar. I’m assuming this must be Syncere.

  “What’s good?” Quincy asked him.

  “Yo, I got somebody on the phone that I need you to talk to.”

  “A’ight,” Qunicy told him and then Syncere disappeared back into the building.

  “So, I’m guessing that was Syncere, huh?”

  “Yeah. That was him. Let me get in there so I can find out what’s going on. But come back and see me sometime.”

  “Will you let me get my car detailed for free?”

  “No question! But you gon’ have to call me and let me know when you coming.”

  “No problem. I can do that. But you’re going to have to give me your number first.”

  “You got something to write with ?”

  “Nah. ’Cause I’ma put it in my cell phone.”

  After he gave me his cell phone number, I said goodbye, got in my car and left.

  ***

  On my way home, I began to picture Russ in my mind, who was driving that Bentley all around D.C., playing chauffeur with his fucking family. While I’m here all alone and pregnant with his baby, pushing a two-year-old LS 400. Man, I am so angry! Uggggggg! How dare that piece of shit! Playing with my emotions like this. Oh, but his time is coming! I’ma make sure of that. And now that I think about it, if I play my cards right, I could probably get Quincy to run up on Russ. Especially if I turn around and tell him that I found out Russ is a snitch. And that he ratted out Ricky’s whole crew. That’s why he was able to walk away.

  Boy, I can definitely see it now. Word will leak into the streets about that bastard. And since niggas don’t like fucking with snitches, it’s going to be just a matter of time before he’s taken out of the equation. And then my life will be right back to normal again. Now, how sweet does that sound?

  ***

  Immediately after I got into my apartment, I got on the phone and called Nikki. I ran everything Quincy told me down to her. But she was more interested in why I went down to Syncere’s car wash. So I lied and told her that I just happened to be in the neighborhood and saw Q, and that’s when he invited me over to a free wash. I’m guessing that she bought my lie, ’cause her next question was, Did you get to see my friend, Syncere? I told her yeah, but it was for a brief second, which wasn’t enough information for her because she wanted to know what he was doing when I saw him, what he was wearing, and whether or not there were any chicks sniffing up his ass.

  But before I could answer her, coincidently this nigga beeps in on her other line. So, of course, Nikki tells me to call her back. And since we didn’t finish our conversation, she’s going to call me as soon as she hangs up with him. I just hope she don’t let him fill her head up with a lot of bullshit ’cause from the way I see it, he’s got a lot of it to dish out.

  All or Nothing

  After I finished eating that nasty-ass garbage everybody called lunch, I went back to my cell and saw my cellmate moping ‘round like he lost his girl or something. So, I sat down on the cold-ass toilet seat right next to his bed and asked him was he a’ight.

  “Yeah. I’m a’ight. I was thinking ‘bout some stupid-ass shit my girl just asked me on the phone a few minutes ago.”

  “What she say?”

  “She asked me was I calling this broad I use to fuck with name Sharney, so I told her, nah. And then she started screaming on me, saying I’m lying, ’cause somebody told her a whole bunch of bullshit. So, I cut her off and told her I wasn’t trying to hear that nonsense. So she got mad and hung up on me.”

  “Man, dontcha hate when they do dumb shit like that?”

  “Hell yeah! I hate it.”

  “Me too, because my wife is good for that. But it’s funny, ’cause, when I was on the streets, she used to be all up my ass. Always in my muthafucking pockets and spending my dough on eighteen-hundred-dollar Fendi boots, three-thousand-dollar Roberto Cavalli dresses and ten-thousand-dollar Russian sables.”

  “Yo, I got my girl one of them furs, too.” Bossman jumped in and said.

  “So, you feeling me, then,” I said.

  “You damn right I’m feeling you. But they ain’t feeling us. Especially when they stressing us out over dumb ass shit. I mean, come on, dawg. I ain’t trying to hear that. I wanna hear, ‘I love you. Baby, I just sent you a letter. And I can’t wait ’til you come home.’ All that other shit she can keep.”

  “Word, dawg. I was telling my wife a couple days ago that she needs to step her game up a little, and stop worrying ’bout shit she can’t change. ’Cause I’m gon’ always do what I do. I made the dough. I put her ass in that three-hundred-thousand-dollar crib. Bought her a brand new LS400. Put a twelve-thousand-dollar iceberg on her finger. And I use to send her trick ass to California on shopping trips so she got hers. And that’s when I got my shit off, too. I mean, come on, dawg, there’s a lot of beautiful women out there. And the variety is in huge numbers. So when they run across a cat like me with major figures, them hoes wanted to get down. And I was all for it, ’cause ain’t nothin’ like new pussy.”

  “Boy, you got that right! Because, a nigga like me done had my share. And I mean, with some bad broads. I’m talking ‘bout hoes with pretty faces, donkey asses and small waists,” he replied and then laughed.

  “Yeah. I done had my share of them, too. But where are their asses at now? ’Cause, as soon as a nigga goes on lock, every hoe who done said that they love you, scatters like roaches. And then when you get out, here they come, flocking right back at’cha like chickens.”

  “That’s how them hoes roll. They ain’t shit. And that’s why I ain’t gon’ be shit either.”

  “Word, dawg!” I told him. And then outta nowhere, C.O. Bivens yells out and tells me that my lawyer is here to see me. I got up and bounced.

  Before she put me in this small-ass room I asked her, “Where you been at? I ain’t seen you in ’bout a week?”

  “I was on vacation.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “I didn’t go anywhere. I just sat at home and did a little spring cleaning.”

  “Well, see, if you were my girl, then I would’ve sent you to Cancun or something.”

  “But I’m not. So I guess I’m gonna have to stick to spending my time spring cleaning,” she replied, grinning her ass off.

  I came right back on her and said
, “Come on, Bivens. Why you playing games?”

  “I am not playing games.”

  “Well, did you think about what I said?”

  “Yes.” She was still smiling.

  “So, what’s up then?”

  “What am I supposed to do for you in return?”

  “Whatcha mean?”

  “I mean, what are you planning to get out of making me your girlfriend and showering me with all those gifts you’ve been speaking about since the first time we talked?”

  “Maybe just a lil’ bit mo’ of your time. Ya know, pulling me outta the block, so I can get some exercise every now and then.”

  “And take you where? Because there’s not a lot of places in here that I can take you without being seen on the cameras. And anyway, I’m going to third shift in a couple of days.”

  “That’s even better,” I said, hoping it would convince her.

  “Look, I don’t know,” she replied, sounding unsure. “But I’ll see. Now go on in this room because your attorney is waiting on you.”

  “A’ight. Well, just get at me,” I said and then she unlocked the door and I went in.

  ***

  My lawyer was already sitting at the table with his briefcase opened when I walked up to him. I knew he was ready to give me whatever he had.

  “What’s good, Burgess?” I asked.

  “Ready to get down to business?”

  “Always.”

  “Well, first off, I finally got the federal agents to hand over your investigation files in exchange for your cooperation in bringing your connection with Papi Santos and his men down. So,” he said and then sighed, “After looking through all of these reports, I found out that your sources were indeed correct.”

  “You fuckin’ bullshitting!?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, I’m not.”

  “So, Kira was ratting me out, huh?”

  “Yes. But she also had some help.”

  “Who?” I asked, feeling my heart trying to jump out of my fucking chest.

  “Her cousin, Nicole. The young lady who was initially arrested and charged with possession with intent.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I know who she is.”