Teri Woods - Angel's Revenge

“That’s the game, DC. A bitch did too much time to need this drama in her life. I’m just here to pay my respects.”

“That’s gangsta,” he replied, not believing a word of it. He knew Angel too well. Drama was the bitch’s middle name.

“Well, holla at me if you need anything, aiight?” he said before breaking away.

Angel surveyed the room. A new generation of ballers and hustlers had cropped up in the short time she’d been gone. Many names had reached her, but no one impressed her in style or reputation. They were all just chasing the crumbs off the table Dutch left behind. He was more than a legend. He was a spirit that haunted the streets, and every gangsta would be forever judged by him.

Just wait. We ’bout to take it to the next level. Y’all muthafuckas ain’t ready , Angel thought as she looked toward the rear door. She watched Duke make his entrance. He had two girls with him, one on each arm. Straight dimes that even made Angel look twice. Duke was outfitted in an all-white Armani suit and matching Gucci shoes. He had a gold-tipped cane, and his diamonds twinkled and winked like they were stars in the night sky.

Angel watched Duke closely until he noticed her. Their eyes met through the crowd. Duke acknowledged her with a nod and Angel did the same in return.

Duke walked up to the casket and peered down at Young World’s body. They had done a lot of work on him to have an open casket. Young World was sewn together like a stuffed rag doll, but he was dipped. He was to be buried in a black silk Versace suit with all his jewels except the dragon, which Duke believed Lana was holding. He turned away from the coffin to find Angel eyeing him. He knew who she was at first sight. He just hadn’t been informed that she was back. The bitch could change the game , he thought and wondered if Angel would be a problem. He had every intention of taking over Young World’s fragmented territory and hoped she wasn’t back to get in his way. For her sake, she better not be , he thought.

Lana, her mother, and Peaches came in and scanned the room. People whispered as they watched Lana, the hustler’s wife. Duke walked up the aisle and hugged her.

“Lana, I’m sorry, ma. I know how you must be feelin’. Sha was my man and I promise you we gonna ride for money. You ain’t got to worry about that.”

Peaches sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. She could see straight through his facade. She wanted to flip on him, but for Lana’s sake, she didn’t.

“But, yo. I need to holla at you after the wake, aiight?”

“Don’t worry, Duke. You can talk to Young World about it later.”

Duke looked at Lana like she was crazy. Shortie’s fucked up for real. She looks good though , he thought as he eyed her bangin’ frame.

“Can we see my World now, Mommy?” she asked, like a child wanting to open her Christmas gifts early.

Her mother could only nod and lead her down the aisle to the casket.

“I’m so sorry, Lana.”

“I’m here for you, girl.”

“Be strong.”

The words spoken to her by her friends had no impact. Lana approached the casket holding her mother’s hand. She imagined that she was in church, wearing a Cinderella-white gown, heading for the altar where Young World stood holding his hand out to her.

She peered into the softly cushioned casket at World’s face and slowly the room began to spin around her. The veil that protected her from reality had been snatched away, leaving her heart naked to the truth. There would be no wedding, no sandy beach honeymoon, no church. World was dead.

Dead. The word echoed in her head and all she could do was stare. Lana’s mind flashed back to the day they met, their first kiss, the first time they made love, the pain, the pleasure, the tears, the laughter. She remembered the last thing he said.

I promise.

Her body began to tremble. Her mother gripped her tighter.

“Steady, child. He’s with God now. You must be strong,” her mother said comfortingly.

Lana heard none of it. Her trembles became a bodily earthquake, like the moment before a volcanic eruption. It started as a whimper.

“No… nooooo…” she moaned.

“Please, baby. It’s going to be okay.” Her mother tried to console her.

“No, no it’s not! It’s not ever going to be okay. How can you say something like that? It’s not okay! Nothing’s okay!”

Her mother pulled her close, but Lana shoved her away. The mourners stopped talking and socializing and turned their heads toward the casket and Lana.

“You think you gonna take my World from me? You’re not. It’s not going to happen. It’s not going to happen!” she screamed.

Her mother was embarrassed and covered her face with her hands to wipe her own tears. It was a mistake she would regret for the rest of her life, because she took her eyes off Lana long enough for Lana to dig into her purse and pull out a.25 automatic. It was the.25 Young World always made her carry.

“You won’t take my World from me!” she screamed hysterically, pointing the gun at anyone near the casket.

“Get away from him!” Lana yelled, aiming the gun at Peaches, who jumped back.

“Lana, no! What are you doing?” Peaches begged through tears.

“Get away!”

Peaches grabbed Lana’s mother and pulled her away, but she kept reaching out to Lana.

“Lana, give me the gun, baby. Please. He’s gone now. He’s with God!”

“I want him with me!” Lana bellowed, backing toward the coffin.

No one knew what was going to happen, but within seconds Lana had climbed into the casket, raised the gun to her temple, and fired a single shot into her brain. The gunshot reverberated through the stunned crowd. Her mother broke the silence with a scream.

“Somebody get an ambulance!” Peaches yelled.

Lana’s bleeding head lay on Young World’s neck. World, Lana, and their unborn seed were gone.

Angel stood outside the funeral home as the EMT workers wheeled Lana’s white-sheeted body past her to the ambulance. People lined the sidewalk, stunned and amazed. It was one thing to stand by your man. It was another to ride and die for a nigga. No one could believe what Lana had done and everyone was talking about the tragic event that had unfolded in the funeral parlor.

Angel waited for Duke until he emerged from the building. When his eyes met Angel’s, she subtly beckoned him. He quickly crossed the span between them.

“Crazy night, huh?”

“Crazy world.” She shrugged.

“Love makes a nigga do some crazy shit, right?”

“And what ’bout you?”

“Naw, how ’bout you?”

Angel grinned and blew out Newport smoke. “Kinda fucked up how World went out, yo.”

“Word, and you can believe it ain’t over. Niggas gonna bleed for this. We gonna rep son till the last man’s standing.”

“Come on, Duke. Who you think you talkin’ to? I can see it in your eyes. Now World’s out the way, you the man. What you care about some bitch-ass nigga that got nodded on the toilet,” Angel asked, wiping her eye with the palm of her cigarette hand.

“You bein’ real disrespectful to my man. Watch yo’ fuckin’ mouth,” Duke warned, fronting like he really gave a fuck.

“Dig, Duke. If you wanna stand around and bullshit behind a fake-ass vendetta, then you wastin’ my time. Don’t worry, I ain’t here to cause you no problems. I just want the bloodline represented right. So either you the man for the job or you ain’t.”

“Yeah, I’m the man. But what kind of job you got in mind?”

“Let’s ride and discuss the possibilities,” Angel suggested, throwing her cigarette into the street.

Duke glanced around, weighing the proposition. Angel was Dutch’s main shortie. To have her come fresh out the joint and ride with him would let the streets know that his shit was official. But something about her vibe wasn’t right. Angel read right through his hesitation.