Sonny Black - Gangsta Bitch

“You know it still amazes me how you were able to pull this one off. A black man gets caught in a house with two bodies and five years later he’s a free man? Who says the system doesn’t work for us. One day you’re gonna have to tell me how you were able to get that verdict overturned.”

He paused, giving her his heart melting smile. “I’ll think about it.”

She could barely fight the urge to kiss those full lips one last time, but it would’ve been a fool’s move with the cameras watching them. As mean as his cock game was, the departing inmate wasn’t worth her job or her marriage. With a sigh, she watched him pass through the double doors and into freedom.

There was a small cluster of people standing outside the facility waiting for the bus. A woman clutched the hand of her unruly child as he screamed that he didn’t want to leave his daddy. Derrick thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t have children. There was no way he would’ve wanted his child to see him in prison. The moment his charges were rattled off and the iron door to his cell slammed shut he’d decided that any and all things associated with the outside world were as dead to him as he was to them. He even refused visits from those dearest to him. It was a hard pill to swallow, but it would’ve been even harder to do his bid with them on his mind. No, to suffer alone was better than to drag others into misery.

It would be a few minutes before the next bus to the Staten Island ferry came chugging along to pick up the passengers at the end of the line so the freed prisoner decided to do something constructive with his time. Pulling a piece of paper from the pocket of his faded jeans he dropped a quarter in the phone and punched in the number scribbled on it. By the fourth ring he was beginning to get discouraged, but on the fifth someone answered the phone.

“Yeah,” the voice said, as if the caller was disturbing him.

“Inmate Brown, what it be like?”

“Young blood, is that you?” Brown’s voice had lost its edge and was now pleasant.

“Yeah, man. I’m on the streets.”

“Damn, they really overturned your shit?” Brown asked jovially.

“I got the paperwork to prove it, baby boy. Besides, you know the word of a snitch can’t keep a stand up nigga down,” the young man boasted.

“At least in your case, Duce,” Brown joked. “How long you been on the streets?”

“About five minutes, but I’m ready to rock and roll.” Duce assured him.

“You don’t waste any time do you?”

“Dawg, they just stole five years of my life. I can’t afford to waste time when I’m still playing catch up.”

“I hear you, soldier. Tell you what, get yourself settled and give me a call. I got something lined up that you might be interested in, that’s if you’re ready to stomp with the big dawgz?”

“Nigga, you know my heart don’t pump nothing but ice water. Once I get in the town I’ll hit you back so we can set something up.”

“Say no more,” Brown said and hung up.

“One down,” Duce said to no one in particular as he fished around in his pocket for another quarter. He dropped the coin into the slot and punched in another number on the payphone. This time the phone had barely rung twice before someone picked up.

“Yeah?” a voice answered.

“Cousin Reggie, what’s good?” Duce said jovially.

“Who the fuck is this?” Reggie shot back.

“It’s me, Duce.”

“Oh, shit the notorious D-Murder,” Reggie said.

“Come on cuzo that D-Murder shit is for niggaz that ain’t fam, and that cat is laying in the cut until I call him out. You know I’ve always been Duce to you and auntie.”

“Duce, I ain’t heard from you in ages. How’s life on the inside?”

“Shit, I wouldn’t know. I’m on the streets.”

“The streets? I thought they gave you like a hundred years?” Reggie asked suspiciously. Duce was his family, but he’d been there when they handed him the long walk at the sentencing.

“It’s a long story, my nigga, but before you even run the risk of offending me with the question, let me give you the answer. I ain’t snitched on nobody,” Duce told him.

“Cousin, I didn’t mean it like…”

“It’s all good, Reg, but check it out, I need a favor from you, son.”

Reggie sucked his teeth. “Duce, I ain’t spoke to you in five years and the first thing you crack on me for is a favor? Damn, just like a nigga fresh out the pen. Look, I ain’t got no bread so…”

“Reggie, you should know better than anybody else that I ain’t ever been strapped for no cash. I had more than enough bread tucked away before I got knocked and my paper game is still up. I need you to get me a pair of them knockoff Timbs in a size nine, can you do that for me?”

By ‘Timbs’, Duce meant guns .

“I don’t know, D. You fresh out the joint so I know you’re hot as a fire cracker,” Reggie said.

“Cousin, you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t absolutely need it,” Duce said.

“Everything alright, or do I gotta come down and see something for you, cuz?” Reggie asked seriously. He was known to be an asshole, but you could always count on Reggie to step up where family was concerned. They were about the same age and tended to get paired at family gatherings. When Duce and his brother got caught in the double cross, Reggie took it the hardest. Quiet as kept, he played a big part in the increase of bodies in Harlem in the months after Duce’s arrest.

“Yes and no. Listen, it’s a little hard to explain so I ain’t even gonna try. All I’ll say is that I’m putting my brother’s affairs in order, smell me?”

The line momentarily went silent. Reggie had been a running partner of Duce’s brother years ago so he knew the tragic tail without Duce having to rehash it. “A’ight, come uptown and see me tonight and I got what you need, yo.”

“Bet,” Duce said with a smile. “I’ll come through the projects on the later side. Good looking, cuzo,” Duce placed the receiver back on the cradle and exhaled. He had been a free man for less than ten minutes and he was already back up to his old tricks. A smart man would’ve fell back and tried to feel the world out, but not him. There were scores to be settled and the sooner he did, the sooner he could reclaim his life.

“Oh, now this one is hot!”Mo declared, holding up a cream colored Chanel clutch bag that boasted a gold clamp.

“It’s okay, but a little small for my taste,” Frankie told her, while eyeing a slightly larger bag equipped with a detachable shoulder sling. “This is more my speed.”

Mo placed the bag back on the rack and turned to Frankie. “Girl, you kill me with them big ass grandma bags. How you gonna step out in a mean dress with that big ass strap blowing the whole fit? A good clutch will always make a statement; you better get up on it, Frankie.”

“Well, a tiny bag works for those of us who ain’t got much to put in it,” Frankie shot back.

“Yeah, I forgot you got a fetish for chrome, Frankie Five Fingers,” Mo teased. She had acquired the nickname from her knack for making off with things that didn’t belong to her. Ever since they were young girls Frankie had been a skilled thief, a skill that she sharpened in adulthood.

“Don’t go there, bitch,” Frankie warned her playfully. The two childhood friends went back and forth like that all the time. Frankie and Mo had been friends since the eighth grade. Even back then Frankie had a very low key style about her, dressing tomboyish but maintaining a natural sex appeal. Her mind spent more time on money than guys, but Mo was the opposite. She was a high-yellow girl with pretty hair who carried herself as if the world owed her a debt. The way men fawned over her and females hated on her gave Mo a sense of power which she exercised quite a bit. Back in school, Frankie would find herself fighting just about every Friday because of something Mo had gotten them into.