Sonny Black - Gangsta Bitch

As they matured and their personalities surfaced, the two girls remained thick as thieves but their lives went in two different directions. While Mo went off to school, Frankie found herself knee deep in the game. There was something about the allure and dangers of the underworld that attracted Frankie like a moth to a flame. There was something about fast money that appealed to her more than the life of a square. Frankie couldn’t see herself slaving at a job or being codependent on a man for her survival. Back then, her mind set was that nobody could do for her what she did for herself, but ironically enough it was a man who changed all that.

Their love for each other could’ve only been described as a blessing from God. Two tortured souls, seeking understanding in a world that had cast them aside as little more than statistics. She was the anvil and he the hammer that had formed an unbreakable bond, but foolish pride had done the seemingly impossible. For being his rider, his gangsta bitch, she was left holding the bag in one hand and a bleeding heart in the other. Frankie tried to forgive him and not curse his memory every day, but his mark was etched into her soul. The bitterness within her constantly fought with the love, but through it Frankie managed to keep her sanity, further showing that she was a stand up chick.

Frankie’s cell phone ringing interrupted the girls’ little debate over handbags, and her painful trip down memory lane. Placing her purse on one of the wooden benches, she began the task of retrieving her cell phone. Like most women Frankie kept a mess of things in her purse from lipstick to band aids, but unlike most women there was a nickel-plated .22 holstered in the zippered section of her bag that was reserved for wallets. By the fourth ring she had managed to snatch the phone from the bottom of the bag and answer it.

“Fuck took you so long to answer ya phone?” the caller barked.

“Well, hello to you too, big daddy,” Frankie said sarcastically.

“Frankie, don’t get cute. Where are you?”

“Me and Mo are on Madison Avenue.”

“Y’all broads love to spend cake, especially when it’s the next nigga’s,” the caller remarked.

“Boo, don’t even come at me sideways. You know Frankie makes her own way,” she said defensively.

“Damn, I’m only playing,” he said, softening his tone. “Did you take care of that thing?”

“Yeah, old boy was looking like Rupaul when I breezed up outta there,” Frankie went on to give him the short version of what had gone down with Pete.

“Damn that’s some cold shit, Frankie!” Cowboy doubled over with laughter on the other end.

“Yeah, well I should’ve killed him and your ass for me having to kiss that rank breath mutha fucka.”

“You gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet. But fuck all that, how much did you skin that nigga for?”

“Shorts,” she snorted. “You said that mutha fucka was holding, Cowboy, but his lame ass only had about ten thousand in the safe. You couple that with the few ounces of coke and it was barely worth the trouble.”

“Paper is paper, ma.”

“Money isn’t everything, Cowboy.”

“Shit, I can’t tell. You show me a broke nigga and I’ll show you a potential suicide that just ain’t happened yet. I can remember a time when ten stacks felt like a fortune.”

“That was a long time ago,” she replied.

“Wasn’t that long ago, ma. When we first hooked up didn’t neither one of us have much to call our own, but now we’re getting it!”

“If you say so,” Frankie said, thinking on the few hundred thousand she had stashed. It was a respectable nest egg, but hardly enough to pursue the kind of life she wanted. Cowboy was a product of his environment and as long as he had a few dollars coming in, he was content to stay in that environment, but Frankie saw the bigger picture. She knew there was life outside the hood and by hook or crook she was determined to make it.

“Say, before you come back uptown stop by One-Fish and snatch me some crab legs,” Cowboy said.

“And who said I was coming back uptown?” she teased him.

“Where else would you be going? Girl, don’t play wit me. You know I’d kill something over that.”

“I know all too well,” she said, thinking on some of his violent outbursts. “Anyway, we’re gonna be down here for a while so I hope you’re not starving?”

“Only for you, baby,” he said as if he was the coolest cat in the world. “Oh, before I forget, there’s been a change of plans for our date at that spot we were checking out.”

“Here you go with this shit,” she huffed.

“Why don’t you shut your mouth and listen for a minute,” he snapped. “Know-it-all ass female,” he mumbled before continuing. “Yo, we’re breaking Cos’ man in on the caper.”

“Hold on, you mentioned that Cos had somebody he wanted to put down but you never told me you were bringing him in so soon.”

“That’s because I’m running the show. You’re the queen, but I’m the king of this court, ma,” he reminded her. “Anyhow, we’re gonna pop the boy’s cherry on the lick.”

“Baby, I don’t know about this. I mean, Cos is a true soldier, but that doesn’t mean that his man is. There’s too much paper involved to have some rookie nigga fuck it up.”

“I hear you boo, but I trust Cos’ word. He did time with son, and says he’s official tissue.”

Frankie huffed again. “I still don’t like it.”

“It ain’t yo position to like it, Frankie,” he said like a parent reprimanding a rebellious child. “Duke is gonna handle things with us on the inside and you bring up the rear, feel me?” Frankie didn’t respond. “Woman, you hear me talking to you?”

She sucked her teeth. “Yeah, I hear you.”

“A’ight then, I don’t know what’s up with you, but you better get it together before game time. Don’t forget my crab legs when you come neither!” he said, before ending the call.

“Asshole,” she said into the now silent phone.

“Who was that that’s got you so uptight?” Mo asked, fumbling with the ankle strap of a pair of green stiletto heels she was thinking about buying.

“Dumb ass Cowboy,” she grunted, tossing the phone back into her purse. “Sometimes that nigga gets on my last nerve.”

“You sure know how to pick em, Frankie.”

“Tell me about it. Sometimes he can be so sweet, but other times… I don’t know, Mo. It seems like the majority of these niggaz ain’t got a clue.”

“Well, maybe you should bump your screening process up before you decide to get involved with these niggaz.”

“Bitch, I know you ain’t trying to pass judgment?” Frankie asked, with an edge to her voice.

Mo looked at her seriously. “You know me better than that. Look,” Mo stood up, slightly unbalanced because she was wearing one stiletto and one flat, “you’ve been my bitch since back in the days. We’ve seen each other at our highest and lowest points and we know each other’s personalities almost as well as our parents do. Baby girl, I can remember a time when you were on top of the world, because you had finally found someone to make you happy, but it’s like a dark cloud has been hovering over you for the last few years.”

“Mo, you bugging,” Frankie tried to wave her off.

“Am I? Frankie, look at you. Girl you’re gorgeous! It’s nothing for you to bag a nigga that’s got something going for himself, yet you keep hooking up with these low life little boys who ain’t trying to see nothing outside of the block, all because your heart won’t let go of something that you’ll never have again. He’s gone, baby. Frankie, I can’t front like I know what it is to walk a mile in your shoes because you’ve been through some shit that has made the average chick break down, but bless your spirit, you always bounce back. Sweetie, heartache is a guarantee when you’re from the bottom of the barrel, but the thing that I’ve found to be true is that there is life after love.”