Cairo - Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

Now, I done heard how these Oakland hoes get down, so I really ain’t beat for fightin’ a buncha gorillas today. But, I tell you what…this amazon is ’bout to catch it Brooklyn-style real fast. I shift in my seat. Turn my head and stare out the window. Make the ho invisible as she’s yappin’ her gums at Tone, talkin’ all greasy. I stick my hand down into my bag and slyly slip my blade into the palm of my hand in case I need’a bring it to her face. I sit my bag up on my lap, pullin’ it close to me. She says sumthin’ else, this time directed at me.

“Ho, how long you been bobbling him?”

“Yo, Shelly, word up. You need to get the fuck up outta here wit’ that dumb shit.”

I finally turn my attention to ’er. Stare the bitch down . Tilt my head. Tone catches how I’m grillin’ this bitch. I peep she has a lil’ fan club wit’ ’er—three hood-booga bitches.

“What, you deaf, ho? I asked you a question.”

I don’t respond. I count to ten. Play this shit out in my head. Take a deep breath, then slowly exhale. I’m tryna keep it cute, but I already see I’ma have’ta turn it up a notch.

Now she’s eyein’ me, and I’m eyein’ her right the fuck back, darin’ the bitch to bring it. She shifts her stare back to Tone. “Yo, go ’head with the dumb shit, Shelly. Ain’t nobody tryna hear this crazy shit today, yo. For real.”

She slams her hand up on her hip. “Go ’head nothing, mother-fucker.” The bitch is gettin’ amped now, bringin’ a buncha unnecessary attention to our table. I decide this is my cue to exit. A bitch ain’t tryna be caught up in nobody’s domestic shit.

“Look,” I say, gettin’ up, slippin’ my bag on my arm. “Obviously ya’ll have some unfinished business to deal wit’ so I’ma let ya’ll handle this wit’out me.” I toss a Ben Franklin on the table. “Thanks for the meal, but I ain’t sign up for the extras,” I add, gettin’ ready to step off.

She smirks. “Oh, so the ho does speak. Mmmph.”

He quickly stands, snatchin’ the money from the table. “Nah, fuck that. It’s on me,” he says, handin’ the money back. “You don’t have to leave. Just hol’ up. Give me one sec… please .” I can tell the muhfucka’s embarrassed that this bitch done stepped to him all sideways. I twist my lips, shakin’ my head.

“Nah, I’m cool. Holla back when you handle ya situation.” Now instead of this bitch keepin’ the heat on him, she starts tryin’ it on my time; callin’ me dumb shit like: Beezy, Bopper, Bootie Crack Corn, and some other shit that was definitely some Bay area lingo. A definite no-no. Now I’m ready to light her ass up. I guess the dusty bitch thought she was chasin’ me up outta here. I stop in my tracks.

“Bitch,” I snap, droppin’ my bag down on top’a the table. “Speak English. Or invest in Rosetta Stone. A bitch like me don’t understand bama-ass lingo. So what you betta do is step da fuck away from this table. Trust, I ain’t tryna ride this nigga’s dick, so whatever beef you got wit’ ’im, you keep that shit between you and ’im. Don’t pull me into it.” I sit back in my seat, cross my legs, starin’ this bitch down .

“Well, if you’re sittin’ here with him, then you get it, too.”

“Shelly, will you go the fuck on,” he says, lettin’ out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll call you later, aiight. Damn.”

I smirk, shakin’ my head. This retarded bitch! “Don’t tell that bitch nuthin’. Let ’er keep standin’ here talkin’ shit.”

“And then what?” she asks, glancin’ back over at clique like I give a fuck.

I raise my brow, leanin’ forward in my seat. “You know what, sweetie. I wasn’t gonna fuck this nigga ’cause I wasn’t feelin’ ’im like that. But, the more you standin’ here poppin’ shit, the hotter my pussy is gettin’. And, trust…a hot, wet pussy has no conscience. So guess what? Now I’ma fuck ’im. And I’ma nut all over his muthafuckin’ tongue, so that the next time you think ’bout kissin’ ’im, you’ll be tastin’ me. Trick-ass bitch!”

The crazy bitch tries to lunge at me, but Tone grabs her. She pushes him back. I remain in my seat, smirkin’. Finally a manager decides to rush over and tells her to take that shit outta here before he calls the police on her retarded ass. Reluctantly, the bitch backs down as her girls decide to pull her away. Mmmph, I wouldn’t be surprised if this low-budget bitch’s on probation or some shit.

“Girl, c’mon,” one’a the booga bears says. “Fuck this square-ass motherfucker and his stank-ass bitch. We’ll catch ’em.”

I clap my hands. “Catch me now, boo. You ain’t said nuthin’ but a word.”

“Ho, I will break your fuckin’ jaw,” Booga One says.

I laugh, tossin’ my hair to the side. “Sweetie, don’t let this pretty face and long hair fool you. You do what you do, and keep it da fuck movin’, okay?”

“Yeah, let’s get the fuck outta here. But don’t think I’m done wit’ you, nigga,” the Shelly bitch hisses at Tone. “I got something for you and that Boss Head you with.”

I wave, tauntin’ her. “Bye, bye, sweetie. Get the fuck outta here wit’ that nappy ass weave, you raggedy-ass bitch. And, on ya way out the door, make sure you think ’bout me while I’m fuckin’ what you can’t have tonight; toodles.”

I purposely say this to set her off more. And it works. She starts yellin’ and screamin’ a buncha extras while bein’ pulled by the arm. I watch as she’s bein’ dragged outside.

Tone immediately starts apologizin’, leanin’ up in his seat. “Yo, I’m sorry ’bout all that. That broad is fuckin’ crazy; that’s why I stopped fuckin’ with her. If I woulda known she was gonna be up in here I wouldna met you here.”

“Don’t sweat it,” I say, watchin’ her exit the buildin’. “That bitch don’t really want it wit’ me, trust.”

After e’erything settles down, the waiter comes back askin’ if we want anything else. I decide I wanna have dessert. That lil’ ruckus done gave me the munchies. I order a peach cobbler. I watch as the waiter walks off, then asks, “So she’s the bird you were guttin’?”

“Yeah, something like that. We met at a club a while back and kicked it a few times. But I cut her off when I found out she was on parole. She got too many issues for me.”

I knew it! “Let me guess,” I say, keepin’ my eye on the door, “for assaults and weapons, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, and drugs. I ain’t with that. I’m tryna make things happen. The last thing I need in my life is that kind of bullshit.”

“Mmmph,” I grunt, twistin’ my lips up. “Well, looks like she done brought it to you.”

“And you know they’ll probably be outside waitin’ with a crew. But it’s whatever. My man’s in ’em will be on alert in case shit pops off. I just feel bad that I got you all up in it.”

I shrug, shakin’ my head. “I’m not fazed. Like I said, they don’t want it wit’ a bitch like me.”

He pulls his phone out and texts someone, then sits the phone on the table. He leans in toward me, restin’ his forearms on the table. “Yo, so did you mean all that shit you was sayin’ to her?”

“All what shit?” I ask, playin’ stupid.

“You know. How you’re gonna take me home with you…and you know…”

“Fuck you?” I finish for him.

He nods, pickin’ up his phone when it buzzes, lettin’ him know he has a text. “Yeah, that.”

The waiter returns wit’ my dessert. I wait for him to bounce, then say, “Is that what you want?”

He grins. “Hell yeah. Who wouldn’t? You bad as hell, ma.” He texts back, then sits his phone back on the table.