Memphis Streets 3: Revenge

Chapter 4- Alice

Rain shatters like white diamonds across the van's windshield as my new nigga pulls our black van off the main road. My heart pounds like a fuckin' racehorse, anticipating seeing my Nana Maybelle's old house. It's been so long and there's so many memories-good and bad.

"Are you sure that you can see where you're going?" He cocks a lopsided grin.

"Don't worry, baby. I got this." I hate to tell him that I don't trust any nigga.

After we travel a half a mile down a gravelly road, the house finally comes into view. Gone is its former regal beauty. The place has seen better days, but that's a'ight, it will suit my purposes. To be honest, I feared that this day would never come. Don't get me wrong, I've dreamed of this moment for years, but it was too much to believe that I could ever pull it off. Now I have. Look. I've done a lot of fucked-up shit in my life. I know that-but a lot of times, the shit wasn't my fault. The cards have always been stacked against me. From my being born to a momma who pumped out babies until her insides fell out to my being shipped out of the cotton fields of Mississippi to my Nana Maybelle in Memphis.

At first, I remember being excited. Back in the day, Memphis was the shit. The music scene was jumpin' and niggas was making big money hustlin' everything from numbers to smack. No one hustled harder than Nana Maybelle. When I arrived, I thought Nana was rich. None of our asses went without a muthafuckin' thing. We wore the best clothes and lived in a big-ass house. People respected Nana's gangsta like she had balls saggin' between her legs. One thing she made sure of was no one fucked with her people or her paper-and not in that order.

But nobody stayed under her roof for free either. If we expected to keep that roof over our heads then we were expected to pull our weight. So I was taught how to run numbers, do drops, and collect taxes within days of my ass moving in. As far as protection, my sister, Maybelline, taught me how to wield a blade. I got real good at the shit, too. We lived like fuckin' kings and queens and there was no bigger queen gangster than Maybelline. She had a line of niggas callin' her Peaches and ready to lick the crack of her ass despite her having a big monkey on her back. Everyone pretended like they didn't see it. I did, too-for a while. Shit jumped the tracks when I turned twelve and I made the mistake of waking up in the middle of the night....

"Alice, what the fuck are you doing in here?" Maybelline barked.

My eyes bugged at the sight of a man's yellow behind pumpin' in between Maybelline's legs.

"Get the fuck out of here," she snapped again.

"Go back to bed."

She dropped her head onto the pillow and started moaning and groaning. I couldn't tell if she was enjoying what was happening or not. The sounds confused me. I stood there, not sure of what to do. Yet, at the same time, I was fascinated.

SQUEAK.

BANG.

SQUEAK.

BANG.

It was the bed making all that noise.

SQUEAK.

BANG.

SQUEAK.

BANG.

"I said get the fuck out of here!" The yellow man chuckled.

"Let the girl be. Maybe she's learning a thing or two."

He wrapped an arm around Maybelline and flipped her over.

"You see how much your sister like this good dick I'm throwing at her?" he asked me. Was she?