Memphis Streets 3: Revenge

Chapter 7- Shaniqua

I don't know what it is about murder that gives you the best sleep of your life. But it's true. Murder is the best high dollar for dollar, pound for pound-period.

Like a sugar high, the crash is like taking a bottle of sleeping pills. This morning, I'm forced out of the serene bliss by a long, growing wail of a crying baby. Irritated, I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my head beneath a stack of pillows. But the cries won't go away. If anything, they get louder.

What the fuck? Somebody shut that kid up. On and on it goes until my nerves are grated thin and I bolt up in bed, ready to take someone's head off. That's when it hits me that the cries are coming from inside my room. Bang! Bang! Bang! My closed door rattles.

"Hey! Keep it down in there! Niggas are tryna sleep," my father, Nookie, barks through the door.

A second later, I hear the electronic hum of his wheelchair as he drives away. No doubt he's on his way back to his room where his latest and greatest Social-Security-check-diggin' girlfriend is waiting for him to eat her ass out. It's the only thing he can do since his dick works as good as his legs. His ass got caught slipping ten years back fuckin' with a sideline bitch. Her nigga rolled through unexpectedly, caught them in bed together and sprayed Daddy as he tried to dive out of the window. He survived, but his ass is still addicted to pussy.

WHAAAAH! WHAAAH! Groaning, I glance at the dresser where the baby is nestled in the top drawer in a makeshift baby bed.

As the screams grow louder I contemplate closing the muthafucka. My door rattles again.

"Goddamn! What the hell is going on in there?" My older brother, Tony a.k.a. Tombstone, rattles my shit.

"What the fuck? You got a kid in there?"

"Mind your own muthafuckin' business."

"Who in the fuck would trust you with a kid?"

"Your baby mommas!" My door bursts open and Tony strolls his big ass through my door.

"Hey!"

"Hey nothing! Your ass ain't got nothing I want to see." He marches over to the wailing baby.

"What in the hell?" He leans over. "Who's this lil nigga?"

"None of your business, Tony. Get out of here." I jump out of bed and shove him away. I'm not in the mood to take any of his bullshit. "My room is off-limits." I push and shove, but he doesn't move.

"Why the fuck do you have him in the drawer?"

"Because I don't have anywhere else to put him." He frowns. "What the fuck is wrong with the bed?"

"Get the fuck out of my room," I bark.

Tony tosses up his hands. "Fine. Don't get your panties twisted. I'm leaving." He wrinkles his nose.

"You might want to change that muthafucka's diaper, though. Lil nigga is foul as hell."

"And what's your excuse? You're sour as fuck, too."

"I was out puttin' in work all night. Real work. Something your ass don't know shit about." If only you knew. I grab his huge muscled arm and drag him away from the screaming baby.

Truth be known, its high-pitch wailing is working a number on my nerves, but I can deal with that shit.

"Is he sick?" Tony asks. "Why? Are you a doctor?"

"If I was I'd fix your face," he says chuckling. The jab hurts.

A year ago I was the dime piece of Ruby Cove. Sexy frame and a beautiful face, niggas lined up outside my door and blazed up my phone 24/7, but the only nigga that caught my eye was Dice. Since the day his ass arrived from Atlanta, I'd been counting down until I branded his fine ass as mine. Shit. I believed that it was just a matter of time before his ass ascended the throne and I wanted to be the girl on his arm.