Memphis Streets 3: Revenge

Chapter 8- Lucifer

Drugs are a wonderful thing. Back at my crib, I don't know what the fuck Dr. Cleveland gave me, but it has my ass high as hell. The best part is that I don't feel a thing. Not a damn thing. Frankly, that's exactly how I like it. Now if he just had something in his magic bag that would help me forget. It feels like I've been propped up in the bed forever, the memory of that car accident playing over and over in my head.

"How she doin', doc?" Bishop's gravelly voice floats above me.

"Remarkably well." The doc sighs. "She's a lucky girl."

"Humph. Better hope that she doesn't hear you calling her that."

"Lucky?"

"No-a girl." I attempt to push up a smile at my brother's bad joke, but can't. I doubt if I'll ever be able to smile again.

"A broken leg, a broken arm, and a couple of cracked ribs . . ." The doctor sighs. ". . . but she'll live." He snaps his bag closed.

"Good deal." Relief floods Bishop's voice.

"As for you," the doctor adds. "You look like hell. When was the last time you slept?"

"Sleep is not an option right now."

"I can give you a sleeping aid if you're having trouble."

"Nah. That legal shit is worse than what we sling on the streets. I'm a'ight."

"You may be right about that." Cleveland chuckles. "But uh-"

"Yeah. Yeah. My man Tyrese got that brick for you in the other room," Bishop tells him. "You know we're always gonna hook you up." The doctor laughs as he drifts toward the door. "It's good doin' business with you."

"Same here." Bishop follows, slapping a hand across Cleveland's back for a job well done. "I'll be in touch." He ushers him out and then shuts the door.

"All right. You can stop pretending that you're asleep," he tells me, reaching inside his jacket and removing a pre-rolled blunt and lighting up.

"How did you know?" I ask, opening my eyes.

"'Cuz nobody knows you better than I do." He draws in a deep drag and then holds the shit in his lungs. With Mason gone, he's right. I drop my gaze. Bishop releases his toke and shakes his head.

"Yo, man. All this shit feels fuckin' surreal. Big man gone . . . I just . . . fuck!" He runs a hand through his low-shaved head. "It ain't supposed to be like this."

"It is what it is," I say, tryna hide behind a brave face. "Don't do that shit," Bishop warns. "Not now. Not about our boy." My gaze cuts back up at him.

"Let me guess.You rather we sit around in this muthafucka and throw ourselves a pity party while Snake and his roaches are out there preparing Armageddon. C'mon, Juvon. We ain't got time for tears."

Bishop's gaze rakes me. I probably look a sight with two casts and my chest wrapped like a fuckin' mummy. "You're cold, Leah. Always have been." He takes another long drag. "I'ma gangsta bitch."

"So you keep reminding me," he says, looking disappointed. "I thought that after you and Mason hooked up-"

"Don't." I want to shut this shit down now. "My business is my business. I thought that was something you understood a long time ago."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Mason told me about your cock-blockin'."

"Sheeeeiiit." Bishop exhales another long stream of smoke.