Memphis Streets 4: Skeletons

Chapter 40- Shariffa

The streets are blazing with the news of Fat Ace's miraculous rise from the dead.

First Snake and now this nigga? Where the fuck do they make they asses at—and can somebody sell whatever zombie shit they smoking so I don't have to worry about Lucifer's terminator-ass stalking me? My world is spinning out of control. The set ain't whispering no more. They're open with their disrespect. Hell. Even my girls are tripping.

It's Saturday and we usually hit the hair and nail salons. I've done called, texted, tweeted, and Instagram for their asses to call me, and I ain't heard from none of them. I knew this shit would happen after Jaqorya's body was found at Mike's Gym sliced the fuck up.

There's no need to guess who the hell did the shit. But we're stronger together than apart. I'm trying to get that shit to sink in, but Lucifer got everybody shook.

"Fuck them bitches!" I toss my phone aside and then give my hand back to the nosey Korean bitch doing my nails.

"Your friends no come?" Her short, square-shaped ass asks after staring in my face.

"You tell me since you're all up in my business," I snap.

She gives me a nasty look, and then turns toward her friend and spits that fast-funky Korean shit. "English, goddamnit." Their eyes snap up.

"You bitches rude as fuck," I say, not in the mood to put up with more disrespect from these nolabel broads.

This bitch wanna say something, but she knows who my ass is and how my set gets down. Wisely, she sticks a cork in it and gets back on her job. Simmering in my chair, I glance around and catch a few eyeballs darting away. It's no joke how quick niggas change up out here. Nails done, I toss a few bills on the counter and roll out.

I need some fucking shop-therapy so I head out to Wolfchase Mall for shoes, bags—whatever else that'll make me feel like a boss bitch again. Fuck Lucifer. I ain't running scared. A knot of cash later, my feelings are on the mend and my mind is scrolling through some options to get my ass back on the come-up—with my man and my set. A nigga ain't shit out here without a street family.

I'm going to need more than this platinum ring on my finger to cement my place with the Grape Street Crips. Not only do I need to put in some work, it needs to be some shit that removes all doubt of where my loyalties lie. Crip up or grip up. I mean that shit. I need to flip the spin on my dropping that grimy Cartel Lord Bishop into something positive.

If I were a dude and I caught that nigga slipping like that, my name would be ringing out in the street as the next king. Who gives a fuck whether we got the numbers to take on both the Vice Disciples and the Cartel Lords? The point is to prove that we ain't never scared to shake shit up. If I can take that bitch out, it would really put me on. That shit floats around in my mind for a while. When I roll back over to Orange Mound, niggas' sour looks cause some old feelings to rise to the surface and I don't know what to do about it.

At the crib, I climb out of my sleek silver Range Rover with my arms loaded down with shopping bags and stroll through the front door and set everything on the dining room table, then head on back to my bedroom to change before getting started on dinner. When I approach the bedroom door, I hear voices—and one of them is definitely a female. What the fuck? Creeping forward, I discover the door is cracked open.

I lean in close and peek inside. My mouth and heart drop at the sight of Trigger straddling my husband in the middle of our bed.

"Face it, Lynch. You're going to have to cut her loose. The soldiers are bugging and talking fat shit. It's a matter of time before someone rise up and challenges your authority."