Marsha’s crib was ghetto fabulous. There was nice furniture and a plasma television hanging from the wall, but the place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in days. Clothes were scattered across the living room floor and something he couldn’t identify was marinating in a bowl on the coffee table. Mess aside, her shit was plush, but not as fly as when Knowledge was hitting it. This left the lingering question of why? The whole situation was twisted. Marsha used to be his brother’s heart, his rider. What could a shit-bird like Scott have offered her to make her betray a stand up nigga like Knowledge? Duce had an abundance of questions, but it was the thirst for blood that moved him. Duce ignored the mess that was her living room and made his way over to an arm chair, where he settled in and waited for Marsha to come back.
Marsha was feeling herself when she stepped off the elevator with Tic in tow. He was a lean, dark-skinned cat with hazel nut eyes. Tic was doing his thing down in the Jefferson projects, with a team of young thoroughbred niggaz. Though he wasn’t a boss just yet, the boy had star potential written all over him. Marsha had had her eye on him for a minute, but tonight would be the first night she let him taste her love.
She had been planning the turnout for a week so the whole thing was laid out from A to B. Scott had been avoiding her crib like the plague since the warrant squad had come around looking for him, so the chances of him coming by without calling were slim to none. Still to that day he hadn’t figured out how they’d tracked him to Marsha’s address, and had you told him he still probably wouldn’t have believed that she was behind it. She didn’t want him in jail, but she needed a little space to do her. Scott kept her laced because they had a child together, but he really wasn’t husband material. The only bitch he loved was the streets and Marsha was cool with that, so long as she had what she needed for her and hers.
Marsha slipped her key in the door and stepped into the apartment. As soon as the door closed, Tic was on her. He pressed his lips to hers and tried to jam is tongue down her throat. She reciprocated by massaging his penis through his jeans until it was rock hard. Marsha was pleased at what she felt. Never breaking the lip-lock, they backed into the darkened living room. Marsha was just about to rip his jeans open and bless him when Tic abruptly stopped.
“What’s wrong, baby?” she spoke into his ear.
“Sup, baby girl?” Duce’s icy voice floated across the room. Marsha felt the blood draw from her face even before she turned around and saw Duce with a pistol pointed in her direction. “That doesn’t look like ya baby daddy.”
They told her he would never see the streets again.
“D-Murder is going to spend the rest of his life in jail,” that was the promise she’d been made for her part in Knowledge’s murder, and here he was… in her house. Marsha wanted to faint, but her body had become paralyzed with fear.
“Fuck is going on?” Tic pushed away from Marsha.
Duce clicked on the small lamp, illuminating the side of his face. The weak light played tricks with his features giving him a demonic appearance. “Just a little unfinished family business.”
“Oh my God,” Marsha gasped.
“Damn, only five years and you already forgot my name?”
“Duce…”
“Bitch,” he cut her off, “that name is for family and you lost that security blanket when you started lying with snakes. No offense, money,” he said to Tic.
“My dude, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but it ain’t got shit to do with me,” Tic tried to bargain.
Duce took on a very sincere tone. “Sadly you don’t, but unfortunately this bitch has got you in a jam, son. Marsha,” he kicked one of the wooden dining room chairs over to her, “why don’t you have a seat, boo.”
It was a good thing he had slid the chair over to her because Marsha felt like her knees were going to give out on her at any second. Taking the seat she turned her terrified eyes to Duce. “D, why you feel like you gotta bring a gun into my house? You know me,” Marsha said in a shaky voice.
He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t know you. I know the mutha fucka you pretended to be when you were with my brother. The bitch I knew would’ve never betrayed the fam.”
“D, I swear on my kids I ain’t have nothing to do with what happened to Knowledge.”
In the breath of a second after the lie left her mouth, Duce’s leg shot out and kicked the chair from beneath Marsha. She crashed to the ground, banging her head on the hard project floor. By the time Tic moved, Duce was kneeling in front of him with the nine pointed at his crotch. Even if he hadn’t shaken his head, Tic knew better than to stir.
“Let’s try this again,” Duce said, getting to his feet slowly. “Help ya bitch up,” Duce shoved Tic roughly, “so we can get this show on the road.”
Not knowing what else to do, Tic helped Marsha to her feet and back into the chair. Though her eyes pleaded for him to believe that she had nothing to do with what was going down, he didn’t believe her. If he was lucky enough to live through the ordeal he would settle up with her real ugly.
“Why, Marsha?” Duce began. “My brother loved you and you fed him to the dogs, help me to understand this shit?”
“D, I know what you think went down, but it wasn’t like that,” Marsha sobbed. “Knowledge was out here fucking everything on two legs, so it was only natural that I did my thing. Scott was just a young nigga with some good dick; my heart always belonged to Knowledge.”
“So much so that you started playing house with one of his killers? Marsha, you know better than to bullshit me,” he stepped into the space between Marsha and Tic. “My brother was one of the kindest niggaz to ever play the game, and he’s gone because a hating ass nigga wanted his spot.”
“D, I didn’t know they were gonna kill Knowledge, you gotta believe me.”
“The only thing I believe is that my brother is dead, and he’s gonna need some company in hell,” Duce spat. “Where’s that sneaky ass nigga Scott?”
“I don’t know. He comes and goes as he pleases,” she said.
Duce placed his gun to the back of her head. “Bitch you better tell me something that’s gonna keep your brains from fucking up this nice ass living room set.”
“I don’t know!”
Duce sighed. “Somehow I don’t believe you.”
BANG!
Cowboy and Rico were headed north up Broadway while the police were flying south. They had beat the heat by less that three minutes and Cowboy thanked the Thief Gods above that he had made it out on time. Rico hadn’t shut his mouth since they had left the bodega. He was so busy talking that he hadn’t even known they’d left the city until they were passing the sign for Patterson, N.J.
“Yo, kid, fuck we doing in Jersey?” Rico asked, looking at the unfamiliar surroundings.
“What, we gonna hang out in Harlem after ripping El Pogo off?” Cowboy asked. “We gotta get low for a minute. I got a bitch that stay out in Elizabeth, so we can crash at her pad until the morning.”
“Cowboy you always got shit figured out, son!” Rico said.
“For sho, my nigga,” Cowboy coasted the car to the side of the road and pulled over. When they had come to a full stop, he killed the head lights. “I gotta take a leak,” he said, stepping out of the car.