left the party was fucked up.
"It's me," I say, smiling through the phone.
"You okay, yo?"
"I'm good, Ed. Thanks for callin' me."
"It ain't no problem, shawty," he responds. "But look ... my boy just told me you give the bomb-ass head. How much you charge?"
I hang up the phone and cry myself to sleep.
54
T. Styles
Black and Ugly
5
Smokes
SMOKES IS TAKING IT HARD, finding out his wife was murdered. He can't believe someone had enough nerve to actually kill her, knowing full well what he'd do to them. He is the largest dealer in Hyattsville, Maryland, with over six shops around the surrounding areas. All he wants is to handle the funeral proceedings, bury his wife and find out who ruined his family.
"Sir, is there anything else I can do for you?" asks the officer who, just a few minutes earlier, told him the news of the murder.
"Naw. Ain't shit you can do for me," he responds, having no trust in the authorities. "I'll take it from here."
"Take it from here?" the officer questions. "I hope you don't intend on taking matters into your own hands, sir. Let us handle this."
"Yolanda," says Smokes, calling his maid, "show the officer the door."
The officers leave and Smokes summons the care-T. Styles
55
Triple Crown Publications presents . . .
taker to soothe his son who has been crying for his mother all morning. She takes the baby, kicking and screaming, to his room. Smokes then calls Silver to see if he has any information on what happened to his wife at the party.
"Silver, you know anything 'bout this?" he interrogates, without even announcing himself.
"Naw, man, but I'll do everything I can to find out.
Just give me a few days."
"You got two," Smokes commands before hanging up the phone.
Smokes doesn't have time to cry. And even if he did, he doesn't like showing emotions, even when alone. But in his mind, whoever murdered his wife killed the only woman he'd ever loved. There is no way on Earth he can sit around and pray that the authorities will catch the perpetrators. He decides to solve the mystery the old-fashioned way.
56
T. Styles
Black and Ugly
6
Parade
I WAKE UP TO THE nagging-ass voice of my mother at nine-thirty in the morning. If she ain't yellin' 'bout something stupid, she's yellin' 'bout something dumb.
"Parade, get your black ass up and clean that fuckin' kitchen. You ain't gonna lay your funky ass around here all day and not do shit." I jump up and lock the door before she comes barg-ing into my room. I still need time to regroup from the craziest night of my life, and the last thing I want to see is her face. Thinking back on how much blood was around that girl's body, I'm sure she has to be dead or hurt really bad.
The phone rings. I hurry up and grab it. I know it's for me because no one calls my lonely-ass mother, not even her own husband. If I don't grab it, she'll do her best job of attempting to embarrass me on the phone.
"Hello," I whisper after noticing it's Miss Wayne.
"Hey, Miss Parade." His voice is so thick it sounds like his breath stinks. The mornings are the only times T. Styles
57
Triple Crown Publications presents . . .
I remember he is still a man. "You okay, chile?"
"I'm fine, Miss Wayne. I'm just getting up, and my mother already yellin' like she lost her fuckin' mind." My mother yells, "Bitch, get your black ass off my phone. How dare you talk about me like that, you ungrateful little bitch."
" Ooooh. Bye, guurl," Miss Wayne says as he hangs up.
That's all I need. She's gonna be screamin' in my face for the next thirty minutes until it is time for her to go to work unless I get out this house. I grab my bag and stuff some undies and some clothes in it. I decide to shower over whoever's house I crash at later. I slide on my shoes and determine that I'm on my way to Sky's. She lives in the building behind mine and we have a lot to talk about, anyway.
I open my bedroom door and my mother is in my face, just as I figured she would be.
"You've gotten
"It's me," I say, smiling through the phone.
"You okay, yo?"
"I'm good, Ed. Thanks for callin' me."
"It ain't no problem, shawty," he responds. "But look ... my boy just told me you give the bomb-ass head. How much you charge?"
I hang up the phone and cry myself to sleep.
54
T. Styles
Black and Ugly
5
Smokes
SMOKES IS TAKING IT HARD, finding out his wife was murdered. He can't believe someone had enough nerve to actually kill her, knowing full well what he'd do to them. He is the largest dealer in Hyattsville, Maryland, with over six shops around the surrounding areas. All he wants is to handle the funeral proceedings, bury his wife and find out who ruined his family.
"Sir, is there anything else I can do for you?" asks the officer who, just a few minutes earlier, told him the news of the murder.
"Naw. Ain't shit you can do for me," he responds, having no trust in the authorities. "I'll take it from here."
"Take it from here?" the officer questions. "I hope you don't intend on taking matters into your own hands, sir. Let us handle this."
"Yolanda," says Smokes, calling his maid, "show the officer the door."
The officers leave and Smokes summons the care-T. Styles
55
Triple Crown Publications presents . . .
taker to soothe his son who has been crying for his mother all morning. She takes the baby, kicking and screaming, to his room. Smokes then calls Silver to see if he has any information on what happened to his wife at the party.
"Silver, you know anything 'bout this?" he interrogates, without even announcing himself.
"Naw, man, but I'll do everything I can to find out.
Just give me a few days."
"You got two," Smokes commands before hanging up the phone.
Smokes doesn't have time to cry. And even if he did, he doesn't like showing emotions, even when alone. But in his mind, whoever murdered his wife killed the only woman he'd ever loved. There is no way on Earth he can sit around and pray that the authorities will catch the perpetrators. He decides to solve the mystery the old-fashioned way.
56
T. Styles
Black and Ugly
6
Parade
I WAKE UP TO THE nagging-ass voice of my mother at nine-thirty in the morning. If she ain't yellin' 'bout something stupid, she's yellin' 'bout something dumb.
"Parade, get your black ass up and clean that fuckin' kitchen. You ain't gonna lay your funky ass around here all day and not do shit." I jump up and lock the door before she comes barg-ing into my room. I still need time to regroup from the craziest night of my life, and the last thing I want to see is her face. Thinking back on how much blood was around that girl's body, I'm sure she has to be dead or hurt really bad.
The phone rings. I hurry up and grab it. I know it's for me because no one calls my lonely-ass mother, not even her own husband. If I don't grab it, she'll do her best job of attempting to embarrass me on the phone.
"Hello," I whisper after noticing it's Miss Wayne.
"Hey, Miss Parade." His voice is so thick it sounds like his breath stinks. The mornings are the only times T. Styles
57
Triple Crown Publications presents . . .
I remember he is still a man. "You okay, chile?"
"I'm fine, Miss Wayne. I'm just getting up, and my mother already yellin' like she lost her fuckin' mind." My mother yells, "Bitch, get your black ass off my phone. How dare you talk about me like that, you ungrateful little bitch."
" Ooooh. Bye, guurl," Miss Wayne says as he hangs up.
That's all I need. She's gonna be screamin' in my face for the next thirty minutes until it is time for her to go to work unless I get out this house. I grab my bag and stuff some undies and some clothes in it. I decide to shower over whoever's house I crash at later. I slide on my shoes and determine that I'm on my way to Sky's. She lives in the building behind mine and we have a lot to talk about, anyway.
I open my bedroom door and my mother is in my face, just as I figured she would be.
"You've gotten
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