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  “Why, I have every right to inquire about the whereabouts of my daughter,” Mrs. Jones replied haughtily.

  “Your daughter?” Birdie's voice rose in disbelief. “Since when have you been concerned about your daughter? You ain't never did anything for Jesse or Silver, and you have the audacity to want to know her whereabouts? You don't have that right—you gave that up long time ago.”

  “How would you know what I ever did for Jessica?” she snapped. “Her father and I gave Jessica everything she ever wanted, and what did she do the minute she got a chance? She spread her legs to anybody who came along, got pregnant, and embarrassed her father and me.”

  Birdie stepped closer. “For your information, Jesse was a virgin, and that was her first time. It was a mistake, but you wouldn't know nothing about that because you put her out the first chance you got!”

  Dismissing Birdie's account totally, Mrs. Jones shook her head. “It doesn't matter. I gave her a choice, and she could have stayed.”

  “Choice?” Birdie said, astonished. “What choice? Have an abortion or get out? If it weren't for Jesse being strong enough to make her own decisions, that precious little girl would not be here today.” In a sincere effort to reason with her, Birdie continued, “Do you see how beautiful your granddaughter is? Do you know how intelligent she is? She's in the top of her class in every subject and is planning to become a doctor when she gets older.” The old woman looked away from Birdie, and he thought he had struck a chord, so he went on. “Jesse made a mistake … a bad mistake, but she was only fifteen years old.”

  After a long pause, the older woman spoke again, her tone laced with contempt. “Well, she's certainly paying for it now.”

  Birdie stared at her in dismay. “What type of person are you? It's almost like you get off by seeing Jesse suffer! If you can't find compassion in your heart for Jesse, you could at least have some sympathy for your own granddaughter. Does she have to suffer for the rest of her life, too? You should be ashamed of yourself! And you call yourself a Christian? Huh—I've seen dogs get treated better than the way you treat Jesse!”

  “Suffer?” she cried in exasperation. “I'm not the one who has that poor little child around a—a—freak, and living in that inhumane and deplorable building.” She rolled her eyes. “And you would know how it feels to be a filthy dog.”

  Vexed and at his wits’ end, Birdie grew tired of being nice. He pointed his finger in her face. “Let's get one thing straight, you old bitch—I ain't Jesse, and I'm damn sure not a child. So I suggest you watch what comes out of your mouth, ‘cause I'm the right one to be fucking with. You talk slick to me one more time and I'm gonna forget I'm a lady and proceed to putting these size fourteens up your ass!” The woman's mouth dropped open in shock, but Birdie wasn't finished. “You are nothing but a miserable old woman who is incapable of loving anyone else because you really hate yourself. I'd rather be a filthy dog and happy than being a snooty, miserable bitch any day.” Birdie turned and began to walk away, but felt compelled to stop and add one more thing. “And your granddaughter—her name ain't child, it's Silver! That's S-i-l-v-e-r. And my name ain't freak, it's Miz Freak to you. You can k-i-s-s my entire black a-s-s!” With that, Birdie proudly swaggered away.

  It was the first of the month so the shooting gallery was especially busy with an abundance of customers spending their welfare or disability checks. A drug dealer's favorite days are the first and fifteenth of the month. They would keep more than an ample supply of product on hand to be sure they didn't run out. Dealers knew that once crackheads beamed up, it was over and they would spend every dime before the night was through. It was always just a matter of who they spent it with, and dealers would find every way to keep them inside the house and not let them out of the spot until all their paper was gone. Dealers lied to the fiends, claiming five-o was staking out the spot and grabbing niggers as they came out, so it was best if they relaxed until the coast was clear. Fiends, already paranoid and geeking, weren't in any condition to chance it. So they sat and smoked for hours, sometime days, until they were on their knees searching for little pieces of anything that looked white. And once that happened, guess what … they had to go. That's the Harlem way!

  Jesse no longer craved the more expensive heroin. She now preferred the instant rush of the pipe. The house tolerated Jesse because she could suck the shit out of a dick—straight deep throat—without complaint. Though Jesse couldn't sell pussy any longer because of the way she looked, it didn't stop niggers from getting quality head. Men might say they wouldn't let one of those crackhead bitches suck their dicks, but let someone claim that one of them could suck a dick like Michael Jordan played ball, and that nigger is gonna want a shot! Jesse became the official in-house hoe, only this time she didn't get paid cash—it was strictly for a blast.

  At the moment, Jesse was making good on a promise to one of the dealers to deep-throat him and to swallow all his cum. Jesse was on her knees in one of the back rooms serving home-boy something lovely. Caught up in the moment, he had both hands on her head while thrusting in and out rapidly. “Yeah, bitch … right fuckin’ there … oh, shit … oh, shit … don't stop that shit, bitch … don't stop … !” He was in blissful pleasure when suddenly a loud crash from out front stopped them both cold. He quickly tucked his limp dick back in his pants and pulled out his silver .45 automatic.

  Eyes wide, Jesse cried out nervously, “Oh, shit, it must be the police! I can't go to jail!” Homeboy eased toward the door and slowly turned the knob, but a volley of gunshots followed by loud screeches and cries stopped him short. Jesse watched in alarm as he paced the room, obviously looking for a way out. He glanced at the windows, but cursed when he saw they were bolted with Master locks. All the rooms were heavily fortified to keep out thieves and desperate dope fiends looking to break in and find the dealers’ stashes, regularly hidden in walls and floorboards. She heard more gunshots and screamed.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Homeboy hissed, glaring at her. Easing toward the door again, he placed his ear against it, hoping to hear a cop's voice, the crackling of radios, anything to signal him to what he was dealing with. Jesse heard footsteps and watched as Homeboy braced himself against the wall. As the footsteps grew louder, he gripped the weapon tighter and closed his eyes briefly. He decided at that moment that if he was to go out, he wasn't going out like a chump, and he damn sure wasn't going back upstate. Hell no, he reasoned, he couldn't take another bid, so he was down for whatever—whatever! He looked toward the ceiling, mumbled a quick prayer, and cocked the trigger. Fear rushed through Jesse as she read his eyes when he looked at her again. She knew what would happen next. Frantic, she searched the room for cover, and her eyes fell upon a pee-stained mattress. She ran toward it and quickly slid under it.

  Under the shelter of the mattress, Jesse had a limited view of the door at floor level. Homeboy suddenly jerked open the door and started blasting. The noise was deafening, and rapid flashes of gunfire lit up the hallway. Then, just like that, it was all over. Jesse heard a loud thud, and saw Homeboy laid out like a rug. She prayed that this was some kind of demented dream, but what happened next confirmed her greatest fear— a green pair of Pumas appeared. It was then that she realized how much trouble she was in. Jesse had never seen a cop wear that kind of sneakers. No, these weren't cops—they were killers! Lord … please save me, she silently prayed. Please help me! But all hope diminished when she heard a man give an order to kill everyone. It seemed like the gunshots lasted an eternity. She silently cried, sure that she also would meet her maker. When the gunfire stopped, the eerie silence gave way to the pungent smell of blood, death, and gunpowder. Terror overcame her when she heard the voice of death—the man who had spoken before—order the back rooms to be searched for “the rest of the shit.” She thought of just getting up and begging for mercy, but she was physically incapable—she couldn't move. She held her breath as she saw someone enter the room and step toward the closet. She heard the rickety closet d
oor open and close. She watched the sneakers turn, pause, and inch slowly toward her hideout.

  She felt something poke the mattress, and in one swift toss, the mattress was lifted off her. Blinded by the sudden exposure to light, Jesse scurried like a cornered rat and cowered flat on the floor against a wall. Gasping for breath, she looked up and saw a masked man take aim at her head with a sawed-off shotgun. Then and there she knew it was over, and didn't try to plead, but instead accepted her fate. Ready to die, she closed her eyes and awaited eternal darkness. Seconds passed, but nothing happened. She wondered whether she was already dead and just didn't know it, so she slowly opened her eyes and saw the masked killer staring at her the way a curious dog would.

  The killer lowered his weapon and continued to stare at her until the voice of death yelled, “Yo, nigga, you find anything?”

  The gunman quickly picked up the mattress and threw it back over Jesse. She did not know what was going on, but she thanked God anyway.

  “Oh, shit, nigger, it's fuckin’ payday!”

  An unseen man entered the room. Jesse guessed he was showing his partner what he'd found—probably stacks of cash and bags filled with hundreds of colorful caps of bottled crack. “Look, my nigger … we fuckin’ rich! Let's be out this bitch!” Jesse heard footsteps, and figured that the second man had left the room.

  Suddenly a corner of the mattress was lifted up, and the masked man spoke softly. “Get your shit together. This shit ain't for you.”

  “Yo, Dupree, let's bounce out this bitch!” a man yelled.

  Jesse realized that the masked killer was none other than Dupree, the kid she'd saved from being murdered by Chubbs in the alley. Slowly, Dupree turned to walk out of the room. At the door he stopped briefly and addressed Jesse.

  “Now we're even.”

  Chapter 10

  PAYBACK

  Silver was doing her double-dutch thing, skipping and twirling through the rope, when she suddenly stopped. “Look,” she said. The girls turned to where she pointed and saw Problem and the rest of his crew pushing Diego to the back of the schoolyard.

  Missy shook her head. “Yo, Silver, I know what you're thinking, but why the fuck you want to help Diego after he punked out on you in class?”

  Silver knew she was right and remained silent.

  Missy continued. “I'm saying, yo … I don't mind throwing some joints and all, but yo, you can't keep fighting his battles for him. Diego got to learn to start standing up for himself.”

  “I hear you,” Silver answered. “But he was just afraid Problem would get him later. Besides, this ain't helping Diego. I want some payback for him getting me on detention.” Suddenly Silver smiled. “Yo, I just thought of something … just follow my lead.” She stepped from between the ropes as Missy and the rest of the girls followed closely behind. Seeing Silver and her crew coming, Tyrell tapped Problem on the shoulder and gave him the heads-up. Looking around at the girls, Problem tried to act tough.

  “Fuck do y'all want?”

  Silver only smiled and remained silent. Her mother had always told Silver that if a person had done wrong, remain silent and let them tell on themselves. Problem attempted to carry on with his business of robbing Diego, but was uneasy now with all the eyes on him. He continued to look over his shoulder until finally he yelled in frustration, “Fuck is y're all over my dick for sweatin’ me and shit?”

  The other girls caught on and simply folded their arms like Silver. It was a silent standoff until Problem's cohorts began to walk away, not wanting any part of it. Seeing his boys desert him, Problem attempted to run away, but Silver and the girls blocked him. “You ain't so bad without your friends around, are you?” Silver said.

  Looking around at their faces, Problem remained silent.

  “What's the matter?” Missy asked. “Cat got your fat tongue? Why you ain't saying something now? Are you afraid?”

  “I ain't afraid of nothing,” Problem sneered.

  That was exactly what Silver had thought he would say. “Well, if you're not afraid, you'd give Diego a fair one?”

  Diego's jaw dropped, and Problem looked at Silver as if she were insane.

  “Diego said that if you ain't had your punk-ass friends with you all the time, he would kick your ass a long time ago.”

  By now, other students had started to crowd around, smelling a fight.

  Problem looked at a terrified Diego. “A'ight, punk … let's do this.” Problem got even bolder when he saw Tyrell had returned with some backup. Confident, he began to boast. “And when I finish waxing this punk,” he said, loud enough for everybody to hear, “I'm gonna end that other shit you talkin’ and bust your skinny ass for always being in my bidness.”

  Silver smiled. “Yeah, right, nigger. You better just worry about getting past Diego.”

  “We'll see!” Problem said, pounding his palm with his fist.

  Silver and Missy surrounded Diego as he nervously began to plead, “Silver, I … I don't know about this, I don't know how to fight.”

  Missy jumped in and did her best Ali impression. “It ain't nothing to it, Diego. Just bob and weave, nigger!”

  “What?” Diego asked.

  “Stick and fuckin’ move!” Missy said.

  “What?” Diego asked, still blank.

  “Just kick his ass!” Missy yelled in frustration.

  Shaking his head, Diego started making excuses not to fight. “But I never had a fight! I don't know how! I'm afraid!” Terror and shame filled his eyes, and he lowered his gaze.

  Silver lifted his head up and looked him square in the face. “Listen, Diego, you ain't got no time to be scared!”

  Turning away from her, the scared boy watched Problem loosen up for the fight. But Silver put her hands on his face and made him look at her.

  “Look at me, Diego. You got to stand up to Problem or he's gonna rob you every day. Is that what you want?” He shook his head, and she pointed to Problem. “Look at him, Diego. That's the nigger who robbed your mama!”

  “What?” Diego asked, confused.

  Silver winked at Missy. “Yeah, you remember that time you told us that somebody snatched your mother's purse?”

  “Yeah,” Diego said.

  “Well … it was Problem, but I ain't want to tell you, since I ain't no snitch or nothing, but I'm telling now.” She pointed directly at him. “That fat fucker right there was the one that stole from your mama.” She paused to let it sink in. “Look at him, Diego … he laughing at you.”

  “Laughing at you and yo’ mama!” Missy added.

  “Picture it in your mind, Diego,” Silver said. “Your mama minding her business when he—that nigga right there—runs by and snatch your sweet old mama's purse!”

  “And knocked her down, scraped her knees, and everything!” Missy put in.

  “Can you see it?” Silver continued. “She is crying and asking for help: ‘Help me, papi! Papi, help me!’ How do you say ‘help’ in Spanish?” Diego began getting angrier and angrier, and his nostrils began to flare.

  “You gonna let that thief get away with that shit, big boy?” Missy said.

  “Hell, no!” Diego said angrily.

  Missy caressed his face and spoke seductively in his ear. “As a matter of fact, you kick his ass and I'll let you get some of this ass.”

  Not believing his ears, Diego looked at Missy to see if she was serious. He turned and glanced at Problem, then back at Missy. Then, out of nowhere, Diego let out a hostile yell and charged Problem.

  Problem tried to intimidate him with the Rikers Island shit called the fifty-two, swinging his hands while bobbing and weaving. Silver and Missy instructed Diego how to fight, as real trainers would in professional bouts.

  “That's right, Diego! Left hook!” Whap! Amazingly, Diego caught Problem with a left.

  “Now a right hook, Diego!” Whap!

  “That's right, Diego, fuck him up … Yeah, yeah … You got him down, Diego … Now stomp him! Stomp his fat ass!”

>   Problem was on the ground curled up in a fetal position, protecting his head, as Diego stomped him, letting out years of frustration. Problem tried to get up and run away but fell and scrambled to his feet several times before finally gaining his balance. The entire school laughed at the school bully breaking his neck to get away, and moments later, everybody surrounded Diego, cheering him on, patting his back, congratulating him. Missy stepped through the crowd and gave him a seductive kiss on the mouth. Astonished, Diego looked at her and then passed out.

  A knock on Birdie's door startled him. “I done told y'all niggas to stay away from my door!” He looked through the peephole. “Who the hell is it?”

  “It's me, Birdie …Jesse!”

  Recognizing the voice, he looked through the peephole again. “Jesse?” he said, and quickly unlatched the door, but when he saw her, his hands flew to his heart. “Dear Lord!” Shock and disbelief shot through his body. Even though it had been only five months since he'd last seen her, he could not fathom the trauma and destruction that she had inflicted on herself. Jesse was a mere shell of her former self, barely recognizable. What stood before him now was a filthy, wretched eighty-five-pound woman in tattered, stained rags. Though Jesse was only twenty-seven, she now looked closer to sixty-seven. The damage she had done to herself was so extensive, Birdie could only cry, not believing his eyes as he stared into her sad, tear-filled ones. Arms outstretched, Jesse was in desperate need of a hug.

  “I want to come home,” she pleaded. “I want to come home.”

  Birdie felt overwhelmed. “Oh, Jesse … of course you can come home!” He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “Don't cry, baby … it's okay. You're home now, you're home now.” Holding on to Birdie for dear life, Jesse sobbed like a lost child.

  “I'm ready to kick this shit. I can't take it no more!”

  “All right, all right, Jesse, I'm with you,” Birdie said, taking her inside. “Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”