Page 93 of Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

This nigga ain’t worthy ta taste ya pussy, ho. Body his ass and go!

I decide to do ’im the way I had’a take Grant out, one bullet at a time. I walk ova to my bag, lettin’ da nigga think I’m gettin’ a condom. The whole time I’m in this piece I’m mindful not to touch shit. I open my bag and pull out my nickel-plated nine-millimeter wit’ the silencer attached. The irony in it all is it’s the exact type’a gun I used when I bodied Grant and his brotha. For some reason, Grant’s face pops in my head. I shut my eyes, tryna will ’im outta my head.

“You ready for this heat, muhfucka?” I ask, slowly turnin’ ’round.

“Hell yeah. I been ready.”

I grin, aimin’ the gun at ’im. “Good.”

His eyes pop open. “Whhhhaaaaat da fuck?!? Yo listen, I told you, I ain’t got no money, ma.”

I glare at ’im. “Nigga, please. I ain’t pressed for no muthafuckin’ money.”

“Whha-whaa-what’s up then?” he stutters, glancin’ round the room.

“You know Juanita, muhfucka?”

He frowns. “Who?”

“Nigga, don’t play stupid. The bitch you beat up and left for dead in Brooklyn. Why you do it?”

“Yo, who da fuck are you?” he asks, tryna raise up. This nigga must think I’m some kinda soft bitch. Therrrssp! I shoot ’im in his right shoulder. He grabs his shit and screeches. “Aaaaaah, fuck, damn, yo!”

“Muthafucka, you shut ya trap, or I will blow ya face off, right now.”

The nigga grunts. Bites down on his bottom lip. “Aaah, fuck. Why da fuck you shoot me?”

“Nigga, don’t test my patience. And don’t insult my intelligence. Now, I’ma ask you one more time. Why da fuck you do that shit to Juanita when you knew she was pregnant? And before you open ya mouth to hit me wit’ some bullshit, you betta take’a deep breath and think ’bout what da fuck you gonna say.”

He starts stutterin’ again. “I-I-I…yo, listen. I ain’t do that shit, ma; on e’erything.”

Therrrssp! I shoot ’im in his left knee. “Aaaaaaah, fuck, yo! What kinda crazy bitch are you? Aaaah, fuuuuck! Who da fuck are you?” The nigga is rockin’ back and forth in pain, tryna grab his shoulder and his knee.

“You shoulda listened to ya mammy when she told you growin’ up not ta eva get in da car wit’ strangers.” He looks at me like I’m crazy. The nigga’s sweatin’ bullets. Fear is pasted up on his face, and it makes my pussy drip wit’ excitement. “I’m da kinda bitch you don’t eva get in da car wit’. And I’m da bitch you don’t wanna piss off, that’s who da fuck I am. Now, again…why da fuck you beat up Juanita?”

“Yo, I swear to you, I don’t know…” I point the gun at ’im again. Warn ’im that I’ma put some heat to his balls if he keeps up wit’ the lies. The nigga quickly switches up his story; tries to give me some weak-ass song and dance ’bout he didn’t mean to hurt ’er. That he was tryna leave ’er but she wouldn’t let ’im. That she kept beggin’ ’im to stay, then started fightin’ ’im. That he pushed

’er off’a ’im and she fell and hit ’er head on the edge of the table.

“Nigga, shut da fuck up; I don’t wanna hear no more ’bout this shit. You still lyin’. Her face was beat da fuck up, nigga. Did you know she was pregnant?” He nods. Tells me that’s what they were beefin’ ’bout. That he didn’t want anotha baby; wanted her to abort it. “So you tried to beat it outta ’er instead.”

“No. Things got outta hand.”

“And then you fled da state, like that was gonna fix shit. Nigga, because of you, Juanita”—I pull off my wig—“is dead.” His eyes widen. “You remember me, muhfucka? Let me refresh ya memory. I’m Katrina, ’er daughter.”

“Yo, I swear—”

“Muhfucka, don’t swear shit. Because of you, there’s a lil’ boy layin’ up in’a incubator fightin’ for his life; because of you, there’s a baby I gotta raise now ’cause ya stupid ass had’a kill its mother. And now, muthafucka I gotta kill you.”

“No-no…listen. You don’t gotta do this, ma…”

“So you think I should just let you go, is that it?”

“Yo, ma…don’t do this; don’t…”

I stare at the nigga. Take in the blood oozin’ outta his shoulder and knee. Glance at his dick. A sly grin forms on my lips. “You wanna live, nigga? Then I tell you what. Lay back and let me see you bust that dick.”

He frowns. Looks at me confused. “Whaat?! You want me to play wit’ my shit, ma? Are you fuckin’ serious? I’m in fuckin’ pain.”

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