as he let one loose up in me. And by his body movement, I knew he came lovely. A sista did her job.
He was sprawled out on the bed, sweaty with me rested on top of him, panting lightly. The room smelled like sex.
After a few moments passed, I looked at James and asked, âBaby, what happened that night?â
âAbout what?â he countered, like he didnât know what I meant.
âRoscoe. Who did he murder?â
âShit just got fucked up, Jade. You know we got enemies out there on them streets. You know how fucked up shit is,â he said, like he was angry with someone.
âBut that night at the club? Who were yâall fighting?â
âSome niggas that my man, Kay, had beef witâ. After yâall went into the bathroom, he came up to me and Roscoe and said niggas started beefinâ witâ him by the door, and that one of âem pulled out a knife and threatened to stab him. So you know, Kay, thatâs my nigga, and we wasnât tryinâ to hear it, so we stepped to them. A few unkindly words were exchanged, and then shit popped off. And they stabbed my nigga Row in his chest.â
âWhat?â I said. âSo why did you drop me off and leave?â
âLike I said, Jade, shit went bad that night. It was drama, and you didnât need to be in the middle of it. We were gonna take care of it. Roscoe caught a bad one.â
âHis lawyer said he might plead for justified homicide. He said Roscoe shot in self-defense. But if not, maybe second-degree murder. But he said that they didnât find a gun on the victim, and that there might be a credible witness to testify against Roscoe. If his case goes to trial, they might serve him witâ twenty years if he gets convicted. But if he cops out, D.A. might give him ten.â
James sighed. âDamn.â
âWho did he shoot?â I asked.
âJade, foâ real, itâs a nigga that tried to come at us on some territory shit. Roscoe shot some nigga who felt big that night; some on-the-come-up nigga. Thatâs all you need to know. I donât feel like discussinâ this now. Iâm fuckinâ tired,â he said, laying his head back.
I shoulda interrogated his ass first, and then give up the pussy. James had gotten what he wanted. He laid there with his head against the pillow with his eyes closed. I felt like playing Sherlock Holmes, but the dick wore me out a little, and I ended up falling asleep on his chest.
~ CHAPTER 7 ~
shy
I swear Iâm tired of crying. Iâm all cried out right now. Why muthafuckas gotta be dumb? I wish someone would answer me that. Itâs been a week since Roscoeâs incarceration, and Iâm a fucking mess. I havenât been to work, and I havenât left the house, none of that shit.
Camille and Jade, theyâre constantly calling or coming by, acting like a bitch is gonna kill herself. But I keep telling them that Iâm good. It ainât like the nigga dead. Shit, heâll probably get off or something. We donât know that. He got a good lawyer who seems to know what the fuck heâs doing. And I believe that Roscoeâs lawyer is gonna take care of it. He gonna do my man right and have him acquitted of all charges. I believe that.
I wanna see my man, though, and Iâm waiting for his call. A week had passed and not one collect call from him. So right now, Iâm kinda pissed.
I know my man got clout up in them jailsâhe damn near ran shit in the hood. So I know heâs not getting punked for his phone time in his housing. Heâs just probably too ignorant to call his girl and let me know whatâs going on with him.
I lay in bed, listening to the radio and thinking about my man. I started reminiscing about how we met, and the things we did. Two months into our relationship, I wanted to have his baby. But Roscoe wasnât ready to have kids. He said to me that he didnât want any of his