Street Divas by De'nesha Diamond

ass.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me. Check her ass and see if she’s been branded.” He hits a switch, and the interior light comes on.
    I hesitate for a moment but then roll Ta’Shara over to confirm what we both already know. Sure enough, on her ass are the dirty, bleeding initials GD . My stomach stops churning and starts knotting at the sickening sight. Only one name floats to the top of my head. “LeShelle.”
    Drey nods. “Damn. Maybe you are a little smarter than you look.”
    â€œShut the fuck up and drive,” I snap, blinking back a few tears.
    â€œFuck. Don’t get mad at me. I ain’t had shit to do with this. But you think I’m going to be able to convince the po-po of that shit? They’ll take one look at her ass and these tats on my neck and then haul my ass downtown. You, too, Lil Queen G. We’ll either have to take the heat or snitch. How the fuck you think that’s going to go down?”
    Now I feel sick.
    Drey shakes his head again. “We’ll drop her ass outside the ER, and then we roll the fuck out. Cool?”
    Torn, I glance down at Ta’Shara’s face. T is my best friend. I’ve had her back for a long time now, but . . . shit. This puts me in a bad situation—a life-or-death situation.
    â€œMUTHAFUCK!” Drey leans forward to get a good look at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Look at what that bitch did to my face!”
    â€œCalm down!”
    â€œCalm down? Fuck that. You need to clean that bitch’s fingernails. Shit. I watch CSI . They can pull my DNA off some shit like that.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me. Look around back there and find something to clean her nails. I ain’t taking the rap for no goddamn body.”
    â€œDrey—”
    â€œI FUCKIN’ MEAN IT!” He jerks the steering wheel to pull over to the side of the road.
    â€œAll right. All right. I’ll do it. Just fuckin’ drive.” I glance around the floor of the backseat and find a screwdriver. It’s better than nothing. Satisfied, Drey continues driving while I try to dig the skin and blood from beneath Ta’Shara’s fingernails. However, the act feels like a betrayal, and I feel a rush of tears threatening to flood my eyes. “Why didn’t you fuckin’ listen to me,” I mumble low, shaking my head. I don’t even want to think about what probably happened to Profit. No doubt the brothah is dead, but how he went out was probably brutal as hell.
    Goddamn these fuckin’ streets. I swipe my tears, but deep down I know that nothin’ is ever going to change out here. If anything, it’ll only get worse. Profit’s death will only set off a vicious chain reaction. I hate to admit it, but Drey is right. The last thing we want is to be implicated directly in this shit. It would be like painting a target on the center of our foreheads for the Vice Lords.
    â€œWhat the fuck is this shit?” Drey asks. He hits the dashboard, and the interior lights go out.
    â€œWhat?” I glance up as he rolls into the hospital’s parking lot.
    â€œThose niggas right there . . . and over there . . . and there.”
    Sure enough, posted outside the emergency room are at least seven different groups of niggas, all flaggin’ gold and black.
    â€œIt looks like a muthafuckin’ Vice Lord convention out at this muthafucka.” Drey huffs out a long breath. “SHIT! I knew my ass should have left you two bitches back there. I must have a neon sign over my head that says ‘stupid muthafucka.’ ”
    â€œShut the fuck up!” I pop him on the back of the head while I peek out the situation. “Something has gone down.”
    â€œDuh! You fuckin’ think?” This time he rolls his eyes so hard it’s amazing the shit doesn’t get stuck in the back of his head. “I’m getting the hell out of