Boss Divas by De'nesha Diamond

lost.
    â€œDon’t you think that shit is fucked up?”
    I shrugged even though I wasn’t sure what to make of his drunk rambling.
    â€œMy blood . . . runs black and gold—there’s no coming back from that.... What the fuck am I supposed to do with that information now? After all this time? I mean, why tell my ass now?” Mason jumped up from his armchair and paced around like a caged animal. “Nah. Nah. We squash this shit. Right here. Right now. We’re never gonna talk about this shit again. You feel me?”
    I hesitated only because I wasn’t too sure of what the hell I was agreeing to squash.
    â€œYOU FEEL ME?” he demanded.
    I jumped, but quickly agreed. “A’ight. Yeah. Cool. ”
    â€œCool. Cool.” Mason turned up his bottle of Henney.
    I side-eyed him, tryna gauge his mood. Hell, I was young. I didn’t know what to make of the shit. Couple of seconds later, he changed up. He plastered on a smile, grabbed my head like it was a football—that shit used to always bug the fuck out of me—and then refused to let me go until I cried uncle.
    When he let me go, he had this strange look on his face. “Tell you what, Ray. No matter what nobody says, I’m always gonna be your big brother. You got that?”
    â€œYeah. I got it.”
    Mason’s smile wobbled. “Good. Now forget all that other shit. Get the fuck out of here and let your big brother go find something soft and gushy to get up in—before this fucked-up birthday really goes to shit. ”

    When Profit’s story drifts off, I wait a second to see if he’s going to finish it, but then he doesn’t say anything else. “That’s it?”
    His eyes snap back to me. “That’s enough, don’t you think?”
    I pause a minute so that I can digest that story. “So that woman back there really was Mason’s aunt?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Profit shrugs. “She could be.” His cell phone rings and he quickly scoops it out of his pocket.
    â€œWho is it?”
    â€œLucifer.” He shakes his head and then stuffs the phone back into his pocket. “I’ll call her back later.”
    I glance back down the crowded hallway at the closed hospital room. “So the woman who kidnapped them was—?”
    â€œI said I don’t know. Fuck. Enough with all the damn questions.”
    â€œAll right.” I toss up my hands. “Forget I said anything.”
    Profit’s mom races out of the room with her face in her hands, running blindly.
    â€œMom.” Profit takes off after her.
    I toss another look at the guarded hospital door. Maybelline Carver. Carver . Isn’t that Python’s last name?

15
    Lucifer
    U ncle Skeet is dead.
    That shit is another shock to the system—even though I never liked his crooked, monkey ass. The main reason is still wailing in my ear. For years, my mom has been content to be Skeet’s sideline chick—happy to take any piece of him that he would give her. I never got it and I’ll never understand it—especially since she wasted no time opening her legs to him within weeks my father was gunned down right in front of us in the front yard.
    â€œWhat am I going to do? I don’t have anybody left.”
    Jeez. Thanks. “Mom, let me call you back after I find out what the hell is going on.”
    â€œNOOOOOOOOOO,” she cries, pathetically. “He can’t leave me like this. He can’t.” Her devastation pulls at me, but for my own sanity I have to throw up a brick wall on this shit.
    â€œMomma, I’ll call you back.”
    â€œWhat am I gonna do? How am I going to live without him?”
    Click.
    Sorry, but I don’t have time for this shit.
    â€œCall Profit.” Mason’s eyes are still glued to the news report.
    â€œAlready on it.” I just hope that he takes my call.
    Of course he doesn’t.
    My irritation