Payback With Ya Life Read Free Page A

chilling he would fuss her out.
    The aroma of a down-South breakfast of catfish, eggs and grits filled the air. Big Choppa’s favorite meal. Sure enough, as her gaze traveled to the tray next to the La-Z-Boy there was a plate with the remains of catfish bones, dried egg yolk and traces of grits. The hot sauce bottle was missing its top. The tall orange juice glass was almost empty.
    Janay drew back the heavy olive drapes, giving some light to the dim living room. She stuck her fingers into the soil of several of the houseplants before getting the vase to give them some water.
    “What I tell you ’bout messin’ with my plants, Nay?” Big Choppa’s voice boomed.
    “They’re very dry, Daddy. If I didn’t mess with your plants they would have been dead a very long time ago.” They had this exact same conversation every time she came over.
    “And why you gotta be openin’ my drapes?”
    Janay ignored him as she busied herself cleaning up his dishes and straightening up the living room. His oldest daughter was the spittin’ image of her mother: her doe eyes, long slender frame, dark flawless complexion. Today she even had her long hair pulled into a bun, just the way her mother had worn hers. Janay’s biological mother passed away when Janay was five. She suffered from the same disease as Choppa. From then on Big Choppa’s girlfriend Ida stepped up and had been playing the mother role ever since. The whole family referred to her as Mom. After watching Janay go back and forth for twenty minutes he wanted to know what was up.
    “What’s botherin’ you, Nay? You ain’t over here to just clean up.”
    “You feel up to riding with me to check on the traps?”
    He shook his head no and motioned to the front door. “Take Boomer with you. And what I tell you about callin’ ’em traps? You’re going to business establishments, not no corners.”
    “Daddy, please. Since when did dope houses become business establishments? They’re traps. Niggas buying dope, niggas sellin’ dope and niggas like us coming to collect the money. That’s a trap. Now come on, Daddy,” she whined. “I want you to ride with me.”
    “If there’s somethin’ you want to talk about, spit it out. Shit, girl, what I tell you about that?”
    “It’s personal, Daddy.” Her voice trembled. “And it’s not that easy to spit out.”
    “It’s easy if you just go on and say it.” Janay flopped onto the couch, and the tears came streaming down. “Aww, girl, what’s the matter? You pregnant?”
    “No,” she sobbed.
    “You and Shadee fighting again?” When she didn’t respond, he shook his head. “Did that lil’ negro put his hands on you?”
    “No, Daddy.” She was now crying harder. Shadee was no doubt the love of her life. They shared a son, Marquis, and had been together for the past six years. She was wifey. Every bitch knew it and respected that . . . except for Brianna. He wouldn’t leave that gold-digging bitch alone for nothing in the world. She remembered the first time she had followed Shadee over to her house; his excuse was that she was holding his dope. What could she say? Brianna had been a thorn in her side ever since. But when she brought her ass over to Janay’s house looking as if she had been smoking crack all night, that was it. Then when Brianna went on and put Shadee on blast saying that he had asked to marry her, that was the last straw. She went on and told Brianna, “Kill that nigga!” Janay had then stormed out the house and sped over to Big Choppa’s.
    “Nay! Don’t lie to me. Now, tell me, did that nigga put his hands on you?” Choppa belted out once again.
    “No, Daddy, he didn’t. I wish he would have. An ass-whooping would be easier to deal with. Listen, Daddy, you can’t tell nobody . . . not even Miss Ida, what I’m about to tell you. Okay?”
    “Girl, if you don’t say what it is you got to say, I’ma—”
    “Daddy, this is serious. You gotta promise me you won’t say