Daddy's Little Girl

c h a p t e r 6

(Maurice:) 

I sat in my car with my head in my hands. How could Nino be so damn stupid to not know to lock up his drugs? I gotta go bail his ass out, cause that's my nigga. Lifelong patna’. I had Spike following the nigga who searched his house and got him cuffed. I don’t play ‘bout Nino, no homo shit. 

I got out of my car, making sure my gun was in my pants. Even though I was at my mama’s house, a nigga had to stay strapped. I started walking up the driveway where my mama’s green Nissan and another car was parked in the driveway. I figured it was one of her fake ass friends. I got to her front door, opening it because it was unlocked. I’m ‘bout damn tired of reminding her ass to lock the door. 

I walked in the house, but immediately froze when I heard a deep base voice followed by my mama’s giggles in the kitchen. I grabbed my pants, making sure my gun was still there. I slowly closed the door behind me, but I guess my mama heard the click cause she came in the living room. 

She clutched her chest, and widened her eyes, then subsided when she saw that it was me, “God, Maurice, you scared me.” I just stared at her blankly.

“Hey, baby. What you doing here?” She asked, walking towards me. I leaned down to my mother's short ass and hugged her as she kissed my cheek. I was a mama’s boy. I loved my mama to death. Being a single mother, you had to be strong to provide for yo’ child, and that’s exactly what my mama did. Standing at only 5’2, my mother was a beautiful ass lady. “I just wanted to come talk to you, ma.” She released me and looked back in the kitchen, then back to me. “Oh, baby, I don’t think it’s the right time.”

“Who the nigga is? Lemme meet him, ma. I heard his voice when I came thru the door.” I said, trying to walk past her, but only being pushed back by her small arms.

“No, Maurice, stop.” She begged, as she tried to push me back. I had to hold in a laugh, cause she wasn't moving me wortha shit. 

“Minnie, are you-”  I heard the man's voice as he walked out of kitchen and into the living room. He stared at me with shock in his eyes, as I stared at him with death in mines. “Hello son.” 

“What the fuck he doing here, ma?” I asked her, inches away from grabbing my gun and shooting him and her.

“Baby, I promise I was gonna tell you.” She pleaded, rubbing my arm. I quickly snatched my arm away, and nearly pushed her. She scrambled her way to my dad, and he pulled her close to his body.

I looked at both of them, back and forth, until I busted out laughing. “Oh, mama. You was really gone tell me? You was really gone tell me that you let the nigga put his damn hands on us back in my house?”

“This is my house, Maurice! I’m old enough to make my own decisions as to whom I let in it!” My mother’s squeaky voice yelled. At that point, I wasn't really giving a shit about what she was saying. I was that pissed, cause ion never disrespect my mama.

“Shut the fuck up, ain’t shit bout this house yours. I pay the bills on this muhfucka since this pussy wasn’t man enough to do so.” I said which caused her to burst out in tears, and bury her head in ‘his’ arm. 

“Look, son-”  

“Don’t call me ‘son’, cause I ain’t ya ‘son’, ain’t never been your ‘son’ since them days that you sat there and beat my mama, so don't fix ya damn lips to call me ‘son’.” I said, straight cutting him off.

“Maurice, I’m still your father-”  

“Nigga, I’m two seconds away from busting a cap in your ass.” I said, blankly.

“Maurice, just hear what he has to say!” My mother yelled in between her tears.

“Why should I listen to him now when he wasn’t listening to me yelling ‘don’t hit my mama, don’t hit my mama!” I answered, shuddering and tearing up a little as I remembered my past life with him.

“Maurice, I was going through some things!” His deep voice stammered throughout the medium sized house.

“If you was going thru some ‘things’, then you shoulda seen a fucking therapist and not of did that pussy ass shit you did!” I yelled, backing away from the couple and making my way to the door.

“Maurice, this is still your father that you’re talking to!” She squeaked. I couldn't believe that she was really choosing sides with that nigga. The same damn nigga that had her ass up in a hospital bed for 5 days. “That ain’t my father, and the way you talking, I ain’t even sure if you my mama.” 

I walked out the house, but not before hearing my mama scream, “Maurice Dorian Westbrook!” I slammed the door behind me, and went straight to my car.

I sat with my head in my hands, and groaned. I know my mama grown enough to make her own decisions, but I ain’t know she was that dumb. She remembers all the times he beat on her, as well as me, so I don’t know why she fronting like everything peachy. He was the reason why I turnt to the streets; supplying for my mama cause his bitch ass left us when I was 13. The only good shit about him in my life was getting Paris in mines. If he and my mama ain’t fight every night, I wouldn’t have snuck into Paris's room to sleep with her. 

My phone rung me out of my thoughts as I answered it. “Hello?”

“Bruv, we can’t do it!”

I looked at my phone to see who called me. It was Spike. “Can’t do what?”

“We can’t kill the nigga, mane!”

“I ain’t tell ya’ll stupid asses to kill him. I just said find out where he stay at.”

“I know, we around his house right nah, but I know you planning on killing his ass, but we can’t!” 

I huffed, “Why we can’t?”

“Cause the nigga Pookie!” He yelled into the phone.

“Paris brother Pookie?” I asked in disbelief. Paris ain’t never told me Pookie was working... and, with the feds at that.

“Yes, bruv. Kayden Pookie!”

I sighed, “Aight, man. I want ya’ll to get out that bitch and head to the trap on Mulberry Rd. Tell Triple to take the correct amount of money out the safe in the back and bail Nino out. I got alotta shit on my mind, and I ain’t coming back til’ tomorrow. Til’ then, I need your ass in charge til’ Nino come back. Make sure all ya’ll at that trap, and not around Pookie house. Don’t nobody kill Pookie, and if I come back and more than needed money out my shit, I’m killing yo’ ass and anyone else involved in that shit on sight.” 

“Aight, boss. You straight?”

“Mhm, just fuck with me later.” And with that, I hung up the phone. I looked back at the screen and decided to text Paris. She’s always there when a nigga gotta relieve some stress.

“Paris, come over my house.”

“Eww, no.”

“Man, stop being childish, fo’real. Please.”

“Aight, but you alright?”

I ain’t text her back, just started my car and started making my way to my house. I parked my car in the driveway and made my way up the stairs to my house. I tossed my keys and phone on the glass table in my living room, and went upstairs to take a quick shower. I pulled on some jeans over my boxers, and decided to walk around shirtless.

I went back down stairs to the kitchen, and got a box of pizza I bought yesterday out, as well as a bottle of sprite. I took out two slices of pizza and microwaved them. I opened up the cupboard in front of me and pulled out a Styrofoam cup and a bottle of promethazine. I put the cup under the ice machine, to get some ice, and then poured a one-fourth cup of the promethazine, following by Sprite.

The ringing of the microwave brought me back to reality, as I looked down at the dirty sprite I just created. I remembered Paris was coming over and I ain’t wanna fall asleep on her ass, so I poured the drink down the drain, wincing as I watched it go. I took out a new bottle of Sprite, and grabbed my pizza, heading to the living room and eating in silence. 

After everything I’ve did for my mama, this the bullshit she go pull? I bought her a house outside of the ghetto, just so she can bring that nigga in my house? Hell no. I don't trust him. Never had, never will. Ain’t shit change about him but his arms. He got muscles now, so my mama betta watch the fuck out. Laugh now, cry later.

I placed my bottle in the trash and my plate inside the sink that was beginning to pile up with dishes. I really needa girlfriend to take care of it, but I ain’t tryna have more stress that’s already on my shoulders.

I locked the door then texted Paris to use her key to come in, since her and my mama are the only two who got a key to my house. I went downstairs to my basement that I had converted into a lounge room. It’s big, and the walls are Laker colors, purple and yellow. I got two large, flat screen TVs on either side of the room, with plush couches in front of them. I passed thru the room and opened the backdoor to the game room. It looked like one of those game rooms at a major hotel in Florida, with a large vending machine. I moved it to the side, exposing the walk-in safe I had behind it. I kept money, weed, guns, and all that shit in here, but I took out a small bag of weed, paper, and a lighter.

I opened the back door of the game room to my swimming pool area. I laid on a beach chair that was big enough to fit two, and that was seated under an umbrella. I laid on my back and crossed my left leg over the other, rolling my weed up on my lap. I wish I just had a down bitch that could always know to keep me one rolled, ‘cause rolling weed gets tiring at times. I lit the weed up, and took a long, deep pull of the weed, releasing all the stress a young nigga had.