The screen door opening, and then clattering closed, robbed Cleo's mind of a hella wicked fantasy that featured him. A cringe seized her body when she realized she'd allowed herself to go there again. Snatching the milk from the shelf, she slammed the refrigerator, and spun on her heel in time to see Liberty saunter in the kitchen. The hot pink belly shirt she wore that showed off her mid-drift and tight black mini skirt that barely covered her privates had Cleo mentally rolling her eyes. Why the hell couldn't Liberty at least dress like a mama since it was clear she was never going to act like one? It didn't matter what time of day it was, nobody wanted to see that much of her mom's.
Cleo cast her attention back to hunting down the ingredients for the hamburger helper, tired of sweating things she'd never change. Not to be ignored though, Liberty strolled further into the kitchen, posting up in the spot next to her at the counter. With a smirk on her face she began to pull seasonings from the cabinets, placing them beside the box meal. Reaching behind her she yanked a large mixing bowl from the drain basket in the sink, and proceeded to open the plastic on the ground beef, dripping blood all over the tiled counter from the Styrofoam carton in the process.
Annoyance bitch slapped her as she glared down at the mess Liberty had made. With a full grown attitude, Cleo snatched the dishrag from the faucet. Then she started to mop up the pinkish red fluid with enough force to bruise the sensitive skin over her knuckles. Liberty needed to go sit her butt down somewhere. It would take forever just to cook hamburger helper with her underfoot. Especially, if she had to keep stopping to clean up after her.
"Why don't you go rest while I finish cooking?" Cleo said, forcing her tone to remain respectful.
"Rest?" Liberty smacked her lips, while she continued to sprinkle seasoning on the gummy pink meat. "Chile puhlease. Can do that when I'm dead. Why don't you go sit down somewhere? While I knock this out." When Cleo didn't move, Liberty lightly bumped her with her hip. "Gone now. I said I got this. Go hold down yo' step or something. Heard you ain't been doin' ya job lately. They say you wasn't on that step the whole weekend I was gone. Talk to me. Tell me about that."
Cleo's gaze dropped to the floor as she attempted to piece together a smoking lie. "What you wanna know?" Folding her arms across her chest, she watched Liberty dump the meat into the frying pan.
"If you weren't here then where the hell were you at? With that boy?" Liberty questioned, using a fork to push the beef around the scorching pan.
Cleo ducked her head, avoiding her mom's sideways stare. As many lies as Liberty had told, she could spot one before it even had the chance to take shape in her head. So she decided to remain as close to the truth as possible.
"His mom's knew you weren't here," Cleo said with a shrug. "She didn't think it was responsible to let me come home without nobody being here."
"Who, Angela?" The fork slipped from Liberty's grasp as she turned to face her. "Ask me if I give a shit about what that bitch gotta say. All up in my damn business." She jabbed her finger in the center of Cleo's chest. "Next time you go off, you better bring yo' butt back home before the time that, busted ass, street light is supposed to come on. Mess around and let that moon beat you home. Humph! I'ma stomp you and that nosey hoe. Think it's a game."
Cleo's eyebrows collided in the middle of her forehead. That was the second time she'd talked about...his folks as if she'd known them. "Where you know his folks from?"
"Don't worry about all that. It ain't your concern." Liberty's shoulders sagged like someone had poked a hole in her and released all of the hot air out of her. "You betta listen to what the hell I just said, because I won't say it twice. You hear me?"
"How can I not?" She backed out of Liberty's snatching reach. "You standing right there. Dang!"
"Matter of fact since you done took me there." Liberty returned her gaze to the meat sizzling in the pan, but leaving her attention fastened on Cleo. "I don't wanna catch you back in that damn Circle. Of all the places you coulda posted up, you choose over there. With them damn Latinos of all people." She smacked her lips. "What's wrong with her Jesus? How many times I gotta tell you they don't care about you, 'fore you believe me?"
Shaking her head, she jutted her chin out. "Tell me again, you'll be wasting your words." She clamped her mouth close, refusing to say another muttering thing.
"Oh, I will huh?" A smirk settled on her mouth, but her eyes grew, Federal sentence, serious. "What he do? Get fly with you or something?"
"Or something," she said, running the pad of her finger along the edge of the counter. "You ain't gotta worry about me going over there again. Don't have time for all the moves he be pulling. I'm done with the entire situation. I promise you."
Liberty stared at her for a moment through narrowed eyes, while the only sound in the kitchen was the popping of the grease off the meat. After a few ticks her mouth hitched at the corner, while the expression on her face screamed what she could do with her promise.
With a flick of the wrist Liberty waved her words back at her. "You lying."
"Unh huh. Ain't nobody gotta lie to you."
"Oh you not lyin' to me," Liberty said, pointing a finger at her. "You lyin' to yo' damn self. That's who you lyin to sweetie. I can tell by that dumb ass look in your eyes, you ain't a bit more done. Umph, umph, umph. Might as well not waste my time. Caught hell the first time I tried to take you from him. You cried for weeks." Wrapping the dishrag around the handle of the pan, she lifted the skillet from the stove. "Get me the strainer from down there."
Cleo kneeled. Opening the cabinet, she began to move pots and pan around in search of the silver strainer. As she searched, curiosity kicked her butt. Why the hell did Liberty have to be so guarded all the time? She was more locked down than the Pentagon with all the stuff she planned to take to the grave. Shoot. If she kept going like that, there wouldn't be any room left for her in the coffin.
Deciding to try her luck one more time, Cleo stood and handed Liberty the strainer, while eyeing her to gouge her mood and tolerance level. "What you meant by, 'the first time you tried to take me from him? Are you talkin' about...," she swallowed the name that almost slipped from her lips. Clearing her throat, she finished the sentence in a weaker tone. "Him?"
"Stop askin' me so many damn questions. Who you think you is Opera Winfery or somebody?" Liberty snapped, turning back to the sink to empty the contents of the pan into the strainer. "I ain't givin' no damn interview. Go find you something to do so I can finish cookin' in peace."
Knowing better than to press her luck any further, Cleo spun on her heel and left the kitchen, before she pushed Liberty too far and got rewarded with an ass whooping on the house. She stomped across the living room with an on the sly attitude. Not crazy enough to have a full grown one out in the open. But ooh, ooh Liberty made her want to get loose and do the fool sometimes. Especially, when she dismissed her just because she thought she could. Before she reached her bedroom, a fist landed on metal and heavy knocks sounded like discharging gunshots on the screen door.
"Who the hell that is knockin' on my door like the got damn police?" Liberty yelled, coming to stand in the entrance way of the kitchen wielding a fork in one hand, while the other was planted firmly on her hip.
Ignoring her mama, Cleo reversed her steps, turning in the direction of the front door. She came to a hard stop in front of the screen. The skinny boy from the Circle stood on the other side wearing a stupid grin. Her eyes bulged out so far, they almost rolled out of their sockets. What the hell was he doing there?
"Who is it?" Liberty yelled from behind, her attitude ready to put on a show for whoever had the nerve to knock.
"Somebody for me." Cleo opened the screen and slipped from the house, purposely closing the wooden door after her. Once on the porch she narrowed her gaze on the boy. "Putt told you where I stayed, didn't he?"
The boy shrugged, taking a seat in the plastic chair. "He told Taz. Since he's my boy he told me." He reached for Cleo's hand, but she slapped his fingers away. Untroubled by her rejection he continued. "Heard 'bout what popped off at C's the other morning. They say you walked the dog on one of his brizzas, and even tried to go one with him too. You got the whole Circle talkin', chica."
"Ask me if I care," she said, smacking her lips. Waving a hand, she silenced him when he opened his mouth to speak, not interested in one of his slick ass answers. "What you want? Why you here? Don't tell me you walked all the way over here just to be nosey."
"Walked? Chica please," he said, his little chest puffing from indignation. "I rode my chopper." He nodded his head at a bike chained to the rail at the bottom of the stairs.
"You say that like its better. Either way, you was still sweatin' it out in that hot behind sun." Cleo sat down on the top step, angling her body so she could look up at him, while disregarding his offended expression. "Weatherman says the temperature is supposed to get up in the triple digits today, and you around here tryin' to ride a bike. Boy you gonna mess around and catch fire on that bicycle."
"What difference is that supposed to make for me, when I already burn for you?" He leered at her, his lips donning a nasty boy grin.
"Ugh," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'ma need you to stop getting your game from Hallmark. You know that they'll sue you for that, right?"
"Like that, huh?" The boy asked, slumping further down into the seat. "Got it from a Valentine's Day card that one of Taz's women gave him. Thought it was fly." He finished with a shrug.
Cleo cocked her head to the side and stared at him like he'd just been touched by crazy. "You stupid or something? This the Ninth, you just can't come rolling through here like you're made of Teflon." Her gaze left his to glance around the projects. Luckily, no one seemed to be paying his simple ass any attention at the moment, but that didn't mean a, two dollar hooker, thang. Things had a way of switching lanes real quick around there. "You need to leave before someone comes around and make you."
"Wish a bitch would try me," he said, lifting his pointy chin in defiance. "I'm not scared of none of these vatos around here. I'm packin'." The boy lunged from his chair to stand, yanking his shirt up and withdrawing a short kitchen knife with napkins wrapped around the blade.
Cleo's face fell into her hands as she shook her head. Was he serious? "Um, that's fine and all, but tell me this, how in the world is that bread knife gonna protect you against bullets?" Her head snapped up as she released the words from her lips in a slow deliberate trickle, waving her hands in emphasis to help transport her meaning to his dim brain. "You do know glocks trumps blades, and that the whole thing about never bringing a knife to a gunfight isn't just a sayin', right? That little bitty thang couldn't even stop a behind stompin, let alone a hollow point."
"Don't worry about all that, just know I got your back, if things get heated out in this joint," he said, shoving the kitchen knife back into his pocket, while wearing a serious expression on his narrow face.
"Have your own back, it need covering more than mine with all the cemetery chances you takin'," she said.
Cleo shook her head as she cast her gaze to the parking lot below. The poor fool was too insane to live, and if he kept playing his life like a game, he wouldn't have that problem for long. Consequences were stalking his bad decisions how a DEA task force would lay down a trap house, swiftly, and with all exits blocked. And although she didn't know the little fellow from the dude holding down the parking lot in front of the neighborhood liquor store, she'd hate to see anything bad happen to him just for being so utterly dumb.
The sound of a door slamming downstairs wrestled her attention from Pep. She leaned forward to peep through the space between the steps to see which one of her neighbors had come out. As she attempted to maintain her balance and be nosey at the same time, she felt the vibration of someone heavy climb on the stairs.
"What you lookin at, Babygirl?" A deep voice asked, in a sugary feminine tone.
Cleo jumped at the unexpected voice, quickly straightening to swing her gaze to the six foot two, ebony skin toned man wearing a denim dress that zipped up the front. He patted the curls at the back of his head in place on his auburn wig as he regarded her with an indulgent smile, his eyebrow raised, while he waited for her to answer.
"Nothing, Ms. Pat," Cleo said, unable to continue holding eye contact after she'd been caught being nosey.
"What's that?" Pep asked, his voice laced with unsureness and a hint of fear.
Ms. Pat's hand found his hip as his head jerked back. "No, the question is, what is you boo? Are you a little boy," He brought his index finger and his thumb so close together they almost touched. "Or a chicken that's been plucked, or maybe you just a little girl with a wish. Whatever you is though, doesn't matter, because I'm still looking at a straight up mess booboo." Ms. Pat thumped his fingers as if he were flicking away a booger, and then retrained his eyes on Cleo. "Ya mama home darlin'?"
"She in the house, cookin'." Cleo jerked her thumb over her shoulder without turning around. She didn't need to see the look on Pep's face to know Ms. Pat's read had one, two-ed his ass.
Ms. Pat raised an eyebrow. "Cookin'?"
"Yep." Her head bobbed.
"Humph. 'Magine that." Ms. Pat climbed the rest of the way up the stairs. "Well let me go in there to make sure she don't burn the damn house down, my apartment is right under y'all's." He muttered to himself as he disappeared behind the screen door.
When the screen clattered closed a sick feeling began to play double dutch with Cleo's intestines. She wasn't stupid. Ms. Pat's visit was no social call. He was Liberty's dealer, and she knew within ten minutes her mom's would be so lit, she just might let the damn house go up in flames.
Irritated she stood. "Come on let's go to the store." Gesturing for Pep to follow her she descended the stairs.