What Goes Around Comes Around

I twisted my ankle, so I was stuck in the house, blowing up Joe’s phone. Finally, after the 35th call, a female answered. “Will you please stop calling Joe?” “What?! Who the hell are you?!” “Hmm. I’m his girlfriend, Precious.” “Hmm. And I’m about to kick your Precious Ass!” “Really, sweetie? And where are you, cause I’m with him.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Meet me somewhere!” “Ok, meet me at the Holiday Inn, and bring a friend, cause he licking on me, and ready to spend.” “Which one?” “Down town, Miss Brown,” the trick said. “Yeah, let me see you rhyme, when I beat you to death!” I limped out of the house, and knocked on my next door neighbor’s door. Knock, knock, knock. I stood at her door in my too tight, short Polo sweat pants. “What’s up, girl?” “Kenya, I need a ride,” I said, not able to hold back. “What’s up? Do I smell a fight?” Kenya asked. “Naw, you smell a hotel beat down!” I yelled. “I want in!” Joe’s sister Daja said, from out of nowhere. “Let’s ride! Kenya Pimp City Brown, and Erica Hustle-N-Flow Brown, bout to beat a bitch down to the ground!” Kenya said. She was my neighbor, and my friend. She was beautiful; mixed with black and white. She looked like a young Mariah Carey. Right now, I looked like a more chocolate Nicki Minaj, with a red Atlanta Braves miniature baseball bat in my hand. We listened to dat song, ‘Ima beat that pussy up, up, up, up, up.’ We got downtown in seven minutes. I dialed Joe’s number. Damn! She a bold bitch. “Bout time you showed up hoe. I’m in room 112!” Me and the girls flew up the steps. Gunshots! We froze. The door to 112 swung open. “What? Yall hoes thought it would be a fair fight?” Precious said. Pow! Damn! She shot the girl! Precious dropped like a brick. “Ahh!” Precious cried, holding her leg. Kenya PimpCity Brown, shot her ass down! She had pulled out her pink .22, from her pink Polo boot. “Don’t cry now!” Daja, and Kenya, and I stomped her until the cops came. “Lock these stupid hoes up.” Joe said standing with the two tall cops. The cop named Butler, slung Kenya down, scratching her face. He was at least four-hundred pounds, on a light day. He rammed his large knees into her back. “Help! Man, that hurt!” “Shut up,” Officer Butler yelled. The other two officers slung me face first into the door, instantly making my nose bleed. The other white cop tried to grab Joe’s sister, Daja. “Get back! I’ll cut your throat!” Daja warned, pulling out a sharp box cutter. Then a female officer grabbed Kenya. “Punk!” she yelled, spitting in the cop’s face. “Drop your weapon, or I’ll shoot,” the female officer said, aiming at Daja’s head. Pow! Pow! I couldn’t believe it. Everybody froze.