Gangstress

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Janelle Doesher never wanted to be a hustler’s bitch; she wanted to be a bitch that hustled, bottom line!

She watched in awe as her father became notorious on the vicious streets of Detroit and silently waited for a shot under his umbrella. After tragedy strikes her family, Janelle is black-balled to the bottom. However, she’s determined to re-gain control of the streets and take possession of the throne. The underworld ain’t never seen a female boss like her. Hold on tight, as you are about to embark on a ride unlike none other! The breathtaking tale of the one and only Jane Doe is sure to leave you speechless.

Release date: May 28, 2019

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“Happy birthday, baby girl!” my daddy said upon entering the kitchen. “Today is your day, and you can have whatever you like.” He planted a kiss on my cheek.

“I can have anything, Daddy?” I smiled, and he nodded. My mother, Monica, tried to conceal her smile while shaking her head in a disapproving manner.

“Julius, if Janie gets one more thing, we will need to buy a bigger house,” my mother added.

“Then I guess we just need to call the real estate agent right now, because there ain’t nothing in this world that my daughter can’t have.” He playfully slapped my mom’s big, round butt, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. I loved to watch the two of them interact with each other. They had been together for eighteen years, yet they still treated each other like they’d just met.

“That girl is spoiled.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” I added from my seat at the kitchen table, and everyone laughed. My father was the best provider a girl could ask for. We lived in the lap of luxury and were spoiled with everything afforded to rich people. The way we lived our lives most normal people could only dream about.

“So how old are you, eleven?” he teased.

“Daddy, you know I’m sixteen.” I smacked my lips.

“Sixteen!” He grabbed his chest and pretended to have a heart attack. “Where did the time go?” he asked my mother while glancing at his Cartier wristwatch.

“I know, our little girl is growing up.” She smiled.

“In my mind, you will always be my little girl.” My daddy planted another kiss on my cheek.

“In a minute she’ll be dating, then marriage and kids.” My mother wiped a tear.

“Fuck that! Ain’t no nigga good enough for my daughter.” My father shook his head as the doorbell rang.

“Daddy.” I laughed while scurrying into the foyer to see which of my party guests had arrived. When I reached the oversized door, I could see Ace, my godbrother, through the glass panes. He was standing there in a Black Label long-sleeved shirt with the matching jeans, carrying a card and a teddy bear and holding a balloon that read “Happy Birthday.”

“What’s up, fam?” He hugged me, and I tried not to shudder. The scent of his Issey Miyake cologne had me dizzy.

“Hey, Ace. Thank you for the card.” I snatched it and headed back into the kitchen with him on my tail.

“What’s up, pops.” He bumped knuckles with my dad and kissed my mother on the cheek. Next, he went into the fridge and searched for something to eat. Ace was practically family, so no one paid him any attention.

“I’m for real, Janie.” My father picked the conversation back up where he had left off. “If a nigga can’t love you, respect you, and take care of you the way I love, respect, and take care of you, then fuck him!” My father was as serious as a heart attack, and I felt one of his speeches coming on.

Ace peered at me while smashing a piece of cold chicken, and I looked away. Over the years we’d played this game of cat and mouse, but we both knew it wouldn’t lead to anything serious out of respect for my father.

“Janelle, pay attention,” my father continued. “These little girls get with these knucklehead boys and lose their minds. Half of these niggas are selling wooden nickels anyway. They don’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, but somehow they manage to talk these girls out of their panties and common sense.”

“Julius!” my mother interjected, and Ace and I burst out laughing. Although my father was in his thirties, he had the soul of an old nigga and would drop lines straight from the seventies. What in the hell was he talking about wooden nickels for anyway?

“What, Monica? I’m speaking the truth.” My father kept it one hundred all the time whether you liked it or not. He never sugarcoated anything, and I admired that about him.

“Janie ain’t trying to hear no lectures on her birthday. Save that conversation for another day.”

“I just want her to know that she don’t have to fall for the first nigga who shows interest in her.” He turned his attention back to me. “All these dudes want is some pussy, and you’re more than a piece of ass! The world is yours, baby, and you’re worth waiting for, believe that!” he said while gazing at me with loving eyes.

“I know, Daddy.” I smiled.

“Anyway, I ain’t gon’ ruin your birthday with one of my rants, so I’ll zip it for now.” He pretended to lock his lips up and throw away the imaginary key.

“Open the card, girl,” Ace instructed me.

“I was going to wait until the party, but since you’re rushing me, I guess I have no choice.” I slid my acrylic fingernail across the pink envelope and pulled out the card. Before I could even read the words, two $100 bills caught my attention.

“Aw, thanks, Ace!” I wanted to hug him again but didn’t want to make my parents suspicious.

“No problem, fam. Don’t spend it all in one place.” He tossed the naked chicken bone into the trash.

“That’s so sweet,” my mother gushed.

“Good looking out for your sister. That’s what big brothers are supposed to do.” My father patted Ace on the shoulder. “If anything ever happens to me, you better protect my two ladies like your life depends on it.”

“Julius, stop talking that nonsense. You ain’t going nowhere.” My mother hated to speak about death, but my father knew it was always lurking around the shadows. In the dope game, he was the man. Therefore, he had more enemies than friends and never knew when someone would try to come for the king.

“Pop, you know I got you, but like Monica said, you ain’t going nowhere.” His cell phone buzzed.

“Yeah, I know you got me, young’un, because I trained you well.” My father was proud of his protégé, as if he were his own son.

“I hate to break up this family moment, but that was money calling.” Ace placed the phone into his pocket.

“Go get that money, son. I’ll get with you later.” My father once again bumped knuckles with Ace and walked him to the door.

“I think a certain someone has a crush on another certain someone.” My mother smiled, exposing both of her deep dimples.

“I do not have a crush on Ace.” I rolled my eyes, trying my best not to tell on myself.

“I wasn’t even referring to you. I was gonna say it’s the other way around.” She giggled.

“What’s so funny?” My father reentered the kitchen.

“Nothing. Janie and I were talking about something we saw at the mall yesterday.” My mother winked at me.

Just then there was another knock at the door. I jumped up because I knew it was either my best friend, Alicia, from down the street or another friend here for my big party.

Swinging the front door wide open, I frowned at the sight of the short, chubby woman standing before me with a matted Afro. It was Pauletta, my grandmother. “Well, hello to you too,” she said to my back as I turned and headed back to the kitchen table.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my grandmother because I had to, but I didn’t like her very much. Whenever she came to visit us, she would almost always manage to make my mother cry or piss my father off. Pauletta frowned and turned her nose up at the way we were living, but for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. My father was her son, and I thought she should be proud of the lifestyle he provided for his family. We lived in a prominent upscale community north of Detroit. Our home was immaculate, to say the least. It measured 4,000 square feet and sat on a large plot of land in a fairly new neighborhood. We had two living rooms, a dining room, five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a media room, a playroom, a barber/beauty shop, and a country-style kitchen with marble flooring and granite countertops.

“What brings you by, Mama?” my daddy asked after giving her a brief hug.

She removed her old, worn trench coat and held up a gift bag. “I came for the birthday girl.” She shook the present like it contained a million dollars, and I smiled, although I knew better. My grandmother was very frugal. Last year she got me a sweater from the Goodwill, and the year before that she purchased me a $5 gift card to Walmart. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I smiled and removed the pink and purple gift bag from her hand. After I pulled out the metallic tissue paper, my gift was revealed. It was a Lisa Frank diary accompanied by a pack of colored pens.

“All young girls like diaries, right?” she asked.

I nodded to play along, and then I gave her a hug. “Thank you, Gran,” I said with more excitement than I actually felt. For one thing, I was sixteen, and Lisa Frank was so four years ago. I also didn’t know what to do with it because my father had often warned me never to write important things down on paper. I didn’t exactly know what he meant by that, but I always followed his instructions.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it’s all we hardworking, nine-to-five folks can afford.” My grandmother placed her black purse down on the cherry wood table and took a seat. Her comment was meant as a jab, and it struck a chord with my mother. I watched as she rolled her eyes and excused herself from the room. She quickly retreated down to the basement where the party was to be held. Her excuse was to finish decorating, but we all knew what the deal was.

“Mama, why are you always starting some shit?” I knew my dad was furious by the way the vein bulged from his dark forehead. Staring in his direction, I noted that he was a handsome man even when he was angry. His ebony skin was flawless, which accented the whites in his eyes and his pearly white teeth. His hair was black and wavy. His eyelashes were long, and the goatee around his mouth gave the dimple in his chin definition. My daddy wasn’t very tall, probably five feet nine inches at best, but he spent a lot of time in the gym. What he lacked in height he made up for in muscles.

“Julius, you better watch how you speak to me,” Gran warned with the wag of her finger.

“I’m sorry for disrespecting you, Mama, but every time you come here you make these rude-ass comments, and I don’t know why.”

“I’m just speaking the truth, son. Y’all over here living like the Kennedys when everybody around you lives in a recession.”

“Damn, it’s like you mad that we have moved up in our lives. I offered you this life. You refused it!” he said through clenched teeth.

“You are damn right I refused it!” Gran yelled. “You people call this the glamorous life, but ain’t a damn thing glamorous about constantly looking over your shoulder.” She huffed. “Julius, I raised you better than this! I worked three jobs to provide a good life for you. I kept you in church and kept your head in them schoolbooks. You should’ve gone to school and made something of yourself,” she continued to fuss.

“Mama, in case you haven’t noticed, I have made it!” My father pointed at himself. “How many niggas do you know of in the hood who are living this good?” He hit the table, and my grandmother’s purse fell to the floor.

“Yes, you made it, son, but you made it with other people’s blood on the money you spend every day.”

Gran was overweight by a good hundred or so pounds. I knew getting her purse off the floor was much too difficult a task, so I snatched it up and handed it back to her.

“Mama, I don’t give a damn whose blood is on it. As long as I can provide for my family and satisfy their needs, I’m good. When I go to sleep at night, my conscience is clear.”

“You should be setting a better example for Janelle. You think she’d be proud of the occupation you have?”

At the mention of my name, I decided to vacate the premises. I needed to go and check on my mother anyway, but before I was even at the basement door, I heard my father speak again.

“My daughter ain’t stupid. She knows the truth! I’m a hustler, and I’m going to hustle until the day I die! Why can’t you understand that, Mama?”

“Listen, son, all that killing, stealing, and drug dealin’ ain’t what the Lord intended for the world, and it pisses Him off. No matter how tough you are on those streets, you ain’t no match for the Creator. Your arms are too short to box with God, son, and soon your time will be up,” Gran warned.

“Well, until the good Lord calls me home, I’m gonna ball until I fall! The legacy I plan to leave for my daughter will be epic!”

Those words are forever etched into my mind because that was one of the last things I heard my daddy say.

A crash through the kitchen window grabbed everyone’s attention. Items flew into the house like grenades. There appeared to be several small cans with smoke spilling out. Before my daddy had time to react, someone or something tried to force its way into the back door. “Janie, take Gran to the safe room and tell your mama to lock up,” he yelled, and I reached for my grandmother’s hand as she waddled toward me.

“Daddy, come on,” I screamed.

“I’ll be down there in one moment, sweetie.” He winked to reassure me, but I knew he wasn’t coming. As soon as we made it down into the basement, my mother waved us over to the safe room.

“Hurry up!” she urged, having already heard the commotion going on upstairs.

We entered the small, vaulted room and locked the door behind us. My mother flipped on the security cameras to get a bird’s-eye view of the situation. There were a total of nine twelve-inch monitors linked to hidden surveillance cameras strategically placed throughout the house. Previously, my daddy said he wanted to be aware of every move being made throughout the house in his absence. I thought he was just being paranoid, but today the security footage was very helpful.

Monitor six displayed the kitchen, and I could see my daddy covering his mouth from the gas. He was backed into a corner, holding one of the pistols he kept in the kitchen pantry. The smoke was a greenish gray color, and it was so thick that it was becoming difficult to see anything. I couldn’t tell what was going on upstairs, but I could hear things being shattered. The safe room was soundproof but allowed the sound from the outside to come in.

I squeezed my mom’s left hand nervously, and she patted my back with her free hand. Although I could tell she was a nervous wreck on the inside, her facial expression was calm, cool, and collected. “It’s okay, baby,” she reassured me while studying the monitors. Her big brown eyes squinted, trying to see what the hell was going on. Out of habit, she began to chew on her full lips. My mother was a dime, if I said so myself, and I was glad that I favored her. In my opinion, she resembled a thicker version of the rapper Charli Baltimore, with light skin and similar facial features like those pouty lips and slanted eyes. The two women even shared the same body type, height and all. The only noticeable difference was that my mother’s hair was honey blond instead of red. “Daddy will be okay,” she added, still holding her emotions in check for my sake.

“Why are they doing this?” I cried.

“That’s the game, baby,” she responded like this home invasion was nothing. I had never been involved in anything like this, so I was scared.

Bang. Bang. We heard shots pop off upstairs, and that’s when my mother lost her cool and went ballistic. She immediately hit the key code on the safe and reached inside to retrieve two Desert Eagles. With one gun in each hand, she turned to me. “Janie, Mommy loves you so much, and I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become!”

“Where are you going?” I panicked.

“Daddy needs my help, baby.” She kissed my cheek.

“Mom, don’t leave me please,” I begged. We heard it again: pop, pop, pop.

“Gran will be here with you, and everything will be okay. Don’t be scared, baby girl.” My mother kissed me one last time and headed out of the safe room. That was the very moment that I learned firsthand what a down-ass bitch was. Many people talk about that shit, but my mother was a real one. Without a second thought, she risked her life to save his.

A few moments after she left, I wiped my tears and turned my attention to the television monitors. Frantically, I searched for a visual of her and held my breath until she appeared on the screen. As I watched, things seemed to move in slow motion as she crept up the stairs and into the formal living room. I figured her plan was to go through the living area, into the dining room, then into the kitchen to sneak up on the attackers. But just as the smoke began to clear, I saw a masked gunman creep up behind her. This was like a scary movie, and I wished I could’ve turned the channel.

“Mommy!” I screamed as if she could hear me, but it was useless. My ears started ringing, but I didn’t hear the shot that sent my mother to the floor. However, I did see her stomach explode as the bullet pierced her skin and penetrated her body.

“‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .’” My grandmother had begun to pray while I frantically searched for life in my mother. “This was not supposed to happen this way,” Gran kept screaming and shaking her head. My mother hadn’t moved, but where was my father?

Finally, on monitor two, I saw my daddy crawling toward the front door. He was wounded but still alive. In an instant and without hesitation, I reached for one of the weapons inside of the open safe. I wasn’t sure what type of gun it was, but I vaguely remembered my father calling it Nina.

“Janelle, what are you doing? They’ll kill you!” Gran warned.

I didn’t bother to reply. In my mind, I was already dead without my mother and father. If they killed me, at least we would all be together again.

I hit the stairs three at a time and gripped the gun like my life depended on it. On several occasions, my daddy had taken my mom and me to the gun range, so I was well educated with how to pull the trigger. As I made it to the top of the stairs, I paused to listen but heard nothing except the sound of police sirens. Figuring the worst was over, I headed over to my father, because trying to save my mother was no longer an option. I knew with a hole the size of Texas in her stomach, she was already on her way to the afterlife. When I reached my father, I noticed he was hurt pretty bad and bleeding from everywhere.

“Janelle.” He tried to speak but went into shock and started gasping for air.

“Daddy, who did this to you?” I cried and dropped my head onto his bloody shoulder, holding on to him for dear life. I desperately needed my daddy to get up. He couldn’t die. Not today, on my birthday. “Daddy, who did this?”

“Family,” I heard him whisper, then he gurgled up blood. I didn’t know what he meant that day, but in the years to come, it would hit me like a ton of bricks.

The death of my parents was devastating, to say the least. The memory of our last day together is forever at the forefront of my mind. I often wondered who was responsible for the heinous crime, and I vowed daily to get answers one way or another. I wanted so badly to seek vengeance on the culprits. The shit they caused had a domino effect on my life, because things just kept getting w. . .