The Real Hoodwives of Detroit

by INDIA

Genres: Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

Welcome to Detroit, Michigan, home of the grittiest, illest, most hardcore, crime-infested, poverty-stricken neighborhoods in the country. It's sometimes referred to as the Murder Capital because of the huge murder rate that never ceases to surprise us, the Murder Mitten, or the Dirty Glove because of the state's shape on the US map.

Detroit is home to many scholars, rappers, athletes, and concerned citizens, but the streets belong to those in the underworld — addicts, dealers, and the women who help run the show from behind the scenes...The Real Hoodwives of Detroit! No, you won't see these ladies on any television show, but you will see them make appearances in court for their mans' hearing, or at the county jail on visiting day. You might even catch them riding shotgun, with a nine tucked in their Fendi bag, waiting to pop off and protect their men at any cost. And of course, they make appearances in the hood, 24-7, 365 days of the year.

Follow Nikki, Tonya, Chloe, Mina, and Gucci as they ride you through Detroit, one city block at a time. Watch as the tales of the black and dangerous unfold right before your eyes. In Detroit, only the raw and real survive living to see another day. These streets are known for breaking the weak and leaving them helpless. They aren't made for everybody. Scared? You should be.... WELCOME TO DETROIT!

Release date: November 26, 2019

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

What up, doe! I’m Nikkita, but everybody calls me Nikki. I’ve lived in Detroit all of my life, born and raised on West Seven Mile. I love my hood and where I’m from, but life for me was no picnic, so I had plans to get out of the city right after high school. I hustled hard by selling the expensive items that I boosted from high-end department stores. I saved my money and planned to be out the very night that I graduated; but halfway through my senior year, I met a man that I knew I would never be able to let go of or leave behind. His name was Mario, and to be honest, he had me wide open. Not only was he 6 feet 6 inches, brown-skinned, with beautiful jet-black wavy hair that hung way past his shoulders and an award-winning smile that belonged on a Colgate commercial, but he was also a sweetheart, and he treated me like a queen. See, when you come from a broken home where nobody says “I love you” or shows you any kind of affection, you want to hold on to the first person that does, and for me, that was Mario.

We dated the rest of our senior year and moved in together shortly afterward. Rio, that’s what I call him, took care of me, and I went from rags to riches the day that he became my man. I had a little money saved myself, but he had stacks on top of stacks. Rio was heavy in the drug game, and it didn’t faze me not one bit, because I’d been around drugs my whole life. My mother sold pills and a little ecstasy from time to time to make ends meet and keep herself fly, so I wasn’t new to the game, and I knew the rules. Hell, sometimes I would even pitch in and make runs for him. That’s just how down I am for the cause.

One day, to my surprise, Rio popped the question, and of course, my answer was yes. We’ve been married now for ten years, and it’s been nothing but love. Three months ago, we had our first child, Rio Jr., and we’re planning to leave this game before our lucky streak runs out. With all the shit going on in the D, hopefully our family makes it out before our time is up!

Welcome to Detroit! I’m Chloe, a real down-ass chick straight off of Schoolcraft. I’ve been rollin’ with my man Sam for two years, and I just know that we gon’ be the next Bonnie and Clyde. Right now, he works for Nikki’s husband, Mario, and we’re cool with that. Mario is a fair businessman, and he treats his workers good. Mario and Nikki are well respected in the Detroit dope game and, quite frankly, I’m addicted to his hustle. That shit keeps me in designer names, so I make sure that Sam is always on top of his job and never gets caught slipping. I tell him, “If we want to be the best, we’ve got to hang around the best.” And right now, hands down, the best is Nikki and Mario.

When Sam and I first started to date, he was a damn car wash attendant, and I would’ve been left his minimum-wage-making ass, but he was too damn fine! He was brown-skinned, basketball-player tall, with beautiful teeth, and his swag was all the way turned up. Not to mention the fact that he was tatted up like the subway in Harlem, as my girl B put it in one of her songs. One night, he talked about how he wanted to get into the game and make money to take care of me, and of course you know that I encouraged him to take action. He made good on his word by joining the H.O.F. organization as a runner, later working his way up to Mario’s right-hand man, and he has been taking care of me ever since.

I help him whenever he needs me to, just as I saw my mother do with my father years ago. My whole family was in the game. Currently, my brother is doing time behind bars. My mother died a hustler’s wife, and I planned to do the same. My father died in the penitentiary, as state property, and I refused to let that happen to my man. You see, I’m not new to this. I was born into this lifestyle, so I know how this works. I help cook the product, bag it up, and sometimes I even distribute to the trap houses. I know that some people would frown on the way I live my life, but I also know if the tables were turned, they would do the same in a heartbeat. I understand that this lifestyle had its ups and downs, but no risk no rewards, right? I don’t mind playing dirty if I have to, and that’s a fact.

“Hey, Rio,” I answered when my cell phone rang. I knew that it was my husband because of the ring tone.

“What up, Nikki? What you doing?” he asked in his gruff tone.

“Nothing, boo. Just paying the bills as usual. What’s good?” I said while putting the checks inside of the envelopes for the electric, cable, and phone companies.

“I need you to go upstairs and take four thousand from the safe to give to Gucci when she gets there.”

“Why?” I asked with a bit of an attitude.

I liked Gucci, and she had never crossed me, but for some reason, I was always a little defensive when it came to her. She had been my husband’s best friend since they were kids. He even told me that they messed around a few times, but he said that he never had serious feelings for her. I believed him and took him at his word because I had no reason not to, although she was pretty and petite. She was about 5 feet even, light-skinned, and very curvy. She always kept herself up, which made me stay on top of my shit, even though I knew I looked good my damn self. I was 5 feet 5 inches, caramel toned, and curvaceous. A lot of people have said that I remind them of the singer Alicia Keys, but I’m just a little thicker in the thighs and around the waist.

“Because, Nikki, today is the day that she goes and puts money in the commissary accounts of our team that’s locked up,” he said.

After returning my attention back to the phone call, I smiled because my husband always looked after his people. He made sure their accounts stayed full and their families stayed comfy. Feeling stupid, I said, “Oh, yeah. I forgot that it’s been a month already. My bad, baby.”

“Yeah, this month did go by quick. Hopefully, we don’t lose any more of our soldiers. Nikki, Detroit is gettin’ wild. Niggas is either dyin’ to eat out there or gettin’ locked up left and right,” he added.

I thought about Li’l D, the young man whose funeral we had just paid for. He was a nineteen-year-old who was shot in the head while walking his grandmother home from her church service, which was just three doors down from her house. The shooter was still at large, but a few of the spectators and churchgoers said the killer looked to be no more than about twelve or thirteen. I shook my head at what my city had become and the type of children that we were producing. On one hand, it was unbelievable and repulsive; but on the other hand, it was almost expected in the hood for these children to step up to the plate and put food on the table. For the boys, it was either dealing or killing, and for the girls, it was stripping or tricking!

“I know, Mario. Detroit is gettin’ wild, and people are going ape shit in this economy.” I chimed back into the conversation.

Then, as I was speaking of how wild things are, I switched gears. “Babe, have you talked to Roscoe?” I asked, thinking about Rio’s old partner. He should have been gettin’ out soon, and I wanted to make sure that he and Rio were on good terms. I didn’t want Rio to have any beef with the nigga because his baby mama, Tonya, made it seem like we weren’t paying her the whole time that he was locked up. Hell, just because that bitch was sneaky, I’d been keeping copies of the checks that we gave her every month, which to date, totaled about two hundred thousand dollars.

“Naw, I haven’t talked to him, but I am going to reach out soon. Don’t worry about it.” He seemed to just brush it off.

“Mario, make sure that you do, because we don’t need that drama when he get out. Me and you have come too far to get messed up at the finish line.” I said it, and I meant it from the bottom of my heart. I wasn’t no fool. We had beaten the odds so far, and I often wondered every night as I laid my head down when our time would be up.

“Nikki, don’t worry. I’m gonna handle it, but, baby, I have to go. Gucci should be by there soon. Be nice,” he said, and we disconnected the call.

I went up the white semi-spiraled staircase and entered the spare bedroom that we used as our office and slid the black file cabinet over to reveal the floor safe. After carefully putting in the combination, I removed approximately four thousand in neat, crisp stacks. I slid the file cabinet back over the safe then headed into Rio Jr.’s room because I heard him wake up from his nap, letting out a huge wail.

“What’s the matter with my big boy?” I asked as I entered the room. I picked him up and placed him on the changing table to dispose of the stinky diaper. I loved my son. He was beautiful, just like his father. After his diaper change, I picked him up and placed him on my shoulder as he began to coo at me. “Aw, Junior, Mommy loves you too.”

Just as I made it back downstairs to retrieve the bottle that I’d prepared for Junior while doing the bills, I heard a car pull up, bumping Trey Songz as loud as possible. I didn’t have to check the security camera to know that it was Gucci. Loud music was her trademark. I grabbed the bottle and headed to the door.

“Hey, come on in,” I said with a forced smile on my face.

She looked fierce as always in her Seven jeans and a pink halter top that barely covered her nipples. Her coal black hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail, her eyebrows and eyelashes were perfect, not to mention the fact that her makeup was flawless. To be honest, she was almost the picture of perfection. I say almost because her ghetto ass was standing there chewing and smacking on her bubble gum like it was going out of style.

“What up, doe. Hey, little Mario,” she said as she entered, patting Junior on his back.

We made our way into the informal living room. She took a seat on the black leather sectional, and I sat next to her to feed the baby.

“I love this house, girl.” She admired the taupe room with the red accent wall. Adorning the walls were various pieces of African American art. Continuing, she said, “As soon as I find Mr. Right, I’ll make sure that he gets me one, and I’ll have you decorate it for me.” She smiled.

“Yeah, that’s no problem. Just let me know when you find him, and I will hook you up, girl. You know that’s one of our side businesses, so whenever you need me, I got you,” I said with more enthusiasm than I actually felt.

We talked for about five more awkward minutes before she got right to the point.

“So, you got that for me?” She looked at her pink Coach watch like she had somewhere else to be, and I was glad.

“Oh, yeah, I don’t want to hold you up. Here it is,” I said, pulling the money out of my back pocket and handing it over to her along with the check for Tonya.

“Cool. I guess I’ll go ahead and take care of this business. Where is Mario?” she asked, looking around the house as if she didn’t already know that he wasn’t here.

I mean, why else would I be the one to give her the money?

“He had to step out for a bit,” I said and stood with her.

She bent down to kiss Junior on his cheek and then told us bye.

I knew I was still trippin’, but that girl had another side to her that had yet to be shown. I didn’t want beef with my husband by dissin’ his best friend, so I tolerated her but kept her at a safe enough distance. I’d seen her damage plenty of homes over Detroit and its surrounding areas, and I’d be damned if I let her ruin mines. That bitch wasn’t as slick as she thought she was. I was hip to her ass, and she knew I was not the one to be fucked with!

“Damn, baby, you smell good,” Sam said as he walked up to me and hugged me from behind.

“You do too, baby. Where are you going?” I quizzed because just a few moments ago, I’d left him in the bed sleeping, and now his ass was fully dressed and smelling good. Don’t judge me, but my man was fine, so I had to keep tabs on him like that! I wanted to know everything: where he was going, what he was going to do while he was there, and, of course, who he was doing it with.

“Mario is on his way over here to scoop me up. We got some shit to handle,” he said as he adjusted the collar on his Black Label button-up.

“What kind of business?” I wanted to know.

“Chloe, you know I can’t tell you all that,” he said and then went into our cramped bathroom to brush his teeth. Both of us wouldn’t be able to fit in there together comfortably, so I remained in the hall and went right into my next discussion.

“Sam,” I whined. “We need a bigger place. I mean, shit, only one of us can fit in there at a time.” I pointed at the bathroom.

“Damn, just chill. I ain’t trying to have beef with you today. Girl, we talked about this last night, and we both agreed that it’s going to take some time before we can save enough money to get up out this two-bedroom apartment,” he said in his usual calm manner.

He was right about that. We had talked about it last night, but this morning was entirely different, so I continued.

“Sam, look at this place. With the kind of money you makin’ now, we can afford to move into a big ol’ house or a condo. Matter of fact, I saw the most beautiful condo on Jefferson for sale in the paper,” I said and then turned to go and retrieve my newspaper clipping.

Sam snatched my arm so hard that I flew backward and my back almost hit the wall.

“That’s your fuckin’ problem, Chloe. You want shit done when you want it done! I guess you don’t give a fuck about what I’m tryin’ to say, do you?” He paused and took a breath then continued, “Hell no, you don’t! All I’m sayin’ is that we need to save a little more money. Damn, as quick as I make a dollar, you think of ways to spend it. Just chill the fuck out! The little bit of dough that we did have saved is gone because one of us just had to go shopping!” he spat and then went back in the bathroom to rinse his mouth out.

I couldn’t believe this nigga had just grabbed and yelled at me like that. Usually, Sam was calm and laid back, which was part of the reason that I fell for him in the first place. Lately, he had been gettin’ out of hand, yelling more, staying out late, and I didn’t know what his problem was. Shit, I was somebody that he’d better hold on to. With my mindset and get-’em-girl attitude, I could have another one in his place in a heartbeat. So fuckin’ what, I wanted a bigger house? I was worth it! Mario’s wife had a damn mega house in Bloomfield, and all I wanted was a fraction of that.

I was about to give him an earful, but that nigga was lucky that the intercom buzzed. “Yo, who dat?” Sam pressed the talk button and asked.

“It’s me. I gotta piss. Buzz me up.”

I heard Mario’s sexy ass and I panicked. I was so embarrassed that he was coming into our small-ass apartment and had to go into that tiny bathroom. On top of that, our house was decent, but it was nothing like his and Nikki’s. Most of our stuff came from Walmart, while their things were custom pieces.

I looked around the living room and tried to straighten up the magazines that I had thrown over my glass coffee table. Next, I made my way to the burnt orange sofa and loveseat, trying to fluff the pillows back up. I was on my way to check my appearance in the mirror that was hanging on the wall in the narrow hallway but was interrupted by Mario’s knock on the door. I put on my best smile and swung the door open.

“What up, doe, Chloe? Where is your bathroom?” he asked, looking as fine as ever with that jet-black hair free-falling down his back. He smelled good, too—even better than Sam. He was draped up in a brown-and-tan Evisu hook-up with brown Nike socks and tan Nike flip flops. I could tell that he was high because his eyes were real tight and he smelled liked Cheech and Chong.

“Hey, Mario, right this way,” I said, leading him down the hallway, silently cursing Sam out in my head.

“What up my, nigga,” Mario said and nodded to Sam, who was coming from the bedroom, brushing his waves and applying his black du-rag. They dapped fists, then he entered and closed the door.

Sam didn’t even look my way the whole five minutes that Mario was in the bathroom because he knew that I was beyond pissed. As if I wasn’t already embarrassed enough, Mario made matters worse when he came out.

“Damn, my nigga. That muthafucka is small! I barely had room to pull my dick out,” he said to Sam as he stood in the doorway, drying his hands with a paper towel, and let out a laugh.

I looked at Sam and rolled my eyes as they left the apartment. That nigga better have my damn house by the end of the month or else!

“You have a collect call from a Michigan inmate . . . Roscoe. Press one to accept.”

I sat up in bed and followed the instructions. “Hello,” I said into the receiver.

“What’s up, T? What’s going on in the D?” Roscoe asked, just like he did every other day when he called me collect.

“Same old same, baby. The kids are working on my last nerve as usual, and I still ain’t got my money from Nikki and them, so I’m going to be late on the rent again,” I said, reiterating to him how bad we were being played.

“Not this shit again, T, damn,” he complained like some punk.

“T, damn, my ass!” I mocked him. “If you are tired of hearing about how your family is struggling, then your jailbird, inmate ass need not call home no damn more,” I shouted. I was about ready to hang up when he started talking again.

“So, you being straight up with me when you say they ain’t paid you shit since I been gone?” Roscoe asked with uncertainty in his voice.

“Not as much as I would’ve gotten if you were still here. The crumbs that I get is nothing compared to bread we had when you was here. With a few dollars here and there, I’m doing the best that I can on the rent and the car notes. It’s amazing the landlord ain’t put us out yet,” I snapped.

“T, you know that the money they give you while I’m locked up is only to keep you comfortable, not to have you living the glamorous life,” he said like he was playing for their team.

It was pissing me off, so I yelled, “Muthafucka, whose side are you on? I mean, you should want your family to live the glamorous life while you’re locked up. That’s what we deserve! I’m the muthafucka putting money on your books. I’m the bitch feeding your kids and running this shit by myself, so you should want me to be on top.”

“Tonya, got damn, I ain’t trying to argue with yo’ ass. I know what you deserve, and please believe I’m going to provide for you when I get out, but right now, please just go with the flow of things. I’m going to set shit straight when I get out of here. Please believe that!” he pleaded with me.

“All right, I hear you, Roscoe, but I get so mad thinking about them over there in that big-ass house with money to blow, and we over here trying to make ends meet.” I was getting madder by the second.

“Look, I got’chu and my kids as soon as I get out, but right now, I don’t need to be making waves with a nigga like Mario. No more crazy talk in the hood from you about them, because If he think that we got problems, he can make it to where my ass won’t never make it home, if you get my drift! Keep yo’ head up, boo, and kiss the kids for me. One!” he said, and we ended the call.

I got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen to grab a cup of Kool-Aid. Still charged up from my conversation with Roscoe, I decided to fire up a blunt. I grabbed the swishers from the top of the refrigerator and began to break it down. As soon as I began to sprinkle the weed onto the paper, my doorbell rang.

“Shit!” I went to my side window and looked out to see a pink Dodge Charger with chrome wheels and tinted windows in my driveway. I rolled my eyes because I knew it was Gucci, especially bumping that loud-ass music. I didn’t say nothing, just opened the door and looked at her.

“Hoe, what the fuck is your problem?” that bitch had the nerve to ask.

“Excuse me?” I asked for clarification because I knew that I couldn’t have heard that heffa right.

“Tonya, I ain’t here to play games. Here go yo’ funky-ass check, bitch,” Gucci said and basically threw my check into the door.

We both watched it fall to the ground. Without saying a word, I reached down and picked it up then slammed my door shut. I couldn’t stand her ass, and she knew it. She thought her shit didn’t stank, and it irritated the hell out of me. That bitch was a wannabe. She wanted to be Mario’s wife so bad that she could taste it.

I finished rolling my blunt and smoked it on the way to the mall. I was in a great mood. I was high, the kids were in school, and I had $5,000 to blow.

“Aye, Mina, come here, baby.” I heard Tre’ call from downstairs.

“What’s up?” I asked as I entered the basement where he was entertaining two guys, one with long black hair and a cute younger guy.

“Baby, can you grab us a few beers?”

I know he didn’t just call me down here from way upstairs when he could’ve walked up there and got them his damn self.

I must’ve had a certain look of disbelief on my face, because the younger interjected, “You don’t have to go out of your way, ma’am. I’m cool.”

Did he just call me ma’am? I’m probably only five years older than him.

“Yeah, we’re cool,” the long-haired guy added.

Just to be polite, I asked them if they were sure, and they both said yes. As I walked back upstairs, I couldn’t help but check out the young guy again. His ass was fine!

I played around in the kitchen, pulling things out for dinner, when the younger guy came upstairs and startled me, causing me to drop a few potatoes that I had in my arms.

“My bad, ma’am,” he apologized.

“How old are you?” I asked him, about to shut this ma’am business down.

“Twenty-two,” he said, looking up with a boyish grin on his smooth baby face.

“I’m only twenty-seven, so you can stop calling me ma’am,” I said, and we both laughed.

“My bad. I didn’t mean to offend you, I swear,” he said while placing my potatoes on the counter.

“It’s cool. What’s your name?” I openly flirted, much to my own surprise. It was so unlike me, especially with my husband so close.

“I’m Sam, and you are?” He extended a tattoo-covered arm my way.

“Sam, I’m Mina. Nice to meet you,” I said as the hairs on my back stood up from his electrifying touch.

“Please believe the pleasure was all mine.” He winked. “Um, Mina, where is your bathroom at?” he asked as if finally remembering why he had come upstairs in the first place.

After I showed him the way, I stood there and watched his fine ass walk down the hallway to the guest bath. He was 6 feet, light-skinned, kind of thin, but had a swag about himself that was sexy than a mutha. Ol’ boy was all the way turned up, . . .