got a complaint, and that is all we need,” the guard responded, stepping toward me. “But the lady’s right. I can call the Dearborn Police and let them handle it.”
Moving quickly, I leaned between the chairs where both our purses were on the floor and grabbed her bag like it was mine while pushing mine closer to her chair at the same time. Although my heart was racing and my palms were sweaty, I had been in enough sticky situations with my parents to know how to think efficiently under pressure.
“I don’t want to be in the middle of all this. Let me get out of the way,” I said, playing like I was disgusted and wanted no part of the drama. But I was plotting to get out of the nail salon and the mall with my mom’s gun.
People within the shop saw me, but their mouths stayed shut as I switched our purses and pulled a fast move on the security guard. I was not about to let my momma get locked up behind her concealing a pistol without a license. My personal grievances or how we bumped heads had nothing to do with me having her back. I was going to hold my momma, my daddy, and Benzie down until the world ended.
As I tiptoed across the floor with wet, bare feet, my knuckles ached from clutching her purse as tightly as I could.
“Ma’am, pass me your purse. Please do not make me request it again.” The guard’s voice shook the room.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw my mom handing my purse over to him with a shocked expression painted on her face. That was when I exited the nail shop as quietly as I could and walked as quickly as I could in the opposite direction of where the guard and loudmouthed lady were standing. I was walking so fast that I was damn near tripping over my own two feet. I did not want to run and bump into people and bring attention to myself. But as soon as I walked out the mall’s exit, I broke out like a track star in a track-meet race. I was running so fast and hard that the bottoms of my feet were starting to burn from the pavement.
Ducking in between two cars, I rummaged through the big-ass duffle bag my mom called a purse for her keys. I did not want to get caught holding the dirty pistol. Pulling out wads of cash, the pistol itself, and a bunch of paperwork about my grandma’s house, I still could not find the keys. I was about to scream out from frustration until her cell phone started ringing, vibrating, and lighting up.
My baby P was what the screen read, which meant the call was coming from my phone.
“Shit,” I whispered, not knowing for sure that it was my mom and not the guard.
My mother presenting him a purse of teenager items and an identification card that did not have her picture on it was reason enough for me to fear that my trickery had been exposed. I had never been so nervous. Nor had I ever felt such a strong nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach. Having a dirty pistol in my possession without Trin and Cal around to protect me had me shaken the fuck up. I could not resist sending the call to voicemail.
Finally fishing out her keys, I bit my lip and peeked over the hood of the car I was hiding behind, making sure the coast was clear to take off. The truck was parked a few rows over. A few people going into the mall saw me creeping through the parking lot suspiciously, but I did not have time to worry about their reactions. Getting to Trinity’s truck was my only concern.
Trinity’s phone rang and damn near made me jump out of my skin. I completely froze when I saw Husband on the screen. It was my daddy.
“Hello! Daddy, oh my God! Ma got into trouble! We’re out at Fairlane, and some stuff happened, and I got her—” I was trying to run off what was going on but was out of breath. He had cut me off anyway.
“Hey! I already know what’s up. Ya momma said pull up on her at the bus stop and answer the phone. You’ve got this, Porsha. You’re a Jackson. Cut all that coward shit out. Fear will get you caught, and you need to make sure you and your mother get out of there,” he said, getting me back on my A game.
I listened to my dad give me a pep talk while I jogged the rest of the way to the truck. With him coaching me over the phone, I felt in control and like everything was going to work out in my and Trinity’s favor. My daddy always made me feel safe and secure.
By the time I climbed into the driver’s seat and revved the engine, my mom was beeping in on the other line. I was not able to finish clicking over before she was screaming.
“Where the hell are you at, Porsha? What’s taking ya ass so long?”
“I just got in the truck. I’m not a track star. I had to run damn near all the way around the mall,” I shouted with attitude, pissed that she was acting ungrateful when I’d just put my neck on the line for her. I was tired of her acting like I hadn’t been holding my own.
TRINITY
I heard the attitude in Porsha’s voice and wanted to jump through the phone and strangle her wannabe-grown ass for yelling at me. Fuck that she had just taken a risk for me and could possibly catch some heat behind having a gun in her possession if she did not get out of dodge with the quickness.
“Well, hurry up. That ho-ass guard told me to be gone before Dearborn Police show up. He called out a squad car when they realized I had a teen’s purse, but that wasn’t enough of a reason to hold me. I don’t know what slick shit they’ve got planned, but we need to be out of this city, ya dig?”
“Oh, wow.” She gasped. “I’m almost there, Ma. I’m coming around the bend near the restaurants now.”
“A’ight, cool,” I replied, trying to sound like I was in control, though I was panting and looking around nervously like every vehicle speeding into the mall’s entrance was a squad car.
I was usually never off my square, but racism was alive no matter who said different. As diverse as Dearborn was, they hated black people. I was not trying to have my body ripped with bullets and the fatality report reading like I unloaded first.
“Get out of the way! What’cha gonna do? Not shit, so keep driving.” Porsha was honking the horn and yelling at pedestrians. I heard the horn blowing not only over the phone, but close by. Porsha was coasting around the bend on two wheels.
“If you tear my muthafuckin’ truck up, I swear I’ma kill yo’ ass,” I yelled, rushing toward the road to meet her. The quicker we could get on the freeway, the better.
Slamming on the brakes, she threw the truck in park and hopped over the console to the passenger seat so I could drive. Seeing Porsha in action was like looking at the younger me when I used to ride out on missions with her father. He and I used to set the city on fire doing dirty before he knocked me up.
“Ma! Come on,” she cried out, visibly shaken like she was ready to break from the pressure she was under.
“We’re straight. I got you, baby girl,” I said in a calming tone so she’d chill out. I gave her her shoes, which she’d left at the shop and I’d managed to grab. “You did good. Hella good.” I sincerely thanked her, knowing I owed her big time. I would have been cuffed in the back seat of a squad car facing five years for having the pistol.
“Ma, this shit is crazy. I can’t believe this is happening.” Porsha was frantic, looking back and forth between the mirrors and me as I drove as cautiously and quickly as I could.
“Keep ya eyes out of the rearview mirror. We ain’t looking back. We’re pushing forward,” I barked at her. “This ain’t ya first time riding shotgun or at
