looking at me like I stole the fucking money. I’ve been paying Debbie.”
“Nobody called you a thief, but I will call you a damn vacuum.” Sahara snatched the blunt from Frankie. “Nah, ain’t none of us gonna risk being homeless or back living with our parents”—she glanced at Porsha—“so this can only mean that Debbie did some funny shit with our rent money instead of paying Housing.”
Porsha shook her head. “Why am I not surprised? Had I heard some of the stories that have surfaced about her before I agreed to move in here, it wouldn’t have gone down.” Porsha recalled some of the stories she’d heard about Debbie and her exploits. “This bitch think she got more game than a little bit, but we about to show her that this shit is bigger than Nino Brown. Once we go into Housing court and show them the receipts from the money orders proving that we’ve been paying the rent. Frankie, go get the receipts so we can start getting our ducks in a row,” Porsha told her, feeling that it was an open-and-shut case. Frankie didn’t move. “Frankie, what’s good? You got the rent receipts, right?”
“Not exactly,” Frankie mumbled.
“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” Sahara questioned. “Frankie, please don’t tell me that you gave Debbie the rent money in cash?”
Frankie looked at the worried faces of her roommates. “Only the last few times, but let me explain—” Frankie began, but was cut off.
“Aw hell nah, tell me you were smarter than that, Frankie.” Sahara began to pace and went back to running her fingers through her hair.
“I know I should’ve just gotten a money order like we normally do, but I’ve been making crazy moves. Debbie was in the hood a few times so I just hit her with straight bread because it was easier than going to cop money orders. I was just trying to cut a corner to make it easier on us.”
“You mean easier on you,” Sahara told her. “Frankie, you know damn well giving Debbie cash is the same as picking a snake up by its tail and not expecting it to bite you. The whole reason we go through the trouble of getting money orders to pay her is so she can’t hit us with her Debbie shit, because you know how she do.”
All Frankie could do was nod because she knew Sahara was right. Debbie was an older chick from the projects who had a Harvard education and a dope fiend’s mentality. Her knack for creative schemes made her somewhat of a legend in the projects, but it was her powers of manipulation that made her notorious. Debbie could piss on your head and tell you it was raining and you’d believe it, that’s just how good she was. Frankie had had a bad feeling about the offer to sublease Debbie’s apartment but she’d been desperate at the time so she’d gone along with it. Staring at the eviction notice on the coffee table, she wished she had taken her chances with the shelter.
“What are we gonna do?” Porsha asked, accepting the blunt Frankie passed her.
“I don’t know what y’all are gonna do, but I know what I’m gonna do.” She got up and stormed into the bedroom. Frankie came back out holding a pistol. “I’m gonna bust a cap in that slimy bitch.”
“Frankie, you can’t just go around killing people!” Sahara told her.
“Kill her? A dead bitch can’t pay no debts, I’m just gonna shoot her in the leg,” Frankie said.
“Frankie, would you stop playing with that gun, this is serious,” Porsha said.
Frankie glared at her. “Ain’t nobody playing. Yo, I’m out here stealing from sunup to sunup and still barely making ends meet and pay my portion of the rent for this raggedy-ass apartment and Debbie wanna be stealing? Fuck all that, I ain’t no punk bitch. She gotta get dealt with.”
“I agree, but shooting her isn’t gonna help, Frankie,” Porsha tried to reason with her. “Before we jump to conclusions, let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. For all we know, she didn’t steal the money and it was an
“Nobody called you a thief, but I will call you a damn vacuum.” Sahara snatched the blunt from Frankie. “Nah, ain’t none of us gonna risk being homeless or back living with our parents”—she glanced at Porsha—“so this can only mean that Debbie did some funny shit with our rent money instead of paying Housing.”
Porsha shook her head. “Why am I not surprised? Had I heard some of the stories that have surfaced about her before I agreed to move in here, it wouldn’t have gone down.” Porsha recalled some of the stories she’d heard about Debbie and her exploits. “This bitch think she got more game than a little bit, but we about to show her that this shit is bigger than Nino Brown. Once we go into Housing court and show them the receipts from the money orders proving that we’ve been paying the rent. Frankie, go get the receipts so we can start getting our ducks in a row,” Porsha told her, feeling that it was an open-and-shut case. Frankie didn’t move. “Frankie, what’s good? You got the rent receipts, right?”
“Not exactly,” Frankie mumbled.
“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” Sahara questioned. “Frankie, please don’t tell me that you gave Debbie the rent money in cash?”
Frankie looked at the worried faces of her roommates. “Only the last few times, but let me explain—” Frankie began, but was cut off.
“Aw hell nah, tell me you were smarter than that, Frankie.” Sahara began to pace and went back to running her fingers through her hair.
“I know I should’ve just gotten a money order like we normally do, but I’ve been making crazy moves. Debbie was in the hood a few times so I just hit her with straight bread because it was easier than going to cop money orders. I was just trying to cut a corner to make it easier on us.”
“You mean easier on you,” Sahara told her. “Frankie, you know damn well giving Debbie cash is the same as picking a snake up by its tail and not expecting it to bite you. The whole reason we go through the trouble of getting money orders to pay her is so she can’t hit us with her Debbie shit, because you know how she do.”
All Frankie could do was nod because she knew Sahara was right. Debbie was an older chick from the projects who had a Harvard education and a dope fiend’s mentality. Her knack for creative schemes made her somewhat of a legend in the projects, but it was her powers of manipulation that made her notorious. Debbie could piss on your head and tell you it was raining and you’d believe it, that’s just how good she was. Frankie had had a bad feeling about the offer to sublease Debbie’s apartment but she’d been desperate at the time so she’d gone along with it. Staring at the eviction notice on the coffee table, she wished she had taken her chances with the shelter.
“What are we gonna do?” Porsha asked, accepting the blunt Frankie passed her.
“I don’t know what y’all are gonna do, but I know what I’m gonna do.” She got up and stormed into the bedroom. Frankie came back out holding a pistol. “I’m gonna bust a cap in that slimy bitch.”
“Frankie, you can’t just go around killing people!” Sahara told her.
“Kill her? A dead bitch can’t pay no debts, I’m just gonna shoot her in the leg,” Frankie said.
“Frankie, would you stop playing with that gun, this is serious,” Porsha said.
Frankie glared at her. “Ain’t nobody playing. Yo, I’m out here stealing from sunup to sunup and still barely making ends meet and pay my portion of the rent for this raggedy-ass apartment and Debbie wanna be stealing? Fuck all that, I ain’t no punk bitch. She gotta get dealt with.”
“I agree, but shooting her isn’t gonna help, Frankie,” Porsha tried to reason with her. “Before we jump to conclusions, let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. For all we know, she didn’t steal the money and it was an
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