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arched, like he was one of those Ugandan children soldiers.
    â€œNow you see how bad this Crip thing is, Venita?” I shook my head in distaste.
    Venita ignored me. “Boys, I’m your grandmother.”
    â€œNo, you ain’t. My grandmother in Brazil.”
    â€œMy grandma live in Arleta.”
    â€œMy grandma live in Southgate.”
    â€œWell, I’m all y’all daddy’s mama. Y’all may have different mamas, but y’all all got the same daddy. He my son. Y’all all look just like that boy.”
    â€œI thought his old lady was in jail,” Koran scoffed.
    â€œI’m his old lady, and I’m here. Do I look that old to you?”
    â€œYeah,” Tehran piped up. “You real old.”
    I cringed. I remembered how vain Venita used to be, and with her new Rihanna-red weave and super long fake acrylic nails, she still thought, at fifty-one, she was quite a diva, even if a ghettofabulous one. Venita’s mouth crumpled and I could tell she was hurt.
    â€œHey, Tehran.” I stepped in to soften his childish, outspoken blow. “You need to take charm lessons from your daddy. Now take Mayhem. He was a charmer, even when he was a little boy.”
    â€œYou got that right. He sho was,” Venita said, eyes glazing over with her happy memories of my brother’s childhood before she went to prison.
    We stepped inside the living room. The house boasted light rosewood floors. A new, expensive-looking French provincial sofa and loveseat sat in the corner. The boys sat down. For all their bravado, the boys seemed at ease with Venita. I guess game recognizes game.
    â€œSo you really is our daddy mama?” Milan asked, kind of with curiosity, kind of in awe. Apparently, Mayhem had told them about Venita and how her street reputation preceded her. If there was such a thing as being a ghetto celebrity, well, then Venita had been that back in the day. Whipping police’s assess, shooting, riding on drive-bys with the men, the whole bit.
    â€œYeah. I sure am. What else you wanna know?”
    â€œI wanna know was my daddy a Crip when he was my age?”
    â€œSure was.”
    â€œWell, why don’t he want us to be one? Talkin’ ’bout he wants us to go to college and work on Wall Street. Talkin’ ’bout how that’s really gangsta.”
    I was tickled myself at that. Mayhem may have been a criminal, but he was telling his boys the truth about that. More companies, countries, and Savings and Loans had been derailed by white collar crime than street crime could ever touch.
    However, Venita ignored their questions. “Come on in and eat some grits and toast. Your daddy loved grits when he was a boy.”
    â€œVenita, you’re gonna hafta get out of dodge–soon!” I urged. “Y’all can do the grandma-grandson thang once you get settled.”
    â€œOkay, okay, but they got to eat something. We’ll be out of L.A. by two this afternoon. There’s a Greyhound I can take.”
    â€œI don’t care where you go but make sure it’s not Atlanta or a big city where they can be traced. Change your phone number, and call me from a phone card when you get wherever you’re going.”
    I said my good-byes and awkwardly hugged my nephews. As I turned to leave, Venita reached up and hugged me.
    â€œThanks, Z. I know this is a lot... .”
    Reluctantly, I hugged her back. I guess we had a new bond. We were both getting ready to descend into hell together.
    I didn’t breathe easily until I left the boys in Venita’s care. I felt like she was strong in a way that I’d never be strong. Like the fact she’d had babies and survived being separated from them, yet still could have hope at a second chance at life.
    I still wouldn’t feel right until I got word they were safe out of the state. Somewhere. Anywhere. I didn’t even care. Anywhere but here.

Chapter Nine
    After I left