Liar's Game - By Eric Jerome Dickey Page 0,116

Vince. Wished I could get him a message, tell him my last words. It was strange that that desire came when the Grim Reaper had pried open my car door.

Gerri raised her right arm, brought her gun up, pointed the pistol right between his pretty brown thighs. She spoke as calm as a summer breeze: “Make my day, and it’ll be hasta la adios.”

“Damn.” He cha-cha’d a step backward. “My bag, my bag.”

Gerri snapped, “Idiot! It’s bad, not bag. Bad, as in wrong, as in mistake, as in error, like the one you just made.”

There were two pops and a scream. Quick pops from a small and cute black gun that rang as the bullets flew by my head, whizzed though my open window. The pops had come from Gerri’s gun. The scream came from me as I grabbed and covered her ears. The truck’s window exploded. The boys cursed, yelled, dove to the concrete. Gerri ran the red light, zoomed to the freeway entrance, passed two cars before the end of the on-ramp.

My heart was a mile in front of us, racing at its own pace, about to explode. As my ears cleared, I heard Gerri laughing. I was about to go off on her. Until I saw her tears.

“I’m having a messed-up week,” she said, then wiped her eyes.

Gerri had an anger, a darkness that made me forget about all the drama I’d gone through in the last hour. Her words were molten lava. “Jefferson’s stressing me. I’m hiding up under a ton of makeup at least twice a week, messing up my damn skin. I’m in love with an ex-husband I can’t stand. Kids won’t stop begging. And now fools on the streets too young to pop a nut are treating me like I ain’t nothing.”

“You didn’t have to shoot at them.”

“Should’ve shot their damn nuts off.”

“You’re crazy.”

“They tried to jack me and I’m crazy? They had a gun. For all you know, they would’ve had us somewhere butt naked—”

“They didn’t care about us.”

“Duh, hello. That was obvious. What clued you in?”

“You know what I mean. They wanted the car.”

“They didn’t want the car, they wanted my car. I make my living driving this car. I drive my kids to school in this car.”

“Your insurance would’ve paid you for another one.”

“No damn insurance.”

I said, “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No insurance?”

“Too many speeding tickets. Nobody’ll insure me without wanting to charge me an arm and a leg. And having a kid in my house old enough to drive ain’t no help. Even the people who advertise that they’ll insure anybody hung up on me.” Gerri wiped her eyes and let loose a bitter smile. “Always something. Always, always, always.”

“Stop sounding like a damn victim.”

“Get a grip,” she snapped, damn near exploded. “Dana, I’ve watched your self-defeating behavior for months. You can have anything you want, if you’d just stop getting in your own way. You’re your own worst enemy. You’re carrying luggage and trying to swim at the same time. That’s what your problem is.”

She’d insulted me without a thought. Her wide eyes said that she was terrified and trying to play it cool.

I said, “And your problem is that you’re attached to material things.”

“Don’t playa hate.”

“I was the closest to them, so they could’ve killed me. Hell, for all I know, you could’ve shot me in my head a minute ago.”

Gerri said, “And if you want to know the truth, all that crap you say about Vince hurts me, ’cause I know men are probably saying the same thing about me. You probably feel the same way about me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hell, if you ain’t noticed, I’m a single parent. With two kids. I wish I could count the number of men who disqualify me because of that, and because I was married to Melvin. That pisses me off every time. You think that just because I have a failed marriage, because I’ve reproduced effectively, you think that means I don’t deserve to be loved anymore?”

I had no answer to that.

Gerri said, “Niggas like you make me sick.”

“I’m not a nigga.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

I went off on her ass. “Since we’re talking about niggas, as you say, you’re the worst one I know. Jefferson fucks you over, and now you’re going to make Butter get an abortion. What kind of mess is that? Hell, you have a daughter. What if somebody like you did the same thing to her?”

“Shut up, Dana.”

“I hope you rot in hell. You’ll

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