"Baby, I swear I don't trust these niggahs," she tried to tell her hardheaded man, who waved her off cockily."Ma, don't worry. been doin' this too long to let these nigguhs catch me slippin'," he answered, as he sat on the couch counting money on the coffee table. She knew her man well enough to know when his mind was made up. It was final. Still, her gut screamed that something was wrong. After showering, she got out wet because she liked to air dry. She went into the living room and struck a pose."You like what"He glanced up and smiled. Truly, she was beautiful with coke bottle curves, but he had to stay focused."Is that what's for dinner?" he joked."It is if you waiting for me to cook," she answered smartly because she hated to cook. Before he could reply, someone knocked on the door. He stood to answer."Give me five, all right?"Reluctantly, she nodded, her stomach still protesting as she headed for the back of the apartment. She heard two male voices enter the apartment, voices she would never forget. Voices that would chase her in her dreams. Just as she put on her panties, she heard the series of shots that her stomach had been warning her about. Fear made her want to scream, to run up front, to do something, but her survival instincts kicked in. Everything in her acknowledged that her man was dead. But then she heard, "Yo, I swear I heard this niggah talkin' to somebody before he opened the door." The frightened womanfroze when she heard the approaching footsteps.

* *

The second assassin stepped over the man's twitching body. He paused, looking down through his cold black eyes, sucking in the man's soul. Satisfaction rose in his gut as he headed down the hallway. He checked the bathroom in the hall before entering the master bedroom. He paused in the doorway. Human presence didn't always have to be seen to be felt. It was like electricity that weighted the air. He thought he felt that weight and stepped into the room, gun held high, ready for action. Quickly, he opened the closet door and thrust his gun inside, moving clothes aside with the barrel. He looked around the room, but then glanced at the bed. Just as he started to bend over to look under it, killer number one came to the door."Nigguh, what the fuck is you doing? Let's go!" "Man, I'm telling you the nigguh was talking—" "Fuck that. We out! I know someone heard all them shots!" Reluctantly, killer number two left out behind his partner.

* * *

Hiding under the bed felt like lying in a coffin, especially when she saw the pair of Timbs enter the room. She was already holding her breath. But when he came in, she stopped breathing and watched the boots turn toward the closet. Then she watched as they turned toward the bed. She could've reached out and touched them. They were that close. She could feel him looking at the bed, and a serene calm cam eIn her mind she was prepared to die. So she slowly, quietly, let out her breath, anticipating it to be her last, when suddenly killer number one came in. The distraught female still didn't believe she'd survive until she heard both sets of footsteps recede and the front door close. She waited a few more moments and then slid from under the bed, trembling with every step of her bare feet as she headed up the hallway. The sight of her man lying in a pool of his own blood zapped her of strength. She almost passed out. Her knees got so weak she held onto the wall for support, sobbing lightly as she slowly crossed the room and stood over him. One of his eyes was half-open but looked like a lifeless marble. His blood and brains were spread in an uneven pool. She knelt beside him. If she had believed in God she would've prayed, but she had been through too much in her life to believe in anything but her own will. The money and coke lay on the table untouched. It hadn't been a robbery. This was a message, and she understood it loud and clear. It was a message she wouldn't forget. She closed his one open eye, kissed his lips, and sang a song in Creole that only he'd understand.