"Baby you and I messed up," Elliot said. "You chose a side before you were guarantee anything."
"I wasn't going to let him kill you," Qadira said. Then he could kill her also. "Why was he going to kill you?"
"Some people hate on you," Elliot said, "when a white person make it out the game without scar from a bullet or knife wound."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I'm white, and he's black," Elliot said, sliding his pants on. "Jagged always was riding me about how I can walk away because whites are more privileges in the drug game."
"I'm just a poor white trying to make it."
Qadira sat up straight on the bed. The meal or the room didn't look inferior to her. He was just a few years older than her. She desired to get out the neighbor. What ghetto did he come from?
He phoned an outside number, reporting the incident. A cranky voice spoke with hurry telling him to get to the safe house. He hung up the receiver, grabbed a rogue-colored sweater and khaki trousers. Qadira grabbed her panties. Jagged got up swinging popping Qadira in the mouth and giving Elliot a beat down.
"Where's my gun, sister?" Jagged asked.
Qadira searched the carpet for the gun then retrieved it. "Get out of here, or I'll shoot you."
"Give a brother a break," Jagged said. "We supposed to be working together."
"Because I'm black," Qadira fired the gun. Jagged bent to cover himself. Qadira laughed as she dripped heavy from her legs. "I'm in charge."
"You're going to learn," Jagged said. "The whites are going to use you up and throw you in the trash.
"You'll do the same," Qadira said. "It's doesn't matter the color, but I know one thing we're worse to our own, colored."
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