Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 1

Charlie snatched the Echo Dot and laptop from the table and gave them away to Claire. Claire had no problems taking them. It was more gifts for her, and more was great. No one else found her behavior wrong.

“That’s one jealous-hearted, miserable child I done gave birth to,” Bacardi commented as if Chanel wasn’t standing in front of her. “She think her shit don’t stink walkin’ ’round here like she the Queen of Sheba or some shit. Charlie, you shoulda smashed her fuckin’ teeth down her throat and made her eat that fuckin’ laptop!”

“That’s y’all fault. You and Butch spoiled her li’l ugly ass.” Charlie gave a delusional explanation, which everyone accepted.

Chanel quietly retreated to her bedroom, closed the door, and cried her eyes out. It was turning out to be one of the worst Christmases ever. Her life was hard because of her family, but Chanel saw herself as a survivor. She was the black Cinderella in a family that hated her. She wondered where her Prince Charming was. Where was that tall, dark, and handsome man to sweep her off her feet and take her away from her hell? She wanted a man who could protect—provide her security from anything. She had the most precious thing a woman could give a man, something her sisters could no longer give—her virginity.

“Fuck that bitch!” Charlie said about her own sister.

It was the standard behavior with the family. Chanel got the crumbs while everyone else feasted on a fine meal.

Happy with their gifts, the rest of the family enjoyed a good meal that Bacardi put together, then God sparked up a joint and they all smoked some high grade weed and drank hard liquor. The family was happy and they couldn’t wait to show off their gifts—wait until the neighbors see all this new shit.

Charlie boasted her Christmas gifts the best, taking off her new fur coat and showing off a diamond necklace and a gold Rolex watch. Bacardi and Claire were floored—in complete awe at the gleaming jewelry she had on. Bacardi had never been so proud. She beamed. Her daughter had gotten with the right nigga. Bacardi loved God like he was her own son.

Unbeknownst to everyone, the perpetrators of the gruesome home invasion and double homicide in Jamaica Estates of Liasha and Malik Johnson were Godfrey “God” Williams, Frederick “Fingers” Avery, and Charlie Brown.

Chapter Two

The temperature outside dropped to a freezing 19 degrees, making it the coldest day of the month so far. The nasty chill outside matched the chill Chanel felt in her heart that early morning. She woke up with an attitude. Everyone had really nice Christmas presents except for her, and no one saw anything wrong with it.

Chanel was the only one awake in the apartment. Claire was still sound asleep in the twin bed opposite Chanel’s, Butch was passed out on the living room couch with a half-empty liquor bottle still clutched in his hand, her mother was asleep in her bedroom, and Charlie and God were passed out in Charlie’s bedroom. Her folks didn’t have a problem with a nigga laid up with a teenager.

Chanel got out of her bed, donned a long robe and some slippers, and left her bedroom for the kitchen. The entire apartment was left a wreck. The trashcan was overflowing with garbage, the living room was cluttered with junk and remnants of drug paraphernalia, and the sink was piled with dishes. No one had attempted to clean up anything. Chanel was adamant that she wasn’t going to clean up shit. She looked at the hurricane of untidiness and sighed heavily. Her family was the worst.

The knocking at the door made her pivot and walk to the foyer. Chanel looked through the peephole and saw her friend, Landy, standing in the hallway.

“Girl, I know you see me standing out here and shit. Hurry and open da’ door,” Landy hollered.

Chanel gladly opened the front door and let Landy inside.

“Hey bitch, what’s good wit’ you?” Landy spoke in her urban tone.

“I just got up,” said Chanel.

Landy was a young white girl one would call a wigga. She dressed and spoke more urban than Chanel. Landy’s long, brown hair was styled in cornrows under the dark blue Yankees fitted skewed atop her head. She had tattoos and several piercings, including a nose ring. Dressed in a white sweatshirt, a gold cross around her neck, navy basketball shorts with leggings underneath, and a new pair of Air Jordans, Landy bopped inside the Browns’ home.

“So, you the only one up, huh?” Landy said, eyeing Chanel’s drunk pops on the couch.

“Yup! They won’t be up no time soon.”

“Lazy fucks.”

“But them Jordans are nice. I really like those joints.”

“Thanks—one of my Christmas gifts from my bitch-ass father. At least he did somethin’ right, know what I’m sayin?” said Landy. “And what you get fo’ Christmas?”

Chanel shook her head and frowned.

“Yo, they ain’t get you shit, Chanel?” Landy said.

“Not one thing. But everyone else got some nice shit.”

Landy sighed. “Yo, that’s fucked up.”

“Tell me about it.”

Landy hated the Browns for the way they treated Chanel. Chanel was cool and innocent, and she was a good friend. There were plenty of times Landy wanted to go off on the Brown family for fucking with Chanel. She could and would fight anyone in a heartbeat. But out of respect for Chanel, Landy kept the peace with Chanel’s sisters and the parents.