Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 1

Chanel rolled her eyes. She knew that voice. It was the voice of a sober Butch.

She ran to the kitchen cupboard, and sure enough, all the liquor from the party was gone, which meant that Bacardi needed to get home soon or else. Chanel began washing the dishes, and within minutes her father appeared.

“What the fuck I tell you!” Chanel stared at Butch—a long look. He looked terrible, worse than his normal wear and tear. His body was a bony frame that appeared malnourished. His narrow face was gaunt, his eyes bulged, and his naturally red skin tone had a yellow tint to it. His jeans held on for dear life by a thick leather belt that could have been wrapped around his tiny waist twice. He was irate because his body was going through withdrawals. It usually took a full day before Butch needed a drink. Now, just under ten hours had passed, and his body was going through the signs of detox.

“Clean up this mess, Chanel. Your mother should be home soon!” His shifty eyes darted back and forth at the almost spotless apartment.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“What’s that shit over there?” Butch pointed toward the folded laundry, but had to lower his arm because it was shaking uncontrollably. In fact, his whole body had the shakes, and that infuriated him. He was embarrassed that he couldn’t control his movement. He continued with, “You need to put all that shit away!”

“And you need to stop drinking before you die!”

Butch was still the man of the house, and nobody spoke disrespectfully to him. He went after Chanel quickly. She dropped the glass she was washing and took flight. Her father’s strong, bony fingers stretched out and grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her toward him.

“Oooowwww,” she screamed and tried to wiggle free.

His free hand punched her head and face several times until her lips split open and blood gushed out. He then tossed her up against the wall like a ragdoll. She felt a sharp pain in her ribs. He hovered over her like he was about to go in for the finisher.

“Daddy, no!” She cowered in the corner covering her vital lady parts. “Please! I’m sorry! I just love you . . .”

Butch was about to deliver more harsh blows, but truthfully he was already winded. He wasn’t steady on his feet like he used to be, and the shakes weren’t helping the matter. When Butch tossed Chanel up against the wall, he nearly came tumbling down behind her. He knew he needed to stop drinking, but the alcohol had a hold over him. He had an addictive gene, and if he had to choose life, his wife and kids, or the booze, sadly his addiction would win.

“Now stop fucking around and do what I say.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Butch began walking back to his bedroom but suddenly stopped. “Hey, you got five dollars?”

Chanel just shook her head and continued to weep quietly.

Butch snorted. “Just like I thought. Good for nothing!”

***

Chanel was in her bedroom when she heard the front door open and slam shut. Immediately she heard the

ruckus. She heard her mother’s fearsome voice and Charlie’s complaints. They were ranting about the NYPD and the mistreatment they’d endured earlier.

“I fuckin’ hate cops!” shouted Charlie.

“I swear, all them muthafuckas can go to hell!” Bacardi added.

She then heard Claire’s voice. The entire gang was back home. God had dropped them off and left. It was too hot at their place. There were cops everywhere. They were maintaining a strong presence at the projects, and they planned on harassing folks until whoever was responsible for killing a cop was brought to justice. The Brown girls were going to be enemy number-one.

Chanel sighed and walked out of her bedroom to sadly greet them, looking like an obedient dog. She wanted to be praised and thanked for her efforts in cleaning up the outrageous mess that was left behind. It took a lot of hard work and elbow grease, but Chanel had the apartment looking spectacular—almost brand new. Most importantly, she wanted Bacardi to see what Butch had done to her face. But of course, she received the exact opposite. They ignored her and her bruised face and busted lip. It was like she wasn’t even standing in the room.

“I need a fuckin’ shower,” said Bacardi as she placed a couple bottles of hard liquor on the counter.

“Me first,” Claire said.

“I need a fuckin’ drink,” Charlie chimed.

They didn’t even look at Chanel. In fact, Charlie removed her coat and just tossed it aside, and the other two started to remove their clothing and leave things scattered everywhere in the living room, disrupting the tidiness of the place.

“We need to talk about this shit before we do anything,” Bacardi said.

“About what? I’m tired, Bacardi. I just want to shower and get some sleep,” Charlie said.