Heartbreak of a Hustler's Wife: A Novel Read online

  PRAISE FOR NIKKI TURNER

  #1 Essence Bestselling author

  “Always surprising, Nikki Turner’s prose moves like a Porsche, switching gears from tender to vicious in an instant.”

  —50 CENT

  “Nikki Turner has once again taken street literature to the next level, further proving that she is indeed ‘The Queen of Hip Hop Fiction.’ ”

  —ZANE, author of Dear G-Spot

  “Another vivid slice of street life from Nikki Turner. You can’t go wrong with this page-turner!”

  —T. I. on Ghetto Superstar

  “Few writers working in the field today bring the drama quite as dramatically as Nikki Turner … [She’s] a master at weaving juicy, ’hood-rich sagas of revenge, regret, and redemption.”

  —Vibe on Forever a Hustler’s Wife

  “USDA hood certified.”

  —TERI WOODS, author of the True to the Game

  trilogy on Riding Dirty on I-95

  ALSO BY NIKKI TURNER

  NOVELS

  Natural Born Hustler

  Relapse

  Ghetto Superstar

  Black Widow

  Forever a Hustler’s Wife

  Death Before Dishonor

  (with 50 Cent)

  Riding Dirty on I-95

  The Glamorous Life

  A Project Chick

  A Hustler’s Wife

  EDITOR

  Street Chronicles: Backstage

  Street Chronicles: Christmas in the Hood

  Street Chronicles: Girls in the Game

  Street Chronicles: Tales from da Hood

  (contributing author)

  CONTRIBUTING AUTHOR

  Girls from da Hood

  Girls from da Hood 2

  The Game: Short Stories About the Life

  Heartbreak of a Hustler’s Wife is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A One World Trade Paperback Original

  Copyright © 2011 by Nikki Turner

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by One World Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  ONE WORLD is a registered trademark and the One World colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Turner, Nikki.

  Heartbreak of a hustler’s wife : a novel / Nikki Turner.

  p. cm.

  “A One World Trade Paperback original”—T. p. verso.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-52640-3

  1. Wives—Fiction. 2. Criminals—Family relationships—Fiction.

  3. Street life—Fiction. 4. African Americans—Fiction.

  5. Richmond (Va.)—Fiction. 6. Domestic fiction.

  7. Urban fiction. I. Title.

  PS3620.U7659H43 2011

  813′.6—dc22 2011001780

  www.oneworldbooks.net

  Cover design: Dreu Pennington-McNeil

  Cover photograph: © Marion Designs

  v3.1

  To everyone who asked for this book:

  without you this novel would never have

  been written! Enjoy!

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  A Special Message from Nikki to Her Readers

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 - The Good Life

  Chapter 2 - Motivation

  Chapter 3 - In the Media

  Chapter 4 - Like Father, Like Daughter

  Chapter 5 - What’s Done in the Dark … Will Come to the Light

  Chapter 6 - Back to Reality … in the Courtroom

  Chapter 7 - Dragon Balls

  Chapter 8 - Momma’s Baby; Daddy’s Maybe

  Chapter 9 - DNA

  Chapter 10 - Lunch with the Girls

  Chapter 11 - Fantasy Island

  Chapter 12 - Street Royalty

  Chapter 13 - If It Wasn’t for Bad Luck

  Chapter 14 - A Blast from the Past

  Chapter 15 - What Do We Know?

  Chapter 16 - The Exchange

  Chapter 17 - Momma Don’t Take No Mess

  Chapter 18 - Paying Respect

  Chapter 19 - On Stomping Ground

  Chapter 20 - Family Jewels

  Chapter 21 - How Dare He?

  Chapter 22 - Big Balls

  Chapter 23 - Giving Back to the Game

  Chapter 24 - The Bombshell

  Chapter 25 - The Feds

  Chapter 26 - A Girl’s Gotta Do

  Chapter 27 - Gut Feeling

  Chapter 28 - Papa Was a Rolling Stone

  Chapter 29 - Live by the Sword

  Chapter 30 - Rock Hard

  Chapter 31 - Breaking the Cycle

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A Special Message from Nikki to Her Readers

  Dear Loyal Readers:

  As always, I’d like to say thank you for your undying support of my many books and authors, which you have embraced with open minds, hearts, and arms. I feel blessed and honored to have such loyal and faithful readers. That’s why when I got email after email after email from you asking for the third segment of the Hustler’s Wife series, I didn’t hesitate. Now, I’m not going to pretend that writing this book was easy because, like most works of art, it’s never a smooth ride. I talked a little about this in the letter I wrote to you in my novel, Natural Born Hustler, but there were other bumps in the road too.

  In April of last year, while writing this book, I was injured in a car accident, resulting in headaches and back and neck pain, which severely limited the amount of time I could spend writing on the computer. My physical therapist advised me to push the book back—but how could I? Every single spring you’ve counted on me for a Nikki Turner Original, and letting you down was not an option. So, I soldiered forward slowly and steadily in pain every day. I couldn’t take pain pills because they put me to sleep, and with my editor on my back and a follow-up book to write, who had time for sleep? Besides, my grandmother used to tell me that there would be plenty of time to sleep once I’m dead and gone … and my heartbeat and aching muscles told me that I was neither dead nor gone. Thank GOD!

  But the most dreadful part was when the doctor delivered the heart-wrenching news that due to my sciatic nerve causing the charley horse–like pains in my legs, I should limit myself to wearing only flat shoes. To a female fashionista with a fetish for high-end high heels that news was equivalent to a death sentence, but I’m keeping the hope alive …

  But those weren’t the only impediments I faced: I had a story line that needed to be orchestrated. The characters all wanted their voices to be heard, and it was up to me to weave a great story for them. I wanted an amazing first chapter, which took me three months to write, only for my editor to move it to another part of the book. But I took every little detail about this story seriously because I felt like it was an important turning point, not only in my career as a writer, but for Yarni and Des as characters. They’ve been through so much more than most relationships could ever hope to survive, and the question for me was: can their love weather this latest storm or is this it for them?

  If you enjoy reading this book as much I enjoyed telling the story, then it will be worth the excruciating pain that I experienced behind the scenes. Thank you again from the bottom of my heart and the depths of my soul for your love and support.

  Much love
,

  Nikki

  Prologue

  “Des, you can’t play with God anymore. You just can’t.” Yarni was adamant.

  “This has nothing to do with God. I need to find out who tried to kill me.”

  “Why isn’t it enough that whoever tried wasn’t successful? That you are still alive? That you are still able to take your daughter and wife in your arms? It was God who saved your life. It’s because of His Grace and mercy that you are not lying in the morgue and that I’m not making funeral arrangements for you.”

  “That may all be well and true, but what am I supposed to do now? Let it go? I’m not cut from that kind of cloth, Yarni, and you know that. That’s not who I am, and you know that’s not the person that you married.”

  “I know that, Des, but are you going to be fifty years old and still popping caps in a nigga’s butt?” Seeing that Des wasn’t changing his mind, she tried a different line. “But what about evolving?”

  “I’ve evolved. I’m not selling dope.”

  “No more, you mean. But you’re collecting money from it. I just want you to do one or the other.”

  “What do you mean one or the other?”

  Yarni looked him in the eyes “The streets or the pulpit. And preferably anything but the streets. I don’t want you to be a hypocrite.” She knew her words would hurt him, but hell, right at that moment, the truth was something Des needed to hear.

  “Look, I hear you, baby. I really do. But right now, until I figure out who tried to kill me, I guess I’m choosing the streets.”

  The Good Life

  Yarni mingled with the congregation of the Good Life Ministry, which was one of her many obligations as first lady of the church. As she looked around at the lavish décor, her heart started to melt. This church was her husband’s vision, and if she hadn’t known any better, it was something that God had bestowed upon Des.

  The transformation from super grocery store to megachurch was spectacular. Everything about the place was nothing less than first class and Des had spared no expense bringing his vision to life. The stained glass windows were imported from Europe, while the hand-crafted padded pews were adorned with intricately carved arms and backrests. There were at least twenty 80-inch plasma television monitors affixed to the walls throughout the sanctuary to assure everyone the experience of virtual front-row seating. The pulpit was a huge stage fit for a Grammy Award–winning artist. To the lower right of the pulpit is where the church musicians assembled. Yarni was proud of what her husband had built, and she was equally ashamed of the blood money that funded it.

  For most of his life, her husband, Des, had been a stone-cold hustler, so it didn’t amaze Yarni when, three and a half years ago, he came up with the idea to create the Good Life Ministry as a means to make and launder money. He had realized that the dope game was becoming a game for suckers. Des was sure he had it all figured out: churches didn’t have to pay taxes and there was no way to monitor how much money they took in. People were lost and confused and needed answers about why things in the world and their communities were as messed up as they were. Once Des witnessed an ordained, Bible-toting pastor pimp the pulpit at his nephew’s funeral, he was convinced that the church game wasn’t difficult. All one needed was a fresh pair of gators, a few scriptures under their belt and a hell of a talk game. Well, Des had two of the three on lockdown, and learning the Bible inside and out didn’t take him long at all.

  In the beginning, Yarni didn’t approve and was furious about Des making a mockery of people’s faith, but she eventually realized her opinion wasn’t going to change his mind. So she repented every day for her husband’s sins and made Des promise to do good by the church if he insisted on going through with his unholy plan. As always, he exceeded her expectations. He took the devil’s money and shared it with God’s people, becoming a blessing to all those in need. He paid bills for those who had gotten behind, bought air conditioners for the elderly in the summer, school supplies for the kids, made Thanksgiving and Christmas jump off for the less fortunate, sponsored summer trips for the kids, donated trucks of food and offered 24-hour child care for working mothers. On top of all that, he even built housing for the homeless. His example of giving was outstanding, and his rapidly growing congregation respected and loved him for his contributions to the underdog. He made the Good Life Ministry a necessity, a movement, where they took care of their own and the neighborhood.

  The ex-junkies and drug dealers could relate to him. They understood, adored and cheered him on. They weren’t fooled into believing he was a reborn saint nor did he ever try to swindle them into thinking that. He had simply shared his past, his testimony, with the people. Just in case anybody tried to dig up unturned dirt on him, he’d practically handed them the shovel. The fewer secrets a man has … the less likely a chance of those secrets being revealed.

  Des was the first to admit he wasn’t an angel who had fallen down from Heaven. But what made him stand out from other preachers was that he was giving at a time when everyone else seemed to be taking. That made him a savior in his sheep’s eyes.

  A third of the congregation was made up of older members. The elderly people had joined Des’s church because it reminded them of the old days when a neighborhood church actually stood for something. Most new churches seemed to start out in the hood, but as soon as the going got good, they started a building fund to move the church as far away as they could. Des had no intentions of uprooting his ministry. The hood was where it was at.

  The laid-back, come-as-you-are atmosphere of the largest ministry south of the James River welcomed all races, religions and lifestyles. The message was inclusiveness, and the practice was giving. The leaders and congregation prayed for God to bless them so abundantly that they’d be a blessing to someone else. From housewife to prostitute to professional—all were welcome with open arms, and many accepted the invitation to praise life … the Good Life.

  “That dress you’re wearing is off the chain.” Yarni turned to find out where the compliment was coming from and spied a smiling twenty-something-year-old girl. She was one of the newer members. “I hope I’m not being too intrusive by asking where you got that bad mam-ma-jama.”

  Yarni thought the girl was attractive in a stripper sort of way with her high heels and tight-fitting skirt. She recalled having spoken to her once or twice before, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember the girl’s name. Rebecca? Rosetta? Rhonda? Rosalyn? Robin? She tried to recollect but kept coming up empty.

  The girl stood out because every single time Yarni saw her at the church, she was attached to the arm of a different older man. However, on this particular day, the guy she was playing arm candy to was a little younger than the others had been. There was one thing Yarni could give props to when it came to the young woman’s suitors: each and every one of them was always as clean as a first-rate operating room. The smug-looking fella she was with this Sunday wore a dark, nicely cut suit, cashmere overcoat and a black fedora angled low over his eyes.

  “Thank you very much,” Yarni said graciously. “It wouldn’t be a bother at all. Actually, a good friend of mine from New York made it. She also designed the one Desi is wearing.”

  The girl’s eyes shot to Yarni’s daughter, little Desi, who as if on cue with the cutest snaggle-toothed smile gave a half twirl, side to side, and a curtsey to better model the outfit.

  “Oh she’s so adorable and such a little lady,” the young lady cooed.

  “Thank you,” Desi said. The child beamed, beating her mother to the punch before Yarni could accept the compliment on her behalf.

  Yarni smiled at Desi and then at the nameless promiscuously dressed hootchie and said, “The next time we run into each other, I’ll try to have the designer’s number for you. And hopefully that’ll be next Sunday. You will be back to fellowship with us, won’t you?”

  “By all means,” the young lady assured her.

  “For now, though, I’m sure Des has a right-on-time
word to give this Sunday. So welcome and thank you and your guest for coming. We’re so happy to have you here.”

  The nameless hootchie thanked Yarni and then worked her four-inch heels across the glass-polished floor of the open foyer to take her seat with the new fella. Yarni continued to share small talk and pleasantries with a few other church members until she saw the musicians taking their places. That was her cue to take her designated seat on the fifth row behind the deacons and deaconess.

  As soon as she was seated, the choir began to take their places around the church in preparation for a grand entrance. The mass choir had been putting it down since Des formed the Good Life Ministry. Everyone expected them to set the atmosphere with their anointed gift to sing praises unto the Lord. In fact, a lot of the devoted congregation mostly came to hear them perform.

  When the musicians cued up, all movement and talking ceased, and the choir started to enter. They wore beautiful green and gold robes with the letters GLM embossed along the left side.

  Yarni thought about the conversation she and Des had had that morning.

  “Just remember, Des, you are playing a dangerous game, not just with the people of the church, but with God. And know, God can be your best friend or your worst enemy!”

  Yarni could see in Des’s face that her words tore at him like daggers. For a single instant she thought they just might be the words to give him the change of heart she so much desired for him to have. But her hope was short-lived when Des replied, “All your prayers are accepted and appreciated. So pray for me.”