Free Money-Makin' Mamas by Smooth Silk

and touched the knob. “Look, do whatever you wish. Just know that this one won’t be on me. I don’t want to be included in the plans, nor do I want to know when or where the shit will take place.”
    â€œI wouldn’t ask you to take care of this for me, but what I would like to know is if you’re okay with me doing it? I don’t want you to hold any grudges against me or be upset behind my actions. All I want you to do is understand why I have to do this. Chyna is my child, Honey, and I feel as though I failed her. This is how I must make this right. Please support me on this and allow me to make some kind of peace with it.”
    Honey released a deep sigh and stood for a few more minutes. He turned around then nodded. “Like I said, roll with it and do what you must. You have my full support. Don’t you ever think that I don’t understand what you and them girls went through. I witnessed some of it. Remember?”
    I smiled because that’s all the confirmation I needed. Honey walked out the door, and the following week, Ray was shot dead in his home. Shot in the face, five motherfucking times. No one knew who had done it. I figured that everyone would point their fingers at me, but I was at home cooking dinner for my lovely daughters. They could vouch for me, and I could vouch for them, especially Chyna who handled her business in a major way. I was very proud of her for ridding us of our number one enemy. And when I say that this shit felt good, I mean it. Ray’s death felt good.
    On the day of his funeral, I didn’t shed one tear. I leaned over his casket, and while many people thought I had given him a kiss, what I did was gather a gob of spit in my mouth and spat it in his face. I then sat on a pew, thinking about all that nigga had done to me. He almost destroyed me, but the truth is, people don’t change into who they are destined to be overnight. Experience is the best teacher, and whatever those experiences are, they mold and shape us “as is.”
    Now, I was proud to be Taffy Douglas. I didn’t give two fucks about what people thought of me, not after what I’d been through, hell no. It might have taken awhile for me to break the grip that nigga had on me, but his grip was now gone. I couldn’t be mad at the vital lessons our fucked-up relationship had taught me; after all, it enabled me to assist in preparing a smoother life for my girls. They’d have to go through some of the bullshit out here too, but I endured years of pain with a no-good nigga so they wouldn’t have to. I was able to share, in great detail, what that shit felt like. I broke down the rules for them, just so they wouldn’t make the same mistakes. Somebody once said, “When you know better, you do better.” And if you don’t know, yo’ ass better learn fast. I hipped my girls to the game. Showed them how to make money from grimy, horny, weak niggas who would give up their life savings, just to gaze at a piece of ass or watch a woman play with her pussy. The fools couldn’t even touch them, but as long as the pussy looked good and asses clapped loudly, niggas were willing to pay.
    There was no secret that I had developed disdain in my heart for fathers who didn’t take care of their kids, for cowards who lied to women and disrespected them, and for fools who paid money to watch ass. At the end of the day, their money was good, and it helped us stay on top for quite some time. But being on top in the drug game, and being without Ray, wasn’t the end of my story. Actually, it was just the beginning . . .

Part Two
    The Beginning

Chapter Seven
    Taffy
    â€œDon’t know no love, don’t show no love,” was what I taught my three girls Chyna, Karrine, and Simone. The only love we had was for each other. Our bond as mother and daughters was unbreakable.
    I’d been schooling my girls on this thing called life since the day I