Life After Wifey

Kiki Swinson is the nationally bestselling author of over forty novels and short stories. Swinson’s works feature resilient women making tough—and sometimes not quite legal—decisions to survive. Her novels, inspired by her experiences and a five?year stint in federal prison, have sold over 2.4 million copies. She completed her first novel while incarcerated and her second novel, Wifey, went on to become a #1 Essence bestseller and the first installment in one of today’s most popular urban series. A native of Portsmouth, Virginia—and a former hustler’s wife—Swinson resides in Virginia Beach, Virginia. Visit her online at KikiMedia.net. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Life After Wifey By KIKI SWINSON DAFINA BOOKS Copyright © 2007 Kiki SwinsonAll right reserved. ISBN: 978-0-7582-2903-8 Chapter One Choosing Sides Nikki Speaks From the time I jumped into my car and left Syncere's house until the time I pulled in front of Kira's apartment building, I wrecked the hell out of my brain trying to rationalize and make sense of the text message I had just read on Syncere's T-Mobile. The message was clear but I could not bring myself to believe that my man had something to do with Mark's murder, not to mention the fact that Kira had gotten caught up in the crossfire and lost her baby. I didn't want to sound stupid or nave, but there had to be an explanation behind this whole thing. I needed to find out what it was and how involved Syncere was before Kira blew the whistle on him because whether she realized it or not, I needed my man. So, I was not letting him go that easy. Immediately after I got out of my car I stood there on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. After I exhaled, I put one foot forward and proceeded toward Kira's apartment to confront the inevitable. Knowing she was going to bite my head off the moment I jumped to Syncere's defense was something I had prepared myself for. As I made my way down the entryway to her building, this fine-ass, older-looking Hispanic guy wearing a dark blue painter's cap and overalls came rushing toward me, so I didn't hesitate to move out of his way. But, what was really odd about him was when I tried to make eye contact and say 'hello' he totally brushed me off and looked the other way. Being the chick I am, I threw my hand up at him and said, "Well, fuck you too! You ol' rude muthafucka!" I kept it moving. Patting my right thigh, with my hand, to a rhythmic beat as I walked up the last step to Kira's floor, I let out a long sigh and proceeded toward Kira's front door. Upon my arrival, I noticed that her door was slightly ajar so I reached over and pushed it open. "Girl, did you know that your door was open?" I yelled as I walked into the apartment. I didn't get an answer, so I closed the front door behind me and proceeded down the hallway toward her bedroom. When I entered into her room and saw that she was nowhere in sight, I immediately called her name again and I turned to walk toward the master bathroom. "Kira, where you at?" I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. "Oh, my God," I screamed at the top of my lungs the second my mind registered the gruesome sight of Kira's body slumped over the edge of the bathtub, while her head lay in a pool of her own blood. I couldn't see her face because of the way her body was positioned. I rushed over to her side, got down on my knees and crawled over next to her. My heart was racing at the speed of light and my emotions were spiraling out of control as I grabbed her body and pulled her toward me. "Kira, please wake up!" I begged her and began to cry hysterically. She didn't move so, I started shaking her frantically. "Kira, please wake up!" I screamed once again. "Don't die on me like this," I pleaded. Out of nowhere, her eyes fluttered and slowly opened. Overwhelmed by her sudden reaction, my heart skipped a beat and I pulled her body even closer. "Oh my God, thank you," I said in a joyful manner and cradled her head in my lap. "I almost thought I lost you," I told her and wiped the tears away from my eyes. Meanwhile, Kira struggled a bit to swallow the blood in her throat and then she tried to speak. I immediately leaned forward and positioned my ear about two inches away from her mouth so I could hear what it was she had to say. When she finally moved her lips, the few words she uttered were just above a whisper and barely audible. I was about to ask her to repeat herself and she started choking. I panicked. "Ahh shit! Don't do this to me. Take a deep breath," I instructed her as I began to massage her chest. Then it suddenly hit me that I needed to call an ambulance. I retrieved my cellular phone from the holster on my right side and dialed 911. "911, what's your emergency?" "My cousin's been shot," I answered with urgency. "What's your cousin's name?" "Her name is Kira Walters." "And what is your name?" "My name is Nicole Simpson." "Okay Nicole, I need for you to stay calm. Can you tell me if Kira is conscious?" "Yes, she's conscious. I've got her lying in my arms." "Okay, tell me exactly where Kira's been shot." "In the left side of her head, right above her temple." "Is that the only place she's been shot?" "Yes ma'am." "Nicole, I'm gonna need you to give me the address to where you are located. In the meantime, I'm gonna need you to remain calm and grab something like a sheet or a towel and press it against Kira's head to stop some of the bleeding. Has she lost a lot of blood?" "Yes, she has," I assured the woman. Shortly thereafter I gave her the address. The operator stayed on the phone with me until the police and the paramedics arrived. Covered from the waist down in Kira's blood, I was ushered out of the bathroom and into the kitchen by this short, white, female police officer who had a ton of questions for me. I only answered the questions I knew the answers to. Once our little session was over, another detective-this time a white male-came in and asked me almost the exact same questions as the female officer did. I found myself repeating everything over again. My back was turned when the paramedics took Kira out on the stretcher. By the time I realized that she had been taken away, she was already in the ambulance, headed to the nearest emergency room. The white, male detective informed me where they were taking her so I immediately called my family, told them Kira had gotten shot and that they needed to meet me at Bayside Memorial. After they assured me they were on their way, I hung up with them. On my way out, I noticed at least a dozen detectives and forensics investigators combing every inch of the apartment to collect evidence so there was no doubt in my mind that they were going to find her killer. I got to the hospital in no time at all and to my surprise my mother, my father and my grandmother arrived shortly afterward. We all sat and waited patiently for one of the doctors performing the emergency surgery to come out and give us an update on Kira's condition. In the meantime, my grandmother had a few questions for me to answer. "Nikki, are you sure Kira was conscious when she left with the paramedics?" she asked as if she was making a desperate attempt to find the answer in my eyes. "Yes, she was," I replied in a reassuring manner. "She even tried to say something, but I didn't understand her. When I asked her to say it again she started choking and that's when I called the paramedics." "Well, how was she breathing when they took her out of the house?" "I don't know, Grandma. I was in the kitchen when they carried her out," I told her and then I put my head down in despair. Knowing that my cousin was in surgery fighting for her life and I couldn't do anything to help her put a huge strain on my heart. Not to mention the fact that if I would've gotten to her apartment a little sooner this probably would not have happened to her. In a sense I felt like her getting shot was partially my fault. Which was why I was feeling so terrible right now. "What in the world do y'all got going on?" my father interjected as if the sight of me made him cringe. "What are you talking about?" I looked at him with an expression of uncertainty. "What kind of people are y'all mixed up with?" "Come on now, honey, I know you're upset but this is not the time or the place," my mother spoke up. "Yes, your wife is right," my grandmother agreed trying to keep the peace. But my father wasn't trying to hear them. Their comments went in one ear and right out the other. "Whatcha trying to do, end up like your cousin in there?" "What kind of question is that?" I snapped. "Just answer the question," he commanded. "No, I'm not," I replied, irritated with his questions. "It's hard to tell," my father snapped back. "Because every time I turn around, somebody's either getting shot or killed. And if you keep walking around here like you ain't got the sense you were born with, then you're gonna end up just like your cousin back there." "Alright now, that's enough! I don't want to hear another word," my grandmother whispered harshly with tears in her eyes. Her tone sent a clear message to my father that she was sincerely pissed and he'd better not utter another word. But, knowing how much my father loathed when people told him what to do, the chances of that happening were slim to none. The moment she closed her mouth and rolled her eyes at him, he parted his lips and said, "You know what, Mama ..." But fortunately for us, he couldn't finish the thought because we were interrupted by an Asian doctor dressed in green hospital-issued scrubs, walking toward us. "Are you the family for Kira Walters?" "Yes, we are," I eagerly replied. "I'm Dr. Ming and I was called in to perform emergency surgery on Miss Walters." "How is she?" my grandmother asked. "Yeah, how is she? Can we go in and see her?" my mother asked. "I'm sorry to inform you but Miss Walters didn't make it." "What do you mean, she `didn't make it?'" I screamed in disbelief. "Ma'am," the doctor began in the most apologetic manner, "believe me, we did everything in our power but she was nonresponsive." Hearing this man tell me that my cousin just died hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn't believe it. I mean, there had to be some kind of mistake. Kira couldn't be dead. I just had her wrapped up in my arms back at her apartment a couple of hours ago. Whatever this man was talking was pure nonsense and I couldn't accept that. Meanwhile, as the thoughts of living my life without her started consuming me, my grandmother walked off in another direction, crying her poor little heart out. My parents got a little more in-depth with the complications Kira had and why they could not save her. I, on the other hand, just sat there in a daze. My family and I left the hospital shortly after the doctor broke the news to us. Unfortunately, no one was able to see Kira's body except my grandmother. A nurse escorted her down to the morgue to ID her and get her belongings. My parents and I were cornered in a small room by the same two detectives from Kira's apartment. They didn't have much to say this time, so our little chat went by quickly. When we arrived back at my grandmother's house I went off into a room by myself while my parents sat around in the living room with my grandmother. I heard bits and pieces of their conversations. But when they started talking about making Kira's funeral arrangements, I immediately turned a deaf ear to them because I wasn't ready to accept the fact that my home girl was dead. As it turned out, they ended up handling everything and I was truly fine with it because it took the burden off me. Chapter Two Just Another Funeral Service Nikki Speaks Immediately after the burial everybody, including my family and Kira's friends, gathered around my grandmother's house to pay their last respects. I had to admit that this whole thing had been one emotional ride for me and it would not be over until the niggas who had done this to my cousin got dealt with. I had been crying myself to death from the moment I laid eyes on Kira lying in a pool of her own blood. And what was bugging me the fuck out is that I believe I walked by the grimy-ass bastard who murdered her. I mean, who else could it have been? This guy, whom I'd never seen in this area, was running from the direction of her apartment building right before I found her body. And even though I couldn't give the homicide detectives an accurate description of how that man looked, I do remember him being an older guy of Hispanic descent. I would be able to pick his ass out in a lineup if I had a chance to. I just wish I had gotten there sooner. Maybe I could have done something and she would be still alive. Sitting there watching everybody grieve her death was becoming unbearable and I needed to excuse myself and get a breath of fresh air. On my way toward the exit that led to the patio, Kira's hair salon partner, Rhonda, approached me and asked me if I was all right. As badly as I wanted to respond, I couldn't. I got choked up and my eyes welled up with tears. Feeling my pain, she embraced me and led me onto the patio. "Go ahead and let it out," she told me, rubbing her hand across my back in a circular motion. "I just can't believe she's gone," I said, burying my face deep in Rhonda's shoulder. "I can't believe it either," Rhonda replied, letting out a long sigh. "What's really upsetting me is that she couldn't have an open-casket funeral so we couldn't really bid our farewells." "I know. I felt the same way," I said to Rhonda. "But her face was so disfigured that the funeral director advised us to have a closed-casket ceremony." "Have those detectives contacted you again?" Rhonda asked. "Yeah. They came by my apartment last night right after Syncere left," I told her immediately after releasing myself from her embrace. "Do they have any suspects yet?" "Nope," I said and then I let out a long sigh. "Girl, don't worry. They will." "Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it. I mean, look how they're dragging their feet with finding the niggas who shot her outside her apartment and killed that new guy, Mark, she was fucking with." "Oh yeah, I see what you're saying. Somebody's definitely not doing their damn job." "You got that right! But, I'll be damned if I sit back and let this shit right here go unsolved," I yelled. I became enraged by the thought of my cousin's killer going unpunished and tears began to fall rapidly from my eyes. Rhonda told me to calm down and assured me that somebody would pay for what they did to Kira. She put her arm around my 5'3, 125-lb. frame and held me tight. The sheer, black, spaghetti-strapped dress I was wearing got tangled up in Rhonda's gold-plated costume jewelry bracelet, creating a small rip in the lower back part of my dress, right above my huge-ass butt. "They sure will," I told her and tried to fix my dress by camouflaging the hole with the stained lining. "I am so sorry about your dress," Rhonda expressed, looking directly at the rip. "It's okay. It ain't nothing but a dress," I assured her, my half-breed-looking complexion becoming even more flushed with the redness of my eyes. I walked back into the house leaving Rhonda standing out on the patio. I went directly upstairs into my grandmother's bedroom to be alone and collect my thoughts. I was beginning to feel like I was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. Then I figured, what good would that do? I needed to do some soul searching and figure out what I was going to do about everything that was going on. I could not let Kira's killer go unpunished. I didn't care who it was. It could have been Syncere and I would have felt the same way. He was public enemy number one right now for arousing suspicion of his involvement in Mark's murder through a text message he got from one of his hit men. So believe me, whoever was involved would pay for all the pain my family was feeling right now. I couldn't see it any other way. * * * The last person left around eight-thirty. I locked the front door and I went to accompany my grandmother, who was standing over the kitchen sink, washing dishes. She was very quiet and I could tell she was in deep thought, so I broke the silence by asking her what was on her mind. She sighed heavily, "Oh, I'm just thinking about how things are going to be without Kira. She's going to truly be missed around here." I let out a long sigh and replied, "She sure is, grandma." I took a seat at the kitchen table. "Have you decided whether you were going to hire a professional moving crew or are you going to move her things out of her place yourself?" "I'm going to hire a crew to move the big things. But me and Rhonda are going to pack up and move the small stuff ourselves. Speaking of which, do you know I overheard Cousin Maxine and Aunt Brenda squabbling over who was going to get Kira's clothes and furs?" "Now, I know they ain't done no mess like that," my grandmother replied with an expression of disbelief. "Oh, yes they did. And you should've heard Aunt Brenda ranting and raving about how Kira was her favorite niece so she knows she's going to get a couple pieces of her diamond jewelry and a few pairs of her designer shoes." (Continues...) Excerpted from Life After Wifey by KIKI SWINSON Copyright © 2007 by Kiki Swinson. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.