Street Soldiers by L. Divine Read Free Book Online Page B

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    “Alafia, Little Jayd,” Netta says, buzzing me in. “How is our queen in training doing this afternoon?”
    Mama’s sitting under one of three blow driers in the front of the shop relaxing while Netta preps the curling and flat irons. The scents of sandalwood and vanilla usher me over the threshold, instantly calming my nerves. The new fragrance for our autumn product line of hair care was my idea. And judging from the peaceful energy in the space, I’d say it was a good blend. Hopefully there’s enough of the new hair care batch for me to sample on myself.
    “Hi, Mama,” I say, bending down to kiss my grandmother who’s eyeing me like I’m late, which technically I’m not. “I’m glad to see you two are taking a break from the campaign trail for a moment.”
    “Yes, my dear, but only for a moment. We have much more to do to get that boy out of jail, no matter how foolish he is.”
    “He’s not the only one,” I say, recalling Mickey’s relationship revelation. I walk over to Netta’s main station, kiss her on the cheek and admire her new cellophane.
    Netta’s new line of natural hair glass—as she calls it—has been a huge hit. I’ve been thinking about trying it out myself. Nellie may be right about me needing to switch it up a bit, all though I’d never admit that to her. I don’t mean a complete transformation like Misty’s made, but a little more spunk in my stylo wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Netta asks. “And why to you smell like perm solution and burnt plastic?”
    “It means that Mickey has decided to be the ride-or-die chick G wants by his side right now, forget about her and Nigel and their happy hood family. And I smell like this because I dropped Nellie off at CoCo’s shop.”
    Mama acknowledges the strange stench already soaked into my clothes and skin. I replace my Pink hoody with my white work apron and reclose the cabinet door. My personal space needs to be cleaned out and probably all of the others do, too. After I wash up I’ll get to work on it and the clients’ personal beauty boxes. It’s been a while since I checked their supply levels.
    *
    The yellow curtain separating the front of the shop from the back where the office/shrine room and private bathroom are located is open, allowing a breeze to flow freely through the warm space. I bow to greet the shrine, taking the Florida water from the bamboo mat at its feet and head to the bathroom. Sometimes a quick head cleansing is all I need to get my mojo going.
    “That girl’s gonna learn her lesson the hard way if she keeps playing with fire,” Netta says, smacking hard on her Big Red gum. The lavender face soap feels good on my skin washing all of the oil from my day away. This t-zone thing is annoying. Even Mama’s daily tea tree and aloe soap can’t stop the shine permanently.
    “And that boy is pure Shango,” Mama says as I reenter the main room ready to work.
    She did a spiritual reading on G last night and learned that his head belongs to Shango, the orisha of fire, passion and male virility: a bad combination in a gangster with no guidance. After spending yesterday afternoon with G, Mama’s convinced she can save his soul. I hate to doubt my grandmother’s skills, but some souls should just be left alone.
    “Is he now? That’s interesting,” Netta says, walking over to her sole client for the day ready to press and curl Mama’s shoulder-length locks. She turns off the hair drier and leads Mama to sit down at her station.
    “Yes it is, which explains why Esmeralda might be interested in getting to him before we do,” Mama says as she leans back in the malleable chair and allows Netta to work her magic. “I know she’s got her hands in his arrest.”
    “No doubt about it. And you know she’s going to come running to his rescue as soon as she can, indebting him to her for life.” Netta moves the hot irons through Mama’s head quickly, not needing