Riding Dirty on I-95 Read Online Free PDF

birthday she was walking out of Rainbow Plus in Cloverleaf Mall looking for a birthday outfit for herself. Browsing through the racks she noticed the security guard staring at her.
    “You need something from me? You see something over here you like?” she asked.
    “No, not really, just wondering what's in that bag of yours,” the short stubby white security guard said, looking at the huge bootleg Coach bucket bag she was carrying on her shoulders.
    “What the fuck you mean, motherfucker? You trying to say that I'm carrying this bag to boost some shit?”
    “I didn't say it, you did.” He smiled like he was about to get a raise for that comment.
    “Naw, boy toy, you don't even get an A for effort on that one.” Mercy smiled. “You picked the wrong girl out of a lineup.” She continued rummaging through the racks.
    “Oh, yeah, then if you know what people like me are gonna think, why would you bring that big bag to the mall, then?” he asked.
    “Why?” She chuckled and never looked away from the clothes as she searched for a good buy.
    He waited for her answer. She moved around the rack, and he impatiently asked her again, “Now, why would you do that?”
    When Mercy moved to the next rack over, she looked up at him. “Well, first off, because I can. The last time I checked I can bring a suitcase in this motherfucker if I want to; it's a free country. Next, I ain't commit a crime,” she said, pointing at him, “and I wish you would accuse me of committing one so I can sue the fuck out of you, the store, and the company you work for. And lastly, which is truly none of your fucking business”—she went into her bag—“I keeps me a large jar of Vaseline”—she pulled the Vaseline out—“and sneakers in this bag, in case the wrong bey-atch cross my path on the wrong day and she needs to get dealt with. So, basically, buddy, as long as I shop in this store, and especially in this ghetto mall, this here bag”—she pointed to the bag—“will be on my shoulder.”
    The guard did not utter a word. Mercy had broke him down and not even raised her voice.
    “So Mr. Toy Cop, understand: Stealing, that ain't me. Maybe killing, but never stealing, you heard,” she said as she strolled out of the store into the mall.
    A few minutes later she ran into Amy, who was one of the city's biggest gossips and seemed to know everything about everybody in town.
    “ 'Scuse me, ain't you Zurri's lil' sister?”
    “Yup.” Mercy nodded with a smile although she hadn't seen her sister in years. When Zurri turned eighteen, she had promised to fight the system and get custody of Mercy, but she never did. For a while Zurri wrote to Mercy, giving her hope, but it had been several years since her last letter, when she'd told Mercy she was pregnant. Zurri's focus had then turned to survival; she had her own family to worry about with her baby coming.
    Mercy missed her sister and wanted any kind of connection or relationship she could get. So hearing Zurri's name was like music to her ears.
    “I knew you had to be,” Amy continued, “because y'all look just alike.”
    “Everybody used to always say that when we were little.”
    “Well, me and her used to hang out, and she always used to tell me about her lil' sister. You still in the system?” Amy asked.
    “Nope, not really. I'm about to turn eighteen tomorrow, and then I'll be one hundred percent rid of them sons of bitches. Do you have my sister's number?” Mercy asked, hopeful to connect with her sister again.
    “Her phone cut off, but I just heard there was some drama at her place, that she got to fighting and now Social Services over there looking for her daughter to take her away. Only Zurri won't tell them where the baby at.”
    Hearing the words “Social Services” made every hair on Mercy's body stand up. “For what?” she asked, worried about her big sister and her niece even more. She had never seen the little girl, but if the Social Services people got