The more I tried ignoring Trinity, the more she went off. I understood her point of rage, but I wasn’t with taking my anger out on my daughter.
“Look, Trinity, for the hundredth time, I’m not advocating for Porsha to fuck up or be a weak link. Fall the fuck back so I can think.”
“You better be thinking about how you’re going to make sure that dread-head nigga knows not to fuck with mine again.” She stood in front of me with her arms folded.
Part of me was irritated with Trinity’s pushiness, but the other part of me was turned on. She ain’t never not been in the mud with me, and it was her loyalty that made her stand out among all the other hood girls who were throwing coochie my way. Despite me creeping, I knew I was lucky to still have Trinity riding dirty with me.
“Baby, rest assured that muthafucka won’t ever fuck with our daughter again. You can send his mother a black dress right now if you want something more productive to do. I got this family, Trinity.”
“Goddamn, nigga! You know you turn me on when you start talking like a Mafia man.” She leaned in to peck my lips, but I grabbed her neck and held her close to me.
“You have been with me for over twenty years, and you are still doubting if I’m going to protect you, Mrs. Jackson? What the fuck a man gotta do for you to trust me?”
“I trust you, Calvin. It’s these young and thirsty hustlers I don’t trust. If you don’t make a lesson out of ol’ boy, that will give someone else the green light to try Porsha, me, or even you. Look how they shot Mack down.”
“Well, baby, I’ma come back with blood on my hands, so you can stop worrying.” I swiped my pistol off the nightstand and tried pushing her out my space. “Lemme me move, Trin. Back up.”
“Nope. You know I like it when you talk all rough and shit, baby.” She slipped my gun from my hand and then put her hand into my pants and wrapped it tightly around my manhood.
Whenever Trinity was in a giving mood, I took advantage of it. My dick hardened up on instant because I was about to get the chance to do some damage to her juicy pussy. Last night had been a total bust, but with Porsha and Benzie gone, we had a second chance to get buck wild. I wanted some sloppy head and some freak-nasty sex. It had been a minute since Trinity threw some juice on a nigga, and I was hungry for a nut like a teenage boy who just hit puberty.
I’d never been attracted to submissive girls who turned into puppy-dog women. I was the type of nigga who desired a bad bitch just as gritty as I was. Trin was undeniably that with her sexy, bullheaded ass. Regardless of what we went through or what we may have said to each other in the heat of the moment, she was gonna be my happily ever after. That ring wasn’t never coming up off of that finger. I put that on my kids and my life.
Trinity stood on her tiptoes, gripped the back of my head, then kissed me deeply. I returned the kiss, tasted the champagne, and then slapped her on her booty hard as hell. I wanted her to drop to her knees and blow me off, but she jumped in my arms, making me fall back onto the bed instead. Either way, I was about to cum, and that was good for me.
Trinity was just as sexy as the day I met her. Her thick li’l frame had all the right curves in all the right places, even after giving me two kids. My dick thickened up as I felt all over her body.
“G’on and get some of this dick so you can calm the fuck down. I should have broken yo’ ass off in the bathroom last night at the cabaret.” I hoped me bringing up last night didn’t put my wife back into a sour mood.
It didn’t. Matter of fact, she threw the pussy on me like a porn star. In her mind, she was probably making sure ol’ girl I’d cheated with never reappeared in my life. I left Trinity in bed, blowing on a blunt when I walked out the door on a mission. Sometimes you’ve gotta put it down to shut a chick up, ya dig?
Porsha was walking up on the porch as I was coming out the front door. I’d forgotten all about her being gone since I’d been busy banging her momma.
“Put my keys on the table. Why is Benzie crying?” I asked, seeing his face was red and hearing him sniffle.
“He wanted some McDonald’s, but I did not want to stop and chance being gone too long,” she responded, stumbling over her words. “I was planning on giving him some ice cream out of the freezer.”
“Oh, a’ight then,” I responded to Porsha, unsure if she was being straight up with me, but I did not have time to micromanage her the way Trinity did. That nigga Dread had a death wish by showing up to my house, and I had a role to play as a genie. I was strapped to shoot a bullet straight through his skull. “Chill out, junior. Daddy will bring you back some McDonald’s when I come back.” I kissed his forehead and got in the car with my number-one shooter.
“I ain’t never been as eager as I am right now to get my hands dirty,” I said to Fame as soon as I climbed in his hooptie. He had pulled the 1993 black Grand Prix out of his garage, so I knew he was down for the same murderous mission I had been laying out in my head all morning.
“You know I stay in the mud, my nigga, so I’m game for whatever. But what’s on tip? Something happen on the block at the trap?”
“Naw, something much more personal than that.” I gritted my teeth with anger. “Some dread-head buster copped some weight last night from Porsha with some fake hundreds. She did not know any better, of course, but Trin’s trained eye caught it on instant. I gave Street his description, and he got with some broad with a J name to see if it sounded familiar to her. That tramp must bang niggas from set to set, ’cause that nigga called me back within three minutes with the rundown on ol’ boy.”
“Word? I’m in rare form to give a nigga some celebrity attention, so don’t be slow on the draw pointing him out. Them niggas shooting at Mack still got me wired. It ain’t nothing but a word from ya mouth and I’m on one.” Fame was going crazy.
When Fame rode up on a nigga giving them some of what he called “celebrity attention,” that meant he was on some massacre-type shit. His nickname was earned. He was famous for murder.
Fame was one of the realest men I knew. Once I met him, I quit begging my momma to have another li’l bastard for me to play with. I did not need a brother because me and Fame were street-made brothers. If ever my shoes needed to be filled, I knew without a doubt Fame would hold my wife, kids, and trapping business down. Fame was more than my right hand, chauffeur, and godfather to my children. He was my muscle and my muthafuckin’ ace of spades.
“You know how I do it, bro. I ain’t wanna say shit about what went down until I was sure about how to play it.”
“And you know how I play it, so say no more.” Fame pulled his gun off his hip and placed it on his lap. “I’m blasting the block up when you say let ’em rip. Know that. It’s time we start teaching these li’l young bucks that there’s going to be fatal consequences for coming at one of us or our families. I might not fuck with Scooter’s crazy ass half the time, but she is off-limits, too.” Fame was ready to kill upon command.
Whoever this dread-head li’l nigga was, he was about to reap severe consequences behind underestimating my thug pedigree.
CHAPTER 21
CALVIN
As soon as Fame crossed over Hamilton into Highland Park, a block across from Detroit, my trigger finger started itching, looking for a dirty, dread-head cat. This scheming-ass cocksucker was about to get dealt with, and I put that on young Benzie. I wasn’t in the game to make other families rich. Fuck that! My risks were for me and mine only. With Mack getting murdered last night, it was more crucial than ever to send messages loud and clear.
We rode around HP for a few minutes, paying extra-close attention to the liquor stores and a closed-down hospital that used to have more patients than they could heal back in the day. Matter of fact, it was the same hospital I got my first gunshot wound stitched up at. Nowadays, though, with it being abandoned for years, it was a melting pot for drug addicts and dealers alike. Even the most inexperienced hustler could make sales around there.
When those spots came up d
ry, we bent a few blocks more before finally striking gold. Simple-minded criminals were always easy to find.
Whipping up in front of a porch full of niggas, Fame was ready for war as he hopped out with his pistol in hand. “Sup? Y’all li’l niggas know where I can find a dread-head cat at? ’Bout my height?”
“Naw, nigga, we don’t.” One of the guys mugged Fame, then looked over in the car at me, mugging me as well. He had no idea what he was asking for.
Pop! Fame’s trigger finger sent fire into the air. “Don’t muthafuckin’ let the next one rip ya face open, li’l homie. Do I look like the nigga to test?”
With the same attitude he’d just answered Fame with, he licked his lips and flared his nose. He obviously didn’t give a fuck about the warning shot, and it showed. Once again, Fame was quick to make a move. He ran up on the porch, parting the boys like the Red Sea, then cockily snatched ol’ boy up by his collar. The boy’s chest slid down each stair before landing on the pavement. That was when he finally uttered that the chump we were looking for was inside.
“A’ight, all y’all niggas can break on about y’all business,” I commanded, pulling my shirt up to expose that I was strapped as well.
Making the right decision, they all broke off, running in different directions.
Fame finally took his foot off the dude’s neck and allowed him up. “Open the door and shout inside for that nigga to step out. I don’t think I need to warn you about trying to play that tough-guy role again.” Following him as he carried out his orders, Fame kept his pistol pointed at the boy’s head just in case he tested him again. It wasn’t a problem, though. He’d learned the first lesson hard enough.
Finally, the man of the hour stepped outside. I was assuming he was just as arrogant as he was last night approaching my house as he was at this moment, ’cause the young nigga addressed me like it wasn’t shit to it.
“Sup, Cal? Shorty must’ve told you I slid through there last night and dropped a few bills on her. That must be why you’re over here in my neck of the woods, lookin’ for a nigga.” He was talking like he’d slept with my daughter.
“Say what, li’l fella?” By the time I made it onto the porch to check him nose to nose, he’d pulled out his gun, which looked like a Walmart toy. “You draw to shoot, ya li’l ho ass nigga. I see you’re too used to posing for Instagram pictures and shit.”
I snatched it from his hand. He had not even loaded one up top while he was waving it around like he was about to bust a cap. I pistol whipped him like Fame did his friend. Too bad for him that wasn’t the extent of the punishment he was about to endure for playing Porsha and ultimately trying to play me.
“Enough of the games. Where’s my money at, li’l boy?” I questioned, looking down on him.
“In the crib,” he answered through his gritted teeth, still refusing to swallow all of his pride.
“Then get yo’ muthafuckin’ ass in there and get it.” I spit on him.
Dread-head was hesitant to go in the house, which made kicking him in his back through the front door even better. I was greeted with the pungent smell of filth, that stale, musky, bottled-up shit smell. The trap house wasn’t set up like mine. It was a run-down house that should’ve been abandoned. Besides the tattered furniture they’d probably dragged in from the curb and fifty-inch TV screen to play the Xbox on, there wasn’t shit else in here to accompany the horrid smell.
“Down, boy.” Fame addressed the other hustler like a dog, pushing him down onto the couch.
I swore I saw dirt poof up in the air when his behind hit the cushion. Trifling-ass trappers. I felt even more disrespected that he’d copped from Porsha with fake money but couldn’t pay a basic broad to clean up.
“Is anyone else in here?” I questioned, looking around in the places I could see while keeping my gun aimed on the dread-head.
“Naw,” he answered, shaking his head with worry in his eyes.
“Your word better be realer than that cash you passing around,” I threatened, rubbing the tip of my gun across his lips. “Or you gonna be sucking on a straw to get fed the rest of your life.”
He gulped, and his breathing intensified. “I swear we’re alone, Cal,” he stuttered. The thug amour he’d been draped in minutes ago had completely vanished. Left before me was a punk.
Fame left the three of us in the front room while he checked the rest of the house. I knew we were all good even before he returned because gunshots had not rung out.
“Cal, dog. Please.” His teeth chattered through each word. “I just had a little girl. I swear on her that I’ll never come for you again. I fucked up, Cal. My bad.”
“Yo, yo, yo, yo, naw, chump. I ain’t no state social worker paid to give two shits about ya problems. You can swallow that sob story you trying to spit out ’cause I ain’t trying to hear it. On the real, I don’t give a fuck about ya daughter, just like you ain’t give a fuck about mine. I can’t feed my family off them phony-ass bills you tried passing my way, now can I?”
He shook his head no, agreeing that I couldn’t.
“Exactly. Good answer. Now that we’ve proved you know better, I really ain’t about to cut ya no slack.”
Ol’ boy kept fidgeting, twiddling his fingers, and looking back and forth to his homeboy on the couch, which raised a red flag with me. Thinking back to last night when some shit was going down behind my back and I was oblivious to it, I refused to be the last one shooting again.
“Oh, what? Y’all muthafuckas got something to say to each other that I can’t hear?”
Feeling froggish, I leapt.
Pop! Pop!
I wasn’t about to get plotted on. Aiming ol’ boy’s beginner pistol at the other hustler, I unloaded two bullets into the chest of the one on the couch. Reason being, I knew he was probably strapped, and the dread-headed nigga wasn’t.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Fame came in busting bullets without asking a single question and then shouted on the follow-through, “Who want it?”
Ol’ boy’s body jerked up and down on the couch cushions from all the extra bullets Fame sprayed into it, finally resting permanently. He’d been sent into a permanent slumber.
Pop!
One single bullet zipped past me and landed in the dread-head’s neck. The shit was like a cartoon the way blood squirted up and out of the arteries that kept him living.
“Straight the fuck up, nigga? Damn!” I addressed Fame, not expecting him to murder two men in less than thirty seconds.
“Yeah, homie. Straight the fuck up and just like that. I heard shots being fired and came up blasting. The fuck else was I s’pposed to do? Come up looking for clues? Nah, never that,” he nonchalantly responded, leaning over ol’ boy’s body on the couch to make sure he was dead. “Never that.”
Each of us picking up a body, we pushed them down the basement stairs, then followed down behind them. Fame found baggies, cash, and the equipment they’d been using to make counterfeit bills when he’d been searching the house a few minutes ago. Real talk, they had one helluva makeshift operation that could’ve gone far had they fucked with a simple nigga.
We took it all except for the stacks of phony hundreds spread across the table. I wasn’t gonna be the one responsible for flooding the street with ’em. Either you could afford to eat or you couldn’t. Period. Bending over Dread-head, I pried his mouth open, stuffed in a few of the bills he tried feeding my family with, then lit a flame to one of them.
“See you down below, nigga.”
Turning around, Fame led the way out of the house. I didn’t feel the least bit of pity or regret for what had gone down. I had not made it seventeen years in the game by having a heart. Fuck them, their family, and any bastard seeds they had brewing inside of some basic bitches. All I’d ever care about was my family ’til the day I rocked up outta here.
Feeling my stomach grumbling, I was hungry as a hostage. I had not gotten a chance to smash my breakfast special this morning. “Hey, I need you t
o swing through the McDonald’s drive-through before we get home because I promised Benzie a Happy Meal. But first, I’m about to call some Coney in. Do you want something?” I questioned, digging my phone from my pocket.
“Hell yeah! My stomach over here bubbling like I ate one of them rotten-ass niggas back there,” Fame sickly joked. “Get me a twenty-piece wing-ding dinner with chili and cheese on the fries. Fuck a pop. I’ma stop at the store for a two liter and a beer.”
“Legends. May I help you?” the Coney Island worker answered.
Sounding like a runaway slave, I ran down our order, getting hungrier with the words of food coming from my mouth. I couldn’t wait to get home to wash my ass and have my grub. After I let Trin know the problem was handled and there was blood on my hands, she’d surely get off my back and give me some peace. If all went as a nigga wanted it to, I’d be trapping from my man cave for the rest of the day.
CHAPTER 22
DAYS LATER
TRINITY
Blowing out a stream of smoke, I felt my chest rise, fall, and burn from the strong green Kush buds of weed. My personal batch was hitting hella strong, giving me an out-of-this-world head high.
As I raised the window for some fresh air to blow into our bedroom, the cool morning breeze felt good and refreshing. Cal and I had been going at it like teenagers for the last two days, and the scent of sex had built up more than the clouds of gray smoke. Every free moment Calvin got from the trap, he was between my legs apologizing for ever straying from our marriage, breaking our vows, and weakening our bond as far as trust was concerned. I was hurt behind his infidelities but still very much in love and addicted to my husband, and for that, I chose to stop punishing him and only punish her. Petty or not, someone had to keep paying, and it might as well have been a bitch I didn’t have any ties to.
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