Wifey, Part 2

by Erica Hilton

  “Yes! I’m more than sure.”

  BJ started to cough. He sounded like he was choking.

  “Oh, my God! BJ, I know you checking up on me because Nico is your boy. But honestly you don’t even need to be stressing yourself with this bullshit. It’s just going to distract from you getting better. Just believe me. I mean, this shit is totally from left field somewhere, and I don’t know what’s going on. But I do know that I wasn’t fuckin’ with that nigga.”

  Through more coughs, BJ continued to talk. “Well, the nigga got locked up, and he’s on Rikers Island talking shit. You know how things come back.”

  Jasmine was beyond stressed and was on the verge of tears, but she had to hold it together. “What kind of shit could he be talking?”

  “He telling niggas that he fucked you and that your new name should be Suicide Pussy because every nigga that fucks with you either ends up getting murdered, like Shabazz did, or they end up in jail like he did.”

  “You know what? I’ma fuck that nigga up! When I hang up the phone, I’m calling Ish, and me and Ish will ride over to Rikers Island right now, and I guarantee you the muthafucka won’t talk that bullshit. These lame-ass dudes always act just like bitches whenever I don’t fuck with them.”

  “Fuck that nigga. Don’t waste your time going over there. But I’ma tell you this—Just watch where you go. Niggas is saying they saw you coupled up with Homicide at the Knicks game last night, and with this Black Justice shit, it don’t look right, you kna’mean?”

  Jasmine broke down and started crying.

  “BJ, I am so fuckin’ heated right now. It’s like, damn, can I live? I can’t wipe my ass in this city without people being all up in my shit. First of all, I swear on everything, I was at the Knicks game with my fourteen-year-old cousin. I’ll give you his number right now, and you can three-way him and ask him. He loves basketball, so I figured I would surprise him and take him to see the Knicks and the Lakers. Now when we got there, did I see Homicide? Yes, I saw him, but I had no idea he was going to be there. And when I saw him I was like, He looks real familiar, so we spoke. Come to find out, I knew him since fourth fuckin’ grade when we was in the same class. But I swear to you, before last night, I hadn’t seen him in like ten years, if not more than that.”

  BJ could hear Jasmine’s sobs. A small part of him wanted to believe what she was saying, but in his gut he knew she was bullshitting. BJ knew there was no way that rumors like that could start circulating without some kind of truth to them, but he didn’t press her on anything.

  “A’ight. If that’s what you’re saying, then that’s what it is.”

  Jasmine sucked her teeth. “You know that’s not true because if you’re calling me then I know I’m going to have to hear Nico’s mouth on this, and I ain’t even do shit. Uggghhh! I swear, sometimes I just want to move up out of New York because I can’t take this shit. The dudes are worse than these jealous-ass females that be hating on me.”

  BJ remained quiet.

  “And let me guess. Homicide is saying that he fucked me too, right? I’m just opening up my legs and fuckin’ everybody.”

  “Nah, I told you what it is. If I was you, I would just stay in the crib, lay low until things blow over and Nico gets back in town.”

  Jasmine didn’t say anything. She was too frustrated to speak.

  “A’ight?”

  “A’ight, BJ.” Jasmine blew some air into the phone. “Get through your surgery.”

  “I will.”

  With that, they ended the call, and Jasmine continued on her way to Nico’s house out in Long Island.

  When she got there, she rolled some weed and smoked it while sitting on the deck overlooking the sprawling backyard. It didn’t help get her mind off what BJ had told her.

  With her mind racing, she combed through her closets and picked out a bunch of outfits that she piled in to her truck. At that point, her desire to see Homicide wasn’t nearly as intense as it was before she’d spoken to BJ. But she knew she had a job to do despite how uneasy she was feeling.

  Jasmine headed back toward SoHo. As soon as she pulled out of the circular driveway, her phone began to ring. It was Simone. The phone was on its third ring, and Jasmine contemplated if she should answer it or not. A big part of her wanted to send Simone to voice mail because she just didn’t want to deal with any more stress, drama, or gossip, but at the same time she felt like she had to know everything that was being said about her and exactly who was saying it. So although she didn’t want to, she answered Simone’s call and braced herself for any new drama that Simone might bring her way.

  Thirty-Four

  Every word that came out of Simone’s mouth seemed to be about Ish. She couldn’t stop gushing to Jasmine about how good Ish was treating her. She made it her business to tell Jasmine about the bags and the clothes he had given her, and about the cash he was giving to her to spend any way she pleased.

  Simone was a jealous, envious bitch. Although they were friends, Jasmine knew Simone was always in a steady competition with her to look better, dress better, and have more than she had.

  As Jasmine drove back to Manhattan, Simone would not shut up even for a moment for Jasmine to respond to anything she was saying.

  “Look at me, just talking your head off.” Simone chuckled, sounding like a swimmer coming up for air. “So, anyway, what’s up with you? And how’s Nico? I haven’t heard you talking about him. And whenever I’m out with Ish, I don’t see him anywhere. Y’all still together, right?”

  Jasmine rolled her eyes. If she could have reached through the phone and choked Simone until she passed out, she would have.

  “Of course, we’re still together, Simone. I already told you he was in Miami doing his thing.”

  “He’s still in Miami? You know he’s fuckin’ somebody down there.”

  “Thank you, Simone. I really needed to hear that.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Simone quickly replied.

  Jasmine could almost feel Simone’s smile coming through the phone.

  “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. But I’m just saying . . . you know how these niggas are.”

  Jasmine kept quiet. Her silence was Simone’s cue to continue on rambling about her and Ish.

  “Yeah, what I’m saying . . . I knew Nico was still out of town because Ish told me that.”

  “Do me a favor, Simone—When you’re all boo’d up with Ish and y’all are talking pillow talk or whatever, can you please leave me and Nico’s names out of your mouths?”

  “No, we wasn’t talking about you and Nico like that. Ish was just telling me how he’s basically been running everything in Brooklyn and Queens since Nico’s been out of town, and with BJ in the hospital, and Lo and Bebo dead. That’s all.”

  Jasmine sighed. “Running everything like what?”

  “I don’t think I need to spell it out for you, Jasmine.”

  “Actually, you don’t. Listen, I have to go. I’ll hit you up later.” Jasmine had had enough of Simone’s boasting. In a way though, she was glad that Simone spoke the way she did because it prevented her from slipping up and saying anything to her about her and Homicide, or about her apartment in SoHo.

  “Okay, make sure you do. We have to hang out again real soon.”

  “We will,” Jasmine replied right before hanging up.

  Jasmine hated Simone’s guts at that point. She didn’t see how Simone could be a real friend if she was always in competition with her and always trying to one-up her. She did the best she could to block Simone out of her mind. She didn’t want any negative energy flowing through her when Homicide came by to see her.

  ***

  It was five thirty and Homicide hadn’t yet come by to see Jasmine, nor had he called her to tell her if he was still coming by. Jasmine was starting to th
ink that he was standing her up. She thought about texting him, but she didn’t want to come across as needy.

  Jasmine had some time to just sit by herself, watch TV, and get things off her mind, so in many ways it was a blessing in disguise that Homicide hadn’t shown up.

  Right at five-forty, the doorman called Jasmine and told her that she had a visitor named Homicide coming to see her. Jasmine almost pissed in her pants laughing at how disturbed the white doorman sounded.

  “Okay, you can send him up,” Jasmine replied.

  Three minutes later Homicide was ringing her doorbell.

  Jasmine opened the door with a smile wearing a pair of dark blue biker shorts and a T-shirt that was cut short and exposed her stomach. She had on no shoes or socks, but her recent pedicure made her small feet look perfect.

  “You actually told the doorman your name was Homicide?” Jasmine laughed.

  “I don’t give a fuck about him. That’s my name.” Homicide handed Jasmine a white shopping bag. “I bought us some fish and brown rice.”

  “Oh, thank you. And I’m starving too.”

  Jasmine took the food to the kitchen and got two plates and forks.

  “I ain’t think you was coming no more.”

  “Yeah, I know. I was dealing with some shit, trying to get this bread.”

  Jasmine looked at Homicide and smiled as she fixed the plates. He didn’t realize she was looking at him. “Can I get a hug or something?” she said, walking toward him.

  Jasmine hugged him real tight and noticed he was wearing a nice-scented Muslim oil. But she could also feel the gun in his waistband. She made sure not to react to the feel of the gun, although she almost pulled away from him quickly.

  “What scent is that? Kush?”

  Homicide smiled. “Yeah. How you know that?”

  “I got some culture.” Jasmine laughed. “You want me to warm up your food?”

  He shook his head no, so Jasmine handed him his plate and warmed up her plate.

  “So what you do today?” Homicide asked, about to put a forkful of food in his mouth.

  “Nothing, other than trying not to get stressed the fuck out.”

  “Stressed about what?”

  Jasmine got her food out of the microwave and started to eat it. Then she explained that BJ had called her, and she told him what he had said.

  “So you still fuckin’ with Nico or what? Break that shit down for me. Be straight up.”

  Jasmine was silent.

  “What the fuck you quiet for? Either yes or no.”

  “I’m quiet because I honestly don’t know the answer. It’s like when he wants to see me, he sees me, and when he wants to fuck with other bitches, he does. Right now, he down in Miami, getting money down there, and he’s been down there for a minute. Has he called me since he’s been there? Not one time. It’s like he’s running from me.”

  “You got that suicide pussy, right?” Homicide joked and said.

  Jasmine gave him a serious look.

  “I’m just fucking wit’chu.” Homicide put a forkful of food in his mouth. “I know why you stressed.”

  “I know too. I just told you why.”

  Homicide shook his head. “Nah, you think that’s why you stressed, but you really stressed because you fuck with weak-ass muthafuckas.”

  Jasmine just looked at Homicide.

  “Your man is supposed to be more than just your man. He’s supposed to be your king and treat you like a queen, no matter what it takes. You feel me?”

  Jasmine nodded.

  “Like, on the real, if Nico was treating you like a queen, he would have had Black Justice touched from inside them prison walls. You know what I’m saying?”

  Homicide ate some more food and then he continued on.

  “Black Justice talking shit from behind bars, and Nico got his boys calling you basically on some he-said, she-said shit. That’s that weak-ass bullshit. And this nigga down in Florida with his feet in the sand while his people is up here in New York laid up in the hospital and having funerals and shit. That’s why you’re stressed; nothing more, nothing less.”

  Jasmine had never thought about it from that standpoint, but she had to admit that Homicide was making a whole lot of sense.

  “Niggas think the chips they holding is what makes them.” Homicide shook his head. “But that’s not it. What makes a real nigga is the heart he’s born with. That shit comes from Allah. You can’t manufacture heart. It don’t matter how much bread you holding.”

  “That’s so true, and I didn’t even tell you that BJ was asking me if I was at the Knicks game wit’chu.”

  “You should’ve told that nigga you was with me, and that you left with me. Fuck that bitch-ass nigga BJ!”

  Jasmine laughed. She loved his confidence and his swagger.

  “You know how women just on instinct can take care of babies and shit like that?”

  Jasmine nodded her head.

  “That’s because women are earths, and that shit is in y’all nature. But with niggas, we’re gods, and gods protect everything. You feel me?”

  Jasmine nodded again.

  “So if you ever fuckin’ with a nigga and you don’t feel safe, you fuckin’ with the wrong nigga.”

  “Preach!” Jasmine jokingly said. She didn’t want to tell Homicide how his words were ringing so true to her. “See, I knew since fourth grade that you were a good catch.”

  Homicide chuckled. “I’m too wild for your ass.”

  Jasmine looked at him and slowly shook her head. She walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek and then whispered that he wasn’t too wild for her.

  Homicide knew he could have fucked Jasmine right then and there, but he wanted to stay focused on the reason that he had come to see her.

  “So this nigga Nico is out of town, BJ is in the hospital, Lo and Bebo are dead, how the fuck them Ghetto Mafia niggas still eating?” Homicide asked.

  “They still getting their money.”

  “I know, but how?”

  Jasmine wasn’t exactly sure, but she remembered what Simone had said about Ish. “You know Ish?”

  Homicide thought for a moment, and then he nodded.

  “He’s running everything.”

  “Where that nigga Ish live at?”

  “In Rosedale. Why?” Jasmine asked.

  Homicide stood up from the chair and started to feel on her ass. Jasmine reached up and she kissed him. Homicide pulled away from her and took out his gun and laid it on the kitchen table. But not wanting to be too far away from it, he made sure not to leave the kitchen. He slid Jasmine’s shorts down to her ankles, and she stepped out of them.

  Homicide started playing with her exposed pussy. Jasmine gasped as soon as he stuck his middle finger inside of her. With his other hand, Homicide undid his pants and let them drop to just above his knees as he left his sneakers on. He then took his finger out of Jasmine’s pussy and lifted her up onto the dishwasher, where she spread her legs as wide as she could for him.

  Homicide slid his dick into Jasmine’s pussy and started to fuck her real slow, and as her pussy got wetter and wetter, he fucked her harder and harder. Jasmine loved every inch of Homicide, and every second of him fucking her. Unlike the night before when she wasn’t totally herself because of the alcohol, this time she was sober and felt totally free. She didn’t hold back one bit, and her screams and moans let Homicide know that she was thoroughly enjoying the way he fucked her.

  Jasmine wrapped her legs around Homicide’s back then clasped both of her hands around the back of his neck. Homicide pulled away from the dishwasher and supported her by gripping her ass and holding her up in the air. Jasmine loved that position, and she bounced up and down on Homicide’s dick until she came back to back.

/>   Homicide could feel himself about to nut. He didn’t want to nut inside Jasmine, so after a few more real deep strokes, he carried Jasmine back over to the dishwasher, where he had started fucking her, placed her on top of it, and pulled his dick out of her. Within seconds he was shooting come all over her stomach, legs, on her short T-Shirt, and the dishwasher door.

  Jasmine hopped off the dishwasher and grabbed him and hugged him. He pulled up his pants and buckled his belt.

  Jasmine hugged him, and she wouldn’t let him go. She buried her head in his chest and just left it there and listened to his heartbeat.

  As Jasmine stood there with her head buried in Homicide’s chest, she felt a sense of peace and serenity she couldn’t remember feeling before. At that moment she didn’t care about Nico and what he was doing, she didn’t care about Agent Gosling, and she didn’t care about her role as a confidential informant. Homicide made her feel safe and secure, and she just wished that she could stay in that exact same position forever, hugging him with her head placed on his chest, and never have to move or worry about a thing.

  Thirty-Five

  Two weeks passed, and Jasmine was conscious of what BJ had told her about staying in the house and, for the most part, had listened. But during that two-week period, Agent Gosling was starting to get very suspicious of her relationship with Homicide because she had yet to produce any incriminating evidence on him.

  So while Gosling pressured Jasmine to produce results, Homicide was also starting to apply pressure on her to have her set up Ish to get robbed. Initially Jasmine wasn’t sure if it was the smartest thing for her to do, but after a long day of seriously thinking about it, she realized it was actually a good idea. For one, she was dead tired of Simone constantly boasting about what Ish was doing for her, and that would be a good way to take a lot of air out of her balloon.

  She also figured that if the robbery was successful, she would be able to go to Gosling and have him ease up the pressure on her by convincing him that the FBI needed to really focus on locking up Ish because he was taking over for Nico as the new kingpin. Setting up Ish would also make Homicide trust her and not question her loyalty to him.