Microphone Fiend

by Sa'id Salaam

  "Kristine Musa demonstrating D.P. 1029..." she began. Prince stifled a smile off camera, knowing the DP part was named after him. The 1029 represented the one thousandth and twenty-ninth version of her cure.

  She drew blood to show the live virus in her system. She killed it in a test tube then injected it into her system. Her mind and soul were in harmony and the cure quickly cured her. The violent pangs she witnessed in Daniel, Butta, and other vampires over the years stemmed from them resisting.

  From that same soul that commands evil and didn't want to give in to the self reproaching soul, that was the only way to pave the way for the soul to rest. Once it did, the cure could take root.

  She tested her blood once more and proved that it worked. The patent would eventually net her a billion dollars even though she would have given it up for free.

  *****

  Prince kept his word after rounding the country, finding and killing vampires in hiding. He wrapped up shortly before the birth of his son and let Kristine inject him.

  "Your soul has to be in peace," she reminded him. "If not, it will kill you!"

  "It is. I'm ready," he said with a nervous swallow that made Kristine smile. Nervousness is a human trait, so that meant he was ready. She pushed the plunger of the syringe and let the liquid enter his system.

  Prince smiled at the empty needle as she withdrew it from his arm. The smile tapered off as he began to have a visible reaction. Suddenly, his face changed as he began to age. The first five years added a little fullness to his face. The second speckled his goatee with four or five greys like his dad.

  Kristine began to panic since she had seen this before. One version had seemingly cured a thousand year old vampire but then he aged a thousand years in two minutes. The man was reduced to dust right before her eyes. Just like what was happening now.

  Prince grew even more handsome when ten more years perfected his face. Then the aging process came to an abrupt end. A forty-year-old version of the Dark Prince reached up and touched his face. He looked at his hands then over to his woman.

  "Am I..." he asked tentatively. Kristine wouldn't risk a guess and quickly took some blood. Her usually rock solid hands shook like a fall leaf in an October breeze as she tested it for any trace of his the virus. She obviously wasn't content with the first results, so she drew more and tested it again. Prince was ready to accept his fate when she repeated the test a third time. All the results were the same, so she lifted her head and gave him the news.

  "Cured. Cured, and cured!" she said triumphantly as she showed him all three results. "Oh Prince, you're cured!"

  "Call me Martin then. No more Dark Prince," he said. The couple hugged, kissed and began their happily ever after.

  *****

  "Martin! You're too high! Come down!" Kristine worried as her precocious three-year old ascended to the top of the monkey bars. She and Martin married and moved to England for a quiet life out of the limelight.

  Shortly afterwards, she gave birth to healthy son who was a perfect blend of several ethnicities. Just as God mixed the different types of earth in the creation of Adam, this child was part Haitian, part black, part East Indian and part Egyptian.

  His mixed heritage resulted in a hue in his skin somewhere in the middle of his mother's and father's. His hair was thick like daddy's, yet curly like his mama’s. The votes were in and the child was gorgeous.

  "He is a boy," Martin reminded. He knew falling from the top of the monkey bars is a right of passage. Their son was all boy and had to take his lumps as all boys do.

  "I'm okay! Watch this, mommy!" little Martin said and jumped before his parents could protest.

  Mommy gasped and covered her eyes as her little boy came speeding towards the earth. Meanwhile, Martin Senior was trying to remember the route to the nearest emergency room. Both were relieved when he landed safely on the ground and threw his hands up victoriously.

  "Good job, son," Martin cheered and clapped.

  "Don't encourage him!" Kristine protested as the child suddenly snapped his head to the left as if someone called his name. A trickle of blood came out of one nostril and alerted his parents. She rushed to his side while he turned his head to see what he was looking at.

  It turned out to be a who, not a what. Martin couldn't believe his eyes, so he blinked them rapidly and shook his head. It did nothing to clear his vision and Katrina Vladimir still approached. Her slinky, sultry walk had changed in centuries.

  Martin wasn't totally shocked to know she was still alive because he didn't believe Butta possessed the powers to kill her. She was obviously even more powerful now since she walked freely during the midday sunrays. She too was now a day walker.

  "There can be only one," Katrina said with an eerie smile.

  "But we're mortal! My wife and I, we're human," Martin pleaded.

  "Not you, or her," Katrina said and looked directly at their son. "Him. The boy."

  Martin watched Katrina as she walked away, but he knew this wouldn't be the last time he would see her. She would be back for their special son one day, and they would be ready.

  "Who was that?" Kristine asked since it was obvious by the awe on his face that she was somebody.

  "Nobody. Let's go home," Martin said and took his family home.

  The story is over but it's far from...

  THE END

  Dear readers, I hope you enjoyed this book. Reviews are very important to all authors, especially independent authors such as myself. Please take a moment and leave one so other readers will know this work is worth their time and money.

  Thank you,

  Sa'id Salaam.

  Join my readers group to stay abreast of my upcoming releases and interact below. Once you do, keep going because there’s a free read, “Luv in the Club”.

  Sa’id Salaam’s Readers Group

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/1735689366449542/

  Black Ink Publications

  Presents

  Luv In The Club

  A Novel by Sa’id Salaam

  Copyright 2015 by Sa’id Salaam Luv in the Club

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.

  First Edition May 2015

  Printed in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Email: saidmsalaam@gmail.com

  Facebook: Sa’id Salaam

  Cover design and layout by: AMB

  Edited by: Lauren Burton

  Acknowledgements

  Bismillaahir Rahmanir Raheem… I write.

  Dedications

  All praise, thanks and worship is for God and God alone.

  Chapter One

  Vita positioned her picture-perfect ass in the perfect position for back shots: head down, ass up, with a deep arch in her back that gave up the goods completely. Breeze delivered long, firm strokes, filling the air with sounds of a sexual symphony. His heavy breathing and skin slapping combined with her whimpers and the wet sound from her juice box to make a carnal chorus.

  The large window beyond them offered a gorgeous view of downtown Atlanta. Everything should have been perfect. He had finally wined and dined the jet-black beauty into his bed.

  Generally, he would be talking shit while long-stroking, but nothing came to mind except the standard Whose pussy is this? and Take that! he quietly contemplated.

  She moaned and coated his dick with the thick cream that differentiates good pussy from great pussy, yet his mind was a million miles away. Sorta like that old song, Your Body’s Here With Me, But Your Mind Is On The Other Side Of Town. Except in this case, his di
ck was there with her while his mind was way across town.

  He courted her for months before she granted him access to her juicy insides. Now that he was all up in it, it was everything they said it was. They said she had some good good, that wet wet, and they were right – “they” being the rumor mill and the gossip mongers who seemed to know everyone else’s business.

  Another thing they said about Vita was she was jinxed. She was bad luck, an omen with good pussy. The rumors stemmed from the fact four out of five of her last drug kingpin boyfriends got caught and sentenced to fed time. The fifth one got lucky and got murdered before he even made it to trial.

  That didn’t worry Breeze, because he was out of the dope game. Had he still been hustling, she could have had a platinum-coated coochie, and he still wouldn’t have touched her. He got out just in the nick of time, too. The DEA had just swooped in and scooped up his whole team like an eagle getting its dinner from a lake. They had nothing directly on him, but with that many arrests being made, he was sure there would be some song singing going on. As sure as shit stinks, and shit stinks plenty, somebody was going to snitch.

  His childhood friend and right-hand man, Ice, beat everyone to the punch. Only, instead of snitching on Breeze, the person he snitched on was himself. He claimed responsibility for the whole operation. He traded his own life for that of his life-long friend.

  The lead agent tried zealously to fight the deal the government offered Ice, but to no avail. Special Agent Stevens knew Breeze was the king, but when Ice starting taking credit for many of the city’s unsolved homicides, he was overruled. Ice claimed several cold case murders, including Breeze’s first murder, and because the U.S. Attorney wanted those cases solved and off the books, he allowed Breeze to walk as long as they had his right-hand man.

  Breeze was forever grateful for the sacrifice his boy made for him. Had Ice not been a real G, Breeze wouldn’t have been free to continue enjoying life and getting good pussy from honeys such as the one with her nails clawing for purchase at the moment.

  “Mmm. I’m. Finna cum,” Vita whined like she didn’t want to. Her vagina bragged on itself by getting wetter and louder. Two more solid deep thrust from Breeze sent her over the edge, causing her vagina to dispense more of its good, creamy lotion while her body seized as if it had been hit by 50,000 volts from a police Taser. She shook, cursed, and slobbered all over herself before collapsing face-first onto the mattress.

  Breeze looked down and smiled proudly at his handiwork. In that instant, he abandoned his plan to hit it once and move on. All that changed the second he squeezed inside of her. It was so hot, so wet, he had to double check to ensure he put the condom on. Pussy that good could make most men have second thoughts about everything, Breeze reminded himself.

  If Vita knew the power of this good P, she could rule the world. It’s like an ace in the hole, the trump card that turns a no into a yes.

  “But, not men like me. I don’t rush head first, thinking with my dick,” he mumbled unconsciously.

  “Did you say something?” asked Vita. She was trying to regain her breath.

  “Nah.” He stepped from the bed and walked out onto his balcony to be alone with his thoughts. He pulled the empty condom from his deflating manhood and tossed it over the balcony and out toward Peachtree Street.

  Today had been a good day, but tomorrow could be even better. Tomorrow would be the day the culmination of all his hard work was rewarded. Tomorrow he would officially become a legitimate businessman. That was the prize his eyes had been on since he slung his first rock on Martin Luther King Boulevard so many years ago.

  A ton of cocaine had been sold to get him to this point. Lives had been lost. Friends had been crossed and dreams deferred all so Breeze could make it here. Although it wasn’t visible from there, he turned his head in the direction of Grady Memorial Hospital. That’s where Brezel Johnson had arrived into the world thirty-five years ago.

  His teenage mother, Alice, took the fatherless child back to the projects and dropped him off with her mother, then was in the wind. From time to time she popped in to drop off more kids. She was like a ratchet stork, flying in once or twice a year to drop off babies she didn’t want. By the time young Breeze was in the first grade, she had dropped off four more kids — three more boys and one girl, when it was all said and done.

  Grandma was only in her mid-thirties and still liked and did her own thing. Unfortunately for her grandchildren, her thing was gin and juice. She was also pretty fond of menthols and malt liquor. As a result, Breeze was forced to be a man at an age when he should’ve been enjoying his childhood.

  Since there was never enough food in the house, Breeze hit the streets. Bagging groceries at the corner store didn’t cut it, so he began bagging crack for the project kingpin.

  Juice inherited the crown by default, since everyone else was dead or in jail. Using a heavy-handed, shoot first technique, he easily controlled the lucrative projects. Whoever wanted to sell dope around there had to sell it for him. Point blank, period. Violators of that golden rule found their names listed in the obituary column of the local papers.

  Despite the warnings, beatings, and murders, there was always niggas unwilling to act right. Always some niggas willing to test the boss’ gangsta. If Juice dropped off a kilo to be bagged up, he expected to pick up a kilo when he returned, but some stupid-ass always had to try to be slick and skim something off. A couple of grams here, a couple of grams there to pay for the latest sneakers and coochie, thinking it wouldn’t be missed. Their assumptions always landed them in the local morgue.

  Not Brezel, though. He was always on point. Even when tested, he proved his loyalty, and as a result, the aging hustler took him under his wing.

  Juice had hustled in those same projects for decades. He adjusted to the changing times, switching from smack to crack effortlessly.

  Juice was a hood nigga to his heart, with nothing else to give but jewels of the game. And he gave them to Breeze straight, with no chaser. He taught him lessons he never actually acted upon himself, but knew the boy would. It would be a decade before he fully understood the most important lesson given to him:

  “Selling dope is a handicap for lames. A monkey can sling crack,” Juice told the confused kid.

  “So, why you….”

  “We ain’t talking about me. We talking about you! Don’t worry about me! This shit is just a means to an end. If you live through it, you should have money, power, and respect. Don’t be no fool and take them to jail or the grave with you! Instead, do something with them! Open you up a grocery sto’, a car lot, or something!”

  Juice got himself murdered a few years later, leaving sixteen-year-old Breeze in charge. Breeze was the only one who was close enough to Juice to be introduced to his connections. His connections understood if Juice trusted him that much, then they, too, could trust him.

  The hoods in the hood felt some kind of way about working for the kid, but working beat not working, so they accepted it.

  His first order of business was to kill the man behind the death of his mentor. His killer was a frustrated husband who got tired of Juice leaving his juice inside of his wife. Juice’s kingdom collapsed over a woman like a ghetto version of the movie Troy.

  “How long have you been out here?” Vita purred as she stepped out onto the balcony behind him. She walked up to him, pressing her body against his back as she wrapped her arms around him and took his dick in her small hands.

  “Just a few — Damn!” he said, looking down at his watch. The pink glow of pre-dawn confirmed what the expensive timepiece reported. He had been out there for several hours, not several minutes.

  “Nervous about tomorrow? I mean today,” she corrected while she gently tugged on his manhood. It began to rise and stiffen in her soft palms.

  “Nervous? Nah, never that. Anxious and excited, maybe, but I’m ready, though,” he said as he turned to face her.

  “Yes, you are!” she said wickedly, staring
down at the thick erection between the two of them. Realizing it wouldn’t melt in her hands, she decided to put it in her mouth. Breeze smiled appreciatively as she slowly lowered to her knees before him.

  “Mmm,” he moaned when her moist, hot mouth engulfed him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back to enjoy the early morning oral stimulation.

  Vita kissed, licked, sucked, and stroked his thick erection until he rose up on his tippy toes, signaling his impending climax. She had a decision to make, and she had to make it quick. She debated for a millisecond before snatching his organ from her mouth. The relationship was far too new to be swallowing. That would be like kicking a field goal on first down.

  A split second later, he grunted and exploded across her chest. “Let. Me. Find. Out. You scared.” Breeze laughed once he was able to breathe again.

  “You first,” she stood and replied. Vita turned and headed back inside, pulling him along behind her by his penis. Once inside, she climbed back onto the bed and spread her legs open wide. Her neatly shaved pussy looked like a plump black clam, and he was quite fond of clams. He took position between her firm chocolate thighs and scrutinized it for several more seconds. That’s the thing about pussy. It’s good on so many levels, it feels good, it tastes good, and it’s a good to look at. As a matter of fact it’s so good that it should have its own TV channel. It would be called VSPN or something.

  It puckered up like it wanted a kiss, so he leaned forward and kissed it. He wasn’t certain what he should be doing to it, so he mimicked what he had seen in pornos.

  Vita grunted and grimaced as he scraped and chewed at delicate lady parts.

  “Un-uh, that’s okay. Bless your heart for trying. You get an A for effort,” Vita said as she pulled him up.