Microphone Fiend

by Sa'id Salaam

  Meanwhile, in the other room, Ray-Ray wanted the works. He had Tasheena blow him until her jaw was sore, then there were back shots, side shots, forward cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, suck again, swallow and repeat. He fucked her every which way but loose until the sun crept up on the horizon.

  “Here’s a lil’ somethin’ fo’ yo’ pocket,” Ray-Ray said, leaving a stack of bills on the dresser as he got dressed.

  “Thanks,” Tasheena moaned on her way to sleep. The couple of hundred dollars was more than enough for a taxi to her car and to get her through the week.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Damn it,” Mike Stevens grumbled as he pulled up to the crime scene. Homicide generally handled homicides, but the drug agent was summoned to the scene since the victim was an informant.

  Steven knocked Mont off with several ounces of cooked coke over a year ago. It was more than enough for him to be charged with trafficking and sentenced to the twenty years the charge carried. The funny thing about criminals is none of them want to go to jail for their crimes. The fact of the matter is, most would rather tell on someone who didn’t get caught and send them to jail instead.

  When Mont mentioned Ray Johnson’s name, the detective was all ears. He had his sights on the older brother, Brezel “Breeze” Johnson, but figured Ray-Ray was a start to capturing the big fish. For that reason, the mid-level dealer was allowed to deal to his heart’s content. He was required to log in the weight of each purchase he made from Ray so they would be able to hit him with multiple charges upon his arrest. Enough charges and he was sure to flip on his big brother.

  “So, what do we have here?” Stevens asked once his badge granted him access inside.

  “A double,” Homicide Detective Hinton said, smiling inwardly. The racist white cop hated blacks with a passion, so he loved when there were multiple murders involving them. The only reason he worked so hard to solve them was because it usually resulted in sending another black to jail, therefore getting him out of circulation. Less black men equaled less black babies in his mind, and that was just fine by him. He knew the black agent wouldn’t share his enthusiasm, so he K-K-Kept it to himself.

  “What you get yourself into, Montel?” Stevens asked the dead man lying on the sofa. His eyes and mouth were wide open, but he wasn’t saying anything. When he noticed the man’s dick out, he looked down and saw Shrimp on the floor.

  “Looks like he was getting a little dome when he got domed.” Hinton chuckled at his own joke. He was the only one who found it funny, because Stevens sure didn’t. His use of slang when dealing with blacks was a habit Stevens hated.

  “Two different weapons,” the drug agent noticed.

  “A nine for him and a forty-cal for her. That means there were two shooters,” the homicide detective replied, slightly impressed at the drug agent’s accurate assumption. “He’s a known drug dealer, but there were no money or drugs found, except that cigar in the ashtray.”

  “That’s because the robbers took it all,” he replied as he picked up the lone blunt. He sniffed it and nodded at the loud, fruity fragrance. A pink object peeking out from under the sofa caught his eye, so he bent down and picked it up.

  “Must be hers,” Hinton said, since it was pink and near her body. Stevens swallowed the sarcastic comment at the tip of his tongue and checked the phone out. Using a knuckle, so not to add another print to it, he opened it up and checked the call logs. He pulled up the last message.

  “La-La,” he said aloud, then frowned curiously at the message. “What the hell is a Ju-baby ‘nd ‘em?”

  “Beats me,” Hinton shrugged in disinterest. He couldn’t care less about niggas with colorful names, wigs, and weaves. His passion and mission was to see a world with less blacks in it. Stevens, however, had personal demons pushing him on.

  The medium-brown-skinned cop hated drugs and drug dealers like Fox News hated President Obama. Just like Fox, it was personal, not business. Stevens had lost a child to the scourge of drugs. He and his ex-wife, Melody, were blessed with a gorgeous set of fraternal twins. A boy named Shane for him, and a girl named Shantel for her.

  The children were raised to follow in their parents’ professional footsteps. Shane wanted to be in law enforcement, while Shantel wanted to be a doctor like her beautiful mother. It was all good until life happened.

  The sheltered kids decided to separate for the first time when they went off to separate colleges. Shane was able to maintain his strict upbringing, but Shantel lost her damn mind. The girl turned up, got turned out, and turned up dead.

  The close-knit family was beyond devastated. No one knew how to cope with the loss of their beloved Shantel, so instead of turning to each other for comfort, they turned on each other. Doctor Stevens prescribed painkillers for herself to dull the pain. Shane dropped out of school and joined the Army. He decided he wanted to be as far away as possible from the situation, and Afghanistan was plenty far away.

  Agent Stevens submerged himself in his work. He planned to take down every dealer in the city by any means necessary. That included having sex with a beautiful informant. The ghetto girl was such a contrast to his prissy wife that he spent more and more time with her instead of at home. It was no surprise when she ended up pregnant.

  Honesty is the best policy, except for when it comes to having a child on the side. Melody was too proud and could not, would not accept it. One good thing came out of the situation: the shock shook away her growing drug habit. Maybe not for good, though. At best, it was a tentative truce, more fragile than a Ukraine cease fire, ready to crumble at any second.

  Once the divorce was final, she kept the house and their remaining child. Shane had two words left to say to his dear old dad: fuck and you. He stayed in contact with his mom via video chats, but he completely abandoned his relationship with his father. The loss of the rest of his family only caused a disgruntled Stevens to go harder. No way was Breeze going to live a happily ever after if he couldn’t.

  “How’s it hanging?” Detective Taylor asked as he came on the scene.

  “Straight down from the sheer weight of it,” Stevens shot back with a chuckle. The friends shook hands and traded big dick jokes to antagonize their racist comrade.

  It was no secret Hinton hated blacks, just like it was no secret he had a tiny little dick. It got exposed during a training incident, and they made sure to tease him every chance they got. Once they finished yucking it up at his expense, everyone got back to work.

  “Guess I’ll give Miss La-La a call,” Stevens said aloud as he left with Shrimp’s phone and the blunt from the ashtray. He hoped she was as ghetto as her dead friend was. He had developed quite a penchant for hoodrats, especially since his hoodrat baby mama was preoccupied on a mission of her own.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “’Sup, shawty?” Breeze greeted hoarsely as he took a call from Ice early Sunday morning. A glance at the screen showed he had missed several calls already this morning. Good thing Vita was still asleep, because he may have missed this one, too. For some reason, he just could not stay out of her.

  When they got in from the club early that morning, they didn’t even make it to the bedroom. In fact, the foreplay on the way up almost got her in the elevator. They made it two feet inside the apartment before they dropped to the floor to go at it. Each fucked the other to make them get off first. Lately, it had become a tie as to who could make whom cum first as they became more and more sexually in sync with one another.

  “You tell me, my nigga,” Ice shot back like a man who slept on a thin mat atop a metal bed in a tiny cell with a gassy bunkmate. Most people would have taken a tone of hostility, but Breeze knew the man. He heard the pain, frustration, and depression that is prison life in his voice. Life without parole meant just that: he would never see the light of day as a free man again. The only way Ice was getting out was flat on his back with a sheet covering him. Agent Stevens had actually offered him another way out, but he had passed on it.

  “L
ook, sorry I missed your calls. Shit’s just been real hectic since we opened the spot,” he replied, calming his friend.

  “Yo, I heard that shit poppin’, too,” Ice switched gears. Breeze could hear the smile on his face and pride in his voice.

  “We off to a good start,” he admitted, since that’s all it was. It would take several months at this rate just to get out of the red. He didn’t want to admit it, though, especially with Vita lying beside him.

  “Glad to hear that. So, what’s up with that bread I asked you for?” Ice asked, having circumnavigated the conversation to the purpose of the call. Some people will beat around the bush and talk for hours before getting to the point. It’s similar to men who will spend weeks or even months wining and dining a women, going to church, family gatherings, and chick flicks when all they really wanted was some ass.

  “Shit tight right now, shawty,” Breeze admitted, looking over to see if Vita was still sleeping. Her eyes were closed as she lay there, perfectly still, clearly hearing both sides of the private conversation.

  “Tight? Shawty, I just got off the line with your brother. He said shit was booming! Why you holding out on a measly-ass, funky-ass ten grand?” Ice demanded.

  Breeze paused for a second so he wouldn’t snap. He took a deep breath and calmly replied, “I did take yo’ mama some money, and I got her car fixed, too. I also dropped some money off to your baby mama while I was over there. Plus, I put a rack on your books. So, I ain’t got no problem holding you down, but I can’t afford a ten grand price tag right now,” he managed. He managed to say his piece without reminding him of the million or so dollars he blew tricking off. Ice had blown every cent he ever made. He didn’t even have money for a lawyer when he fell.

  “Yo, you ungrateful,” Ice decided, nodding his head along with his findings.

  “Ungrateful? Nigg…. Look, bruh,” Breeze began, catching himself when Vita began to stir. “As soon as shit pick up, I got you!”

  “Don’t got me, Nigga, get me! Ray-Ray told me you won’t make no moves with him.”

  “He told you right, too. I’m out out! I ain’t going back to slanging dope,” Breeze insisted.

  “Alright, my nigga,” Ice said with a new tone in his voice and thought in his mind before he hung up. Life without parole sure was a long-ass time.

  “You okay, baby?” Vita asked, reaching for his dick in case he said no. A blowjob would certainly make him feel better.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Breeze replied, twisting his lips as he does when in deep thought.

  He was grateful to have his life, grateful for the sacrifice his friend made for him. Besides Pops, he really didn’t have many people in his life he could talk to. His money, power, and respect reduced most people to yes men who agreed with whatever he said. His mama was too busy ‘turning up’ to be much of a mother.

  “What?” Vita questioned, snatching him away from his thoughts as he began to react to her touch, rapidly growing stiff in her soft hand.

  “Everyone tryna pull me back into the streets. I barely made it out, and they tryna pull me back in,” he complained while she kissed her way down his torso.

  “I’m. With. You. Whatever. You. Decide,” Vita stated, placing a kiss on his erection between each word. She stopped playing and took him deep in her mouth. She focused on the blowjob she was giving him while he tried to plan out his next move.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wesley and Ju-baby’s next move was to spend some of the money they had taken from Mont. Like the adage says, It ain’t trickin’ if you stole it. Wesley had that whole fool-and-his-money thing going on and would end up fucking his money up as quickly as humanly possible.

  His first stop Sunday morning was the West End Mall. He bought every color Jordans in the store, along with the hats to match. After packing them into his trunk, he came back and dropped a few grand on a slum gold necklace full of cloudy diamonds. As ugly as the chain was, they had the nerve to have a watch to match, so he bought that, too.

  Wesley loved hoodrats, and the ghetto mall was full of them. They scurried back and forth with colorful weaves and skimpy clothes. He, of course, purchased a few hoodrats a few outfits in exchange for some vagina play dates.

  Next came some big-ass rims for his car. Evidently 26-inch rims weren’t enough, so he shelled out a couple of thousand to upgrade to some 30-inch rims and tires. New TVs, a new sound system, and a new paint job separated the fool from even more of his money.

  Julious, on the other hand, had loftier goals. Ever since he saw the classy women line up at Club Illusions, he knew he had to have one. That meant he had to get sophisticated, and that required a trip out to Phipps Plaza, the upscale shopping mall catering to Atlanta’s elite.

  A couple of cute teens giggled and flirted as the handsome thug entered the mall. Any other day they could have gotten more attention than the nod he offered, but today he was a man on a mission.

  Ju-baby couldn’t help but stare at the different class of men and women who wandered through the mall. Everyone seemed happy. There were no mean mugs or cursing out loud. Women were dressed classy. There wasn’t a pair of daisy dukes in sight. The women were covered and still attractive. Likewise with the men. They were dressed in jeans with belts in the waist, along with loafers instead of Jordans. There was not a pair of sagging jeans in the place. They wore Polo-styled shirts instead of wife beaters. There was not a dreadlock or braid in sight. Truth be told, most of the men were clean-shaven, some even minus their mustaches. Now that was a bit too much, in his opinion.

  “Hell, nah!” Ju-baby laughed to himself at the thought of cutting off his own mustache. He had been to prison before, and the only dudes who cut their mustaches off sucked dick. So, the two things went hand-in-hand in his book.

  A well-groomed black man who looked to be about his age, height, and weight caught his attention, so he followed him into the store he went into. Ju-baby decided to select the same garments he did. Julious stuck out like a ghetto thumb with his gruff appearance, causing a sales clerk to come investigate.

  “How…. May I help you?” the man asked with a snobbish attitude. He turned his nose up after a quick once-over of the young thug.

  “First of all, I ain’t no booster,” Julious proclaimed and produced a thick wad of cash to prove it. “I’m tryna step my game up. You know, get ‘fisticated.”

  “Where you from, shawty?” the clerk leaned in and asked. His accent changed from Buckingham Palace to Bankhead Court in an instant.

  “Skrate out dat Westside,” Ju-baby announced proudly.

  “That’s what’s up. Let’s get you skrate,” he said, then switched back up when a nosey co-worker drew near. “Right this way, sir.”

  With the clerk’s help, he was transformed from Ju-baby into Julious. He picked out slacks, shirts, shoes, and his first suit ever. He got the matching accessories, as well. The sales clerk made such a nice commission off the sale he gladly helped him carry everything to his car.

  “Oh, this won’t do at all. If you’re truly trying to upgrade yourself, then you’ll also need new wheels, along with a good haircut and shave, as well,” his ‘fistication coach coached.

  “I don’t gotta shave my mustache, do I?” Julious asked fearfully, and covered it with his hand to protect it.

  “Not unless you suck dick,” the clerk laughed. His own was a straight, thin line, but it was there because he didn’t suck dick, either.

  He pulled out a card and handed it to Julious. “Ask for Leonard. Be sure to tell him Reginald referred you.”

  “Thanks, Reggie,” Julious said accepting the business card for Supreme Motor Coach. They specialized in pre-owned luxury vehicles. Reginald and Julious shook hands and went their separate ways. Reggie went back to work, while Julious made his way into the mall barbershop.

  “Hey, how would you like it?” a bubbly blonde white girl asked once he was seated. She had just given a man a nice, clean, low cut and shave that met with his approval. Well, al
most.

  “Same as his, ‘cept leave my mustache,” he ordered.

  “One no homo, coming right up!”

  ***

  “Hello, may I speak with La-La, please?” detective Stevens asked when she answered.

  “Who dis?” she asked, frowning up. She was acting like a typical ghetto girl, rolling her neck and mad about nothing.

  “I’m, um. Mike,” Stevens said, leaving off the part about being a cop, which would have ended the conversation. “Can we meet somewhere and talk?”

  “You got some weed?” she asked, again frowning her face up while placing a hand on a curvy hip.

  “Sure do,” he smiled, thinking of the blunt he took from Mont’s house. He wasn’t going to smoke it anyway, so why not give it to the girl to meet with him. “The Motel 7, one hour?”

  “Okay,” she sang happily, now that she knew where her first blunt of the day was coming from.

  ***

  All eyes were on Julious when he pulled into the auto dealership. The lone black salesman was at his side before getting booth feet on the ground.

  “Reggie sent me,” he explained.

  “He did?” Leonard asked dubiously when Julious told him who referred him. His white co-workers teased him when the donk pulled in. He quickly rushed out and tried to shoo him away until he heard his friend’s name. Not that he minded the sale, because he was from the hood, too, once upon a time, so he knew drug money when he saw it.

  “Yup, said you can put me in something smooth,” Julious replied.

  Leonard sized him up and correctly put him in the twenty-five thousand dollar bracket. He had a used Range Rover that fit the bill.

  “I’ll take it,” Julious cheered, and turned to get the cash from his old car. Luckily, Leonard was there to show him how to get a clean title with dirty money. That sale wiped the smiles off his colleagues’ faces.