by Sa'id Salaam
“Buy you a drink?” a man asked from behind while tapping Tosha’s shoulder to get her attention. A little on the plain side, but still tall, dark, and semi-handsome.
“Darryl!” Tosha screamed when she turned and saw who it was. He was her boyfriend — until Tasheena found out!
“Un-uh. Oh, hell, nah,” Tasheena protested. “She don’t want yo’ lame ass! We tryna turn up, not turn in. Lame ass.”
“What I do?” he whined. He couldn’t understand why the woman hated him so much. He wouldn’t be able to understand she considered him a threat. He was marriage material, and Tasheena knew it. She didn’t want to lose her sidekick, so no man for Tosha.
“Kick rocks,” was the jealous woman’s reply.
“You have my number,” Darryl reminded, and then stormed off. He didn’t make it two feet before being snatched on the dance floor by the school board commissioner.
“That wasn’t nice,” Tosha pouted and protested.
“Gurl, that nigga lame! Let them basic bitches have him. See them ballers over there? Let’s get ‘em!”
***
“I know we turned a profit tonight! The place was packed! The bar was poppin’,” Breeze cheered triumphantly when Carlton and Billie met with him in his office after the club closed.
“I believe we did,” Billie exclaimed and began to rattle off the numbers. “Five thousand at the door. On a Wednesday, at that. The bar sales were twice that. We definit—”
“Not so fast,” Carlton interrupted, clapping his hands to cut her off. Billie’s face turned red from embarrassment and anger, but she held her tongue. “The Lumber Jacks don’t cum cheap,” he giggled at his own little joke. “All that wood!”
“How much?” Breeze demanded.
“Ten grand, with another five on promotion. And I booked them for the rest of the year! It’s raining men,” the gay man sang as he fanned himself.
“Unbook them. No way am I paying those faggots ten grand a week. What happened to the old dancers Billie found?”
“First of all, we don’t say faggot! Second of all, they were just average. The Lumber Jacks are—”
“Fired, and that’s the end of that!” Breeze put his foot down.
“Okay, but that’s the second time you’ve undermined me. There will not be. A. Third,” he said, snapping his fingers before storming out.
“There. Will. Not. Be. A. Third,” Breeze mocked, cracking Billie up.
Chapter Sixteen
Death is an integral part of life in the hood. As a result, Clayton and Son’s business was booming. With so many rushing to be dead or in jail, considering the choices they make, lawyers and morticians made more money than the drug dealers did.
Everyone loved a good funeral, except for the one in the box, so it’s not uncommon for the person who killed the victim to come see them off. Pay their respects, it’s called. Not to mention it quells any suspicions they earned, while still allowing them to hear what people are saying about the murder. That’s why both Ju-baby and Wesley made plans to attend.
At least Ju-baby was smart enough to leave the new whip at his new apartment. He had recently rented a spot in Midtown to go along with his new transformation. He had even cut his crop off and trimmed his goatee.
Wesley, on the other hand, pulled up beating. The whole car rattled with every kick of the new speakers. New paint, new rims, and new jewels. He was stunning. He did at least dress in black. He had on a black jeans, a black shirt, and a black hat.
“’Sup wit’ you?” Wesley wondered at his friend’s new look. “You looking… Um?”
“’Fisticated?” Julious asked hopefully. That’s what he was going for, with the black slacks and button-up shirt.
“Hell, yeah! Let’s go on in there and pay our respects.” They arrived just as Shrimp’s grieving mother made it to the casket.
“Skrimp! Oh Lawd, dey done kilt my baby! Skrimp,” the dead girl’s mother wailed in Ebonics.
Shrimp’s son was told she was dead, but wasn’t old enough to grasp what that meant. She looked the same lying in the box as she did most days lying on the sofa at home. He expected her to pop up at any moment and light a menthol.
“Mm-hmm,” La-La hummed and twisted up her lips at Ju-baby and Wesley when they came into the funeral parlor.
“Mm-hmm what?” they asked in unison, fearing the worse from her.
“Mm-hmm, Mont got robbed and y’all got fresh all of a sudden. Done pimped yo’ ride and e’rythang,” she said to Wesley before turning to Ju-baby. “And you done got all ‘fisticated ‘n’ shit.”
“I don’t know what you talkin’ about, shawty,” Wesley protested. It sounded good, but La-La wasn’t hearing it.
“Whatever, break me off! Po-po was already asking if I knew who Ju-baby ‘nd ‘em was,” she admitted.
“Sho-nuff?” Ju-baby asked, looking at Wesley, who nodded in agreement to the tacit order.
“I got you, shawty. Let’s go smoke after they put lil’ mama in the ground,” the young killer suggested.
“Shit, we may as well go now,” La-La suggested. Shrimp was dead and wasn’t coming back, so why not go ahead and get high, the girl reasoned.
“I got some shit to handle, so handle that,” Ju-baby begged off.
“Gotcha.” Wesley said, deciding to tap that ass one last time. La-La was looking good in a black mini skirt and a pair of black come-fuck-me heels.
“Pump that bass, shawty!” La-La demanded, dancing in the passenger seat. He did, and she put on as he drove to a nearby motel.
The rundown motel specialized in short stay rentals. Most patrons rented the rooms by the hour to smoke or fuck. Wesley sent her inside with a twenty for the hour, although she would be staying a little longer than an hour.
“228,” she cheered when she returned with the old-fashioned key.
Wesley drove around back and pulled into a parking spot. He fondled her ass as they walked up the stairs and into the damp, dark room. After they smoked the smoke and drank the drink, it was time to do the do.
La-La got up on the bed doggy style with a dog in heat on her ass. He flipped her skirt forward and slid her moist thong to the side.
“Shit, this shit good and hot,” Wesley moaned as he slid inside her slippery insides. It was extra hot because she was still burning, and as usual, since he didn’t bother with a condom, he, too, would be burning again.
“Damn, nigga, you doing that shit,” La-La yelled just before busting a gushing nut. He wasn’t far behind, and added more semen to the collection already inside of her.
Now that she came, it was time for her to leave. Leave this life, that is. Wesley leaned in and put her in an official LAPD choke hold. La-La didn’t go out like a punk, though. She fought the good fight in the fight for her life. She kicked, clawed, wiggled, and squirmed trying to break his hold before going completely still.
“Shit,” Wesley grunted, out of breath from the struggle. He got up to leave, leaving his DNA behind inside her as well as under her orange fingernails. A quick search of her knock-off Pucci purse revealed Agents Stevens’ card. On the back he had written Ju-baby. Wesley stuck the card in his wallet with the intention of giving it to his partner. He would forget about it after he smoked the next blunt, though. He pulled out his phone and got his partner in crime on the line.
“’Sup, shawty?” Ju-baby asked as he answered Wesley’s call. The question asked a multitude of questions all at the same time.
“Everythang is everythang,” he replied, answering them all. “’Sup with the next lick? A nigga bread a lil’ light right now.”
“I know that’s right,” Ju-baby said, since he had spent almost all of his money, as well. He at least had plenty to show for his, but it was time for another lick, and he knew just who to hit.
“A’ight, holla at me. ‘Sup, we hitting The TRAP t’night?”
“Nah. I’m on some other shit t’night,” Julious replied. It was Friday night, and he was ready to try his hand in the
big leagues.
Chapter Seventeen
Friday night rolled back around, and Tasheena was once again ready to turn up. She popped up in her bed bright and early at 9:30 p.m. After emptying her bladder, she stepped into the shower. A dollar store douche removed any residue and remnants of her recently-departed period.
A fruity concoction made her smooth legs look even smoother as she stepped into her matching bra and panty set. She didn’t get to go shopping this week, but she still had plenty to wear out tonight. She was still undecided as to what color hair, eyes, and dress to rock, so she left it to chance.
“Eenie, meenie, minie, moe,” she sang as she ran her hands through the rows of clothes hanging in her closet. When she stopped and opened her eyes, she saw a floral print mini dress had gotten selected. The spaghetti-strap number left no room for a bra, so off hers went.
“You go, girls,” she congratulated her firm breasts for holding the dress up properly. She closed her eyes once more and twirled with an outstretched finger. Her finger settled on a jet-black bob-cut wig. A pair of bright-colored patent leather pumps, along with the matching patent leather purse also got picked for duty tonight.
Back in the bathroom, she laid down the foundation to beat her face. Next came a pair of colored contacts and long lashes. She managed to change her eye color without looking directly into her own eyes in the mirror. That was something she very rarely did. She would look at, but not into her eyes, because the eyes being the windows to the soul didn’t lie. They always told the truth, and the truth was something she didn’t want to deal with. Lies were much easier to digest.
Now that she was all set to go, she needed her ride. A glance at the clock said Tosha should have been there already. A glance at her prepaid phone said she hadn’t called. Tasheena already had an attitude when she hit speed dial.
“Bitch, where you at? I know that ain’t the TV I hear in the background! I know you ain’t still at home,” she barked when her friend answered. “If we don’t get in befo’ eleven, you paying my way in! I swear you be—”
“Okay, okay,” Tosha whined, abandoning her plan of staying in to catch up on her reading and rest. The poor thing had even written a script of what to say when Tasheena called, but instead of using it, she buckled under pressure and said, “I’m on my way.”
Tosha wasn’t feeling a night out at the club after just completing a sixty-hour workweek. Still, she dragged herself out of bed and got dressed. A knee-length dress went over a pair of fishnet stockings and pumps. There was no time for a weave, so she curled a quick flip in her own shoulder-length hair and ran some gloss across her lips. At least she wouldn’t be looking crazy from patting her head all night to stop the itching.
There was no way to make it all the way across town and back before eleven, so she stopped by the ATM for extra cash. Extra so she’d have enough for both of them.
“I must be a damn lesbian, since I’m taking care of the next bitch!” Tosha fumed to her reflection in the ATM glass. “Shit, we finna break up. Tonight!”
As usual, Tasheena started bitching the second she got in the car. Instead of a thank you for driving all the way across town, she got, “You be trippin’! We late as hell! Hell, we gon’ miss the chance to get in free and the damn drank specials! Prolly won’t even be able to get no table! All the ballers gon’ have hos at they tables,” Tasheena ranted ungratefully the whole ride downtown. Tosha contemplated running into a concrete divider to shut her ass up. She smiled instead, knowing tonight was their last night together.
***
Julious stood in line in front of Club Illusions, deep in thought. He wasn’t mulling over world peace or mathematical equations. It was the whole valet parking thing that had him fucked up. In his reasoning, Niggas would pull up in a hundred-thousand dollar whip, hand the keys off to another nigga, who drove off in their shit. Then they would just walk on in the V.I.P. entrance.
What wasn’t hard to figure out was the reaction the women in line gave the ballers and shot-callers. The lovely, sophisticated women in front and behind him put on every time one pulled up. They would laugh out loud or wink, wave, and smile. They had acknowledged Julious’ swag, but they sweated them. He had seen enough when the women fawned over an ugly little man in a V-12.
“Going to get my shit,” he mumbled to himself and set off around the corner to where he had parked his Range Rover. Tasheena and Tosha were leaving the parking lot as he arrived.
“’Sup,” Julious nodded in passing as he went to his truck.
“Nothing,” Tasheena quipped sarcastically as they marched towards the long line. She felt silly a few seconds later when he drove by them in the expensive SUV. He fell into the short line for the valet and waited.
“Here you are, sir,” the valet attendant said as he handed Julious a ticket in exchange for his keys. He hesitated, and then gave in, fighting the urge to ask where his vehicle was going.
“Thanks,” he replied instead as he slipped him a twenty like he saw the other men do. Only difference was their twenties were really hundreds.
“Thank you,” the attendant said, a little salty at the cheap tip. His shit just might get a ding or a slow leak.
Julious shot a glance over to the line to see if he got the same treatment as the men before him. To his delight, he did, seeing the same winks and waves.
“I’m sorry, it’s one hundred,” the security guard corrected when Julious tried to give him twenty at the V.I.P. entrance.
“My bad. Thought that was a hundred,” he said, quickly replacing the bill with the right denomination. He was finding out very quickly it cost to be a boss. Some try to fake it until they make it, but that’s not free, either.
“That way, sir,” the big-titty hostess said, pointing toward the elevated V.I.P. section.
“Me?” he asked in confusion at being called sir for the first time in his life. It was the first time he had worn a belt, too, so…
“Yes, sir,” she giggled, making her breasts jiggle. He would have settled for her, but he was pressed on inside.
Another hundred-dollar bill got him admitted into the coveted area. Meeka escorted him to a table overlooking the dance floor.
Julious couldn’t help but marvel at the upscale club full of upscale people. Everyone was smiling and happy. There were no mean mugs or fights. People sipped colorful drinks with colorful names and smoked flavored tobacco in exotic hookahs. He did see a few people take discrete hits of coke in the dim V.I.P. section, but the place was absent of any weed smoke.
“What can I get you?” Meeka inquired sweetly.
“How much is champagne?” he asked, seeing that’s what everyone else around him was drinking. Every table had buckets of ice filled with bottles of bubbly.
“Just a hundred dollars a bottle,” she replied knowingly. Meeka was from the hood and knew his type. A hood nigga tryna upgrade, she had to respect that. That, after all, was why she was in school, herself.
“Brang me one,” Julious ordered, appreciating her pretty face.
“I’ll bring you one right away, sir,” she corrected, turned, and walked away. She knew he was looking at her ass, so she put a little extra sway in it so he would have something to see. He wasn’t the only one who noticed.
“Damn, even the waitresses fine up in this muthafucka,” Blockhead winced as Meeka walked by where he and Ray-Ray were just seated. Blockhead’s name was more of a description than an actual nickname. He had a thick, muscular neck under a squared-off, blocked head.
“You ain’t seen shit yet! Me and Goldmouth pulled some ol’ freaky freaks out this bitch last weekend,” Ray-Ray exclaimed.
“There’s your baby brother,” Vita pointed out from their booth when she saw Ray enter.
“Sure is,” Breeze replied evenly. He had actually seen him first, but opted to just sit back and watch him. He watched as DJ Rain Man slid into the booth with him and made a quick exchange with him. He couldn’t see what exchanged hands, but had made enough
drug transactions in his life to know one when he saw one. Still, he chose to pretend not to have seen anything.
“Let me go say hello,” he said, and rose from his seat. He wanted to go give him one of those pep talks parents gave their badass kids when they go somewhere so they don’t nut up like they do at home.
“Tell him I said hey,” Vita called after him. He didn’t hear it, though, with the music blaring from the speakers.
“Bruh, bruh! ‘Sup?” Ray-Ray greeted and stood as his big brother approached.
“’Sup bruh, Block?” Breeze greeted as he exchanged handshakes and man hugs before they settled back into the booth.
“Oh! I got that to Ice for you. Just shoot it back when you get it,” Ray announced.
“Huh?” A confused Breeze frowned, not having a clue what his brother meant.
“That ten bands. Ain’t you tell him to tell me to give him ten thou?” Ray-Ray reminded.
“He said I — Never mind. That’s what’s up. Like I told him, my cash is tied up. I ain’t in the streets. I run a business now,” he said a little curtly, then caught himself. “Gentlemen, enjoy your night.”
“What’s the matter?” Vita asked upon his return, noticing the perturbed look twisting his face.
“Nothing, babe,” he lied, giving her ebony thigh a firm squeeze to make the words believable.
“Mmm,” she moaned from his touch. “Don’t start nothing you can’t finish.”
She upped the dare by parting her legs under the table. No one likes to punk out on a dare, so he ran his hand up her thigh. He found the black box with the pretty pink button and began to fondle it. His fingers grew wet and slippery with each of her low moans.
“Mmm,” Vita hummed as Breeze made little circles on her swollen clit.
“You guys need anything?” Meeka asked as she ambled by.
“N-n-no,” Vita managed to stutter, bucking from the building sensations her man was causing.
“Oh my!” The pretty waitress laughed when she caught on. She bid a hasty retreat just before Vita got off.