Microphone Fiend

by Sa'id Salaam

Last, but not least, she fixed her face. Luckily, her tattooed eyebrows needed nothing extra. She laid her foundation, then did her lashes and lips and was all set for a night on the town.

  “Atta girl,” Tasheena said, giving her car a verbal pat on the back for starting right up. She gave herself credit for giving her good mechanic some good head. She should have taken it to a shop, because the quick fix wouldn’t last. Plus, she still had to grunt with every turn from lack of power steering.

  “I’m finna go turn up while you sitting at home lonely,” she said to Tosha. Only Tosha couldn’t hear her, nor was she sitting at home lonely.

  ***

  “So. What made you finally decide to call me?” Darryl wanted to know. They had just been seated on the open-air patio and exchanged niceties.

  “Because I wanted to,” she declared, holding her head up defiantly. It was liberating to do what she wanted to do instead of what she was told to do, especially considering the things she had been told to do!

  Tosha took a scalding hot shower when she got in last night. The sting of the burning water eased her pain. The soap and water couldn’t clean the dirt, but at least it was over. She had reclaimed her life and her soul.

  “Well, I’m surprised your friend let you see me. That girl hates me for some reason.”

  “Actually, I think she hates herself,” Tosha said and pondered that thought. What she was sure of was being out on the patio eating beat the hell out of standing in a long-ass line hoping it would move so they could save a few bucks on admission, then hoping to save a few more bucks on super-strong drinks served to pimp the girls into bed with strangers.

  “Okay, so what now? I mean, what are we doing?” Darryl asked. He paused at we, hoping they could be a we. There may not be an ‘I’ in team, but there’s damn sure an ‘o’ in lonely.

  “We,” she paused at we, liking the sound of it. “We’re going to take it nice and slow. Dinner, text, talk, movies, but no sex, no booty calls. Can you handle that?”

  “I can. I can handle that,” he nodded his smiling head.

  “Now, what I want to know,” Tosha smiled wickedly, “is what you were doing at the club with The Lumber Jacks?”

  “First — no homo, but that was the scariest shit I’ve ever seen! That damn cowboy gave me nightmares,” he said, cracking them both up. “Actually, one of my co-worker told me it was a good place to meet women. He lied — I got molested!”

  ***

  “Ten dollars, please,” the hostess announced, flashing that pretty smile of hers.

  “It’s not eleven yet!” Tasheena protested, sticking her wrist out for proof. Her slick ass just moved the big hand a few minutes slower, but it didn’t work. Especially since every ratchet girl tried the same trick when they arrived late.

  “I’m sorry, but we have to go by our clock,” she said, slightly pouting, and pointed to the clock over her head. Her smile widened, thinking how well she did in curbing her sarcasm.

  “Man!” Tasheena complained as she parted with some of her money. Once inside, she had to part with another eight dollars for a drink, since she missed the drink special.

  “Thank you,” Pops smiled as genially as if she had left a twenty-dollar tip instead of taking her two-dollar change.

  She pretended to sip between every sip to preserve her drink for as long as possible. She scanned the V.I.P., looking for Ray-Ray so she could sip champagne. She found a good spot, halfway between the front entrance and the V.I.P., and set up a stakeout.

  ***

  “Looking good,” Breeze told Billie when he came out to check out the line.

  “Huh?” she asked, looking down at her frumpy pants suit. Even she knew she didn’t look nice in it. That was the reason for wearing it. Looking cute brought too much unwanted attention. She hated the clammy feel of men’s eyes all over her body. The down side to dressing like a man was the clammy feeling of women’s eyes all over her body.

  “The line. The crowd inside. It’s looking like a good night,” he expounded as Carlton walked up. It was just after eleven, and the place was half full. The other half was in line or en route.

  “It’s okay,” Carlton said offhandedly, causing Billie to snap her head in his direction. They were off to a great night. Why was he lying?

  “We’re doing quite well,” she interjected. “So far….”

  “So far, I need to see what’s happening with V.I.P. and alcohol sales,” Carlton cut in, clapping his hands like one does when talking to a puppy.

  “Okay,” she sighed painfully. The conflict between her boss and the client was eating her alive. She had to do something, had to say something.

  “Like I said, don’t expect to turn a profit for a couple of months. Right now, all proceeds need to go to more promotions. I have something very special lined up for next week,” Carlton assured.

  “Um. Okay,” Breeze said with a pained expression of his own. He twisted his lips in thought, like he does, and went back inside.

  “What?” Vita asked when he arrived at their booth with that look on his face.

  “I’m not sure,” he responded, since he didn’t know. Something was wrong, but nothing made sense. He had been robbed once before, years back. Ski-masks, guns, zip ties, the whole nine yards. Oddly, he felt now just like he felt then.

  Sometimes the best fisherman comes up empty, no matter how good the bait. Likewise, Tasheena smiled, winked, and shook her ass for hours, and still came up empty. A few pretenders and wanna-bes shot at her, but they weren’t talking about much. She was long past the waffle house, smoke a blunt, and fuck they were offering. She did get a few numbers, though, just in case.

  Big Money had bagged a cute little Asian girl and walked right past her as if she was a statue. He probably should have looked and saw the dangerous glare she shot him. She gave it another hour before she gave up and headed home.

  “I’m still a bad bitch,” Tasheena told herself as she walked two blocks over to her car. She pleaded with the beat up vehicle to start, and thankfully it did. It started and drove, but was making more strange noises than a haunted house. She held her breath most of the drive home — almost made it, too, until disaster struck. The car belched, coughed, backfired, and then cut off.

  “Come on, come on, please,” she whined and turned the key, but got nothing. She got out, popped the hood to take a look. The only problem was the girly girl had no idea what she was looking at. She took a deep breath, exhaled out loud, and took off on foot.

  ***

  When Coach walked into the V.I.P. section, Breeze could tell there was something wrong. He received the bad news first, and went to relay it. He walked up to the booth and lowered his head before speaking.

  “It’s, um. Ray-Ray.”

  “Out front? What, drunk? Wearing jeans?” Breeze chuckled, even though he already knew. He had known it was just a matter of time. His little brother had died spiritually and morally a long time ago. Tonight, his body caught up with them.

  “I’m sorry, boss. He’s gone,” Coach said. Vita let out a low wail that made Breeze even sadder. “Come on. I’ll drive you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Damn it, Ray! Why you die on me? You know I wanted to put you in jail,” Agent Stevens chided the corpse of the ex-Ray-Ray Johnson. He winced painfully at the small hole in one temple and larger one leaking brain matter on the other. “Now that’s just down right nasty.”

  “The way I figure it, masked man here shoots the big-head guy. Robber number one shoots your buddy there, and then his partner. This is exactly why I don’t have black friends,” Hinton explained. Racist comment aside, he had hit the nail on the head.

  “No honor amongst thieves. So, who is our masked man?” Stevens asked.

  “Ready to reveal our unwanted guest?” Hinton turned to the coroner and asked.

  “Let’s,” the goofy medical examiner replied, rubbing his gloved hands together. He knelt next to the body and slowly peeled the ski mask off.

 
; Stevens scrunched his face up at the sickening sound of squishing blood as the mask came off. All the cops leaned in to get a good look at the robber-turned-victim. Stevens cocked his head sideways to help in the identification. Wesley had a disconcerted look on his face, as if to say this is some real bullshit.

  “Anybody?” Stevens asked, hoping somebody knew him. They all shook their heads while the M.E. snapped more pictures. Once he had enough, he checked the deceased’s pockets.

  “Probably got shot for holding out,” he surmised, pulling out a wad of cash from his front pants pocket.

  “Nah, that’s chump change. Our boy Ray here had to be sitting on a mill or more,” Stevens replied. He knew Ray-Ray was moving large amounts of coke, but didn’t know anything about his addiction to tricking.

  “No ID,” the coroner announced as he flipped through Wesley’s wallet. An old, decrepit condom was where his money should have been. It had dried and flattened from being in there so long. The M.E. scrunched his face curiously when he came across a business card bearing Steven’s name. “This you?”

  “It is, but — how’d he get it?” Stevens asked, leaning back in for another look at the corpse. The second look confirmed the first: he had never met him. The plot thickened when he flipped the card and saw his own handwriting. “Ju-baby?”

  “Ju-baby, Fiddy Cent, I Got Next, you people kill me with the colorful names,” Hinton chuckled.

  “Stone Cold, Vanilla Ice, George Bush,” Stevens shot back. “I gave this card to a girl — that girl was found dead in that motel room the other day. I spoke to her about a double homicide where this same name came up.”

  “So, is this Ju-baby, or did Ju-baby do him, too?” Hinton wanted to know. “Whoever did this is one cold-hearted son of a bitch!”

  “The way I figure it, our buddy here and a partner robbed and killed Montel and his baby mama. Then they killed her friend and did this robbery here,” Stevens said, trying to fit the pieces together in the puzzle. The room went silent as the criminal minds churned through the information.

  “Cool TV,” the coroner said, picking up the large remote. When he hit the power button, a violent blowjob popped up on the screen.

  “Fuck,” Hinton exclaimed, watching Tasheena purposely gag herself on Ray-Ray’s dick.

  “Wow,” Stevens mumbled, feeling himself getting an erection from the display. If his ex-wife would have sucked a dick like that, he wouldn’t have strayed. Still, trading down from a doctor with her own practice to a hoodrat with good head wasn’t a good deal.

  “Wow, is right,” the medical examiner agreed. The dead guys on the floor momentarily took a backseat to the action on the wall. They would have watched until the messy climax, had a female officer not walked in on the show.

  “Agent Stevens, there’s a — Oh, my! She must have had her tonsils removed,” Officer Jones surmised when she saw the footage.

  “Um. We, um. Yeah,” Hinton stammered and scrambled to turn off the TV. He already had one sexual harassment charge on him and was not in a hurry to get another.

  “Officer?” Stevens asked, then glanced down to see if his erection was visible.

  “Um. Oh! The resident’s brother is outside,” she recalled, having been momentarily distracted by the porno.

  “My buddy, Breeze,” he said happily and rushed outside to meet him.

  “Turn that back on,” Officer Jones ordered once he left.

  “Who’s in charge here? You? You? Who’s—” Breeze demanded until he saw Agent Stevens exit his brother’s house. His face morphed into a mask of recollection as he tried to place the familiar face. He literally snapped his fingers when it came to him. He suddenly recalled him from the courthouse when Ice copped out to all the charges. He recalled them locking eyes in the hallway and seeing malice in his pupils. It was obvious he was a cop, but it was personal. Now wasn’t the time to find out.

  “I’m Agent Stevens, Atlanta Drug Task Force,” Stevens introduced himself, minus the handshake. He made the statement sound like a question even though he knew the answer.

  “Brezel Johnson. What happened to my brother?” Breeze questioned in a tone that indicated he wouldn’t have shaken the hand had it been offered.

  “He’s inside getting tagged and bagged. We’ll need you to come down and ID him. We also need to interview you, as well.”

  “For what? I’ll come make the ID, but you can holla at my lawyer if you need anything else,” he replied, and fished out his card.

  “Rodney Zell? He’s a criminal lawyer, isn’t he? What does a law-abiding citizen like you need with a defense attorney?” Stevens asked sarcastically.

  “Ask him,” Breeze quipped and walked away.

  “Catch you later,” Stevens called out after him, smiling at his clever double entendre.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Just spoke with Brezel. He’s not coming in tonight. Still shook up over his brother, poor thing,” Billie moaned to her unsympathetic boss when they prepared to open for Sunday night jazz.

  “Good! I can get more done with that monkey out of my hair,” Carlton said, whipping his head as if he had long, flowing hair. “Now I can put on a proper ladies’ night! I’ll have to pay The Lumber Jacks extra to get them at the last moment.”

  “The Lumber Jacks! Mr. Johnson said….”

  “I don’t care what that hoodlum said! He needs to go back to his gutter and leave the night club business to the professionals!”

  Billie opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She knew this wasn’t right, but what could she do?

  “Once the police get word drugs are being sold from the DJ booth, Breeze will be out of my way for good,” Carlton smiled wickedly.

  “Now, I know that’s not true! If he knew drugs were being sold, he would have him fired. Again,” she protested.

  “He doesn’t know, but I do. And soon the police will, too!”

  ***

  “So, I thought you wasn’t messing with me no more?” Shanté asked when her passenger slid into her passenger’s side seat.

  “What? Girl, where you get that from?” Tasheena asked, frowning as if the notion were utterly absurd.

  “From you. You said ‘I ain’t messing with you no more!’ Called me fat and everything,” the girl reminded.

  Shanté was a big, pretty girl with long hair and low self-esteem. The good job she held provided her with a nice car and apartment, not to mention all the latest fashions in big-girl sizes from the Corpulent Closet, a specialty store for extra thick girls.

  “Girl, I was just playing,” she lied. In truth, Tasheena gave her the boot when she started hanging with Tosha.

  “Un-huh,” Shanté grunted dubiously. “Is that your car?”

  “Huh? Where?” Tasheena asked, turning her head in the opposite direction from where it had broken down. The blown engine would require cash, not ass, to fix.

  “Un-huh,” the driver repeated.

  “Un-huh nothing. Girl, we friends! Tell you what, everything is on me tonight. Then you get me on my birthday,” she offered.

  “Oh, okay! That’s what’s up! Breakfast, too?” Shanté wanted to know. For her, an after party consisted of steak, cheese eggs, hash browns, toast, a waffle, and some orange juice.

  “Okay, okay,” Tasheena said, looking at the clock. “But hurry so we can get in before the show starts.”

  Shanté pressed on the accelerator pedal and rushed downtown. She found a spot in the lot and followed Tasheena to the club.

  Tasheena got off easy when they got in free and caught the drink special. Word of mouth about last week’s show had the place packed with thirsty women. She spotted Meeka rushing to and fro and caught up with her.

  “Is my buddy Ray-Ray around?” she asked hopefully. The sudden drastic change on Meeka’s face alerted her to trouble before she even opened her mouth.

  “Girl, he got killed Saturday night. The funeral is tomorrow,” she said remorsefully.

  “Dang. Any other dudes u
p there tryna hang out?” Tasheena asked after a pause to mourn. Meeka pressed her lips together real tight to prevent the violent expletives on her tongue from escaping. She turned and rushed away before she exploded.

  “We want wood! We want wood! We want wood!” The crowd of ladies packed with schoolteachers, lawyers, and a host of other professional women began to chant.

  “Ladies and better-not-be-no-gentlemen up in here, I proudly present: The Lumber Jacks,” Rain Man announced and threw on a 70s disco tune.

  The MC came out and introduced each troupe member one by one. They all came out swinging, literally, to the women’s delight. Shanté had a ball catching mini-baseballs and tossing rings. She giggled and squealed in delight when Elephant did his thing.

  Tasheena didn’t pay much attention to the dancers. With Ray-Ray out of the picture, she needed to a new sponsor, and quick. She needed another car, rent was almost due, and her birthday was coming. To hell with The Lumber Jacks, she watched her watch for when the real men would arrive.

  “It’s time for the twenty-one gun salute,” the MC shouted. The crowd shouted back and donned their Lumber Jack-endorsed raincoats. Rain Man mixed in It’s Raining Men, and the men worked their poles.

  “Shanté! Girl! Never mind,” Tasheena called to warn her so-called friend, then changed her mind. As close as she was to the stage, she was about to get rained on, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “My baby! My baby love,” Alice wailed like a Supreme. She ran up, hugged the casket, fell off, got up, and did it again.

  Clayton and Son’s was packed to the rafters as the whole hood came out to support their fallen soldiers. Both Ray-Ray and Blockhead were well-known and well-loved, so of course everyone came to see them off.

  “Oh Lawd! Lawd! Lawd,” Damita shouted as she made her way up the aisle. She, too, hugged the casket, then fell out next to her mother.

  Meanwhile, Breeze sat there fuming. When he was in the streets, his family was safe because they were his family. He was torn between wanting justice and wanting revenge. Vita held and pumped his hand for support, but it didn’t even register. All he wanted was to find out who killed his baby brother.