KT chased two Corona beers with a modified, vanilla-flavored Corona Dutch Master cigarillo of Alisha's Blueberry Kush. He took a long, hot shower. Seconds after his head met the pillow, he was off to dreamland.
Curtains snatched aside, a brilliant burst of sunlight pierced his closed eyelids. Groggily, KT assessed his surroundings. Black Panther Party artwork adorned the crème wall plaster. An empty Corona beer bottle sat atop the dresser. Alisha was standing near the bed with her hands on her hips.
KT realized where he was. "What time is it?"
"Auntie in the living room, so hurry up."
His hygiene was quickly tackled. Five minutes later, he made his way through the double-wide trailer. In the living room, his eyes fell upon a mocha skin-toned, middle-aged woman pacing the floor. He approached her and said. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. I had a real hectic yesterday."
Madam Jose refused his handshake." Such gestures signify acceptance of being introduced. I can't say I accept that."
KT conceded to her brusqueness. "Big Suge said you two did good business in the past and thought maybe we could too."
"My business with David concluded some time ago. So, our past dealings hold no bearing on today's meeting. What I agree upon if anything hinders on you alone."
“As it should.”
Madam Jose, eyeing him suspiciously, took a seat. "Khalid Garrison, Norfolk, Virginia is a long way from here. So, tell me... how do I know you will be a valuable asset?"
KT shrugged. "We don't know each other, so we can tell each other anything. Because of that, immediate trust not on the table. Honestly, though, I don't want you knowing too much about me."
"We agree on something."
"When you hold what the other person desire, you hold all proverbial cards. If what Alisha said is true about the price, you have what I desire. All I need to know is, can we do business? And how do we limit our exposure to each other overall?"
Madam Jose took a moment to think before she replied. "Based on my past relationship with your brother, we might be able to do business on a probationary period. First of all... this the first and last time we converse about anything. Big Suge told me about his troubles back home. Since he'll be staying here for an extended period, you talk to me through my niece, Alisha. Now... whether it’s one or one hundred, it's the same price per pound."
KT nodded. "Understood."
Madam Jose levied her business proposal. Before any transactions were to be made, KT would first supply her with the address and keys to a Virginia residence. The minimum purchase allowed was ten pounds. Given two days’ notice, her niece would travel to Virginia and collect the purchase payment, plus an additional $1,000. Two days following Alisha's safe return, said merchandise would be found inside KT’s Virginia residence. How or by what means were not to be discussed.
It was KT's turn to take a moment to think before he replied. "Madam Jose, I don't mean to sound reluctant, but I am. Agreeing to those terms, I give you control over everything. You hold ALL the cards. If something goes wrong, I'm the only one losing."
"You're absolutely correct. Just remember, you're faced with two simple choices. Agree to each term, and we attempt to do good business on a strictly probationary basis. Or we walk away from a conversation that never took place."
A business that makes nothing but money
is a poor kind of business
-Henry Ford 1863-1947
CHAPTER 8
Crime is contagious. If the government becomes a
lawbreaker, it breeds contempt for law
-Louis D. Brandies 1928
Wakefield Avenue, Ingleside
Norfolk, Va.
10 pm two nights later
A pale fist slammed into his gut, another one slammed into his jaw. Backhand slapped, KT was thrown up against his Oldsmobile Ciera a third time. Refusing to give his assailant the pleasure of a mere wince, he quickly climbed back to his feet a third time. Cobwebs shaken, he glared at the pear-shaped, polyester-suited white man shaking the sting from his right hand. "You can do this bullshit all night. My answers still won't change."
"All that is required is for you to tell us where that bastard is, and this will all stop."
"Cancun until he gets his mind right." KT repeated a fourth time.
This time he blocked a snail slow haymaker. He warred against the urge to retaliate. Three armed, dark polyester-suited white men stood ready to assist their colleague. Alone. Surrounded. Enmesh in a dark, eerily silent night, KT held firm against another backhand slap. Another fist slammed into his gut. Again, he was thrown against his vehicle. The pain begins to take its toll. He was able to taste the blood spilling from his split lip. He slowly climbed to his feet.
A tall, blond crop-haired man casually stepped between the victim and assailant and eyed the victim earnestly. "Garrison, just tell these detectives where your brother is."
"Cancun until he gets his head right." KT repeated for a defiant fifth time.
Incensed, a thick-chested stranger interjected. “Enough of this...” Angrily, he drew his sidearm. Aggressively chambering a round, he pressed his 10mm Smith & Wesson semi-automatic between their suspect’s eyes and spat. “What’s to stop me from dropping your black bastard ass right here?”
KT stood silent. The tremendous impact of the stranger slapping him across the face with the handgun nearly sent him into dreamland. His vision blurred, his senses were racked with agony. Thrown across his vehicle hood, KT was slammed to the ground. Kicked in his ribs, he was snatched onto his wobbly legs and yelled. “Keep on, I know somebody filming this shit.”
Saliva spewing from the blood-thirsty stranger’s growl, he holstered his weapon then stepped aside. “Somebody handcuff this fagot. Maybe after some time spent on our side of the water, he’ll be a little more cooperative.”
The tall, blond crop-haired Caucasian man interjected. “I think he got the message. Next time, he’s all yours.” He walked the three detectives back to their unmarked Chevy Caprice. Accepting their handshakes, he made his way back to the victim/suspect. He gave him a napkin and said. "Garrison, clean yourself up while I formally introduce myself. I'm Detective Arnie Swanson, Norfolk homicide. But I'm guessing you were already aware of my position in law enforcement."
KT wiped the blood from his nose and mouth. "Fuck law enforcement, yo ass a defendant in my police brutality lawsuit!"
Detective Swanson snickered. "Just make sure when your lawyer levies that complaint it’s against the Hampton Virginia police department. So, I can swear no one from there was ever in my company." He brushed a speck of grass from KT's shoulder. "Garrison, those fine detectives investigating an early morning robbery gone bad several days ago in their lovely jurisdiction. Several cars and a few homes were riddled with bullets. Luckily only one fatality. And that would be..."
KT blasted. "How in the hell should I know!"
"Everyone's dearly departed Roderick Omar, aka Hot Rod. Quite the Ingleside celebrity and close friend to none other than David Lee Garrison, aka Big Suge. Whom just so happens to be nowhere in sight."
"Me and a couple of friends took a trip to Ocean City, Maryland. The same day we left, my brother took his fiancée to Cancun for two weeks. So, I doubt if he even knows what happened."
"Give me the names of those friends you alluded to."
“Only thing your ass getting is the hotel I registered at and the restaurant where I made reservations. I'm sure the hotel front desk and the restaurant registration log enough to verify my alibi. When my brother gets back, my word I'll make sure he comes to see you with his alibi and attorney.”
Detective Swanson sat on top of the suspect’s Oldsmobile Ciera hood. "Look, Garrison, I'll never condone what those detectives did to you."
“Yo ass just sat back and let it happen. So, save that bullshit you dishing out."
"Those men sought answers and believed you could provide them. Look at it from an investigative standpoint. The Hampton PD learns our
dear friend Hot Rod is the deceased alleged armed robber. The bullet-riddled car he was found inside had David Lee Garrison's fingerprints were all over it."
KT fired back. "If what you saying is true, my brother's fingerprints definitely won't the only ones found. Half the damn neighborhood rode with Hot Rod at some point. Including me. Not counting whoever else he rides with."
"It’s clear David Lee Garrison didn't murder his friend. So those Hampton detectives suspect he went in hiding because he was indeed the second alleged armed robber. Hence, he shot at the guys who shot at them. Supported by his criminal background and previous armed robbery-related investigations. Not to mention his close relationship to the deceased, who was found with a damn sawed-off shotgun. Hampton police also displayed a composite sketch we both know looks a lot like your brother. The next step is a line-up, but that can't happen without him."
KT replied. "That bullshit composite sketch all over the news looks like half the black men in Virginia, so try again.”
"Forget about the Hampton police for a second. Let’s focus on you... Norfolk vice narcotics know all about your crack dealing activities. Where, what you sell, at what price, and to whom you distribute your illicit wares. The narcotics division knows so much. If I give them a call, a search of your vehicle will likely uncover some form of illegality."
"All yo ass gotta do is make the call."
Detective Swanson gave him a business card. "Khalid Garrison, broad daylight robberies and gunfights scare the public. When the public gets scared, we act. Those fine detectives will be back for you. So, do yourself a service, tell us where your brother is before we decide to flip One Hustler's World on its head."
KT watched the detective’s gray Chevy Lumina disappear down Wakefield Avenue then ripped his business card to shreds. Into the night, KT, badly beaten, made his way through the Ingleside, Norfolk area. To the one place, he could always find sanctuary.
∗
Trant Avenue, Ingleside
Norfolk, Va.
15 minutes later
The doorbell chimed. Yolanda cautiously approached the door. Looking through the peephole, she disengaged the deadbolt locks and held her front door open. Just looking at her uninvited guest, she shook her head.
KT slowly removed his Timberland boots then entered her 3 bed, 1 bath home. The deeply plush Aubusson carpet soothes his aching toes. The cherry wood walls, Sanibel coffee & end tables, Turkish leather expansion sofa & loveseat gave the living area a log cabin-like allure.
KT plop down in the recliner. Exhausted, he didn't resist his slouched chin being raised.
Yolanda noticed abrasions across his face. His split left nostril complemented a split bottom lip. His silk shirt tattered, his jeans were soiled with grass stains. She sat on the coffee table and said, "Go take a shower and change out of those clothes. Then we can talk about what happened."
KT savored the hot, cascading shower water, washing away the filth of being assaulted by those meant to protect & serve. He found silk boxers, blue gym shorts, a white tank-top, and flip-flops on top of the closed toilet seat lid. He brushed away suspicions why she would have these manly items on hand.
Just as KT stepped from the bathroom, he noticed the murmur of jazz escaping the closed master bedroom door. Trying the doorknob, he was denied entry. Following the scent of exotic cannabis led him into the kitchen, where he found Yolanda leaning against the counter.
KT tugged at the thigh-high, terry cloth bathrobe tied around her tall, curvaceous frame. His left hand coursing along her golden-brown legs, he was enthralled by the sensuality of a half-smoked blunt perch between her naturally moist lips. Yolanda’s deep double dimples appeared with every slow drag. Marijuana smoke slowly seeping from her nostrils, her skin shines against the perfect lighting.
KT accepting the blunt, took a deep drag. Allowing the mild smoke to tend to his wounded psyche, he privy Yolanda to his encounter with Hampton, and Norfolk, Va. homicide detectives. Most importantly, Norfolk homicide Detective Amie Swanson's warning.
Yolanda shook her head solemnly. "I don’t understand why Big Suge and Hot Rod would rob some open-air trap market and not expect shooters to be lying in wait. In broad daylight, no less. What in the world did they expect to happen?" She took KT into her hug. "I'm sorry all this had to happen. We all miss Hot Rod. But at least you got Big Suge out of dodge. Long as he stays put, this will eventually blow over."
“I seriously doubt that. You should have seen those bastard pigs, they out for blood. His or mine. Don’t matter to them fuckers.”
“Did they arrest you? Is Big Suge wanted, or even listed as a person of interest?” Yolanda took his silence as a response. “Fucking you up without taking you in, says they don’t have much evidence against you or your brother. Long as it stays that way, the most you can expect is a butt-whooping.” She chuckled. “Wasn’t your first, definitely won’t be your last.”
KT dropped the blunt roach into the garbage disposal. He spoke about the Ocean City, Maryland weekend getaway turned Battle Royale. Despite all of that, Keisha still refused to label what they were. Upon their return to Norfolk, though it was the early morning night, Keisha insisted she is dropped off at a girlfriend’s house.
Yolanda gave KT a V8 Splash. Watching him take several gulps, she replied. "There are only two reasons why a woman doesn't let a man know where she lives. She's either already in a serious relationship, or she into something that makes people knowing where she sleeps dangerous to her well-being."
Though reluctant, KT couldn't refute the truth her words held. He untied Yolanda’s bathrobe. Awed, he was greeted by Yolanda’s red G-string, near-complete nakedness. He cupped her golden brown 34Bs and kissed both succulent mounds. "Slim Goodie, you taste like sweat and candy."
"You think your woman would want you fondling me?" Yolanda retorted.
"According to Keisha, I still don't have a woman."
She stepped aside and retied her bathrobe. Her authoritative glare garnered KT’s full attention. "You might be able to fool everybody outside these doors, but I've known Khalid Nikita too long not to know when your nose wide open. And this Keisha woman can sail a cruise ship through that snout. Everything you’re dealing with regarding your brother and Hot Rod. Not to mention, you JUST took a police beatdown. Yet, here you are, worried about some bitch and her secrets."
KT sighed. "Slim Goodie, go ahead. I’m listening."
"I schooled you to a lot of aspects of One Hustler's World. But love was never in the lesson plan." Yolanda chooses her words carefully. "I'll never tell you who or how to love. Hell, I'm still learning."
"I love you too... In a different, perverted way."
"Seriously, our love doesn't involve sex. Ours is friendship, teacher-student, and business-based. You can be yourself around me and vice versa... But this Keisha girl has a grip on you."
KT smirked dishearteningly. "That obvious, huh?"
"Love her with all your heart if she deserves it. Just always remember... the one who seems to love the fewer controls the relationship."
"You lost me."
"In time, you'll figure it out. In the meantime, try not to live with any regrets." Yolanda chuckled at his apparent confusion. "If there's something you want to do. Don't let your love and obligation to Keisha or any other woman, for that matter, be the only reason why you don't. Because you leave yourself vulnerable to being crushed if she's unfaithful. It'll always hurt. But just knowing you were doing you is like a constellation prize because you didn't put all your eggs in one basket that she happened to purposely drop."
KT asked. "So, I should do what?"
"Keep wifey number one. Just make sure the other women always respect the wifey position. Whoever she is. And NEVER tell another woman you love her unless you do."
KT smooched her cheek. "I love you, Slim Goodie."
"Okay, I'm the other woman, and I believe that nonsense. What's to stop me from sabotaging your relationship?" Yolanda quizzed him.
<
br /> "Long as I keep the other shorties chasing my love, they'll always play second fiddle to my number one."
Yolanda’s double dimple smile filling the kitchen; she took him around the shoulders and said. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."
"Maybe it's the money you making off me." KT trapped her within his embrace. His hands beneath her bathrobe, he palmed her buttock. "Or maybe it’s cause you taught me how to make you cum."
Yolanda, unable to pry his hands from her backside, was pressed against the refrigerator. "Now definitely not the time for this bullshit."
"Slim Goodie, you walking around free-balling. I heard jazz coming from yo bedroom and the door locked. You know, I know, you know, I know what's going on. The question is, can I help with the re-education?"
Yolanda, accepting his need for a momentary escape, didn't protest his trailing footsteps. She unlocked the door and ushered him inside her master bedroom.
They were met by dim lighting, soft jazz, and a perfect vanilla freshness. Four tripod-mounted Sony digital camcorders were strategically placed around the king-size bed. They were transfixed on the perspiration slick, vanilla crème beauty handcuffed to the headboard. Blindfolded, her long, naturally red hair was ruffled. Her back arched. Her legs draped over slim, sensual shoulders; the handcuffed beauty wept from the exhilaration of a sensual mouth feasting upon her honeypot.
Yolanda whispered. "She's been like that for two hours."
KT approached the woman seated in the far-left comer. With a digital camcorder set to her face, she maintained a constant zoom on the cunnilingus. He whispered to her." What's yo role?"
Samantha replied. “Capture tutorial footage on S & M oral stimulation. So, pretend I'm not even here." She brushed off his kiss attempt and resumed her camerawoman duties.
KT pulled the blond beauty from between the captive's thighs. He quietly silenced her protest. He licked orgasm moisture from her lip and chin, then disrobed. Grabbing one of the digital camcorders, he placed her hand on his fast-maturing manhood and whispered. "Honey, show off for the people."
One Hustler's World Page 7