Big Juicy Lips

by Allison Hobbs

  “No, I did…”

  “Misty, stop lying. You opened a bank account in my name and then turned around and transferred all the money in someone else’s name.”

  Misty’s heart leaped in her chest and began banging in terror. “I didn’t transfer anything.”

  “You deposited over two hundred thousand dollars in a bank account…”—Thomasina drew in a deep breath—“in my goddamn name,” she shouted. “How could you do something like that to me?” Thomasina’s voice cracked.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be mad. But don’t worry. I didn’t transfer any funds. The money should still be there.” Her eyes darted about anxiously.

  “Do you realize the kind of trouble you’ve caused? What the hell am I supposed to do? The bank reports large deposits to the IRS. And another thing…where’s your truck? The expensive truck that’s also in my name?”

  “I’m not sure,” Misty mumbled, feeling dumb.

  “Well, let me break the news…The insurance company called and said they found the truck stripped and abandoned. They said it’s no good to anybody. I tried to get in touch with you, but I couldn’t, so I told those insurance people to go ahead and sell the remnant of the truck. I told them to go ahead and sell it at auction; they ain’t gon get much money for a remnant of a truck.”

  My truck! Sold at auction! Her mother’s news report grew more horrific with each word she spoke. She knew how things worked in the streets. Dane had taken her truck to a chop shop and bought it back at auction—all legal and shit. Her good life had swiftly turned into a grim nightmare. Misty felt the room spinning. She was hungry, dehydrated, but she had shit to do.

  “You better clean up your act,” her mother yelled into the phone. “I’m not about to do any time for you. I don’t have the money for the IRS. When they come knocking, you better believe that I’m gonna sing!”

  Misty felt awful; she would have never knowingly brought this kind of trouble down on her mother. She didn’t know that internet banks reported to the feds. She thought her sex scam was tax-free. Hell, she couldn’t keep up with every damn rule in life. How the fuck was she supposed to know?

  She had to get to the bottom of this mess. With the phone tucked between her shoulder and her head, her eyes shifted around, trying to locate her laptop. It was nowhere in sight. “Tell Brick to pack his shit. I’ll be there shortly. Don’t worry, Mom. I’m gonna get all this shit straight. I’ll call you right back.”

  “Don’t call me back and don’t bring your ass over here until you come up with every dollar of the tax money that’s owed to the IRS,” Thomasina yelled before hanging up.

  The laptop was gone. She’d given Dane too much information about her business. More than likely, that slimy mufucker had stolen her bank account. But she had some extra stash in a cashbox. She rushed to the closet in her home office. Her heart dropped. There was an empty space where the cashbox should have been.

  Dane was the scum of the earth, and had no decency, no scruples whatsoever. Sure, Shane had scammed plenty of female suckers—but he’d never tried to con Misty. Misty and Shane had been partners in crime, with mutual respect for the game and for each other. No matter how close the resemblance, Dane and nobody else could ever replace Shane.

  An idea hit her, pulling her thoughts away from Shane. She could get online with her Blackberry! She hurried to her bedroom closet, swung open the louvered doors. Her eyes gleamed joyously at her Louis Vuitton shoulder bag hanging on a hook. She scrounged around inside. No Blackberry, no money, no nothing! Desperate, she pulled handbags and purses from shelves, yanked others off hooks, looking inside and tossing the beautiful, useless objects in scattered piles on the floor. The bedroom became a sea of designer leather. Prestigious logos, dangling haughtily and declaring their value, mocked her. She rushed to her marble-topped, cherry hardwood, Asian-style dresser, flipped open drawers, rooted around. Her jewelry—all her bling—gone!

  Dane was a ruthless nigga. Tears of betrayal welled, but there was no time for tears. Wiping her eyes, her mind searched for a way to get her hands on her next buck. Fretful, she brushed fallen hair from her face and anxiously gnawed on her fingernails.

  As soon as she got access to a computer, she’d get Felice back to work—Brick, too. In no time, she’d rebuild her empire. Lesson learned—pretty niggas with big dicks are bad for business.

  She’d rebuild bigger and better. She’d get her mother out of IRS debt in no time. Misty frowned at the audacity of Dane. That scheming mufucka had placed her in a world of trouble. Angry, she kicked a pile of designer bags. She scooped up a cute Juicy Couture bag and sent it crashing into a lamp.

  Calm down, Misty, she told herself. Her heart rate slowed down and when her thoughts became clearer, sharper, she decided to take a badly needed shower, put some clothes on, get a cab and go get Brick. Damn, she didn’t have money for a cab. She’d have to call the hack man, Mr. Johnnie. She shook her head. She hated riding in his dirty-ass hooptie.

  Brick probably had a nice-sized stash. He never went anywhere or spent much of his pocket money. Brick would help her work through this mess. Together, they’d track Dane down. Once they located the scamming bastard, she’d sic Brick on his ass. Brick would love fucking up Dane’s pretty face. He’d stomp that nigga in the head until his brains oozed out. Fuck with me, mufucka!

  It had only taken a few days for the chop shop to strip the X5 and abandon the carcass on the street. In cahoots with the insurance company, Dane bought the truck back at auction, registered it legally in Monroe’s name. Later, the truck was reassembled with its original parts.

  Grinning, Monroe sat behind the wheel of Misty’s former truck. “Thanks, man.” Lips puckered, he leaned over and gave Dane a quick kiss. He moved closer, threw both arms around his lover’s neck. The two gorgeous men held each other in a tight embrace, lips locked, tongues dueling during an impassioned kiss.

  Dane pulled back. “Yo, sexy, stop that. Always trying to work a mufucka up.”

  Monroe smiled and licked his lips.

  Dane’s expression turned serious. “Aiight, so dig, the first thing we gon’ do when we hit Detroit is find you a spot. Something tight. Expensive furniture. Y’ah mean?

  “And a pool,” Monroe added.

  Dane nodded. “Ain’t no thing. I’ll find you a spot with a pool. But money don’t last forever, man. As soon as we get settled, we gon’ have to send for Troy and Edison and get the business rolling in Detroit. But, we gotta keep our shit on the low.”

  “I know.” Monroe frowned, agitated at the reminder.

  “We gotta handle shit right. You gon’ have to find yourself a shawty, move her in and shit. Y’ah mean?”

  Monroe looked down, eyes saddened. “I feel you.”

  “You know how it is. What my wife don’t know won’t hurt her. I got my lil’ daughter to worry about. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be out and wouldn’t look back. I hate that niggas can’t keep their mouths shut. Running they mouths and writing books and shit, got females stressing, looking at niggas sideways—suspecting every mufucka with a good friend is on the down low.” Dane rolled his eyes.

  “It’s the truth, ain’t it? I mean…it seems that way to me. Most niggas I know like getting it on with another brotha. Most do it for recreation. They don’t even take it seriously. And even though you and me took it to the next level don’t mean we’re punks or nothing.”

  “I know that. But how we do is supposed to stay behind closed doors. Some shit is best kept in the dark. Y’ah mean? Niggas get loose lips when they get caught with their pants down. Once their bitch gets hip, then they start giving up all the tapes, trying to drag everybody down. Punk asses need to speak for they own damn selves—need to leave innocent mufuckas out of the mess. It’s stressful trying to keep a bitch out of your business. Nigga don’t need a spotlight shining down on him while he’s trying to juggle two lifestyles.”

  Monroe nodded. “Yeah, mufuckas talk too fuckin’ much. Yo, did you
peep Felice’s face when she saw how shit really was?”

  “Man, I wasn’t sweating that stank ho.”

  Monroe laughed heartily. “At first I thought she was heated, but she wasn’t mad; that freak wanted to join in.”

  “I was just using shawty—trying to conquer the pussy so I could steal her from Misty—put her to work for me. But I realize, bitches be too much trouble—falling in love, trying to ride the dick to death. Fuck them hoes,” Dane stated with contempt.

  “Yo, dawg. Can’t no skanks come between us. Not my wife or no other bitches, ya heard? I’m one step ahead of suspicious mufuckas. Throw ’em off track by saying we cousins.”

  “Yeah, that shit be working. Edison and Troy don’t even know about us.”

  “Like I said, I got this, man. As long you play your part…me and you…man, we can go on like this forever.”

  “Sounds good. Sounds real good.” Monroe stroked his crotch and looked at Dane with lust in his eyes. “Keep talkin’ sexy, nigga. You gon’ make me pull over and let you handle some of this.”

  “Ain’t no thing. Take your jawn out then. I’ll suck it for you. Can you handle that while you’re driving?” Dane challenged.

  “Who you think you dealing with?” Monroe asked with much bravado. “Damn right, I can handle it. I ain’t no chump.”

  “Aiight, then, whip your shit out.”

  Monroe quickly unzipped his pants, carefully pulled his hardening penis out of his pants. Dane took one look at Monroe’s long, sturdy member and quickly buried his face in Monroe’s lap.

  The sound of the crash was deafening; like an explosion. Pedestrians and motorists gaped in horror at the BMW X5, which was tightly wrapped around the bloody trunk of a tree. One man was trapped inside the carnage, wedged behind the wheel, his bloodied head and torso jutting outside the wind-shield. The image was surreal, like a grotesque work of art. The other man had shot out the passenger door. His mangled body was entangled with metal and tree bark. Both were obviously deader than dead.

  Hands moved in synchronicity, reaching inside handbags, pants and shirt pockets, extricating cell phones to snap pictures and videotape the newsworthy tragedy.

  CHAPTER 46

  “I’ll be right back, Mr. Johnnie. I lost my wallet, but my mom has the money to pay you.”

  “Okay, take your time,” the older man replied good-naturedly. “Say hello to your mother for me.”

  Misty bolted out of the car and rushed to her mother’s front door. She rang the bell, pressed it repeatedly, but her mother refused to open the door. “Mom!” she yelled, knocking on the door as hard as she could.

  “Brick!” she screamed, using her foot to pound against the sturdy wood door. But her dainty sandal proved to be an ineffective weapon to kick down a door.

  All the commotion prompted Mr. Johnnie out of the driver’s seat. The old man shuffled around his wreck of a car and leaned against his battered vehicle, arms folded as he watched with interest, wondering if Misty would get inside and get his money. Nervously, he mopped his sweaty brow, hoping he hadn’t wasted precious gas carting Misty around.

  Patting her foot impatiently, she pulled out her cell phone and called her mother. No answer. Desperate, she began to gather small stones and tiny pebbles, aiming them at the upstairs windows, all the while alternating between yelling for her mother to open the door.

  Misty was causing a commotion; making a spectacle outside her mother’s house. Before long, the neighbors began to open blinds, part curtains and soon began streaming outside. One particularly nosey neighbor came out carrying a folded lawn chair under her arm. She lit up a cigarette, popped open a can of Pepsi, plopped in her chair and turned toward the action.

  Thomasina peeked through her blinds. She was appalled that Misty was out in front of her house, acting the fool, giving her nosey neighbors something to talk about for years to come.

  Determined to put a stop to the spectacle, she stomped downstairs, Brick on her heels. “Don’t say nothing, Baron. Let me handle her little butt.”

  Thomasina swung open the door. “You know better than to bring all this nonsense to my front door!” Thomasina was breathing hard and sweating.

  “Why ain’t you open the door? Dang, Mom. I just came to pick up Brick.” She glanced at Brick, confused. “Where’s your stuff? I told my mom to tell you to pack.”

  “He’s not going anywhere with you,” Thomasina bellowed, mopping sweat from her forehead.

  “Stay outta my business,” Misty shouted.

  Thomasina flung her shoulders, placed a hand on her hip, prepared to launch into a verbal tirade.

  “Come on, Miss Thomasina, calm down. Don’t get your blood pressure worked up,” Brick said. The concern in his tone spoke of an alignment with Misty’s mother.

  “Since when do you care about my mother’s blood pressure? Now, you trippin’. Nigga, get your shit so we can be up out of this dip! Damn, why you wasting time? Hurry the fuck up!”

  Thomasina rushed toward Misty, balled fists raised in the air. “What did I tell you about using foul language?”

  Brick grabbed Thomasina; his hands encircled her waist. Misty’s eyes widened at the intimate gesture. “Come on now. Ain’t gon’ be no fighting.” He rubbed Thomasina’s shoulder soothingly.

  “You don’t understand, Baron…It’s only but so much I can take off of Misty. Cuss words in my presence is something she knows I don’t tolerate.”

  “Baron! Why you calling Brick by his first name?”

  Still attempting to calm Thomasina, Brick’s hand moved circularly in the middle of her back and worked to her hip area, rubbing and patting, obviously familiar with Thomasina’s body parts.

  “Y’all fucking?” Misty screeched. She covered her mouth with both hands, eyes bulging in disbelief.

  “Me and your mom…” Brick started.

  “Are you fucking my mother?” She spoke through clenched teeth.

  Brick met her horrified gaze. He looked her straight in the eye. “Yeah, we’re in a relationship. You said you and me were over.”

  “I did not! I said I needed some space. Temporarily. Brick, how could do something like this to me?” Misty swung on Brick. He grabbed her wrist. “Mommy, you should be ashamed of your old ass self—trying to take what’s mine just because you can’t get a man.”

  Thomasina got close in Misty’s face. “He told me everything…”

  “Don’t go there, Ma,” Brick interjected.

  “Oh, I’m going there! You’re the one who should be ashamed. Taking advantage of him; putting him out there; making him do unspeakable things.”

  “She didn’t make me…”

  “Baron!” Thomasina held up a silencing hand. Brick closed his mouth. “What you did to his mind—to his manhood—is cruel and malicious. But I plan to straighten all that out. Once me and him are married…”

  “Married! I’m not letting Brick marry you,” Misty said with disdain.

  “You don’t have no claims on me, Misty,” Brick said, standing by Thomasina’s side. Misty flinched. Brick had never stood up to her before. If she could get him away from her controlling mother, she’d be able to talk some sense into his head.

  “Brick,” she said softly, tears pouring from her eyes. “She’s using you to get back at me. Don’t let her do this. She’s old and desperate; she’s trying to brainwash you.”

  “Am I old and desperate?” Thomasina asked Brick, her hand on her hip, her tone and expression coy.

  “No, Ma. You sexy. Sexy as shit.” He rubbed her behind, right in Misty’s face.

  “Oh, I’m gagging!” Misty spat.

  “Gag all you want to. Once I get Baron on my insurance plan, he’s going to be getting a whole lot of psychological treatment. He’s getting some cosmetic surgery, too—to get that scar fixed.”

  “I love your mom. We didn’t plan it. It just happened,” Brick explained.

  “Ain’t shit happen. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Misty insis
ted. “You don’t love her; you talking shit. You belong to me.”

  “He doesn’t belong to you!” Thomasina piped in, her voice filled with disdain. “He’s not your personal plaything, he’s not a pet, or some object you bought from the store. If you can’t respect our relationship, then stay the hell away from here.”

  Misty’s face crumpled. “Please, Brick. Don’t do this to me. Not when I need you the most.” She inched closer to Brick, her expression pleading, beseeching him to come to his senses. “I’m sorry for whatever I did to hurt you. But fuck all that…” Misty caught herself. She backed up, expecting her mother to try to smack her for cussing. “Come on, Brick. You know how we do. Forget her; it’s time to bounce.”

  “It’s over between us, Misty. I’m serious. You made your decision to mess with Dane and I made mine. Like she told you…me and your mom…we’re getting married. There’s nothing you can do to change that,” Brick said adamantly.

  Misty covered her ears, shutting out Brick’s blasphemous spiel. Unable to convince Brick to see things her way, Misty opened her mouth and released a bone-chilling scream. “I can’t stand this; you’re killing me, Brick! You can’t marry my mother. I don’t want you to fuck my mother. Do you hear me? Stop fucking her! Stop fucking my mother; stop fucking my mother!” Over and over, she shouted the decadent proclamation, rousing the neighbors’ curiosity, provoking them to band together and murmur excitedly as they moved en masse, stomping across her yard, trampling Thomasina’s flowerbed. Huddled close to the front door, the group of nosey neighbors enjoyed better sound quality and with the door cracked open, they were provided a bird’s-eye view of the scandalous goings on behind their neighbor’s closed door.

  Thomasina slapped Misty and then gripped her up by the collar. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “You can hit me all you want, just give me my man back. Please, Mommy, don’t take him from me. I need Brick.”

  A chorus of shocked gasps sounded outside the house. Thomasina shut the front door. Furious, she grabbed Misty by the shoulders and tried to shake some sense into her. Misty screamed louder, infuriating her mother. “Shut the hell up, you rotten little bitch!” Thomasina snapped and knocked Misty into the wall. Misty slid down to the floor and cried like a little girl.