by Noire
She shrugged. “There might be one more bus leaving tonight but ain’t no telling. If it gets too late they gonna leave our asses right here until in the morning.”
“Williams!” one of the COs called out for me. “Tonight is your lucky night.”
They gave me back my empty Gucci bag and the clothes I had been wearing when they brought me in. I was given my cell phone too. My battery was shot, but I didn’t care. At least I had a phone.
I was nervous as I walked out the jailhouse doors. I expected Rita to be waiting outside to pick me up, but instead there was a tall, light-skinned dude with long box-braids holding open the door of a white Rolls Royce for me.
“Where is Rita?” I asked, nervous as hell. For all I knew this could be another set up. “Who are you?”
“I’m Dabu,” he said evenly. “Just relax and get in the car. Rita told me to pick you up, so come on before I leave your ass here.”
I was so scared my mouth went dry.
I glanced over my shoulder at the red brick building, then back at the dude who was waiting for me to hop in his ride.
“How do I know Rita sent you?”
He shrugged. “You don’t. But while you standing out here bullshittin’ you ain’t nothing but an easy target, nah’m sayin?”
I rode in that plush whip second-guessing myself all the way back to Manhattan. What if Ace and Pluto had sent this dude? What if this fool kicked me out on a side street and Monique and her crew were waiting to kill my ass? All kinds of scenarios were running through my mind and none of them looked good.
Dabu acted like I wasn’t even in his back seat as we rode. He didn’t say a word to me, and I didn’t say nothing else to him neither. We ended up on the streets of Spanish Harlem, and I almost freaked out when he pulled up in the parking lot of a funeral home and stopped right near the delivery door where they brought the bodies in.
“We’re here,” he said, turning off the ignition and opening his door.
“Umm, hold up!” I said, ready to straight panic. I stared at the sign on the building.
Three Brothers Funeral Home.
Oh, hell no. I didn’t fuck with funeral homes. No way, no how!
“Umm, I’ma need to use your phone,” I told him. Right then and there I decided that he was gonna have to drag me out of his whip. My ass fit real snug in those soft leather seats, and I wasn’t about to budge.
“Get out,” he said, coming around and holding my door open.
“No! I ain’t getting out! Why the hell are we going in the damn funeral home?”
“Just come ya ass on!” he barked over his shoulder. “Or I’ma drive you around to the front and drag your ass out on the street so one of them G-Spot niggahs can get you.”
I got out the car and followed him through a set of double doors that he unlocked with two keys. I grabbed the back of his shirt as we entered the dark building, and I was shaking so hard he reached back and gripped my wrist to steady me.
“Calm the fuck down, girl. You all right.”
To my surprise I could hear music playing, and it wasn’t funeral music neither. It was a cut by Jay-Z, and judging by the bass that was tickling my feet it sounded like it was coming from somewhere down below us.
“Who in the hell is up in here?”
“My boss.”
“Look, I don’t fuck with dead people,” I muttered as I tiptoed behind him with my eyes squeezed half-way closed.
He laughed. “These dead people don’t even know you here.”
I was shitting boulders as he started leading me down a flight of stairs. The music was getting louder. The beat was bumping. I could see a light shining down there and I prayed like hell that we weren’t gonna walk up on no dead bodies stretched out in open caskets.
I took a few steps and looked down again. There was somebody sitting in a chair at the bottom of the steps, just off to my left.
The first thing I noticed was the toe of his shoe. I had been stomped out with enough first-class leather to recognize imported alligator when I saw it. I knew it wasn’t a dead man because his ankle was propped up on his knee and his foot was moving to the beat.
The further down I went, the more of him I saw.
My eyes traveled along the foot, past the argyle sock, and up the length of the trousers that were cut from fine Italian silk.
My knees shook as I took another step.
A cream-colored shirt was tucked into the pants, and in the lap were a pair of dark hands that were furiously twirling a familiar-looking black onyx ring.
I took another shaky step down, and what I saw in that chair hit me like a sledgehammer and I almost passed out right where I stood.
“God, noooo!” I screamed and clutched the railing as my bladder let go.
G was back.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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Read more about JUICY and MONIQUE in
From The Streets to the Sheets: “That Bitch Juicy”
Monique never could stand Juicy’s ass. She’d known her from 136th Street, and used to tease her retarded brother Jimmy in school all the time. Juicy’s grandmother was sanctified, and used to look down her nose on Monique’s mother because she had ten kids by ten different daddies and couldn’t control none of them…
Have You Read G-Spot: An Urban Erotic Tale?
Have you ever rolled over in the middle of the night and realized you were doing shit you swore you’d never do? Sexing brothers you vowed you’d never touch? Bending backward and stooping lower than you ever thought you’d stoop?
From Candy Licker: An Urban Erotic Tale
Have you ever laid down with a man and wasn’t sure if you’d ever get back up? Tossed the sheets with a bone-knocking fear that only a cold-blooded hustler could produce? Sexed him like your life depended on it, because in reality, it did?
From Thong on Fire: An Urban Erotic Tale
Have you ever scratched and schemed your way into somebody’s heart? Laid some ill na-na on a gangsta and then hustled him straight outta the game? Traded your goodies for even more goodies? Committed acts so grimy that even God looked down on you and cried?
From Thug-A-Licious: An Urban Erotic Tale
Have you ever wanted something so bad you was willing to crawl over bodies to get it? I mean, feened for it so hard it didn’t matter who you hurt, how low you had to scrape, it was gonna be yours? That’s what music and balling did for me. They were the fundamentals behind my rise…and the perpetrators of my fall…
From Hood: An Urban Erotic Tale
Have you ever been shitted on? Nah, not no regular everyday street shit. I’m talking that low-down grimy diarrhea shit. That kinda shit that no matter how much you try to make it right, it still stinks?
From Unzipped: An Urban Erotic Tale
Have you ever had everything you loved snatched from you in the blink of an eye? Do you know what it’s like to watch helplessly as those you cherish burn to a crisp in a cruel, merciless flame? Did you hear a cry for street justice and realize that the only person left alive to heed the call was you?
From Hittin’ the Bricks: An Urban Erotic Tale
Have you ever been betrayed by those you love? Violated and abused in the worst kind of way? And no matter how hard you tried to fight your way out of a trick bag, no matter how tall you tried t
o walk, did the cold streets of life lead you right back to your grimy destiny?
www.AskNoire.com
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