Hittin' the Bricks: An Urban Erotic Tale
Page 6
“Hold him!” one of them had shouted as Fiyah fought back four to one. Despite the numbers he was holding his own. He cracked heads and busted lips. He bit and he scratched and he elbowed muhfuckahs in the eye. He was willing to do anything to anybody because he wasn’t about to get his manhood took.
One of them caught him hard from behind though, and he faded left. Just for a second. But that was all it took. Them cats flipped him. He was laying facedown on the wet cement before he realized he’d left his feet.
“Yeah,” somebody laughed over his shoulder. Fiyah craned his neck back and saw a buff dude holding a big erection. “Papi ’bout to get some of that man pussy!”
The little Puerto Rican cat from Brooklyn was down with them. He looked at Fiyah and shrugged. “I told you to get some fuckin’ protection, homey.”
Fiyah was fighting again. This time from the floor. But he was outweighed and outmanned, and to his horror they spread his legs wide and he felt a hard dick poking dead in his asshole. Fiyah screamed and bucked, trying to get free, and just when he realized it was useless and that he was about to get his cherry busted, a voice boomed out and the battle for his asshole came to a halt.
“Yo, break that dumb shit up.”
Fiyah had been straining backward, his spine almost in a C. His legs were suddenly released and he slumped down to the floor.
“Fuckin’ pervs…”
Fiyah turned his head. When he saw who it was that had rescued him his heart sank even further.
It was King Brody. That big niggah who strong-armed the weak and put fear in the hearts of the brave.
“Fall back, muhfuckahs!” Brody yelled, waving his massive, muscle-roped arm. “And get the fuck outta here!” Cats started scurrying out the shower like mad.
Him and Brody were alone. Fiyah rolled over and stood up. He was filled with fear and ready to fight again. Harder this time. If Brody wanted to fuck him it was gonna have to be on his feet.
“Here ya go.” Brody tossed him a towel and walked away. Fiyah was stunned. He had a hard time believing he wasn’t on the floor at that very minute. Getting deep-dicked straight up in his chocolate tube.
“Oh yeah,” Brody said over his shoulder. He paused in the doorway and nodded. “I been digging your flow. You spit extra nice. I got a little music thing going on the outside. Shows, studio time. Contracts. All that shit. Might be able to put you on. I’ll holla.”
Fiyah stood there dumbfounded as the big mofo bounced out the door. He’d heard about the homo gangstas in jail, but he was a fighter. This shit wasn’t supposed to happen to him. He felt lucky, but he was still scared. They didn’t call that big niggah Brody for no reason. Cats like him didn’t give up nothing for free. Especially their protection. Nah, they always wanted something. And it was always something big.
Fiyah reached back and touched his tight asshole with relief. He hadn’t gotten deep-fucked today, but who knew? Tomorrow might bring something different.
Shit changed quick on the tiers.
Inmates looked at him different. Cats who used to grill him now cut a path around him or gave him a nod of respect.
“Yo, ese,” the little Puerto Rican dude from Brooklyn told him. “We got no hard feelings, right? This is jail, meng. We was just having a little fun.”
Fiyah dug what was up. Word had gotten around that he’d been tried. And word had also gotten around that he was off-limits too. Fiyah felt fucked in all directions. Without the protection of Brody and his crew, his asshole was open for anybody’s interpretation. But living under Brody meant paying a mean piper, and Fiyah didn’t know what the fuck it was he had that Brody mighta wanted.
The next Saturday afternoon he found out.
“Yo, man,” Brody said, approaching him with a smile. Fiyah was cautious as they dapped and nodded their greetings. Visitation had just ended and they were heading toward the security area to be checked for contraband.
“So that’s your chick, huh? That girl on your visit?”
Fiyah shook his head. “Nah, she’s my cousin.”
Brody whistled and grinned. “Yo, she’s black and you’re Puerto Rican? Is that like a cousin-cousin, where y’all got the same grandmother and shit, or one of them cousins you pick up as family ’cause when y’all was little they used to eat at your house?”
“Eva’s my cousin. My real cousin. She’s half black and I’m Dominican.”
Brody shook his head with a look of pure delight. “That bitch is bad! She was killin’ them shorts. I see her up here all the time. A ho like that ain’t got no man?”
Fiyah bristled. He didn’t like the look in Brody’s eyes and he wasn’t feeling the ninety questions about Eva neither.
“I don’t ask her what she do, man. I just take care of her when I can.”
Brody stopped walking.
“Like I take care of you, right?”
Brody’s stare was colder than a blizzard. Fiyah felt his eyes held in a grip. He saw craziness lurking behind Brody’s gaze and knew his life might depend on the way he answered.
“Yeah,” Fiyah said carefully. “Like you take care of me.”
Brody’s eyes shot cold daggers for a second more, then he bust out laughing.
“Man, you all right, little shit. You cool with me.” He threw his arm over Fiyah’s shoulder as they headed back to the tier. “You know what, Fuego? You all right, my nig. I like you. Yeah. I like you. There ain’t many idiots in here who got real talent, but you do.”
Brody’s arm was tight around his shoulder and every muscle in Fiyah’s body was coiled and protesting. “I tell you what. You got, what? A few more months of easy time left in here? Well not only am I gonna make sure that time stays easy for you. I’ma give you the hook-up when you hit the bricks.
“I got a big operation going on out there on the streets. I’ll put you on the trap when you get out. You don’t even have to pull look-out first. You’ll get straight on the trap action. How you like that?”
“I ain’t a corner boy, Brody. I’m a rapper.”
Brody stopped walking. The bulging weight of his arm on Fiyah’s shoulder made Fiyah stop too.
“You know,” he said, staring hard into Fiyah’s face. “Usually when I offer somebody something they have like, a different reaction. I mean, I’m a pretty generous cat so I’m always giving. But usually when I’m giving a niggah something he accepts it and says some stupid shit like, ‘Thanks man, that’s whassup.’ You know? Usually.”
Brody started walking again, leaning on Fiyah and forcing him along.
“I tell you what!” he said moments later, his smiling face once again bright. “Since you got so much talent and shit, I’ll make an exception this time. Don’t tell nobody, though,” he said, leaning close to Fiyah’s ear. “I wouldn’t want nobody to think Big Brody was getting soft or nothing, ya feel me? Besides, I got music connections too. You know about that club called Bricks, right?”
Fiyah nodded. Every fuckin’ body knew about Bricks. But not every fuckin’ body could get up in there. He’d heard mad stories about that place. Money wasn’t nothing when it came down to that club. It didn’t matter if you was a multiplatinum niggah. If you couldn’t get inside of Bricks, then you really wasn’t shit. Careers were born on that stage. Unsigned artists stood in line for hours tryna get picked to walk through those doors. Getting a chance to spit in that joint was just like paying for airtime on MTV or 106th and Park. That shit was priceless.
“I handle business outta Bricks, my man. You know the record shop in front?”
Fiyah nodded again. He was big-time impressed and he couldn’t even keep that shit out of his eyes.
“That’s me too. We got DVDs, CDs, mixtapes.” Brody grinned. “We produce a little triple X from time to time…So since I know you like to rap and all that shit, I’ll put you on the VIP list when you get out. Cool? I’ll introduce you to a couple of majors. You know. The power players that make shit happen in the music world. Dig?”
Fiyah
’s nose was wide open. He was nodding and grinning like a little bitch, and even though he knew it, he was so amped about getting a crack at Bricks that he couldn’t help himself.
The next few months flew by. Fiyah composed hard Afro-
Cuban drumbeats in his mind, and blended them with some funky reggae drops that could stank a club up. Eva visited him every weekend and he filled up notebook after notebook with song lyrics and still the words flowed like water in his head.
The little Puerto Rican cat from Brooklyn had gotten his walking papers. But not before Fiyah took advantage of the protection he enjoyed under Brody and his crew.
“Fuckin’ fag!” Fiyah spit as he slammed his elbow across the bridge of his “ese’s” nose. Blood spurted from the dude’s face and he went down on one knee. “Tried to set me up, remember?” Fiyah kicked him in the face and the little dude fell over backward. “I should make you kiss this man pussy, you nasty fuckin’ puta!”
Brody was scheduled for release a month before Fiyah was. He was only in on a probation violation so he’d served out the remainder of his time on Rikers and was now free to go.
“Don’t worry, bro,” he told Fiyah before leaving. “My arm is long and strong, my nig. You gone be straight in here even after I’m gone. And remember, I’ma be waiting to pick you up when they let you out. It’s gone be lovely as fuck. Nothing but bitches and brew, ak. I’ma have so much pussy lined up waiting that you gone be smelling fish while you walking off the tier.”
Brody gave Fiyah a dap that almost dislocated his shoulder.
“Now remember, man. We got us an understanding, right? You and me, we look out for each other, right? You been safe up in here. Ain’t nobody fucked with you. I delivered on what I promised, and in a minute you gone hafta deliver on what you promised too? Ya dig?”
Fiyah nodded, fear gripping him low in his nuts.
Brody was a ruthless muhfuckah. Fiyah had seen and heard enough to know that clicking up with a capo like Brody came with certain risks. The problem was that Fiyah had made a deal with the devil, and on the mean streets of Harlem the devil always got his due. Fiyah understood that kinda thing. It was the way of the world. But this time the devil wanted more than Fiyah was prepared to deliver.
The devil wanted Eva.
The scene was gully and 125th Street was popping. Eva was walking next to Alex and munching on a hot slice of pizza with extra cheese as Harlemites, tourists, and shoppers from other boroughs ambled down the streets in search of bargains.
Everything you could think of was up for sale. Corner boys lurked in doorways, then ran out to the curb to satisfy their customers, and African hair braiders stopped sistahs on the street with offers of crazy skills and cut-rate fees that would have your hair whipped into a million stylish braids in a matter of hours.
Eva pulled a long string of hot cheese from her pizza and chewed on it. Even though her neighborhood was crime ridden and seeped in poverty, she loved Harlem. She loved the sounds and the pulse of the place. The hustle and the bustle, the pimps and the playas, and the flava of a group of die-hard survivors who truly lived in a New York state of mind.
It was hot, and Alex was busy sucking on a Blow Pop and shaking her cute hips as hard as she could. She was the type of fun-loving chick who kept a whole posse of niggahs on a long string, and she was always looking for another guy to hook with her charms so she could have him buying her jewelry and eating out of her hand.
“Don’t look now,” she side-mouthed to Eva with a grin on her face. “But dude up there in the KG jersey is checking you out.” Alex giggled. “Fine mothafucka! I wonder can he fuck.”
“Who?” Eva stopped chewing and looked around. “What dude?”
Alex sighed. “Dude up the block. I told your ass not to look.”
Eva peered around. “You mean you can see way up the damn block and tell which niggah is looking at me?”
Alex raised her eyebrow and gave her girl a crazy look. “You mean you can’t?” She shook her red curls and slipped her hands into her back pockets as her jelly ass rolled. “That’s why you ain’t got nobody and you ain’t getting no dick, Eva. Shit, I can tell if a dude is scoping me from ten miles back. And I ain’t bullshitting!”
Eva shrugged. Men checked her out all the time and most of them wanted to get with her. But she was choosey with her game. She liked to get her nasty on, but not with any old cat who wanted to bang her. But Alex was right, though. The guy in the KG jersey had left his customers standing there and come from behind his curbside table and was now standing in the middle of the sidewalk with his eyes locked on hers.
He was cute as hell and he looked kinda familiar too. It took Eva a minute to place him, but with all them damn bootleg CDs and DVDs flying off his table it didn’t take her too long.
She turned to Alex and shrugged. “Girl, that’s that dude, remember? The guy who took my picture. We was supposed to hook up with him at Shakez one night.” Just mentioning the night of India’s murder sent vivid memories flooding through Eva’s mind and they were painful as fuck. She’d been kinda digging the dude and she had been planning to go check out his flow game on that fateful night.
O’boy musta remembered her too, because he had a big-ass grin on his face as she approached, like they was old friends or something.
“’Sup, pretty lady,” he said, stepping to Eva and giving her a happy look as she walked by. “I think I know you. I’m Ice Mello. Remember me? I ain’t seen you around for a minute now. How you been?”
Eva had looked into his pretty eyes and remembered exactly why he’d caught her attention the last time she’d seen him. He was just too damn fine, and he had a build on him that made a chick wanna see him butt-naked.
“Good,” she said, her offhanded tone covering up the fact that just his brilliant smile had her wide open. “I been pretty straight. What about you?”
Mello laughed. “I don’t know, girl. You had a brotha feelin’ kinda rejected when you didn’t call me. I ain’t used to that ’cause I really wanted to see you again. You know, give you that picture I took. Maybe get a chance to take you out and let you enjoy yourself, ya know?”
Alex had stopped walking right along with Eva. She stood there with her hands deep in her back pockets as she checked Mello out from his tight braids down to his fresh sneakers. “I remember you too,” she said with a devilish glint in her eyes, then she bust out laughing.
“Nah, for real though,” Alex giggled. “My girl is kinda shy, that’s why she didn’t call you before. But I been working on her conversation skills and a lotta shit has happened since then. Trust, if you give her ya digits one more time, I promise she’ll give you a call.”
Eva had always known Alex was wild and off the charts, but Mello looked real surprised in the face as her freckle-cheeked girlfriend did something that just fucked her head up.
“While ya bullshittin’,” Alex said, nodding toward the cell phone that was clipped to Mello’s hip. “You ain’t even gotta wait for her to call. I’ma bless you with her digits right now, baby. That way you can hit her up yourself.”
Before Eva knew it, her and Mello were hanging hard. Movies, lunch dates, and long walks in the park—Mello treated Eva like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Eva tried not to play him close but she had to admit that she was feeling him just as much as he seemed to be feeling her.
Mello mighta sold CDs for Daddy Dre at Bricks, but he was a man of many talents and he was responsible for taking all the club pictures at Bricks for cats who wanted to flex with their honeys or throw up gang signs with their manz. Eva was even more impressed when she learned that Mello had parlayed his photography hobby into an even sweeter little part-time grind. For the past two years he had been working as a photographer for an urban clothing line called Birthday Cake, and when he told Eva his boss was looking for a new model and that he’d already recommended her for the job, Eva knew without a doubt that God had sent this man into her life for a reason.
Mello had laughed and took her by the shoulders, turning her around so he could look at her ass.
“Do you know what kinda measurements you packing back there, baby girl? Anybody ever told you your waist-to-ass ratio? It’s phat, baby. Deliciously phat.”
Eva was floored. A man like Mello, who could love her like this? All she could do was thank God.
But nobody was perfect, and even though Mello had admitted to her that he used to be a trap boy slinging crack out on the corner, he had come to his senses early enough to get out of the drug game without causing any static. He told Eva that in high school he was a star basketball player and he took good care of his body. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the heart for the street hustle, he just didn’t like what he saw drugs doing to the people in his own community. Mello said he didn’t understand how anybody could pay money to put poison in their own bodies, and he said his conscience had fucked with him so hard that he had never slept through a whole night in peace the entire time he was out there slinging rock on the streets.
Eva’s blood had gone cold hearing about Mello’s past history selling drugs, but she forced herself not to hold it against him. He had been young back then and doing what he had to do to survive. She knew all about shit like that because she’d done shit just to survive too. And besides, he didn’t owe her no explanations for nothing he was into before he met her.
That was then, and this was right now. The Ice Mello of today was everything she could have asked for in a man. Strong, hardworking, and a cat who commanded respect on the streets. He was known to be good with his hands, and the kind of hardbody Harlem boy who would scrap for his, pop a niggah off for his, do whatever it took for his. As a result, a whole lotta fools stayed outta Mello’s range. He was a real cool dude who helped old people and loved kids, but who could also nut up on a niggah and go gorilla with the best of them.