Brick (Double Dippin')

by Allison Hobbs

  “Two dolla; two dolla!” the Chinese bitch starts shouting. Her mug is twisted up in irritation. It takes me a few seconds to realize she’s yelling at me.

  “Hold up, Miss Chin Chang…Yin Yang or whatever your name is.” I reach inside my pocket and get the money. As I slide the money through the slot, I use my peripheral vision to keep an eye on that smart-mouth dick tease.

  Shawty got her lips bunched up. She’s looking furious, with her arms crossed against her chest. She’s glaring at the food selections.

  I stick my purchases inside my pocket, and wonder how long this bitch is gon’ take to order her food. She needs to hurry up; I got something for her. I’ma show her who’s in charge. I grab my dick and give it a quick squeeze before I step outside and pay dude for a bag of weed.

  The sun is setting; it’ll be dark pretty soon. Instead of going to my mother’s house, I mosey on over to the next corner and watch a group of young bulls shooting craps. I’m not really paying these dice-slinging mofos any attention. I’m camouflaged right now…looking like any other nigga, blending into the backdrop of everyday urban life.

  When shawty comes out with her bag of food, I’m gon’ peep which way she goes. With my dark skin and dark clothes, I’ll merge into the shadows as I stalk my prey. I’ma yank that ass into a nearby alley. Or behind a truck…whatever’s convenient.

  Some slick-looking young bull walks up and acts like he’s watching the crap game. He has a sly grin and a gleam in his eyes. His hand is suspiciously in his pocket, making me think he’s a stick-up bull. I recognize a thieving nigga when I see one, and so I take a few steps backward, deciding it’s time to bounce. I can wait for shawty on a different corner.

  But the grinning nigga’s eyes dance in my direction and then grow wide. “Yo, is your name Kaymar?”

  Damn, I’m busted. The last thing I need is to be recognized around here. I briefly consider denying being Kaymar; my name is mud in this neighborhood. I want to run but, for some reason, I’m stuck. Frozen with fear. I should’ve never allowed that lil’ ho in the Chinese store to delay me. I shoulda went straight to my mother’s house like I planned.

  “I don’t know you, man,” I state. My feet thaw out and I start easing in the opposite direction.

  “You’re the dude that got sent upstate with Theodore. Your name’s Kaymar, right?” the young bull asks again.

  Now everybody’s gawking at me. Their expressions start to harden at the mere mention of my name. Even the nigga that’s holding the dice stops playing and decides to gaze at me with the corner of his lip turned up in disdain.

  “That’s the snitch—the bull that turned state evidence on Theodore?” a short, stocky dude inquires, and then steps toward me threateningly.

  Keeping him away from me, I stretch out both arms and hold my palms out in front of my chest. “Yo, I’m not looking for any trouble, young buck.” It was hopeless to try to reason with a pack of blood-thirsty fools, but it was a worth a try.

  “Looks like trouble found you,” the stocky bull said.

  Their voices take on the sound of an angry mob as they advance and then surround me.

  I don’t stand a chance against this hoard of wild young bucks. All I can do is drop to the ground and curl into a ball.

  These fools are acting like my head is a soccer ball. Kicking and stomping my dome like they tryna make a score.

  I have to protect my dome, so I manage to pull my arms up and shield my head. Every other part of my body is fair game. After a while, it seems like my body simply goes numb.

  The distant sound of a siren saves my ass. The cops! Yes! Unwilling to interact with the law, the hooligans quickly disperse.

  Taking ragged breaths, I drag myself to my feet, and pat myself down, checking for broken bones. None of my bones are jutting out, so I figure I’m straight. I dust my pants off, but there’s not much I can do for my shirt. It’s ripped and filthy.

  As I limp down the street, making my way to the bus stop, I catch a glimpse of shawty coming out of the Chinese store. She takes one look at me and bursts out laughing.

  I want to punch that ho in the face. But I can’t…not in my current condition. Angry and humiliated, I hobble away. The sound of her laughter echoes in my ears.

  After the ass-whooping I took, I have to exact some type of revenge on somebody.

  Ain’t nobody to take my anger out on except that bitch at home. I shake my head. Evette has no clue that she’s gon’ have to pay for this. She’s gon’ feel my wrath tonight.

  CHAPTER 9

  After continually choking, kicking, punching and knocking Cash Money around, Brick figured he’d gotten all the information he was going to get for the moment. But Brick had no intention of letting his victim go free.

  “Give me your cell phone.”

  “What for? Yo, I need my phone, man.” Cash Money’s voice cracked pleadingly.

  Brick gripped him by the collar. “Gimme that fucking phone.”

  “Aye, aye.” He grudgingly relinquished his phone. Frowning, Brick scanned the contact list, but saw no familiar names. Searching for a link to Smash Hitz or any of his people, he was particularly interested in out-of-town area codes, but found only local numbers. Figuring that it might come in handy later, he tucked the phone inside his pocket.

  Brick took a moment to compose himself. He looped his belt around his waist, and smoothed out his shirt. “Let’s roll. It’s time to pay your chick a visit.”

  “She don’t know nothing,” Cash Money insisted.

  “Let me be the judge of that. Let’s go!” Brick didn’t possess any weapon other than the belt he wore, and yet all he needed to persuade Cash Money to trudge to room 1215 was a harsh tone and a deadly look on his face.

  Cash Money’s expression was grave; he walked stiffly, as if being forced at gunpoint.

  Cash Money rapped softly on the door. “It’s me, Anya. Open up.” He looked at Brick sheepishly. “I don’t have my key on me. I left it in the room.”

  Brick could hear the TV. The volume was turned up high. Shawty couldn’t hear Cash Money’s light tapping with the TV blasting. He cut an evil eye at Cash Money, who was being entirely too patient as he waited for the girl to open the door. “Whatchu waiting for? Knock again!”

  Cash Money knocked again—softly, listlessly, like he really didn’t want his knocks to be heard.

  Brick was ninety percent sure the cagey little con man hadn’t personally harmed Misty, but he was convinced that Cash Money had had a hand in setting her up for disaster. And he was going to pay with his life—after Brick beat some more information out of him.

  He could see himself snapping Cash Money’s boney fingers, one by one. After that, he’d stomp on the man’s ankles. Brick could break those bones easily with the heavy work boots he was wearing.

  He’d crack dude’s kneecaps next. He could do some real damage if he whacked those knobby knees with a metal pipe—a piece of steel. He looked around the empty hallway, hoping to set his eyes on something he could use as a weapon. Nothing!

  Brick frowned as he envisioned the tool kit in the trunk of his car. If I had my tool kit on me, I’d nail his palms to each side of the doorframe with my nail gun. Then I’d use my hammer on those kneecaps. Plunge a screwdriver into his eyeballs. Crack a coupla ribs with a wrench. Pull out all dude’s teeth, using a pair of pliers. I’d torture the shit out of this lil’ grimy-ass Negro!

  “Don’t be playing games; this better be the right room,” Brick groused.

  “It is. Shawty’s probably in the bathroom or something.”

  “You’re fuckin’ around, man.” Aggravated, Brick jabbed him in the ribcage with his elbow. Cash Money folded, letting out a groan.

  “Tell your girl to open this door up before she finds you bodied right out here in the hallway,” Brick snarled.

  Motivated by the threat of death, Cash Money banged on the door. “Anya!” He pounded again. “Open the door, Anya!”

  Brick was fuming at th
e mere suspicion that the female on the other side of the door was involved in hurting Misty. He rubbed his hands together, gearing up for mayhem and murder.

  Finally, the door cracked open. The security chain was in place. Through the small opening, a pair of large, curious eyes scrutinized Brick. “Who’s that?” a female voice inquired.

  “Oh, this is my man, Marvin.” Cash Money attempted to sound cheerful.

  Brick shifted restlessly. Unlock the door. Don’t make me have to splinter this mufucka with one of these steel toe boots.

  The moment the chain was slid off, Brick stepped forward and shoved the door open, eager to begin his interrogation session.

  Anya’s physical appearance took Brick off-guard. He’d expected Cash Money’s girl to have the rough look of a hardened prostitute. At the least, he assumed she’d be a twitching and fidgety, bone-thin crack whore. But Anya didn’t look anything like the stereotypes. Though she had a wrinkled bandana tied around her head, she was clearly a beauty. Her glistening brown skin was scrubbed clean—free of makeup. It was hard to ignore her beautiful dark brown eyes accentuated with natural, thick eyelashes curled at the ends. Cut-off jeans revealed shapely legs and a cheap pair of rubber flip-flops exposed pretty feet and toes that glimmered with green nail polish.

  Anya was a dime, Brick observed. But her good looks didn’t distract him. He knew from years of dealing with Misty, larcenous females that were beautifully packaged were often more dangerous than the unattractive ones.

  Anya flinched when she noticed the thick welts on Cash Money’s neck. “What happened to your neck, C?”

  “Keep your mouth shut, ho. I’m asking the questions,” Brick said gruffly. The room was miserably hot and stuffy, intensifying Brick’s fury.

  “Wh-what’s going on, C?” There was raw fear in Anya’s dark eyes.

  “It’s all good, baby. He just wanna ask you—”

  Brick slammed the door and locked it, cutting off Cash Money’s weak explanation.

  “It’s hot in here,” Cash Money balked as he fanned himself with his hand.

  Brick snorted. “It’s ’bout to get hotter in this bitch if I don’t get some answers.”

  “Why you gotta hold us hostage in a room that ain’t got no AC?”

  “We’re hostages?” Anya’s voice came out in a panicked whisper. Realizing the gravity of the situation, she covered her mouth with her palm. Her fear-filled eyes latched onto Cash Money’s face.

  “Whatchu staring at him for—he can’t help you,” Brick snapped. Proving his point, Brick smacked Cash Money upside the head.

  “Damn! Whatchu hit me for? I ain’t even do nothing,” Cash Money complained.

  “Go sit yourself down over there.” Brick pointed to the bed.

  Cash Money lumbered over to the bed and dropped down with a heavy sigh. “All this physical violence ain’t even necessary, man.”

  “Turn that loud fucking TV down so I can hear myself think,” Brick told Anya. “Then take a seat next to your partner in crime.”

  She raised her brows in confusion.

  Focused on getting the truth, Brick didn’t buy into her act of innocence. “You got wax in your ears or something? Do what I said and then sit yo’ ass down next to your man.”

  Anya pointed the remote and turned down the volume, but she remained standing, her arms folded stubbornly. “He’s not my man; we’re friends. And I’m not sitting anywhere until you tell me what this is about.”

  Brick laughed; the sound held a malicious ring. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sit your lil’ ass down right now.” He raised a fist. “One blow to your dome, and you’ll be in a coma, like Misty.”

  Anya scurried over to the bed and sat down. She scooted close to Cash Money. “Who’s Misty? And what does she have to do with me?” she asked, holding up her hands in confusion.

  The girl was playing dumb. Brick squinted menacingly at Anya. “Stop bullshitting. When was the last time you saw Misty?” Brick looked down at Anya’s feet.

  Perplexed, Anya’s eyes followed Brick’s gaze.

  With his eyes on her feet, Brick mumbled, “You better start talking, ho. It’ll be a shame if I have to scatter those pretty lil’ toes of yours all over this room.”

  Anya gasped and reflexively yanked her feet backward. She shot a horrified look at Cash Money. “What the hell is going on?” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 10

  In the sweltering hotel room, there was the smell of fear and sweat.

  “I don’t know anyone named Misty,” Anya said.

  “I already told you Anya don’t know nothing,” Cash Money chimed in.

  Brick lunged toward Cash Money. “Was I talking to you?”

  “Nah, but—”

  “Why you run your mouth so much?” Brick slapped both sides of Cash Money’s face.

  “Ow! Damn! I ain’t saying nothing else.”

  After witnessing Cash Money getting bitch-slapped, Anya no longer considered him a protector. She edged away from the skinny dude and turned pleading eyes in Brick’s direction. “Listen, I’m telling the truth. I really don’t know anyone named Misty. I swear. I’ve only known C for a few weeks.”

  Brick snorted. “All it took was a few weeks for to start selling ass for this punk?”

  “Whaaat?”

  “Your man, Cash Money, told me that you’re out there hustling your body while he lies back in the hotel, blazing up. That’s pimpin’, isn’t it?”

  She shot a hard look at Cash Money. “Why would you lie on me like that? You know damn well I’m not a prostitute.”

  Cash Money shook his head, remaining mute. With his thumb and index finger, he motioned that his lips were zipped, conveniently following Brick’s instructions to keep his mouth shut.

  Disgusted, Anya returned her attention to Brick. “Look, I’m going through something. A financial setback. And um…when my money got low, I moved here. I met C here at the hotel. I thought he had my back!” She rolled her eyes at Cash Money.

  Brick looked at Cash Money. “Why’d you tell me that your girl was tricking?”

  Cash Money shrugged.

  “Just lying for the sake of lying, huh?” Brick shook his head.

  “I’m not his girl, either,” Anya said.

  Brick lifted a brow.

  “Since we were both going through hard times, we decided to share a room…to cut back on the expenses. We’re roommates; that’s it.”

  Brick chuckled. “How do you feel about this nut telling me he’s your pimp?”

  Anger flared in her eyes. “I’m furious.”

  Brick cast a disdainful look at Cash Money. “If you lied about being a pimp, you probably lied about Misty. I bet you’re the person who left her for dead.”

  Lips sealed together, Cash Money shook his head vehemently.

  “Talk, mufucka!” Brick yanked Cash Money’s lightweight body off the bed and slammed him to the floor. The unexpected violence caused Anya to let out a little yelp of fear.

  Next, Brick placed a boot on Cash Money’s scrawny chest, securing him to the floor.

  “You crossed the line with me when you brought your skinny ass to my wife’s hospital room. Sitting up in there like you were part of the family.”

  “Misty invited me,” Cash Money said in a raspy voice.

  “Whatever. I didn’t like you back then, and I don’t like you now. So just imagine how much pleasure I’ma have when I start pulling out your toenails with pliers. I’ll use some chicken wire to snap off your fingers.” Brick grinned at Cash Money.

  Anya grimaced.

  Cash Money began to whine. “I don’t know nothing, man. For real, dog.”

  “You know something; you’re just not telling me. It’s cool, though. One way or another, I’ma get the truth out of you.”

  “Okay, I’m trying to think.” Cash Money tapped his forehead as if to speed up his thought processes.

  “I want the names of Misty’s clients, her female associates, male ho
es, and her dicks on the side. I want the names of anybody she was dealing with—especially women.”

  “Misty didn’t have any female friends,” Cash Money said.

  “What about enemies?”

  “She had too many enemies to count.”

  “Name names, mufucka,” Brick bellowed.

  “Uh, she had beef with Baad B…you know, over Spydah.”

  Anya peered at Brick and Cash Money with great interest when she recognized the names of two famous rappers.

  “I know about Baad B. What other females was Misty beefing with?”

  Cash Money shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

  Brick kicked Cash Money in the kidney. “Any thoughts?”

  “Ugh!” Cash Money grabbed his side and rocked for a few moments. “Misty ain’t really deal with females. I don’t have any reason to lie about that.”

  Dude was telling the truth. Misty didn’t like kicking it with females. She’d always preferred the company of dudes. Misty rarely let any woman get close. Brick took his boot off Cash Money’s chest.

  Using another tactic, he turned into the good cop and extended his hand, helping Cash Money to his feet. Maybe a little human kindness would put the little featherweight at-ease.

  “You’re right, man,” Brick said in a friendly tone. “Misty didn’t deal with females on a personal level. Do you think one of her workers, or maybe one of her clients, sent a broad to do his dirty work?”

  “It’s possible,” Cash Money agreed as he dusted Brick’s boot prints off his shirt. “Misty had some problems with this tranny dude she met when she was in Miami. The tranny was involved with Smash Hitz.”

  “Smash Hitz!” Anya whispered the megastar’s name with awe. Learning the famous rapper was possibly entangled in an affair with a transvestite caused Anya’s eyes to widen.

  Brick wasn’t surprised to learn Smash Hitz dug trannies. Misty only dealt with mufuckas that were into freak shit. Deep in thought, he folded his arms, and allowed his thoughts to roam. A transvestite! It all made sense now. Even though Misty had insisted a woman had hurt her, Brick had found it hard to believe a female had the heart, or the strength, for the kind of brute force that had paralyzed her and crushed her face.