by Tranay Adams
Te’Qui scooped Kesha up into his arms and carried her down the hallway. He kicked open their bedroom door and walked her over to the bed, where he laid her down. He slither between her legs and cupped her face as he kissed her. Slowly, they began peeling off one another’s clothing until they were nude. That night they made hot, sweaty, passionate love and fell asleep, afterwards.
Later that night Te’Qui woke up to find Kesha asleep with her arms around him. He smiled when he looked over his shoulder and saw her beautiful face. He removed his arm from around her and slid out of the bed, causing her to stir awake, looking at him through narrowed eyelids.
“Where you going, bae?” Kesha asked him and yawned, stretching her arms.
“I gotta piss, I’ll be right back. Go back to sleep.” Te’Qui kissed her on the forehead.
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”
Kesha smirked and puckered her lips for a kiss. Te’Qui chuckled and smiled before kissing her. Afterwards, she lay back down in bed and fell right back to sleep. Te’Qui covered her with the sheets and headed inside of the bathroom, flipping on the light switch and shutting the door behind him.Once Te’Qui relieved his bladder and washed his hands, he walked back inside of his bedroom. He picked up the remote control and turned on the flat screen which was mounted on the wall. As soon as the television set came on it cast a light on Kesha and the bed. Te’Qui looked to see if the illumination had disturbed her but it hadn’t.
Te’Qui walked back to the bed with the remote control. He picked a club flyer up from off his dresser that someone had left on the windshield of his car while he was in the super market with Kesha a few days ago.He sat the remote control down in place of the flyer and propped himself up in bed with his pillow. He used the light shining on him from the TV’s screen to look at the flyer again.
On the front of it there was a big time drug dealer known around the city as Enzo. The nigga was holding a bottle of Ace of Spades in either hand and had four of the finest bitchez Te’Qui had ever seen in his life with their hands on him. The flyer was advertising the kingpin’s birthday bash which was going down tomorrow night. As T.J. continued to study the flyer a jovial expression spread across his face. A plan had formed in his mind that would make his bank account even fatter.
CHAPTER THREE
T.J. stood inside of the tub with his head bowed and his hand pressed against the tiled wall. His eyelids were shut as the shower water beat down upon him, washing off the soap suds. He found his dick growing hard thinking about how he had Boo in the backseat of her car, beating her pussy up. He hadn’t had any ass in a while and had forgotten what it was like to be with a woman, but damn did little momma give him a reminder. The only thing he hated was that he nutted so fast. He really didn’t get a chance to enjoy the sex, and he was sure Boo didn’t either. Right then he decided once he was done with his shower he was going to make up for his lackluster performance from earlier that day.
T.J. turned the dials and shut the shower water off. He slid open the glass sliding door and stepped his bare feet out onto the linoleum one at a time. He snatched his towel off the rack, drying his face and body. Next, he wrapped the towel around his waist and headed out of the bathroom. He’d just pulled opened the door and stepped out into the hallway when he clocked Boo hurrying past him with Cordary hanging over her shoulder asleep and toting a duffle bag. Instantly, his forehead creased with lines and he wondered what the fuck was going on. As he adjusted the towel on his waist, he sped walked down the hallway after her.
“Yo’, Boo, where the fuck you going? It’s one o’clock in the morning.” A crinkled brow T.J. reminded her.
Boo suddenly stopped inside of the living room and turned around to him, holding her duffle bag at her side. T.J.’s brow crinkled further when he saw that the duffle bag she was toting was the same one he’d stashed his money inside of from the lick he’d hit.
“I’m sorry, T.J., but this isn’t gonna work out. I’m leaving you.” Boo looked at him like It is what it is, nigga.
“Bitch, you just had my dick in yo’ mouth and in yo’ pussy, now you ‘bouta bounce onna nigga?” he raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Okay, cool. Fuck it! I can bust me another bitch, ain’t no thang. You can get on, but what chu not gon’ do is walk off with what I risked my ass for; leave my shit here!” he threw his finger at the bag. He’d be damned if he let her walk off with what he’d busted his ass for when she barely did shit to help him. If she thought that was going to happen then she had him fucked up.
“Nigga, I’m taking this shit! Me and yo’ son gon’ need it. Shit, you can kick some other dope boy’s door down and get some mo’mothafuckin’ money!” Boo spat with crazy attitude, moving her head like the true hood rat that she was.
“Hoe, you got me all the way fucked up! I tell you what though. I’ma give yo’ ass ‘til the count of three to step off! If you still here afterwards, I’ma go get my gun and I’ma shoot chu dead in that trifling-ass mouth of yours.” his eyebrows slanted and he snarled, holding up three fingers. As he counted down, he dropped a finger with each number he called out. Boo didn’t budge, she switched arms with her son and stood her ground. This caused an evil smirk to form at the corner of T.J.’s lips. “Youa brave bitch, you know that? Respect. But I’ma ‘bouta show you I’ma nigga of my word,” T.J. went to turn around to get his gun and the stock of a shotgun slammed into his face. The vicious blow spun him around, causing him to lose his towel, before crashing to the floor. He looked up at his attacker with blurred vision and blood creeping out of his nose. T.J. was in a daze as he touched below his nostrils and his fingertips came away bloody. When he looked back up at the nigga that had bust him in his face with the ass in of his shotgun, he saw two blurred images of him. Once the images combined and his vision cleared, he was able to see homie standing over him.
The mothafucka that had knocked T.J. on his ass was a tall, thuggish looking nigga. He looked to be in his mid to late sixties. He sported a black doo-rag with the flap on his head and his frame filled out a tan Dickie suit, which was opened to a black thermal. A platinum cable hung around his neck, holding onto his name, Drama. The D of the name was larger than the rest of the words and flooded with diamonds.
“Like she said, homeboy, we taking that shit.” Drama looked down at T.J. mad dogging him as he twiddled the toothpick at the corner of his mouth. “Now, if you got anything else to say,” he racked the chrome shotgun and pointed it in T.J.’s face. “You can say it to my friend here.”
T.J. stared up at Drama with his face balled up, top lip twitching with hatred. His fists were at his sides and clenched so tight the veins in them bulged.
“I suggest you kill me, nigga. ‘Cause I swear ‘fore God, if you don’t, I’ma find yo’ ol’ punk-ass and blow yo’ fucking head off yo’ shoulders! You hear me, nigga?” his eyes turned glassy and he clenched his jaws harder, causing the vein in his temple to twitch.
An evil smile spread across Drama’s lips as he started laughing. His laughter was low at first, but then it grew loud and maniacal. The old thug looked back and forth between T.J. and Boo. His threatening eyes then settled on T.J.’s scowling face. “Loud and clear. Now, here’s a lil’ secret I’ma let chu in on, youngsta,” Drama leaned down into T.J.’s ear and told him something that made his eyes bulge with surprise. He then stood upright smiling devilishly. Leveling his shotgun at T.J.’s chest, he went to pull the trigger but Boo called out to him.
“Baby, no! He ain’t even worth it. We got the money and the bricks, let’s just get outta here. Don’t mind him. He’s just talkin’ shit, like he always do.” Boo glanced in T.J.’s direction. The way she saw it, they were already breaking his ass for everything he had, it would be seriously fucked up if they were to kill him, too. Besides all of that, she still had a twinkle of love for the nigga. When he was out in the streets he was doing some of everything you could think of that was illegal to make sure they were well taken care of. She felt that
by getting Drama to spare his life she’d be showing a little of her appreciation for his holding her down back in the day.
“You right, baby girl. This fat-fuck ain’t worth the shell!” Drama spat the toothpick into T.J.’s face. T.J. shut his eyelids and slightly turned his head, as the toothpick deflected off his forehead. “Come on, momma, let’s get up outta here.”
Drama lowered his shotgun and took the duffle bag from Boo’s hand. He then kissed her and headed out of the door. Boo looked at T.J. before following Drama out of the house, pulling the door halfway closed behind her.
T.J. scrambled to his feet as soon as Boo and Drama were out of his sight. He ran down the hallway and into the bedroom, flipping over the mattress. He grabbed both of his .9mm’s and ran back up front. He kicked open the front door and ran out of the house. He came hurrying down the steps asshole naked with his dick swinging from left to right. By the time he reached the entrance of the yard, Drama was coming around in his Yukon Denali completing a U-turn. T.J.’s eyebrows slanted and wrinkles formed around his nose. He squared his jaws and came up with his 9 Double M’s.
Blocka! Blocka! Blocka!
Blocka! Blocka! Blocka!
The shots shattered the black tinted windows at the back of the Yukon as it sped away. T.J. was so pissed off, that he hopped the short gated fence and ran out into the street. He chased after the SUV until he felt like he’d gotten far enough, then he stopped and pointed his guns at it.
Blocka! Blocka! Blocka! Blocka!
“Punk-ass nigga!” T.J. spat harshly, spit flying from his lips.
Blocka! Blocka! Blocka! Blocka!
Blocka! Blocka!
Drama’s Yukon continued down the street until the brake lights disappeared into the night. T.J.’s eyes lingered in the direction that the SUV went in for a moment longer. He then turned around and marched toward his house, huffing and puffing out of breath. There was beads of sweat covering his face and body.
“Them bitchez are dead as soon as I find ‘em. I swear ‘fore God!” T.J. pointed one of his .9mm’s into the air and busted it off, fire flickering from its barrel.
Blocka! Blocka! Blocka! Blocka!
T.J. skipped up the steps and went inside of the house, slamming the door behind him.
***
T.J. sat inside of Tam’s Jr’s on Hoover and Figueroa. He was hunched over a Styrofoam container of chili cheese pastrami French fries. His nose was twice its size thanks to Drama busting him in his face with the butt of his shotgun. He found it a little harder to breathe, but reasoned it wouldn’t be a problem in time. At the moment, he was thinking about his next move. He needed some money and he needed some money fast. He had about sixteen dollars in his pocket, and that wasn’t shit. During his time out in the streets, he didn’t have anything less than one-hundred thousand dollars stashed away. That wasn’t counting the money he had on lock in case he got jammed up on a case.
You see, while T.J. was caged up, Boo ran through the money he’d put up to take care of her and his son. Now, she was only supposed to make sure she took care of the necessities, but her fake boujee-ass was breaking bread for designer labels and renting exotic cars. Needless to say, she blew through all of those bags.
T.J. was pissed off once Boo told him that she was broke. He’d told her to save him something to come home to, but obviously that shit went in one ear and out of the other. Basically, Boo wasn’t trying to hear that shit he was talking. She still spent that nigga’s shit up! This is why she made sure to set him up with a lick that would have him straight for a while. It was the profit from that same lick that Boo and that bitch-ass nigga Drama made off with earlier that night.
Scandalous-ass hooka! I shoulda knew better than to fuck around with her ass anyway! That’s just what my fat-ass get! You can’t make a hoodrat wifey material! It just ain’t in the bitch! That’s what my black-ass get tryna play Captain Save-A-Hoe. Ol’ simp-ass nigga! It’s okay, though. Soon as I catch up to ol’ girl and her ol’ wannabe young, fake thug-ass nigga, I’ma slump they asses. That’s onna gang!
Hearing the bell over the door of the establishment ringing, T.J. looked up to see a quartet of people enter: two young men and two pretty young girls. The men had their arms hung around the girls’ shoulders and their eyes were focused on the menu which sat high up behind the bulletproof glass. The bulletproof glass had niggaz’ hoods scratched into it and drawn on it with permanent markers and/or white out pens. This didn’t seem to matter to the youngstas though. They appeared to be ordering without any problems seeing the items they had in mind to purchase. Once they’d finished ordering, they kicked it around the tables shooting the shit. T.J. noticed that the young men were rocking heavy jewels and gold teeth. He reasoned they had to be into something illegal to afford such fly ass jewelry, and those bitchez they were with. Because the way he saw it, there wasn’t any broads that fine looking to kick it with niggaz that weren’t holding a little something, something.
T.J. ate his food and estimated the cost of the jewelry the young niggaz were sporting, as well as the bulges in their pockets which let him know that they were holding bankrolls. He knew that if he was to stick their asses up he’d come off with a nice chunk of change. As T.J. debated whether he was going to make those young balla niggaz break themselves or not, the cashier was calling them forward to get their orders. The quartet grabbed their respective grease stained bags and glanced inside of them to make sure their orders were right. One of the young niggaz popped a frie into his mouth and pushed open the glass door, making his way outside with the rest of the group on his heels. Seeing his meal ticket getting away, T.J. decided then that he had to bag them niggaz if he was going to eat. With that thought in mind, he closed his Styrofoam container, all the while keeping his eyes on the youngstas.
“Fuck this, them niggaz food,” T.J. pulled out his gun and cocked it underneath the table. He then stuck it inside the pocket of his hoodie and pulled his hood over his head. Keeping his head bowed, he rose from the table and hastily approached the couples as they left out of the burger joint. From inside of the restaurant, the only patron left watched T.J. through the window as he ate his bacon cheese burger. He couldn’t hear shit the fat nigga was saying, but whatever it was it must have been threatening, while he waved his gun around at the youngstas. All of their asses looked terrified, especially the women. T.J. had them mothafuckaz coming up off their money and jewelery. Afterwards, he made them lay on the ground, and bent down to one of them, taking what the patron believed were car keys. He then kicked whoever it was in the side and walked off. A second later, a pearly white Lincoln Navigator on some chrome “24 rims squealed out of the parking lot.
The youngstas that had just been robbed rose to their feet, looking disheveled and brushing the dirt from off their clothing. The girls were crying and holding one another while the men swore to get revenge on the nigga that jacked them.
“As soon as I get a hold of my shit, I’m hittin’ these streets and this nigga gone, just as soon as I find ‘em. On my mothafuckin’ grand momma, rest in peace.” one of the young men swore as he dusted his Angels fitted cap off. While he was popping shit, his homeboy was holding his aching side and wincing, dialing somebody on his cellular.
The patron shook his head and picked up one of the fries from off the yellow wrapper that had once covered his burger. He dipped the fry into the slightly smeared pool of ketchup.
***
T.J. sped the big body Navigator into the automotive repair shop and pulled it up to a shutter, where he blew the horn twice. Shortly thereafter, the shutter rose up and a short fellow with big glasses and a nappy afro waved him in. He stepped aside to allow the Navigator to drive over the threshold before pressing the button that shut the shutter. As soon as he walked back inside, he circled the car taking a good look at it while gliding his fingertips over its sleek surface. He suddenly stopped and took a couple of steps back, massaging his chin as he thought of the bag he should drop into T.J.’s la
p for the vehicle.
“I’ll give you seven racks for it,” the short fellow, whose name was Tiny, turned to T.J. and adjusted his glasses. Through his lenses T.J. could see the sparks flying from all over the shop as mechanics worked on several vehicles, removing their parts.
“Done deal,” T.J. nodded in agreement of the payment he’d offered.
“Bet. I’ll be right back.” Tiny tapped him and headed off to retrieve the money. While he was gone, T.J. busied himself looking at car parts that had most likely been taken off stolen automobiles. He studied a shiny hub cap which was hanging from a wall at the furthest end of the garage. Seeing Tiny approaching him from behind, through the shiny hub cap, he turned around and the little fellow pushed a wrinkled brown paper bag into his hands. T.J. looked through the bag, pulling out one of the stacks that inhabited it and then dropping it back inside of it. “We good?” Tiny asked as he tilted his head to the side.
T.J. took the time to roll up the paper bag and tuck it inside the front of his Dickies before answering the question. “Yeah, we good.” he dapped up Tiny and gave him a gangsta hug before he went on about his business. He disappeared into the night where he jacked himself another car so he could go see his man to fence the stolen goods.
***
T.J. entered his motel room and flipped on the light switch. He picked the remote control up from the nightstand and turned on the television set, flipping through the channels until he found something he was interested in watching. A moment later, The Jefferson’s theme song erupted from the T.V.’s speakers and he sat the remote down on the small round table at the window. He then put his Popeye’s chicken bag and his two liter bottle of Coca Cola down on the table. Still standing, he started pulling out the fat knots of money he’d made from that night’s caper and the dough from fencing the jewelry. He dropped all of the money on the table top. When he went to sit down, he spotted something folded up and black at his feet. His brows wrinkled wondering what it was beside his sneaker. Right then he recalled it was a flyer for Club Vicious. He’d taken it out of the Navigator he’d stolen.