Carl Weber's Kingpins

by Raynesha Pittman

  Three explosions in, he was ready to feel the effect he had on her through his condom. “One more. Do it one more time, and then you can bend me over and fuck me however you want to, Mr. DJ.”

  “I’m going to do that anyway,” he announced, unfastening his belt and pants. “But I’ll lick it a little longer since I’m your DJ now.” He chuckled as his dick fell out of his drawers like a thick metal detector pole hovering over sands. Once Tyger saw that she reconsidered.

  “Nah, DJ. ‘You can get this started.’” She sang out the nineties hit, never taking her eyes off him.

  He bent her over the third row, lifted her ass in the air while he spread her cheeks, and licked it a little more before digging for treasure. He was three strokes in as her head rotated left, and she got a look at Temper sitting on the guy’s lap looking like she found love. The dude she was with was closer to Tyger’s taste in men rather than the beanpoles Temper chose. She didn’t know what game Temper was playing by lying about her name, but she didn’t like it.

  “Is that all you got? I want you to fuck me!” Tyger yelled, sounding more pissed than freaky. “Fuck me, DJ!”

  “Damn, girl, you got me about to nut talking like that. Hold on for a second.” He pulled out and squeezed his meat. To take his mind off the sensation, he rolled the condom band higher up his shaft.

  Tyger looked back. “Are you for real? You’ve been talking all this shit about taming me, and now you back here trying not to nut? Give me that dick.”

  She grabbed him closer to her and snatched the condom off as she watched Temper and Julio walk hand in hand back inside the club. Like she was thirsty, she took him deep into her throat and bobbed and drooled as fast as she could until she felt the throbbing down her throat. She took him out of her mouth, spit on his meat, and jacked him off until his nut flew past her to the seat.

  “We the best!” he screamed as the remaining drops fell.

  “No, boo, the rappers on the tracks are. In this situation, that would be me. When you can hang, we can try this again. Watch out. I got to go,” Tyger demanded, climbing over the seat to catch Temper before she left. By the time she got herself together and walked back to the club, it was already too late. Temper was gone, and her phone was going straight to voicemail.

  “If he hurts her, I’ll kill him,” Tyger spat and then picked at her tongue to get the stray pubic hairs off.

  Chapter Nine

  The girls had had a few small arguments here and there in the more than ten years they’d been friends, but none outweighed this.

  “I’m going to tell him the truth soon, on my time, and when I’m ready to. You have one job to do, and that’s to be my friend and don’t call me by my real name until I’ve told him. Why is that so fucking hard for you?” Temper snapped.

  “That’s a dumbass question, even coming from you. Bitch, you’re taking this shit with him to the next level, and you’re lying every step it takes to get there. That shit is dangerous.” Tyger damn near spit on Temper as she was getting her words out.

  “It’s a fucking name I’m hiding and my past ghetto life. You don’t even tell people about your past, but you hold me to a different standard.”

  “I’m not shacking up with nobody I’m hiding my past from. And his ass is a part of that past. That’s why I’m holding your ass to a different standard. How do you move in with a nigga you won’t even tell your real name? He can’t even be listed as your emergency contact if things did go sour. He’ll be trying to get help for a ho named Journee West when Temper Chey is the one in need,” Tyger screamed as she slammed down the box she was carrying for Temper. “If I had known you were still keeping secrets from him, I wouldn’t have broken my nail trying to help you move. Are you dumb?”

  “You tell me, Dr. Washington. Am I?”

  “Hell yeah. Look in the fucking dictionary, and bam, there yo’ stupid ass is with that dumbass smile you get whenever he’s around. Wake up, bitch. This shit between y’all has gotten real.”

  “When will you ever be happy for me?” Temper questioned as she dropped the box she was carrying next to the others. “I can’t think of one time you were truly happy for me without it benefiting you, or you had an event of your own to celebrate too. I finally fell in love, and I took the fucking slow route. We’ve been dating for almost two fucking years.”

  “Yeah, and you’ve been lying for two fucking years, too. Where are you from, Journee? What’s your real name? Fuck that. Do you have any kids?”

  Temper cocked back and slapped Tyger so hard that one of her eyelash strips flew off. She told Tyger about the baby she abandoned when she was drunk, and Tyger, being insensitive, threw it back in her face. It was on.

  “Bitch, you hit me for telling the truth?” Tyger yelled, her words muffled as she gripped Temper’s hair and gave her three quick, powerful punches to her face. “You’ve been tripping since you met this nigga. You left me at the fucking club that night,” she said as she sent her fist to Temper’s mouth. “You broke the ‘no men in the house’ rule,” she said as she gave her one to the eye, but Temper couldn’t take another hit. She was overpowered and outweighed. Not knowing what to do next, she bit the fist that kept hitting her and didn’t let go as Tyger screamed, “You even broke the birthday pact.” She slung Temper from her bedroom to the hallway.

  “If I broke the pact, that means he’s the one, stupid bitch. You are so fucking smart that your smart ass is dumb. I’m not trying to be besties rooming with you all my life. I want to be best friends with my husband, and I know Julio is him,” she made out through sniffles.

  “Then I’m glad you met your husband, because as of today, I’m done being your best friend. Get your shit and be out of my house in an hour. Don’t say shit to me at work, either. As of today, your ass is dead to me, bitch.”

  “You say that shit like there was a time when you saw me as alive. It’s always been about you and your smart-ass plans. Congratulations, crazy-ass Washington, you made it. You’re the first gutter rat slut to become a doctor. I’m sure your mafioso-ass daddy is proud. I’ll be out of this bitch in thirty minutes.”

  “Say that shit while you’re packing, ho. You got fifteen minutes now.” Tyger stormed by her, being sure to bump Temper as hard as she could into the wall as she made her way out the front door.

  * * *

  Work didn’t feel the same without the girls’ friendship to brighten the day. For the past three weeks, everyone engaged in their beef because everyone could feel it. It was hard for them to take sides since the girls made sure they didn’t say a word to or about each other, and they never discussed what happened. The fact that they used mediators to communicate gave proof that they were feuding. With the girls being everyone’s favorites, the joy in the museum was almost extinct.

  Besides the hate brewing between the girls, it seemed like a typical Friday. Temper was taking different grammar school students on tours as Tyger got the week’s numbers together to email to her boss.

  “Does anyone know what these sharp points set in wooden handles are?” Temper asked the group of teenagers who looked like zombies as they dragged their feet, bored by the tour.

  “Yeah, an artifact,” a voice shouted from the back of the crowd, and the kids roared in laughter.

  “Great guess. Does anyone else want a go at it? No? Okay. Well, you are looking at one of the first tattooing machines invented.”

  “Like tats? That’s a tattoo gun?” one of the boys asked, and the kids seemed to wake up, sparking mini conversations among each other.

  “Yes. Archaeologists traced tattooing back five thousand years, and historians believe it may go back further. It was discovered that in ancient times, gypsy women would take seven or more needles, tie them together, and prick the skin in a different pattern based on wants or needs. Once they had the design poked into the skin, they used the black of burnt and smoked wood or oil mixed with a woman’s breast milk, and then they’d rub it onto the skin.”

 
“Ugh!” the kids exclaimed in unison, and Tyger almost joined them. She had been walking the halls as she heard Temper’s voice and decided to take a listen.

  It had been weeks since she’d tuned into one of Temper’s tours, which was sad because she used to enjoy them. She’d never tell Temper, but she was right about her being selfish and never truly showing happiness for her friend when they were friends. When she sat in her apartment alone, without her roommate, she reflected on their argument and tried to rack her brain to make Temper’s words lies, yet she couldn’t. She had mastered making everything about her. Tyger was the one with the doctorate in anthropology, but she rarely got to enjoy history and relics anymore in her new position. To hear Temper make history understandable and fun to a group of inner-city youth gave Tyger the same thirst-quenching sensation that a glass of ice water would give a traveler lost in the Sahara Desert.

  “Wait, did I hear you all correctly? You’re saying that if tattoo ink were still made the old-fashioned way, all of you would pass them up?” The crowd murmured and shot off different answers, but the consensus was yes. “Would you brand your skin or poke holes in it for anything else?” Temper asked, moving them over to the next portion, which gave the history of branding.

  Paula, the museum director, was back from her meeting early and caught Tyger eavesdropping in the hall. She walked up behind her and didn’t say a word as she joined the peekaboo tour.

  “Temper really knows her stuff and how to get those bad-ass kids interested, huh?” Paula said, nudging Tyger.

  “Of course, that’s why she was hired,” Tyger admitted and then turned her focus back to the lesson in progress.

  “There are fraternities that make you brand your skin. I’m going to be a Q-Dog. If they are still branding their members, I’m getting branded,” a male’s voice yelled from the crowd.

  “That’s one of the most popular forms of social branding there is, sad to say, but that’s definitely a great answer.” Temper searched the crowd for the future proud Q-Dog, and her heart skipped a beat when she found him. The boy was a replica of the image her mind created of her son at that age.

  Though she secretly tried hard over the years not to think about the baby she’d abandoned, the task was too big, and she failed every time. Yearly, on the day she’d given birth, Temper would lie in her bed and imagine what he’d look like with the year of growth. In a few years, she envisioned, he’d look like the young man she couldn’t break eye contact with. He was the perfect combination of her and her most hated lover—light skin, dark hair with a slight curl, and smarter than what they both had been.

  For a moment she debated asking the boy his name. Sadly, reality kicked in, and she remembered his name would be meaningless seeing that she never knew what Lena named her son. Shaking away the thought and the heavy feeling building in her chest, she asked the group, “Can you think of any other reason people use branding or penetration of the skin?”

  “Cows. They brand cows’ butts,” a girl yelled out, and the room went up in laughter.

  “Yes, that’s one of the first usages of branding. It was called brandr, which derives from the ancient Norse word meaning ‘fire’ or ‘burning sword.’ Anyone else?”

  “You and a close friend can poke the skin until it bleeds and rub the blood together so that you can be sisters for life,” a voice on the opposite side of the room said, but there was no one in sight as the kids voiced their disgust at the example.

  In the hall, a man approached Paula and Tyger. “Excuse me, Paula,” Julio said, reading her name badge. “Is Journee here?”

  “Journee? Who’s that? Is she one of this week’s volunteers?” Paula, confused, asked Tyger, who thought she had seen a ghost. Julio frowned at her, which meant he knew of the battle between the girls, but she wouldn’t let her anger blow Temper’s cover.

  “I know who he’s looking for. I’ll handle it,” Tyger volunteered.

  “No, I’m sure you’re doing rounds, and I’m just getting back. I’ll take him to my office and look her up. Do you know what area of the museum she’s working in?”

  “No, not quite, but I do know that she’s the docent.”

  “Are you talking about Temper?”

  At the sound of her real name exposed, Tyger ran into the room where Temper was and tried to get her attention. Temper’s attention belonged to the rear of the room. There was a lady, heavily drugged, or so it seemed, big and very dirty approaching from the back of the exhibit. She had a smile on her face, but all her teeth were missing except for three. Two teeth lingered at the top of her mouth next to each other and one at the bottom. She looked like a horribly drawn cartoon caricature on crack.

  “Remember what you said to me, Temper? We’re blood sisters for life, and no nigga would get in between us. You said if we poked our fingers in the bathroom, we’d be real sisters for life, and I did it. Do you remember that? So why did you stop treating me like your sister, Tee?”

  Temper didn’t say a word. She just stood there motionless.

  Tyger ran out of the room and yelled, “Get security. I think Temper is in danger.”

  Paula ran down the hall, and a confused Julio followed Tyger. He had just shown Paula pictures of him and Journee on his cell phone, and she told him that her name was Temper. If Journee was her middle name, that meant Tyger was saying his soon-to-be fiancée was in trouble. He tucked the engagement ring he’d been holding deep into his pocket, ready for whatever would happen next.

  “Why aren’t you answering me? Come on, Tee. I know you have a smart-ass line to shoot back at me.”

  As Kei’Lani took a step closer, tears made their way down Temper’s face.

  One of the kids yelled, “Run. She has a knife!”

  The kids scattered as Kei’Lani rushed forward, but Temper couldn’t move. The feel of warm urine running down her leg was the only indication that she was still alive, but she longed to be dead.

  “Temper,” Tyger yelled, but she didn’t blink.

  With her arm raised and Kei’Lani’s hand tightly gripping the knife, Temper closed her eyes and wished that death would come quickly. However, it never came at all. She didn’t visually know what happened next, but she could feel herself moving backward. Five seconds later, Kei’Lani screamed out in horror. Opening her eyes, Temper saw Julio standing over her former best friend with a bloody blade in his hand, security running their way with Paula behind them, and Tyger hugging and holding her. She gripped Tyger and cried. Of course, Tyger cried too.

  “I’m sorry, Temper. He made me do it,” Kei’Lani whimpered as life took the long way to leave her. “He wants to fuck your life up for what you did to him. He’s crazy, and I haven’t loved him in years. I swear, I ain’t loved him in years.”

  “Kei-Kei?” Julio asked as he took a closer look at his victim. Then he shot his eyes up to Temper. He dropped the knife and gripped her face. He pushed her hair back, used his hand to make a makeshift ponytail, and then visualized her eyes with black makeup rings around them. He could have thrown up when he recognized her. Instead, he began walking away.

  “You’re the girl who put my best friend in jail for life over the baby. Oh, my God.”

  Some people get saved by the bell. For others, it takes walking through the church’s doors, but Temper was saved as the security guards tackled Julio to the floor. They carried him out of the room and away from the attacker turned victim without asking any questions.

  Tyger could see that Temper was too devastated to tell security or Paula what happened, so she squeezed Temper before she let her go and said, “I can’t let them arrest him for this. Promise you won’t stand here and watch this junkie die.”

  Temper didn’t promise, nor did she disagree. Her eyes were locked on her childhood friend bleeding on the floor. There wasn’t any way for her to tell if the wound was fatal, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted her to die.

  “You’re so beautiful. You were always beautiful,” Kei’Lani moaned through the p
ain while gripping her side.

  Maybe it was how she rocked on the floor that allowed the lighting to hit her face just right, causing Temper to see her as her best friend. She snatched off her two-button sweater and applied pressure to the wound.

  “Hush, you’re going to be all right. Look at me. You’re going to make it through this, Kei’Lani.”

  Kei’Lani smiled. “No, I won’t. I have to be dying. The Temper I know would have finished me off for trying to catch her slipping.”

  She dropped the sweater and stepped back to give the approaching paramedics space. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

  “Yes, you are. You always will be.”

  Once the paramedics got her on the stretcher and into the ambulance, they asked Temper if she was riding, and she nodded.

  “You can’t go with her, Temper. I know you feel bad about what happened, but she tried to stab you, and Julio is being arrested for protecting you. You don’t even know this lady,” Tyger barked.

  “Yes, I do. She was my best friend.”

  Temper locked eyes with Tyger until they closed the doors to drive off. An apology didn’t need to be said. They both knew that Temper’s response to her near-death encounter at the hands of a woman she once called a friend made their fight nonexistent.

  * * *

  It took four hours to get things situated enough at the museum for Tyger to leave. Between the schools, parents, and the media, it was a headache that only time could heal. Paula was furious, and no matter what Tyger said to prove Temper’s innocence, it wasn’t enough.

  “Wait, Temper is Journee, the attempted killer is her childhood best friend, and the man who stabbed her attacker is the man she’s been with for over a year and a half who doesn’t know her real name? She’s fired,” Paula yelled.

  “She didn’t lie to him about anything else, and she did it to prevent him from linking her to her past. I told you when you hired her, her teenage years read parallel to a horror story.”