by Elliott, K.
“Hell, me too.”
“I can’t tell; you grabbing my head and shit, trying to make me feel like some slut toy.”
JoJo stood and picked his boxers up from the floor. “You’re the one that started this shit.”
Nia picked up a Timberland boot and threw it at JoJo. “Motherfucker, you gonna put this shit all on me? Remember, you’re the one that used to come around while Fatboy was gone and tell me how nice my ass was.”
“But you’re the one that used to wear all that revealing shit around the house. You wanted me to look at your ass.”
“Fuck you, JoJo.”
He walked over, grabbed Nia by the arm, and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry. We like each other. That’s all that matters.”
She leaned forward and kissed him. “I love Fatboy, too.”
“I know you do.”
“I’m in a fucked up situation.”
“Think about me; I’m the nigga’s friend from day one.”
“What are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know.”
Nia’s eyes became moist. She stepped away from JoJo’s grip then turned to face him. “I keep telling myself that Fatboy’s impotence is the reason I’m cheating.”
“Well it is, isn’t it?”
“That and the fact that I like you ... I like the way you make me feel, and I like the way you make me laugh.”
“I like you, too, Nia.”
“Come and give me a kiss, nigga.”
JoJo walked over to Nia.
She pulled his penis out and continued her oral performance.
Chapter 3
Her name was Paige Howard, but her stage name was Jennifer. She was a bleached blonde with blue eyes and 38 DD breast implants. Her ass was well-defined from working out at the gym.
It was Tuesday night when DEA agents Mark Pratt and Ken Clarkson strolled into the club. Jennifer was on the stage with a slew of mesmerized men around her, all wanting a part of the woman with the big hooters and the veneered smile.
“I love you,” said an older white man wearing a John Deere ball cap.
Jennifer blew him a kiss then motioned for him to come to her.
He walked over right away, his eyes on the double D’s. He stepped on stage with two twenty-dollar bills in his hand.
Jennifer grabbed the money and gave the man a kiss, leaving traces of orange lipstick on his jaw. He grinned. She took his ball cap, rubbed it between her legs, and placed it back on his head.
He took the cap off his head and licked it, giving himself some sort of satisfaction. “I love you, Jennifer,” he said, smiling.
She stepped back and pulled her G-string to the side, revealing her vagina for a brief second. The crowd tossed a flurry of fives and tens to the stage.
When she was finished, she picked up her money and strutted off stage, disappearing.
A redhead came over smiling at Mark and Ken. “How bout a dance, guys?”
“Who was the blonde?” Mark asked.
“Jennifer. Do you want me to get her?”
Mark pulled out two dollars and passed them to the redhead. “If you don’t mind.”
She looked at the money, frowned, then passed it back. “Keep your money, hun. I mean, if this is all you got, don’t even worry about it.” Mark took the money, folded it, and put it in his wallet.
Minutes later, Jennifer came over to their booth with a white skirt and garter. She looked at Mark. “Hey, good looking.” Then she turned to Ken. “Hi, sexy.”
Mark extended his hand. “I’m Chris, and this is my friend Dave.”
“So you guys want some entertainment or some company?”
Mark and Ken looked at one another.
“Come on, guys. I hope you aren’t wasting my time,” Jennifer said. She then folded some bills and put them in her garter belt.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
“Well, can you at least buy me a drink?”
“Mark looked at the money in her garter belt. There had to be at least three hundred dollars, he figured. And she was asking him to buy her a drink.
“I’ll buy the drink. What’ll you have?” Ken asked.
“Vodka and tonic.” Jennifer sat on Mark’s lap. “I want a double.”
The waitress came and Ken ordered Jennifer’s drink along with two bottled waters.”
“What are you two guys, cops or something?” Jennifer put her hand on Mark’s dick.
He pushed it away. “Why do you ask that?”
“A clean-cut black guy and a clean-cut white guy together in a strip club, ordering waters to drink.”
“You think we’re cops, huh?” Mark said.
Jennifer reached for Mark’s dick again, but again he moved her hand away. “You see, that’s what I mean.”
“What are you talking about?” Ken asked.
“Cops are the only guys that would move a woman’s hand away from his dick.”
The waitress came with the drinks. Ken gave her a twenty and she disappeared.
“So what if I told you I am a cop?” Mark said.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Jennifer said, then stirred her drink and took a sip.
“You’re not supposed to drink at work.
“You are a cop, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Mark answered.
Jennifer’s eyes grew big. “Am I going to jail?”
“Depends,” Ken said. He took a drink of his water.
“Depends on what?”
“Depends on if you are willing to help us.”
“Help you do what?”
Mark pulled out his badge. “I’m with the Drug Enforcement Agency.”
“What the hell do you want with me?”
“Do you know a guy called Twin?”
“No, I don’t know nobody by that name.”
“I think you do. We know you were in Miami the other day with him,” Ken said.
Jennifer sipped her drink without responding.
“Weren’t you in Miami a couple of days ago?”
“Maybe ... maybe not. You’re the feds, you tell me.” Jennifer hopped off Mark’s lap and was about to walk away.
“Paige Howard,” Mark yelled out.
Jennifer turned. “How did you know my name, nobody calls me Paige.”
“Telephone bill. Your cell phone is in your name. Your number is 777-9301.”
“How did you get my number?”
“We’re the feds. Remember.” Ken said, smiling.
Jennifer sat beside Mark again. “What do you want with me?”
“We want you to tell us about Twin.”
“I don’t know anybody by that name.”
The redhead came back to the table. She sat beside Ken and smiled.
“Hi,” he said.
“Do you need some company?”
“Actually, I don’t have any money.”
The redhead stood and said, “What the hell are you in a strip club for?”
“Entertainment, honey.” He pulled the back of her skirt up, revealing her ass.
“You loser.” The redhead swiped at his hand then walked away.
“Okay, Paige, you were in Miami, right?” Mark asked.
“You already know that.”
“And you called me and told me that two girls were coming through the airport carrying drugs.”
“I didn’t.”
“Somebody did from your phone. I have a copy of your record, remember?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to be honest with me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You can find yourself in big trouble,” Ken said.
“I don’t like him,” Jennifer said to Mark.
“A pretty little girl like you wouldn’t survive a day in prison,” Mark said.
“Martha Stewart survived, and I’m a lot tougher than her.”
“Yeah, Martha had four months. Drug trafficking, the last time I checked, car
ried a mandatory minimum of ten years. Do you think you can do ten years, honey?” Mark inquired.
“I’m not a drug trafficker.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Okay, Jennifer, do you want to help us or not?” Ken added.
“I think she wants to play hardball and do twenty years.”
“Twenty years for what? I helped you, remember? I’m the one that called you and told you about the girls coming through the airport.”
“So it was you after all.” Mark smiled.
“I need another drink.”
Mark flagged the waitress and had another vodka and tonic delivered to the table.
Jennifer stirred her drink with the tiny red straw. A pop song played in the background. “So what do you want to know?”
“I want to know about Twin.”
“That’s my boyfriend.”
“Okay…and what else?”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“The girls that got busted told us that Twin was the one that put them up to trafficking the drugs.”
“Why would you believe some criminals?”
“They weren’t criminals until Twin put them up to bringing the dope back from Miami,” Ken said.
“You got it all figured out, huh, white boy?” Jennifer said.
“You didn’t look like you had a whole lot of rhythm up there on stage yourself.”
Jennifer stuck her tongue out and gave him the middle finger. “You’re not in trouble,” Mark said.
“Good,—cause I was about to call my lawyer.”
“You don’t need a lawyer yet,” Ken said.
“Yet? What the hell is he talking about?”
“We know Twin is a drug trafficker, and we know that he put those girls up to bringing that dope back.”
“Why don’t you go arrest him?”
“Because we know you had something to do with it. You were on the same flight as the girls, and you called from your cell phone to tell us that the girls were bringing drugs through.”
“Okay.”
“Why would you do that?”
Jennifer stirred her drink, removed the straw from the glass, and licked it slowly. Mark was slightly aroused. “Why would you do that?”
“I did it out of concern.”
Ken narrowed his eyes. “Were you really concerned, or did you want to divert the attention away from you?”
“Attention from me? What the hell do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Mark said, then sipped his water. “I’m going to take a shot in the dark. Maybe you were carrying product yourself. It’s done every day.”
“Yeah, right.” Jennifer stood, walked off, and looked back at the agents. “I have no time for this bullshit.”
“Okay, Paige, you can talk to us now or talk to us later, but rest assured you will talk to us.”
“I don’t think so. Have a good night, gentlemen.”
***** It was three in the morning when Jennifer got dressed. She unfolded all of her money. The total was $517. Not bad for a Tuesday night. Tuesdays were usually slow and she averaged somewhere between two and three hundred dollars, so she was not complaining about tonight. There was nobody else in the locker room, and she knew she had to hurry if she wanted the bouncers to escort her to her car.
Five minutes later, Bobo the bouncer knocked on the door. “Come on, Jennifer, I gotta go home to wifey. Hurry up.”
“Bobo, hold on a second, sweetie. I just got to brush my hair.”
“Come on, Jennifer. It’s three in the morning. Nobody gives a fuck about your hair.”
“Bobo, I’m going to take care of you,” Jennifer said. She would give Bobo a twenty for being patient with her.
He was used to her being the last one, and he would wait on her because he knew she would tip him generously, something the other strippers didn’t do.
Finally Bobo opened the door and said, “Jennifer, I’m gone. I have to take my little girl to school in three hours. I need to get at least two hours of sleep.”
Jennifer stuffed all of her costumes into a designer overnight bag and followed Bobo out.
She fired up the black CLK, pulled out of the parking lot, then hit the interstate. She was bobbing her head to Lil John and the Eastside Boyz when she noticed a state trooper behind her. She switched lanes.
The trooper followed suit. She reduced her speed from sixty-five mph to fifty-five mph.
Moments later the trooper flashed his blue lights.
She pulled to the side of the road.
The tall, slender state trooper asked for her license and Registration.
Jennifer fumbled a bit in her glove compartment then asked, “Sir ,what did you pull me over for?”
“You were speeding more than ten miles over the speed limit, and you swerved.”
“Okay.” Jennifer smiled. “Can’t you just give me a warning?”
He covered his nose. “What in the world have you been drinking?”
“I had a couple of drinks, but I’m not drunk.”
“Where is your license and registration?”
“I can’t find the registration.”
“Out of the car, ma’am.”
Jennifer grabbed her sweater from the backseat then got out of the car.
“Okay, ma’am, walk this straight line,” the trooper said, pointing to the line on the shoulder of the highway.
Jennifer attempted to walk the line but stumbled slightly.
“Ma’am, I want you to take a breathalyzer.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Are you refusing?” the trooper asked. He looked directly into Jennifer’s eyes.
“I ain’t drunk.”
A black Chevrolet SUV drove up. Agents Clarkson and Pratt jumped out of the vehicle. “Jennifer! How ya doing?”
“Heckle and Jeckle … I know you two had something to do with this shit.”
“And you are so fuckin funny. You must be Ellen DeGeneres,” Ken said.
“No, just trying to keep from cursing somebody’s ass out.”
“Trooper, did you search her car?” Mark asked.
“No, not yet.”
“I’m not consenting to a search or a breathalyzer.”
“You see, Jennifer, you really don’t have a choice in the matter now.”
“You motherfuckers! You had the trooper pull me over.”
“Prove it.”
“Trooper, can I borrow your flashlight for a minute?” Ken asked.
The trooper handed him the flashlight.
Ken opened all of the doors of Jennifer’s Benz. He searched the back seats and then the front seat. He pulled a half-smoked blunt from the ashtray, showed it to Jennifer, and smiled.
“That’s only a hundred dollar fine,” she said.
“Oh, yeah. I know you got plenty of money; you’re a showgirl.” He laughed.
“That’s right, cornball. I’m a showgirl, just like your mama was.”
He grabbed Jennifer’s purse from the front seat of the car. Two yellow pills with an X on each of them fell out of the purse.
“Jennifer, what are these?”
“Those are for my sinuses.”
Ken showed them to Mark. “Looks like X to me.”
“I don’t give a damn what they look like. They are for my sinuses.”
“We’ll have them tested, and if this is ecstasy … I will make sure you get indicted. You know what you can get for possession of X?” Ken asked.
“Five years per pill,” Mark lied.
Jennifer covered her face and began to cry.
Mark put his arms around her shoulder. “Jennifer, do you want to help us now? I want to help you. I don’t want to send you to jail. You don’t deserve that.”
Jennifer looked up at Mark. “What do you want me to do?” “We just want you to tell us the truth.”
“What do you want to know?”
Mark pulled a card from his wallet then handed it to Jennifer. “Com
e to my office tomorrow and we will forget all about the ecstasy. If you don’t, I will have to charge you.”
“What is the best time?”
“Two p.m.”
Jennifer wiped her eyes with her hands. “Thank you for not taking me to jail.”
The trooper wrote her a warning ticket. He ordered her to leave the car because he would take her home.
Chapter 4
Fatboy had just dropped two kilos off at Twin’s house. J-Black tailed him in a white work van; two to three car lengths behind him.
Fatboy stopped at a gas station, and J-Black parked at the Waffle House across the street. Ten minutes later, Fatboy stopped and got a pedicure.
J-Black waited in another parking lot, reading the sports section of the USA Today. “Bitch-ass nigga.”
Finally, after Fatboy had run all his errands, he drove home.
“Damn, this muthafucka got it going the fuck on,” J-Black said to himself. He got out of the work van, which had Lakewood Home Improvement on the side panels. He walked to the house and rang the bell.
Fatboy came to the door drinking bottled water.
“Damn, you live here, bro?” He stood in wrinkled overalls.
“Yeah.”
J-Black smiled. “I love to see us brothers doing good.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean? But what can I do for you?”
“Actually, I have my own home improvement service, and I was just wondering is there anything that you would like to improve on your home, though I couldn’t imagine what. Man, this thing is amazing. How many square feet do you have here?”
“Forty-five hundred.”
“Man, my whole family could live in here.”
“So what’s your name?”
“Kenny. Kenny White.”
“Kenny, I’m Tommy. So what kind of home improvement do you do?”
“Floors … you know … painting, cabinets … you name it. I can do just about anything.”
“You do hardwood flooring?”
“I’m the best.” J-Black smiled. He’d never even polished a floor.
“Okay, I was thinking of putting some hardwood floors down. How much do you charge?”
“First I would have to measure your floors.”
“Cool.”
“A’ight. I’ll go get the tape measure from the van. I’ll be right back.”
In the back of the van, he retrieved a sawed-off pump shotgun and eased it down the leg of his pants, concealing it.