by Keisha Ervin
Q got up and grabbed her things.
“Oh, before I forget, the trial against Mr. Wright begins in a couple of months. Don’t be surprised if you’re called in to testify on your husband’s behalf.”
“Okay.” She nodded, opening the door. Ahsim was outside waiting for her. He’d been questioned, too.
“Mrs. Pynn,” Detective Johnson called out.
“Yes.”
“Would you care for a smoke? You looked kind of shaken up.” He pointed the box in her direction. “Maybe it’ll calm you down.”
“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”
“You ready?” Ahsim took her hand.
“Yeah.”
“How did everything go?”
“Good . . . I guess.”
Never in life did Q expect that laying her husband down to rest would be so hard. Sean wasn’t the most pleasant man to deal with while he was on earth, but to see him laid up in a coffin, stiff as a board, caused a piece of her to die as well. Despite their hardships, he was her husband. At one point she’d vowed to love him forever and forsake all others. Q didn’t know how she would go on. The love and support of her family and his fans was what brought her through. On the day of the funeral, fans of Sean’s lined the streets to pay their respects. Q by no means knew he would be so missed.
At night was her only time to cry. During the day she was bombarded with radio, magazine, and television interviews. The media coverage of Sean’s death was overwhelming. Wherever she turned, someone was talking about his untimely death. The fact that Grip was on trial for his murder only intensified things. If it weren’t for Ahsim, Q knew she would have lost it. During the craziest moments he kept her sane, but Ahsim wouldn’t be able to hold her hand and guide her down the right path this time.
The Old St. Louis County Courthouse was packed with photographers and news crews. Each pew in the courtroom was stuffed with people. After Rosa’s testimony, Q would have to face the jury alone. Annalisa had already taken the stand and testified that Grip had gone way beyond a rap beef and turned things into a crazy, sadistic game of cat-and-mouse. Q watched intently as Rosa was sworn in.
“Mrs. Rosa Sanchez, you have been the Pynns’ maid for how long?” District Attorney Jonathon Banks asked.
“For almost eight years.” Rosa clenched her hands tightly together.
“And have you ever witnessed any odd or indecent behavior between Mrs. Pynn and the defendant, Mr. Wright?”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head emphatically. “Mrs. Pynn would never associate with a man like him. He’s crazy, I tell you. For the past year, Mr. Wright has been calling and calling, harassing Mrs. Pynn. At night she couldn’t sleep because of it. You wouldn’t believe how much stress his behavior has caused.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sanchez. You may now step down from the stand.”
“Mr. Simmons,” Judge Meyers said from the bench. “Who will be your next witness?”
“Your Honor,” Grip’s attorney announced, “I would now like to bring Mrs. Pynn to the stand.”
Q gulped hard. This was it, the moment she’d been dreading. All eyes were on her as she made her way to the witness stand, dressed in a chiffon bubble skirt, black turtleneck, and tights. After being sworn in by the bailiff, she took a seat on the hard, wooden chair. She and Grip caught each other’s eyes as his attorney approached the stand. He mischievously winked his eye. Q rolled her eyes and ignored him.
“Mrs. Pynn,” Mr. Simmons said.
“Yes.”
“Do you know my client?”
“No, not personally.”
“No,” he repeated. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’m quite sure.”
“You and my client have never spent any time alone with one another?”
“Hell, no, I wouldn’t be caught dead alone with him,” she spat as the courtroom gasped.
“Yo, she lyin’,” Grip shouted.
“Order in the court,” Judge Meyers yelled. “Simmons, get a hold of your client.”
“Yes, sir.” Mr. Simmons glared at Grip. “As I was saying, you and Mr. Wright have never spent any alone time together?”
“No.”
“So, you’ve never seen this before?” Mr. Simmons held up a platinum crown ring.
“Yeah, I’ve seen him wear that in his videos.” Her heart raced.
“So this ring wasn’t left at your house a couple of months ago?”
“No, of course not.”
Ahsim looked on, knowing that she’d just lied.
“You mean to tell me that you and my client have not been having an affair?”
“No!”
“Bitch, you fuckin’ lyin’!” Grip jumped up from his chair.
“Order, order, order!” The judge banged his gavel. “Order in the court! If I hear one more peep out of your client, I am going to hold him in contempt! Do you understand?”
“Understood,” Simmons agreed.
Grip’s two other lawyers got him back in his seat and tried their best to calm him down.
“No, but she lyin’.” Q could hear him say.
“Mrs. Pynn you never told Mr. Wright that you wanted him to kill your husband because you were tired of him abusing you?”
“Mr. Simmons, as I said before, no! Your client is obsessed with me!” Q shot from her chair. “He’s been harassing me for over a year. It’s all over the news. He writes all these crazy songs about me. He’s nuts. He’s a freak! He even threatened on the radio that he would kill my husband. Anybody who listens to hip-hop music knows that I’m tellin’ the truth. The only reason he killed my husband was to get him out of the picture so in some kind of sick way he could be closer to me! Sean wasn’t the best man in the world, but he didn’t deserve this.”
“I swear to God I’ma have you killed, bitch!” Grip jumped over the table trying to get to her.
“See,” she screamed, as the bailiff and two guards tackled Grip to the ground.
The courtroom erupted in pandemonium.
“So we have an innocent man on trail for murder, a dead body, and you,” Mr. Simmons yelled over the noise. “Something just doesn’t seem right here! No further questions!” He threw his hands up in defeat.
After a week of testimony and a day of deliberation, the jury came back with their verdict. Q sat with her head down. Her leg violently shook as she awaited the verdict. Ahsim was next to her, holding her hand tight.
“The jury in the case of the State of Missouri against Reginald Wright finds the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree,” the foreman announced.
Grip bit down on his bottom lip, determined not cry. None of this was supposed to go down this way. Shaking his head, he turned and glanced over his shoulder at Q. She brought her face up, laughing. Nobody caught the expression but him. He boiled with anger. Grip kissed his family good-bye, and vowed to get revenge one day.
Epilogue
A few days later, Q and Ahsim were on the island of Bora Bora inside their overwater bungalow making passionate love. They were the only ones there. For hours they’d gone at one another like wild animals. Beads of sweat trickled down their sticky skin. Q clawed the sheets as he pounded in and out of her from behind at feverish pace. The sound of the waves crashing underneath them intensified her pleasure.
Ahsim’s long stroke and the feel of his balls slapping against her backside had her spewing words unknown to man. He was showing her pussy no mercy and she loved it. His dick game was hypnotic. Ahsim couldn’t hold out any longer. It was time for him to cum. Grinding his hips, he hit Q with the death stroke causing both their bodies to shake uncontrollably. Q screamed out his name as he pulled out and squirted hot, creamy lava into the crack of her butt.
Spent, she lay flat on her stomach, panting heavily. Before heading for the shower Ahsim smacked her ass. The sight of it jiggling made his dick hard again but he contained his emotions and bathed instead. An hour later they both were dressed and standing on the sundeck. Nothing but aqua-blue water an
d nature surrounded them. The view was marvelous. Q was in her element, but there was still some unfinished business that needed to be handled.
After the trial had ended, Ahsim started coming to her with a bunch of suspicious questions. Q wasn’t one to be questioned or quizzed. She’d hoped that he would back off, but his insistence to find out the truth was beginning to get the best of him. Q had planned on them taking a nice vacation before she ended things permanently, but unfortunately for Ahsim, things would have to end now. Q turned on the portable radio by the bed. The voice of her favorite female MC, Li’l Kim, filled the room. Q reached into her purse, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. The first hit of nicotine sent a rush of energy through her veins.
“What you doing?” Ahsim watched as she blew smoke rings into the air. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”
“We all have our secrets,” she smirked, placing on a pair of black gloves.
Suddenly, everything became clear. Q had been setting up the demise of her husband the entire time.
“Admit it. You were fuckin’ Grip,” he accused.
“Of course I was,” she chuckled. “Now, you admit something for me. You were the one who gave the police Grip’s ring, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, I found it that night by the pool.”
“I wish you wouldn’t have done that.” She shook her head. “’Cause now I can’t trust you.”
“Just tell me. Why did you do it?”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” she grinned. “I did it for the money. With Sean dead, I get everything: the houses, cars, jewelry, stocks and bonds, as well as his music. I’ll be making money off of him until I die. All of it’s mine now, plus I wanted to get rid of that sorry-ass, good-for-nothin’ bastard that I called a husband. You see, Sean and Grip were already going at each other, so I used that to my advantage. I knew that Grip was gullible and that if I fucked him he’d go running and tell the world.” She laughed sadistically. “I had that man wrapped around my finger. Anything I asked him to do, he did it; including killing my husband.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he risk going to jail for you?” Ahsim quizzed, confused.
“That’s the thing.” Q took another pull from the cigarette. “Grip got smart on me. I don’t know who got in his ear, but that night you caught me at the pool he decided to back out of our plan. So I had to think quickly. I arranged for our photo to be taken at the Loft that night. I knew that once Sean saw the photo he’d flip. Being humiliated was like death to him. He’d do anything to protect his rep, and I knew those idiots he hung with would amp him to do something drastic. And he did.”
“So even though Grip backed out on you, in your own way you still had him kill Sean,” Ahsim said, putting two and two together.
“Yep.”
“And where do I fit into this whole scenario?”
“You,” Q said, mashing the cigarette into the ashtray and approaching him, “were an added bonus.” She licked his neck. “I didn’t expect you to happen, and for a while there, I actually started to like you. But liking and loving someone is two different things. You see,” she said, gazing into his eyes, “I’m in love with someone else.”
Ahsim unconsciously reached for his gun, but quickly realized it wasn’t on his hip.
“You lookin’ for this?” Q placed the gun up to his head.
“Yo, Q, calm down. You making a big mistake. You don’t want to do this,” he said, panicked.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I have to do this. You almost ruined my plan, and now you know too much. I can’t run the risk of you runnin’ your mouth. I’ve come too far to go to jail now.”
“I swear, I won’t say nothing.”
“You’re right, you won’t.” She pulled the trigger without flinching.
The force of the shot sent Ahsim’s body flying to the ground. Q gazed down at him. Ahsim’s eyes were still open. It was almost as if he were staring at her. Q shrugged her arms and placed the gun in his hand. When the police came it would look like he’d committed suicide. Calmly, she stepped over him and grabbed her things. Her ride would be there any second. Q went back onto the sundeck. In the sky, a float plane began to descend. Once it landed, Q hopped over the railing and took the passenger’s hand. Inside the plane, she buckled her seat belt and allowed the love of her life to kiss her cheek.
“Everything taken care of?”
“Yep, I’m all yours.”
“Good.” Roc kissed her hand.
“Where to?”
“I don’t care where we go, as long as I’m there with you.”
Trick, Don’t Treat
by Brenda Hampton
There wasn’t a word in the English language that described my desires for handsome men. I didn’t consider myself a sex addict, simply because I was somewhat particular about whom I allowed to dive into my goods. Working men were a bonus, and even those who hustled to get money weren’t a problem for me. Since my job paid the bills, it wasn’t that I needed a man’s money, but it was always good to know that if I fell on hard times, the man in my life would have my back.
A few years ago, if anybody wanted to have the life of Rochel “Jakki” Thomas, I would have handed it over on a silver platter. One would say that I’d been to hell and back, but I guess I couldn’t complain because I’d learned some valuable things along the way. The most important thing was that some men were dogs, but it takes a dog to know one. Players would come and go, but only a true player can overcome the setbacks. I wasn’t married because I didn’t want to be married. And, for the time being, the only things men were good for were performing oral sex and sticking their better-be-good muscle where it belongs.
I didn’t always feel this way, and by all means, I consider myself a great catch: carmel silk skin, big bright eyes, a body like a professional trainer, and brains to go with it. A woman with class—I won’t even go there because many women would beg to differ with me. To them, a ho would best describe me, but consider me a ho with a purpose. And under my delicate circumstances, a ho might not be a bad thing at all.
The make-me-melt-like-butter Parker Rhodes was the man who taught me my final lesson. He stood six foot two, was almost dark as midnight, and had a tight, muscular build comparable to a NFL running back. The waves in his coal black hair were never out of place, and his dark brown eyes could get him just about anything he wanted.
At first, Parker introduced me to an entirely different world. He had a rewarding career as an entrepreneur, was a Christian man (so he claimed), and flaunted lots of money. In addition to his extravagant lifestyle, Parker, I proudly profess, took good care of me. He’d stepped out of the box and done things for me that no other man had done. Cooked on a regular basis, sent roses to me at work, paid me touching compliments . . . all of which made me believe I’d finally met my match. In private, he called me by his last name, and his ability to make me ring out multiple orgasms made me crave him even more.
In public, though, I was Parker’s friend. Sooner than later, I found out that Parker had an array of “friends.” Friends who assisted him in keeping up his extravagant lifestyle by paying his bills. In actuality, the brotha was broke and didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I made plans to work myself out of his life, but since the loving was so good to me, preparations took some time. That time was almost a year later, and by then, he had broken the bad news to me. He was engaged, and my booty call services were no longer needed. The traumatic news sent me plummeting to the floor; the dance floor, of course, as I hit the nearby lounges and nightclubs to shake away my pain.
I was definitely a great catch, and met many more men who saw in me what Parker had—nothing. And when I took a deeper look at myself, I realized that somewhere along the road of finding a partner for life, I’d been too damn nice to men. They always claimed to want good women, but what does being a good woman mean? To be obedient? Have dinner on the table when he comes home? Make sure the house is c
lean? What? Well, I’ve been there, done all of that before. And, frankly, I have no plans of being that woman again. As far as I’m concerned, this thirty-four-year-old is on her way to being the most confident, happy, and satisfied woman she’s ever been. If anyone foresees a problem with the way I now choose to live my life, fuck ’em.
The Meeting Place
The long line at the local post office was ridiculous! I’d gotten up early to go just so I wouldn’t have to wait. So much for that, I thought as I held number twenty-three in my hand; number two had just been called. I placed my four huge packages on the floor and folded my arms. The look of impatience was clearly visible on my face, but instead of tripping, I pulled a compact mirror from my purse and looked at it. My Nia Long short haircut was working for me, and I pressed my lips together to spread the M•A•C gloss I wore. Just as I was about to close my compact, the clear view of a mocha chocolate brotha was displayed. To get a better glimpse, I shifted the mirror. My eyes couldn’t deny what they’d seen. Nice, I thought. Very, very nice and workable. As my pussy began to moisten, I knew I was on to something. This man hadn’t even touched me yet but he was already feeling good to me. I quickly closed the compact, and just as I got ready to put it back into my purse, I heard a loud thud. Like many of the other customers, I turned my head and noticed the tall, dark, and handsome man as he bent over to pick up his package. My immediate thought was clumsy fool, but when his light brown eyes focused in my direction, I had a change of heart.
“Sorry about that,” he politely said, as he eyeballed others in the facility as well. “It slipped.”
Again, his eyes connected with mine and I smiled, giving him a slow blink and then turning around. The line started to move, but I was in deep thought, planning my next move. No doubt, he was gorgeous: casually dressed, nicely trimmed sideburns, and sexier than anything I’d seen in a long time. He kind of had that Reggie Bush thing going on, but not quite. I had already begun to think about my eventful afternoon, or possibly evening. His eye contact implied that he wanted me, too, and I wasn’t about to let a man like him pass me by.