The Game of Deception

by Victor L. Martin

  Just want u 2 know

  That I luv u with all my heart. Volanda xoxo

  *Durham, North Carolina*

  6:48 P.M.

  “Stop yelling at me!” Maria shouted into the cordless phone.

  “Shut da’ fuck up, bitch!” Poo-Man vented. “What tha fuck you doing ridin’ ’round wit’ Ghetti fo’ huh!”

  “He took me to the grocery store, Poo!”

  “Yeah right! Where the fuck y’all go, Guatemala! Why you ain’t get Cortina to take you like you been doin’? You think I wasn’t gonna find out dat’ you fuckin’ around on me!”

  “Poo, I don’t need this drama right now.”

  “I’ma tell you what tha fuck you need and it’s my fist up side yo muthafuckin’ head and my foot up your slimy ass! How you gonna shit on me aftah all I done fo’ yo wetback, bean- eatin’ ass. Say sumthin’ bitch!”

  Maria snapped. “Fuck you!” she screamed. “Yeah, I fucked Ghetti and the dick was good! And you can kiss my wetback ass, you snitching bastard!”

  “Bitch! I’ma—”

  “You ain’t gonna do shit!”

  “Nasty slut—”

  “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! And make this the last time calling me, you lame Lil Wayne wannabe!” She hung up in his face and then slung the phone toward the sofa. The next ten minutes she angrily packed all of Poo-Man’s shit in a trash bag. Everything went, gifts, clothes, shoes, pictures, CD’s, even his toothbrush. When she had it all in two bags, she dragged his shit to the curb for trash. Back inside, she lost the fight to hold back her tears. All this drama was breaking her down. She needed her brother and this was a major reason for her stress. Eventually she cried herself to sleep on the sofa. It seemed as if her tears made it rain. With the icy low temp it turned to sleet.

  It was 8:38 p.m. when Volanda called Mance from Durham. They both agreed that the roads were too slippery for traveling, so tonight they would sleep apart from each other. He could tell by her voice that she was tired, so he ended the call to allow her to get some rest. Minutes later, Shasta called and the two spoke briefly. She said she was doing okay and that she was thankful for being allowed to go home early.

  After his shower, he went to bed hoping that Ghetti was straight. Calling it a night, he fell asleep with Volanda’s fruity scent still settled on his pillow.

  CHAPTER 6:

  Skyy’s The Limit

  Goldsboro, North Carolina

  Two Weeks Later

  The last Friday of every month was poker night with the fellows for Mance. January 26, Mance had an itchy feeling that tonight the cards would fall his way. He was now preparing to head out for Stewart’s crib since he was hosting the game this month. He took notice of his new life with Volanda. She had practically moved in with him and truth be told, he could not have been a happier man. He loved her spontaneous sexual nature and this kept him on his toes. He was deeply feeling her habit of walking around in the nude. Everything was all good except for one thing, he had not heard from Ghetti since the last call at his barbershop. Mance wanted to turn to Volanda for help, but his third eye told him that Ghetti was straight and would call him soon. For now, Mance had to reluctantly tell Volanda a small lie. She had once asked about Ghetti’s room and Mance lied and said it was his nephew’s room that was serving in Iraq. She believed him and left it at that. Glancing at his watch 8:31 p.m. he knew he was running late.

  “Volanda, baby I’m gone!” he shouted headed toward the front door.

  At the moment, she was in the den with Amanda. Mance could count on one hand maybe two, the number of white friends that he had. Amanda was cool, but it still felt a bit odd to be all friendly with the police. He was reaching for the door latch when Amanda appeared behind him in the hallway.

  “Mance,” she said with a touch of nervousness in her soft voice.

  “Yeah, what up?” he said, turning to face her.

  “It’s Volanda.’’

  “What about her?” He took a step forward when he noticed the tears in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “She needs to speak to you, she’s in the bathroom.”

  Mance did not waste a breath to question her on what was going on as he walked at a brisk pace back down the hallway until he reached the bathroom.

  “Volanda!” He knocked, entering the bathroom. He was relieved to see her sitting on the closed toilet lid. “Baby, what’s up?” He went to one knee. “Amanda said you needed to speak to me.” When he tilted her face up, he found tears, but yet she was smiling. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Volanda continued smiling as she reached up to wipe her teary eyes. “Mance,” she whispered. “Baby, I’m pregnant.”

  *Miami, Florida*

  Same Time

  Here it was, late January and Ghetti found himself lounging outside in a tank top. He had reached Miami one day last week, and loved every minute of the life down in Dade County, even on the run for two bodies. Since he only knew one person down in Miami, it was no surprise that he ended up under Fly’s roof. Fly was doing it major! Somehow he got plugged into a major connect for six kilos a week, but Ghetti knew that amount would rise. Fly was sitting on some heavy dough, but he wisely lived in a low-key crib and still drove his Suburban. If Ghetti were to put his views on the table, he would tell Fly to wisely give up and go legal. But Fly was not hearing any of that legal bullshit. Jazmine was still chilling with Fly. She had an ample thick Dominican model diva as a friend that was Ghetti’s affection. Her name was Skyy and she was young at the tender age of nineteen. She was beyond the word exotic when it came to her looks. On a bad day, she could give the Latina dime piece Penelope Cruz a challenge. Along with her eye intoxicating face, she boasted an eye candy frame at 5’6, with a small waist and a huge ass. Every inch of her body was real. Skyy was vain just as her hair was long. She was deeply conceited and felt the world belonged under her Prada stilettos. She took vain to another level. Skyy refused to even ride in a whip that cost less than $100,000 and yes she was serious. This would explain why she owned a pricy brand new angel white Mercedes-Benz CL550 coupe. She made her money with her looks. She had started stripping two months after she turned eighteen. One month on the circuit of stripping in Miami, she was spotted by a modeling agent, a legit one. Skyy’s face blew up over night. She now had ten music videos under her thong, appeared on five urban magazine covers, had her own website, calendar and the CEO of her own modeling agency. This is why she was friends with Jazmine because she saw mad potential in the nicely shaped white girl.

  Jazmine was going on twenty-five and Ghetti had to give her all the props she earned. She hung out with Skyy nearly 247 so it was usually just Fly and Ghetti chilling at the crib. Fly did not bring any females to his crib. When he went out clubbing, he would always cop a room.

  “Ghetti.” Fly stepped outside smoking a blunt. “Why you ain’t dressed yet?” Smoke drifted from his mouth and nose.

  “Ain’t but ’bout ten to nine,” Ghetti said after looking at his watch.

  “Yeah, I know. But I need to make a stop befo’ we hit the club.”

  Ghetti was not in much favor of going out, but Fly had explained how he was to double date with Skyy and Jazmine. Ghetti was thinking about Mance. He was just too ‘noid to call, thinking that the pops had the phone tapped. This extreme way of thinking might be unwarranted, but Ghetti knew one damn thing, his ‘noid ass was still free.

  “You look stressed out. What’s up?” Fly said after looking down at Ghetti who was laid back on a beach chair. “Maybe Skyy will give you some of that pussy tonight.” Fly laughed.

  “Picture that. I bet I might be able to get the draws if I buy her a Lambo or somethin’, which I ain’t.”

  “Shit, fine as that bitch is, the pussy might be worth it.”

  “Nah, not fo’ me. I’ma leave that suga daddy role on your shoulders.”

  “Yeah right. But yo, you still rolling with me?”

  “Yeah,” Ghetti replied. He had been out in the backyar
d sipping on a few beers just letting his thoughts run. He knew Mance was up in North Carolina worried as fuck about him, but he had to play it safe. He felt the same way toward Maria because somehow she had stayed on his mind. Fly was a lifesaver. He had accepted Ghetti under his roof with no questions asked. About an hour later, he was cruising down 17th Avenue with Fly in his smooth riding Suburban. The booming system in the back had the rearview mirror vibrating to Young Jeezy and R. Kelly “Go Getta”. Fly had warned Ghetti to always stay on point while in Miami. Mainly in the Northwest section, which was the hood. The pops stayed infested in the hood, but yet it was still far from safe. Fly mostly stayed strapped for those wild ass young Jack boys that had stick ups down to an art. In Fly’s lap sat a polished chrome .357 revolver.

  “You bring your tool?” Fly shouted over the thumping bass.

  Ghetti nodded yes as he pulled a Beretta nine millimeter from between his legs. Fly nodded then went back to bobbing his neck. When the song was reaching its end, Fly turned the system off.

  “You gave some thought about teaming up with me?” Fly asked.

  “I’m done yo,” Ghetti said, checking the side rearview mirror as Fly switched lanes. “Consequences are too high and the prison terms are too long for me to get back in the game. Shit, you sittin’ straight so why press your luck?”

  “What I do and how I do it ain’t luck. This is my life. I went to prison for a petty ass two year bid and ended up doing six.”

  “For whut?”

  “The two years or the extra four?”

  “The extra.”

  “Man, this cracker ass lieutenant of internal affairs . . . what’s his bitch ass name? Uhhhh, Patrick O’Neal. Anyway, he claimed he received a letter from a snitch that said I was selling weed, which was a lie. See, what it was, was this lame dude owed me some money, but couldn’t pay me shit. So instead of checking off, he checked me the fuck off with that kite to O’Neal. So when that faggot O’Neal got the kite, his dumb ass believed it. Anyway, I was out on the yard and this muthafucker had the balls to roll up on me with two bitch ass officers and ordered me to empty my pockets. You know how my temper is. Anyway, I got like eight months left so I’m like, cracker, fuck you, ain’t emptyin’ shit. So then they tried to rough me up and I swung on his ass and broke his fuckin’ jaw and nose. So when his bitch ass pressed charges, I got hit with four years. Yo, I drug that cracker for real.” Fly laughed. “So, when I finally got out of that Jim Crow North Carolina prison system, I found it hard to find a fuckin’ job. A black man with a felony is straight up fucked, yo. Minimum wage ain’t gonna pay enough to support my kids. I wanted to hustle and hustle I did,” Fly stated. “And on my G, I will empty clips on them D.O.C fools!”

  “I feel you,” Ghetti said, taking Fly’s words as true.

  Fly nodded his head as he reached for his pack of Newports.

  “Yo, Fly.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know them two dudes that got wet up on Glenbrook like a week befo’ you left?”

  “Talkin’ ’bout that shit that was on the news? I heard nosey ass Wanda had her police ass all up on the TV.” Fly laughed.

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “What about it?” Fly pushed in the lighter after he couldn’t find any matches.

  “I did it.”

  Fly looked at Ghetti with the unlit Newport sticking between his lips. “You for real, dawg?”

  “Would I joke ‘bout somethin’ like that?”

  Fly pulled the Newport from his lips. “So lemme guess. Your black ass is on the run from the pops and you came down here to lay low.”

  Ghetti nodded yes.

  Fly remained silent for a moment with one hand steering the SUV. “If it’s real serious then you might need to make some moves to leave the country.”

  “Leave the country! Nigga, I had a hard time makin’ it outta North Carolina and you talkin’ ’bout some leavin’ the country shit.”

  “You betta give it some thought or maybe you can do some good to your ugly face and get a face lift or face surgery.”

  Ghetti flipped the sun visor down looking into the mirror. “No haps. This face is fit for the cover of Ebony.” Ghetti said, grinning.

  “Oh yeah, I bet your ass will change your mind if your face gets blasted on TV. On the real, we gotta get you some fake ID’s and you shoulda told me this shit from the jump.” Fly placed the Newport back between his lips when the lighter popped out.

  Ghetti went on to tell him how the shit went down. He smoked and listened. Fly only spoke up when Ghetti told him how Poo-Man told a boldface lie.

  “I never met no fuckin’ Arabs nor sold no weight to nobody in a Navi. I’ma fuck Poo up when I see his skinny ass.”

  Their conversation got sidetracked, switching to Jazmine and Skyy. They hit I-95 South to head for Coral Gables. Fly pulled up to a gated lavish luxury estate that had a gatehouse. Two guards eyed Fly’s SUV as it slowed to a stop.

  “I’ll be right back,” Fly said as he got out of his SUV. Ghetti noticed that Fly had left his .357 behind. One of the guards did a frisk search while the other stood back holding a large Doberman pinscher on a leash. After he was frisked, he was led into the gatehouse. The guard with the Doberman remained at his post. Ghetti settled back and waited. The only sound he heard was his nails softly drumming the Beretta in his lap. Five minutes later his attention went to the sunroof as a helicopter suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Ghetti’s first thought was the feds. He relaxed as the helicopter slowly landed behind the mansion.

  “Damn,” he said to himself. Fly was connected to some big time players. Mansions, guards, helicopters landing in the backyard. It all looked tempting, but Ghetti was done selling drugs.

  Fly returned twenty minutes later with a huge grin.

  “I see you in a good mood,” Ghetti said as Fly pulled off.

  “Excellent,” was the terse response that Fly gave Ghetti.

  Their next destination ended up at Skyy’s beachfront condo on South Beach. When they reached her condo on the 10th floor, they were welcomed inside by Jazmine. Ghetti was paralyzed by the sight of Skyy. She was casually prancing around topless in a purple G-String. Jazmine was close to being nude with the black string bikini she wore. For her, it was too hot to wear any clothes. Crime Mob “Rock Yo Hips” filled the cozy condo.

  “Why you two ain’t ready?” Fly smacked Jazmine on her plump ass as she walked by. She giggled as Fly followed her into the bedroom closing the door behind him.

  “I thought you weren’t going out with us?” Skyy was sitting at the bar sipping on a cocktail.

  “Changed my mind,” Ghetti said as he sank deeper in the yellow plush armless chair.

  Skyy stared at him while he blatantly looked at her perky 34B’s. Just to playfully tease him, she plucked the strawberry from the rim of her glass then slowly bit it. She smiled as Ghetti adjusted his jeans to hide his growing erection. Finishing the cocktail, she left the bar to go get dressed. Along the way to her room, she peeked in on Jazmine and Fly. She was not surprised to find Jazmine sucking Fly’s dick. Ghetti watched Skyy’s delicious round ass disappear into her bedroom. He could only fantasize about sticking his dick in something so erotic. Skyy was just a fantasy. Fly had told him how she had dissed a few rappers in the industry like it wasn’t shit. Everything about Skyy drew Ghetti in. Even the layout of her condo was on some exotic flavor. A half-moon blue sofa, a green chaise lounge, two orange plush leather recliners and white carpet. He was checking out the bottles of wine lined up on the bar when a Persian cat jumped in his lap purring.

  “Let me find out you like kitty cats,” Fly joked when he stepped out of the bedroom. He laughed when Ghetti shoved the cat from his lap.

  “What Jazmine do, move in wit Skyy?” Ghetti asked.

  “Seem like it, don’t it,” Fly said. “Sheeit” He lowered his voice. “You see how phat’ Skyy’s pussy print was?” Fly sat down on the blue sofa.

  “Nigga, I ain’t blin
d.”

  Fly glanced at his watch. “We gonna be late.”

  “Where we goin’ tonight?” Ghetti asked.

  “Some club on Miami Beach, I guess.” Fly wiped his lips on the low in hopes that none of Jazmine’s lip gloss was on his lips. He hated that glitter shit, but it did look sexy on her pouty, sexy lips.

  “I seen that shit, glitter lips.” Ghetti laughed. “Don’t know why you frontin’ on Jazmine. You might as well hook up wit’ ‘er.”

  Fly glanced over his shoulder, making sure Jazmine’s door was shut. “Hell no, I’m about to make stupid paper, so how I look fuckin’ wit, a white bitch? And a stripper at that. Ain’t about to pull no James Brown. Jazmine is cool, now don’t get me wrong, but she ain’t ‘main girl’ material. On the real, I hope her ass do move out because she’s close to trippin’ and you know I ain’t about to be answering to nobody.”

  “Your old ass betta settle down.” Ghetti laughed.

  “You settle down with her since you thinking she’s all that.”

  They joked back and forth until Skyy and Jazmine were dressed and ready to go. Both girls were looking jazzy and sexy. Skyy wore a satin and teal Dior slip dress. It clung nicely to her ass and hips and the sides of her braless breast were exposed from the deep plunging neckline. The only thing that Ghetti wished she would leave off, were those silly looking stunna shades. The fad of oversized shades was one that Ghetti did not catch. It did not matter who wore them, the shits just looked stupid as fuck.

  As for Jazmine, she was killing the game in a pair of low waist white jeans and a ripped baby tee that exposed her ample cleavage. She also wore a pair of stunna shades. Jazmine could definitely hold her own. They all left the condo around 11:30 p.m.

  Jazmine rode with Skyy in her CL550 as Fly and Ghetti followed them. She led them to Collins Avenue and the setting was something that Ghetti would never forget. Females seemed to pour out along the crowded sidewalk. Every few feet they rode past another club. At a stoplight they pulled along a rimmed up gold BMW 645 convertible occupied by two sexy Asian divas. This was a rare sight up in Durham, so Ghetti absorbed everything.