“Look, baby, I really ain’t in the mood right now for the play. I really need to make some calls,” Real said, knowing that she would understand.
“Okay. Me neither,” Constance agreed.
Turning around, Real took the Lambo to speeds it had never reached before on the way back home.
Chapter 3
“Bitch nigga, you better have my eighty grand by the end of the week, or else my people here will be back, and the next time they leave, you won’t be fuckin’ breathin’!” Cash shouted as his two goons pistol whipped the young dealer.
Cash was Real’s good friend and lieutenant. Real had met Cash back in the day on Godby Road. Cash was the true definition of a young hustler. He would stay in the trap all day every day. Seeing the hustle young Cash had and how solid he was made Real take him under his wing. Years later, Cash became very wealthy, all because of Real.
As well as they worked together, Cash was the direct opposite of Real. He was tall, lanky, bald headed, and very unattractive. Known in circles for his pistol play, Cash wouldn’t hesitate to unload his clip. At the ripe old age of twenty-four, Cash was considered a legend around town. While Real dealt with the Morettis, Cash and his goons dealt with the streets. Cash knew his position and played it well, with no regrets.
Just as he gave the word for his goons to release the dealer, Cash’s cell phone rang. “What up, bro?” he answered when he saw Real’s number on the screen.
“I need you to come out to the house ASAP,” Real told him firmly.
“Damn, bro, can’t it wait until tomorrow? I got Jesse and B-Low riding with me anyway. You know I can’t bring them out to your spot,” Cash said, watching B-Low and Jesse laughing as the young dealer run off.
“Look, man, drop them two niggas off and get out here! This is important!” Real snapped and hung up his office phone.
Cash could tell by Real’s actions that it was a serious matter, so he hurriedly dropped B-Low and Jesse off and navigated his brand new burgundy 600 SEL Mercedes Benz through the night traffic to Real’s house.
A half hour later, Cash was pulling up in front of Real’s million-dollar home. Cash was lost for words every time he went out to Real’s place. The six-bedroom home sat on ten acres of well-manicured land. Behind the home sat an Olympic-sized swimming pool, full basketball court, tennis court, and guest house. Adjacent to that was a custom-built garage that housed Real’s lime green Lamborghini Murcialago LP460, snow white Rolls–Royce drop-head Coupe, and black on black Range Rover Sport. Next to Real’s expensive collection were Constance’s lavender Bentley GTC, bright cherry red H-2, and midnight blue Ferrari 360 Spider that she barely drove.
Cash stepped out of his Benz into the cold night air.
Ding! Ding!
A few seconds after ringing the bell, Constance appeared at the door. “Hey, Cash,” she said. “Come on in. Real’s down in his office.” She stepped aside, letting Cash in.
“What’s up, sis? You good?” Cash asked as he entered.
“Just fine. Just see what’s up with Real,” she told him as she closed the door behind them.
“All the time,” Cash replied as he hurried through the house to Real’s home office.
On the way to Real’s office, Cash thought back on the times when Real had stayed in a humble two-bedroom condo out in College Park. Now, his crib had marble floors, two full kitchens, an elevator, three fire places, and a bad ass home theatre. Man, my boy’s come a long way, Cash thought to himself. “What’s up, bro?’ Cash asked as he entered Real’s office.
“A lil’ problem from the cartel,” Real answered, rearing back into his oversized leather desk chair.
“What kind of problem?” Cash sat down in the oversized office chair positioned in front of the desk.
“A couple Italians came down to the club tonight with a message from a Mr. Rossi. This Rossi says I work for him or don’t work at all.”
“Work for him or don’t work at all!” Cash spat.
“Yeah. He got to be playing!” Real fired back.
“Who the fuck this wetback think he is? He don’t run shit!” Cash yelled as he jumped out of the office chair and started pacing the floor.
“I just put in a call to my connect, the Morettis. If they don’t handle this Rossi fool, I’ll do it my damn self,” Real said sincerely.
“Bro, just get me this spic’s location, and I’ll eliminate all of this tough guy talk! Fuck them slick heads!” Cash shouted as he continued to pace the room.
“I’m going to see what the Morettis do first. There may be no need for us to bother. What’s the word on the street?” Real asked, changing the subject.
“Everythang moving lovely. I had to chastise a lil’ nigga this morning about an overdue debt, but all in all, everything moving like clockwork,” Cash said as he sat back down in the office chair.
“Well, you know I got a shipment coming in this week, and it’s mandatory that it go quicker than the last. Oh, by the way… I hear Deuce and them on the west side are putting down real heavy. What’s up with that?” Real inquired.
“Yeah, word is they got a new Colombian connect out of Miami. My crew and I were just discussing that yesterday. We are working on eliminating that problem before the end of the week,” Cash assured Real.
“A’ight. We don’t need to be sitting on this shit no longer than a week,” Real said firmly.
“I got you. I’m getting with my niggas tomorrow to handle that west side problem, and also I’ll connect with my folks in New York and L.A. with some good numbers to make that shit disappear.”
“A’ight. And about that west side problem, let them niggas on payroll handle it. Don’t get your hands dirty. They expendable, and you ain’t,” Real said firmly, knowing all too well how Cash liked to get his hands dirty.
“I’m just calling the shots, bro. Let me know if you need me to handle that slick back,” Cash said as he stood to leave.
“Get at me tomorrow.”
“Fo sho,” Cash replied as he exited.
En route home, Cash picked up his cell phone and called B-Low, not realizing that a black crown Victoria driven by a federal DEA agent followed close behind.
Stay tuned for the sequel…Coming 2012
Lights Out
Real Takes the City by Storm
Sa’id Salaam
Trap House is an unflinching account of the goings on of an Atlanta drug den and the lives of those who frequent it. Its cast of characters include the Notorious P.I.G., the proprietor of the house, who uses his power to satisfy his licentious fetishes. Of his customers, there’s Wanda, an exotic dancer who loathes P.I.G., but only tolerates him because he has the best dope in town. Wanda’s boyfriend Mike is the owner of an upscale strip club, as well as a full time pimp.
Tiffany and Marcus are the teenage couple who began frequenting the Trap House after snorting a few lines at a party. Can their love for each other withstand the demands of their fledging addiction, or will it tear them apart?
P.I.G.’s wife Blast, doorman Earl and a host of other colorful characters round out the inhabitants of the Trap House.
Trap House is the bastard child of real life and the author’s vivid imagination. Its author, Sa’id Salaam, paints a graphic portrait of the inner-workings of an under-world. He takes you so close you can almost hear the sizzle of the cocaine as it’s smoked—almost smell the putrid aroma of crack as it’s exhaled. Yet for all the grit and grime, Trap House has the audacity to be a love story. Through the sordid sex and brutality is an underlying tale of redemption and self empowerment. Trap House drives home the reality that everyone is a slave to something.
Who’s your master?
Enjoy an excerpt from Sa’id Salaam
“You can ride with me since Mike got some business,” Wanda announced.
Once in the car, Wanda handed Tiffany a small white pill. “Here, girl. This’ll make you feel sexy,” she said as Tiffany plucked it from her hand.
“What is
it?” Tiffany asked after washing it down with her soda.
“X. Yo lil ass gon’ be rolling good in a minute,” Wanda chuckled. Wanda pulled over a few blocks before the club, and they shared a quick blast.
Mike was holding court out front as the women pulled up. After parking, they went around to meet him. Wanda felt a swell of anger as Mike greeted Tiffany before greeting her.
“Lil Ms. Thang ready to hit the stage,” Wanda announced dryly.
“So nuff!” Mike gushed enthusiastically. “Make sure y’all call me. I don’t want to miss this.”
Tiffany was a nervous wreck as she waited for her turn onstage. She downed shot after shot of Alizé, attempting to settle down. The X she had taken earlier was now shooting waves of electric sexual energy through her body with every heartbeat. Remembering the loaded straight shooter Wanda had left in the ashtray, Tiffany slipped out for a quick blast. The effects of all the drugs coursing through her system were almost overwhelming.
Just as she slinked back into the club, her name was announced as next up. After a quick once-over in the dressing room mirror, Tiffany floated to the stage. She was so high her feet barely touched the floor.
A stir of commotion rang around the club when the regulars realized that Tiffany, now known as “China Doll,” was dancing. Over the months, she had turned all of them down for dances, drinks, and dates, so her being onstage was a big deal.
The DJ threw on the latest D-lite song, and Tiffany began moving to the beat.
Wanda squeezed her way to the front to watch and coach her protégé.
Mike, too, had come down from his office perch to watch from the side of the stage.
The DJ announced that $200 would get China Doll out of the sexy boy shorts she was wearing. No sooner than the words left his mouth, hundreds of dollars were stretched toward her.
Wanda motioned for Tiffany to go around and collected the outstretched bills. Naively, Tiffany took the first bills in her hand until Wanda caught her attention. She lifted her leg and snapped her garter belt, reminding Tiffany to let the patrons place their money there.
Tiffany danced over to a twenty-dollar bill and dipped low enough for its previous owner to put it in her garter. The man’s hand rubbed against her crotch, causing her knees to buckle slightly as a wave of electric sexual energy pulsed through her body again.
It seemed that every customer managed to brush against her crotch as they filled her garter belt. By the time she removed the boy shorts, they were soaking wet.
A few hundred dollars more, and Tiffany was as naked as the day she was born. The excitement of the drugs, alcohol, and men touching her was too much for her. She was in a zone as she leaned against the pole, gyrating with the music and rubbing her rock-hard nipples.
Tiffany lost track of her surroundings as she got caught up in the sensation she was giving herself. She slid down the pole until she was squatted with her legs wide open. Oblivious to the crowd and needing to get off, she began to masturbate.
The club grew eerily quiet, as the DJ got so caught up in the show that he neglected to put another song on. The only sounds to be heard were Tiffany’s whimpers as she neared an orgasm.
Tiffany couldn’t contain herself any longer and let out a scream as the powerful climax wracked her body. Her legs came out from under her, leaving her spread eagle on the stage, exposing her dripping vagina.
The club was still, and not even the chirp of a cricket could be heard.
“Hell, yeah!” someone yelled, causing the club to erupt.
Tiffany was totally embarrassed as she came back to the reality of her surroundings. Through a rain of bills, she saw hundreds of smiling faces. Only one face wasn’t smiling. In fact, its owner looked mortified. Tiffany squinted to bring the shocked face into focus. It was her turn to be shocked once she recognized Carlos. She sprang to her feet and bolted from the stage.
When she made it to the dressing room, Tiffany collapsed on a bench. She was just so embarrassed. She wished she could just disappear.
Just as she made up her mind to get dressed and go home, another dancer came in with a bucket of cash. “Gurrl…you…turned that shit out!” Diva exclaimed.
Tiffany was confused by the money but accepted it. “Um…thank you,” she mumbled, looking at what had to be thousands of dollars, not to mention the garter she wore was also stuffed with cash.
Soon, the other dancers flowed in, all echoing Diva’s sentiments.
“Girl, they still tripping out there!” one yelled.
“Ima do dat same shit,” exclaimed another.
All the girls congratulated Tiffany except one. Wanda was absolutely fuming at the thought of being shown up. It was her man’s club, and she was the star, the headliner. To make matters worse, she saw how Mike reacted to the performance.
“What the hell is going on back here?” Mike boomed as he made his way into the crowded dressing room. “This s’pose to be a strip club, and all the strippers in here! Y’all get y’all asses back on the floor,” he commanded.
The room emptied before all the words exited his mouth. The only people left were Tiffany, Wanda, and Mike.
“You! Come with me,” Mike demanded, looking at Tiffany.
“You want me to come too?” Wanda pleaded.
“Nah. Go dance,” Mike replied without even bothering to look in her direction.
Wanda shot Tiffany a dangerous glance as she rushed to catch up with Mike. She knew full well Mike intended to sex her after that nasty little show of hers. “I got you,” Wanda spat at Tiffany’s departing back. “Yeah, I got you.”
* * *
“Close the door and lock it,” Mike demanded as he entered his office with Tiffany in tow.
She did as ordered but stayed by the door, afraid she was in trouble. She’d heard Mike complain time after time about the vice squad spying on him. One girl had been arrested the week before for solicitation. Tiffany clutched at her robe just knowing she was about to be fired.
“Come around here,” Mike ordered in a softer tone as he sat at his desk.
Tiffany, still fearful, didn’t budge. When Mike began to unbutton his shirt, it became clear what he wanted. Tiffany decided in an instant that she was going to give it up to him.
When she came around the desk, Mike picked her up and placed her on the desk in front of him. He opened her robe and then laid her back and spread her legs. To Tiffany’s surprise, Mike buried his bearded face in her crotch. By now, he knew enough of Tiffany’s sexual and hygiene habits from Wanda and had no qualms about going down on her.
Tiffany, who had never experienced oral sex and considered it to be gross, came in seconds. When Mike’s tongue slipped inside of her, she was shocked that it felt as large as Marcus’s penis.
Mike kept licking her until another strong orgasm shook her small body. When she came, she emitted a spray of juices that splashed Mike’s face. When he stood up, his beard was literally dripping.
Remembering how, at the dentist, looking at the needle was always worse than the actual shot, Tiffany told herself not to look as Mike removed his pants. She regretted not taking her own advice when she saw the huge penis in front of her. It looked to be the same size as his leg.
Mike lined himself up and pushed forcefully inside of her. Tiffany screamed as he filled her up, then again when she came for the third time. A few strokes later, Mike screamed as he let go inside of her. Through the pain, Tiffany was quite pleased with herself when the large man slumped on top of her, breathing heavily.
Wanda had heard enough from the door and removed her ear. Blinded by tears, she ran to her car without even bothering to change into her street clothes.
When Mike’s breathing returned to normal, he ordered Tiffany to get dressed to leave. He called his assistant manager and told him he was leaving for the night.
Sam, the assistant, understood; he’d seen the show as well.
Tiffany would have to get the tour of Mike’s swank Buckhead condo some other
time. As soon as they entered, he practically dragged her to the rear. The plush furnishings and 1,000-gallon fish tank filled with colorful creatures were just a blur.
Mike’s bedroom walls were painted black to match the carpet, curtains, and furniture. He turned on a black light that bathed the room in a gothic glow. “Go on. Knock that out,” Mike said, handing her a black plate with neat white lines of powder cocaine.
Tiffany longed for a blast, but this would have to do.
He popped a pill and swallowed it with a large shot.
“What’s that? X?” Tiffany inquired giddily between snorting lines.
“Uh-uh. Viagra,” Mike replied with a wicked grin. He almost felt sorry for the young girl, knowing what was in store for her.
When Mike began to feel the effects of the Viagra and the liquor, he stripped Tiffany and then himself, and everything was underway.
* * *
The next morning, Tiffany’s vagina was so battered and swollen she couldn’t even put her panties back on.
Mike got a kick out of watching her limp around his apartment. “You a’ight? Sprain yo’ ankle or something?” Mike giggled as they made their way to the elevator.
“Ha ha,” Tiffany replied, poking out her lip.
“How much did you make last night?” Mike inquired, sounding businesslike.
“Um…almost $2,000,” Tiffany answered, a little taken aback by the change in his demeanor.
“I know you was in a hurry last night, so make sure you bring your 10 percent when you come tonight. You’ll do a lot better once we get you a few table dances,” Mike rambled on with dollar signs in his eyes.
Tiffany chided herself internally for allowing herself to think last night meant something. “Yeah, I guess so,” she said sadly.
Mike wasn’t new to the game. He heard her tone and knew she needed to feel special right then. The young ones were like that. He’d been turning girls out on some level since third grade. “This is just the beginning for us,” Mike said, pulling her close. “I have much bigger things in store for us.” Mike planted a soft kiss on her forehead to punctuate the word “us.” The girls liked that word; it made them feel included.
Chasing Bliss Page 29