by Nikki Turner
Okay, so this down-low son of a bitch think shit gonna be all good. He think he can just send us some punk-ass letter and me and mine gonna fade off into the darkness. Yeah, right, bitch ass. Imagine that! Ginger turned on his laptop and waited for it to boot up. As he waited, he took off his tight-fitting tracksuit and decided to get comfortable. Rescuing his huge dick from being trapped backward between his legs, Ginger exhaled.
The cross-dressing male loved transforming himself each and every morning to the most beautiful female a person would want to see. The male-born diva felt he was being held hostage in the wrong body. In pursuit of being happy, Ginger, formally known as Gene, spent thousands upon thousands of dollars on medicines, vitamins, various treatments, and countless wardrobe items and cosmetics to make right what he knew God got wrong. Me-Ma had always told him that the good Lord didn’t make mistakes and one day he was going to have to answer for the way he was behaving. However, Ginger let it be known to his grandmother and everyone else that chose to be all up in his personal business or had an unfavorable opinion, that God did indeed fuck up. And he would deal with the man upstairs when the time came. Standing nude in all his glory, Ginger decided to give his divine lover one more time to get the bullshit right. He picked up his cell and dialed Pastor Low-Down Dick-Loving Ass to give him his only chance to come correct.
“Yeah, hello.” Ginger’s call was answered in less than two rings to his surprise.
The pastor’s tone was cold as he tried to keep it professional. “Yes, Ginger. How can I help you?”
“Okay, you brown-hole secret worshiper, what’s the meaning of this crackpot-ass letter you had the real estate office send to our house?”
“You mean the church’s house,” he swiftly replied with an attitude having been interrupted from beating his meat.
Ginger had about enough. Cassius Street wanted to play hardball, then so be it. “Okay, then, fool, let me cut to the chase. Either you agree to sign back over my grandmother’s house or you’re going to be sorry. Your undercover ball-licking ass gonna have real problems! Remember . . . What goes on in the dark always comes to light.”
“Look here, guy, I don’t know what you think you have on me, but trust me when I tell you this. My people love me and believe everything I tell them. So you can claim anything you want happened, but I will just deny it.”
“Oh yeah, Pastor? Is that right? Got them folks wrapped around your short little finger, don’t you?”
“Yes, it is that way, Ginger, Gene, or whoever you are going by today. If you and your family want to challenge the legal and binding will your grandmother left, then by all means, do so. I’m not stopping you.”
“Oh, don’t worry, we will be challenging that bullshit! And don’t be disrespectful, you bitch-made nigga.” This was the second time today Ginger had been called by his male-born government name and didn’t like that or any of the threats being made. Not one bit.
“Okay, then, Ms. Ginger Banks. No problem,” he patronized the man whose dick was resting in his mouth not too long ago and who he had just been fantasizing about. “And if there’s nothing else I can do to assist you today, then I will see you and your sisters in court or set out on the curb—y’all choice! One.”
Ending the heated conversation-turned-argument, Ginger replayed the pastor’s smart-talking voice repeatedly in his head. This guy got it coming real soon. I can’t wait until tomorrow morning. I’ma hit everybody in that church with some real amen-type bullshit! By the time I finish with him, he won’t be welcome to step through the front or back doors of any church in the United States, Japan, or Russia!
Stepping into the shower, Ginger allowed the hot water to pound down on his curvaceous body. With the wetness of steam slowly beading up on the smooth walls, he let his head tilt backward. Lost in the warm moisture in the air, his mind drifted to several of the men he’d been blessed to be with. Strangely, Pastor Street kept popping up in his sexually charged fantasies. The more Ginger fought the twisted vision of the man who was causing him and his family so much grief, the harder his manhood became. Leaning over to the metal-framed carousal hanging on the shower wall, he retrieved the bottle of fragrance body wash. Squeezing more than two quarter-size amounts into his already wet palms, Ginger went to work. His right hand clenched, and his body trembled. Up and down; fast then slow; yanking and pulling. Moaning loudly, Ginger’s heart raced with anticipation of a feeling. Oh yeah, right there. Suck my dick, Pastor Street. Suck this motherfucker until it spit up! Suck it! Suck it! Yeahhhh . . . Oh my God . . . yeah . . . Ginger handled his business until he released all his aggression along the side of the white faux marble wall. Out of breath, he fell back from under the steady flow of hot water. Staring at the thick clumpy stream of come slide down and disappear into the drain, he felt he’d enjoyed his fantasy but was ready to put in some real work that would fuck Pastor Cassius Street up in reality. It was time for the good pastor to come clean.
Drying off, Ginger slipped on a pair of shorts. Sitting down behind his laptop, he searched through a small shoe box of black cords. Finding the proper cord, he plugged his cell phone into the computer. Looking for the settings icon on the screen, he transferred his entire photo gallery. Then Ginger proceeded to do the same to the XXX-rated video that Bunny had texted to him. Scanning through the pictures and video, he smiled with satisfaction.
Blessed with the gift to navigate his way through any and all electronics, Ginger started slicing the video, adding music mixed with still frames of the various snapshots of him and Pastor Street. Making what some would soon call a tribute sanctioned by the devil himself, the smut mastermind reminisced as each view of asses in the air, tongues on dicks, and knees getting dirty passed his eyes. Since that fool wanna play with me, I’m gonna teach him and that entire holier-than-thou judgmental flock of his who is really who tomorrow if I don’t get my way. Me-Ma made a big mistake trusting that down-low punk and not her own family. Manipulation be real as a motherfucker in life, but so is revenge!
CHAPTER TWENTY
Bunny had taken her time getting dressed for the evening. It was her hope that the rest of her night would go better than the beginning of the day. Having had to argue with Simone and Ginger had given her a major headache and had her blood pressure on bump. She needed some of that money from the bank robbery to make sure she could floss down at the club like she needed to. She wanted to show up and show out. She wanted to make sure she was noticed. Not by just the rest of Dino’s sure-to-be-on-deck henchmen, the Bloody Lions Posse, but the main man himself. Luckily, she had the diamond bracelet and earrings she taken from Tiffany to sell at the pawn shop. With more than a few hundred dollars to add with the funds she already was holding, Bunny was ready to play the role.
Carefully, she searched through what seemed like every single expensive clothing item she had hung in both walk-in closets. If this had been a regular night or a regular party at one of the elite Caucasian upscale clubs she liked to hang out at, the choice would be entirely different. However, this was not a regular night and most definitely not a regular party she was going to attend. This was, and would be, a night like none other. This night was like a date with destiny—or the devil—depending on which way one looked at it.
Club You Know was infamous with the younger crowd who liked to dance until the sun came up and get drunk off the watered-down drinks they gulped. Besides, the overpriced bottles of cheap bottom-shelf spirits and the 1980 décor, there was nothing else that stood out about that nightclub other than its known attraction of hood rats trying to come up. Bunny hated to even step foot in such a low-class establishment, but felt she had no other choice. If that’s where Dino wanted to play at, then that’s where the uppity Bunny needed to be as well. She had no problem swallowing her pride if it meant bringing the man who killed her beloved Spoe to his knees.
Checking herself out thoroughly in the full-length mirror, head to toe, Bunny decided to wear a pair of bright lime-color designer shorts and
a cute low-cut Jimmy Choo fitted T-shirt that matched. Slipping on a pair of gladiator-wrapped coiled sandals with nine-inch metallic gold heels, she felt and looked like drug-dealer bait. With her small black crossover purse stuffed with plenty of cash, a tube of her favorite lipstick, her driver’s license, and a small but sharp blade hidden in the lining, Bunny was almost ready to head out the door. Fighting the urge to at least call Simone and let her know she was going ahead with the plan even though she had to go solo, the dime-piece diva shook it off and left the condo.
Driving downtown, Bunny pulled up into one of the more expensive upscale hotels. Parking her fancy sports car in the hotel lot, she locked it up and headed toward the lobby. Once inside, she went over to the valet and boldly told him she needed a Metro Car to take her to her destination . . . Club You Know. Originally hesitant to flag for one of their frequently used cars because, first of all, Bunny wasn’t a guest at the hotel, and second, the reputation of the hole-in-the-wall spot, the hardworking valet soon changed his mind when she slipped a crisp fifty-dollar bill for his trouble. Not wanting to be seen pulling up in her own vehicle with traceable plates, the car service was the perfect cover.
With phone in hand, a nervous but confident Bunny climbed in the rear leather seats of the full-sized sedan, her adrenalin rushed and her heart raced. Wanting to call Simone once more for an extra boost of encouragement, she opted not to. Before she could tuck her cell back into her purse, it rang. Not accustomed to answering anonymous phone numbers Bunny pushed reject sending the person straight to her voice mail. This was not the time to deal with prank callers, angry girlfriends, solicitors, heavy breathers, or folks who’d just misdialed. Bunny Banks had to stay focused on what she was about to do and who she was about to see. In less than twenty minutes’ time, Spoe’s Bonnie to his Clyde would be face-to-face with the dreadlocked monster that changed her future forever.
* * *
Detective Dugan had his notepad ready. With a pen in his hand he didn’t want to mistake anything the person at the other end of the line might say. Whether their impending conversation was long or short, he felt it was best to be prepared. Praying that this could possibly be another person that could shed some light on the reason Tariq was killed and found washed up along the murky banks of the James River, he used his finger to find the recently dialed numbers. Tariq had spoken to Tiffany, and she was now dead and of no help to him and his team. The officer of the law now hoped this mysterious other person listed only as “B” would be able solve the huge mystery. Not knowing if the listed contact was male or female, the trained policeman took a sip of the strong black coffee he was nursing. Part of him wanted to just place the call from the deceased man’s cell. Yet, he knew that would alert “B,” who could be the murderer, that someone had Tariq’s personal property, which was probably the law.
Writing down the number on the yellow legal pad, he pushed *67 before dialing from the phone on his desk. Anxiously he awaited a voice at the other end; feminine or masculine, it didn’t matter to Detective Dugan long as he heard answers to his questions. Seconds later, he was met with disappointment receiving the voice mail with a standard provided greeting.
Well, I be damned; it figures. With my luck, five more bodies are liable to wash up on that damn river tonight with connections to these two damn bank robberies. Life ain’t fair for a guy like me; it just ain’t fair. Frustrated and exhausted, he finally decided to call it an early night. He hadn’t got a good night’s sleep in his own comfortable bed in what seemed like weeks. Tonight, Chase Dugan decided to say fuck the chief, the mayor, and the citizens that wanted criminals arrested and for them to pay for the multiple crimes taking place across the city. He was going home and didn’t care who was against the idea.
I just wanna take a hot shower, kick my feet up on my own couch, and maybe call Simone to check up on her; see if she calmed down from this afternoon. Damn, I hated seeing her act like she did. If I could lock that no-good brother-in-law of hers up and throw away the key for hurting her, I freaking would in an instant! No questions asked.
Pouring the rest of his coffee out into the water fountain, he rinsed the mug and left it sitting on the far corner of his desk. Even though he’d left the police station and was finally en route home, the unsolved cases he was working consumed his thoughts. Naw naw naw! Forget work and dealing with these soulless criminals that run the streets. Tonight is mine. I’m just gonna do what I said; take a good long, hot shower and call Simone.
* * *
The Metro Car pulled up to the front of the club. The driver, not sure if this was indeed the location his seemingly upper-class passenger wanted to be at, glanced over his shoulder. After giving her the eye, he finally spoke, asking her if she wanted him to possibly wait until she got inside the building. He, just like she, noticed the long line of rowdy individuals posted to gain entry. Reassuring him that she’d be fine, Bunny gave him a generous tip and asked for his direct cell phone number, just in case. He happily obliged, then cautiously pulled off into traffic.
Standing directly in front of Club You Know, Bunny’s expensive sandals somehow felt they were pressed against concrete that led to a surface they had no business being at. Receiving cold stares from most of the females daring her to jump in the front of the crowd and looks of hungry lust from the men, Bunny ignored them all. She knew by their crude behavior and last-chance-bargain-bin attire, they were certainly not in her league and didn’t need to be acknowledged.
Not in the mood for or in the habit of taking part in the traditional waiting in line that some clubs had potential partygoers participate in, she took a deep breath, remembering the true reason why she was here. Opening her purse, Bunny took out a hundred-dollar bill. Folding it over twice, the seasoned veteran tipper made sure the one and two zeros were visible. Confidently, she approached one of the bouncers with money in hand. Wasting none of his time, Bunny quickly slipped the keeper of the peace the folded currency, making sure he saw the denomination. As he was personally ushering her inside the front doors of the jam-packed club, Bunny tapped him on the arm to see if he could further assist her in her plight. When he leaned over, she cupped her hand over his ear so he could hear over the loud reggae music that was blasting off the walls of Club You Know. Informing the six-foot-five muscle beast of a man she also wanted not just a regular booth, but an exclusive VIP booth that was advertised on the event flyer, he took her to one of the party promoters, then made his way back to his post.
“So you need one of our exclusive VIP booths, huh?” The promoter was more than happy to sell Bunny one of the two remaining booths he had available.
“Yes, of course. I need the best booth you have, please.”
“No problem, sweetheart.” He looked Bunny up and down, realizing she was by far the most gorgeous woman in the entire club. Not wanting to miss his opportunity to possibly get it on, he gave it a shot. “So, hey, beautiful, are you here for Dino tonight?”
Bunny played dumb just as she planned. “Dino? I’m sorry I don’t believe I know who that is.”
“Well, he’s the one that’s having the party here tonight; hence, all the reggae music, the smell of weed floating through the air, and jerk chicken on niggas’ plates.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m not from around these parts. I’m just visiting, so, nope, I don’t know this Dino. But if you’d be so kind to take me to my booth, I’d definitely appreciate it. I’m thirsty and want to get away from the heat that’s radiating from these people dancing.”
Although it was clear she didn’t know Dino, the promoter knew just by her brief conversation the grey-eyed model chick was out of his range. Instead, he got her money for the booth and smiled doing so. With only seven of them in total, most partygoers either couldn’t afford to be on the top tier of the club or were just content being elbow to elbow with the rest of the sweaty common folk. Whatever the case was, Bunny was escorted up the neon-lit staircase beyond the midpriced range booths, which
were full of people popping bottles and enjoying a complementary Jamaican-themed buffet. Used to all the finer things in life, Bunny immediately took notice that although these people partying in this section were far from being as broke as the fools on the lower level, they definitely weren’t on boss status. They were more like junior underbosses . . . which was not where she desired to be. Bunny always felt like and carried herself like a true boss, so dating another boss was her only option in life.
Feeling like a tropical fish out of water, Bunny was led to her final destination. Pausing as the velvet red rope was unhooked, she nodded at the two bouncers that stood guard on each side of the brass poles. Not more than four feet into the restricted for-true-bosses area, Bunny was met with disapproving side eyes from most of the half-naked-dressed female groupies that surrounded the tables. Smack-dab in the middle of the room was a supersized booth. Clearly, the booth with the most people hanging out, laughing, and having fun had to belong to the guest of honor. The closer Bunny got, she adjusted her eyes to be able to see through the thick cloud of weed smoke that was being blown into the air. Not trying to act as if she really cared who was who at the three-ring circus that was going on near the booth that was obviously going to be hers, she kept her head held high and her fronts up. Standing over to the side, the promoter asked her exactly who she wanted to put on her private list to gain entry to her booth. Announcing the attractive woman could have no more than seven people, including herself, he was shocked to find out she had no one to put on her list; she’d be occupying the huge space by her lonesome.