Frankie sucked her teeth. “Mo, you need to quit quoting them old ass Wu-Tang lines. I had the Method Man album too.”
“Nah, I don’t mean power-universal, I mean Power-U. That’s when you’re fucking a nigga so good that they ain’t got no choice but to surrender all power to you.”
“Your ass is warped, Mo,” Frankie laughed.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand Frankie because you don’t receive a regular dose of dick. When you got the good Power-U, all a nigga can say is ‘ugh,’ or ‘damn’ when he’s sliding in and out. When the pussy is so warm that he gotta take his dick out just to make sure the condom hasn’t accidentally slipped off. That, Frankie Five Fingers, is the good Power-U.”
“And you, my best friend, are one theory short of the nut house,” Frankie told her. “But seriously, I ain’t trying to drive myself crazy over no nigga and his antics.”
“Frankie you sound like a complete ass. You better not make that statement in front of nobody else but God. How is it all good when you’re being faithful to this dude, and he’s out doing him?”
“I didn’t say he was doing him,” Frankie corrected.
“You didn’t have to say it, have you forgotten how long we’ve known each other? Look, I know that’s your boo, but fuck Cowboy. Instead of chasing his thieving ass you need to go out and get you a real nigga.”
“Mo, you know Cowboy is one of the realest niggaz on the streets. The whole hood knows what’s up with him.”
“Again, you’re missing my point. Yeah, I know Cowboy is caked up and his gangsta is sho-nuff serious, but that don’t make him a real nigga. A real nigga recognizes a good thing when he has it.”
“Mo, Cowboy appreciates me. He just acts a fool sometimes.”
“Sometimes? Baby, I ain’t even gonna follow up with that one. More often than not that mutha fucka is showing his ass. Truth be told, I don’t even know why you fuck with him like that.”
“Because I love him,” Frankie defended. There was conviction in her tone, but her eyes said different.
“Frankie, you don’t love Cowboy, you love the idea of him. Every little girl wants to grow up and find the man that’s gonna keep her fly and well fucked, but it goes deeper than that. I ain’t gonna front like I wouldn’t mind having a nigga like him, but at what cost, my happiness?”
“I am happy,” she turned her head when she answered. When Mo turned Frankie back to face her, a lone tear rolled down her cheek.
“Bull shit,” Mo said softly. “Frankie, I haven’t seen you truly happy in five years and no matter how many niggaz you hook up with you can’t get that back.”
“Don’t go there with me, Mo,” Frankie jerked her head back. The sadness in her eyes was replaced by anger.
“I’d never, but I will say this. You can’t spend the rest of your life chasing ghosts.”
Frankie laughed. “I know, but what am I supposed to do when they start chasing me?”
THIRTEEN
The Doll House was jumping more than usual on that cold December night. It was Friday, payday for the squares, and the fifteenth of the month, which was payday for the hustlers. Though Christmas wouldn’t be there for at least another week and a half, people were getting into the spirit early. Strippers pranced around wearing next to nothing trying to get the patrons of the spot to part with their cash.
Against a wall, not far from where security guarded the door, two men posted up sipping cognac. The first of the two was about six-one and stocky. Though he was facing the stage where two girls were dancing, his eyes were on the bouncers. The second man was shorter, with skin the color of Mississippi Red Clay. A stocking cap covered his head, with neat cornrows tickling his shoulders. He kept shifting his weight from one leg to the other as if he couldn’t decide which was more comfortable.
“You ready for this?” Cos asked, noticing that Duce kept fidgeting.
“Man, why do you keep asking me that when you know I am? You’ve seen how I get down, Cos,” Duce reminded him.
“Yeah, I’ve seen it, but Cowboy and the others ain’t convinced just yet. They’re the ones you gotta prove yourself to, not me.”
“Whatever,” Duce said, sipping his drink. He had murdered a man for Cowboy and the bastard still wasn’t convinced that he was a rider.
In an attempt to calm his nerves, Duce let his eyes wonder to the stage in the center of the room. A six-foot Spanish chick with thighs that looked like they could turn coal to diamonds strutted onto the stage. Her body was decorated in colorful tattoos, the most noteworthy of which was a magazine article she had been featured in. It covered her entire right ass cheek and part of her thigh.
She was dressed in a leather corset that pushed her huge breasts up, making them look like two melons that she tried to smuggle in her bra top. Jade green eyes stared out from beneath a mass of red hair, drinking in the onlookers. Her stiletto heels clicked on the wooden stage as she executed a cross-legged strut from one end to the other. The leather whip she carried cracked viciously on the ground ensuring she had every one’s attention for her performance.
From the gym bag that sat on the edge of the stage, she produced a bottle of baby oil. She upturned the bottle letting the oil run down her neck and breasts. With slow, deliberate movements, she began massaging the oil into her skin, coating her in a slick glow. With oiled hands, she forced her double D breasts from the cups of the corset and began playing with the rings that were looped through her nipples. Never taking her eyes off the crowd, she gripped one of the rings between her teeth and began to tug at it. Cheers and whistles erupted from the horny men watching the show, followed by a shower of dollar bills.
She dropped down on all fours and started popping her ass to Rick Ross’ Hustling. Ripples went through the soft flesh every time her ass made contact with the ground. With her ass cocked in the air, you could see the faint red hairs of her bush peeking out through the thong string. She reached back and began teasing the lips of her pussy with her index and middle fingers. Her face was somewhere between pain and pleasure as she dipped the two fingers inside her, jacked them in and out.
The stripper’s thong, as well as the stage beneath her, were now soaked with baby oil and vaginal juices that seemed to trickle from her pussy like a slow leak. With a fluid motion, she yanked the thong off and tossed it into the crowd. A dude holding a Corona caught the thong and buried his face in it. Still toying with herself the stripper reached into the gym bag and pulled out a tube containing ping-pong balls. One by one, she licked the balls and began slipping them into her pussy. The crowd watched in amazement as the third ball disappeared into her vagina. The stripper flipped over on her back and spread her legs wide. Hiking her lower back off the ground with her hands, she began clapping her ass cheeks together in time with the beat. With a grunt, she began shooting the balls from her pussy into the air. By the time she had expelled the third ball, there was so much money on the stage that you could barely see the floor.
“Check it out,” Cos said bringing Duce out of his wet dream. Duce followed his eyes to the other side of the room. A lone bouncer was standing against the wall next to a door marked PRIVATE. A man wearing a fur coat with a lady on each arm ambled over and greeted him. After exchanging a few words, the bouncer opened the door long enough to usher the man and his ladies through. In the few seconds that the door was open, they got a glimpse of the other section of the club. This was where the gambling went on.
“How much you think they’re holding?” Duce asked, trying not to stare too hard.
“I don’t know, but they won’t be holding it for long,” Cos ensured, pulling his jacket back exposing the small Uzi that hung from a shoulder sling.
A few seconds later, a girl came out of the back. She stood about 5’5” even though she was wearing high stiletto heels. The girl was dressed in a white bikini top with the matching thong. The flimsy string was almost invisible between her chunky sized ass cheeks. She leaned in and whispered something to Cos th
at Duce couldn’t hear. Cos nodded and tucked a $100 dollar bill into her thong before sending her on her way.
“What was that all about?” Duce asked, not really understanding the exchange.
“A little advanced planning,” Cos said and left it at that.
The two men continued to sip drinks and flirt with the strippers for about the next half hour or so. At several points, Duce found himself distracted by the pounds of flesh walking around the Doll House, but not Cos. He kept a constant vigil on the door making a mental note of everyone who entered or exited. Just when Duce was about to ask him when they were going to get it popping, he waved him silent and nodded towards the entrance of the club.
Thor’s brutish form appeared in the doorway, with Cowboy on his heels. Both of their faces said ‘strictly business.’ Thor’s broad back looked as if it would split the stitches on the three-quarter leather jacket he was wearing. When he moved, you could see the butt of his shotgun on one side, and what looked like a short mop handle on the other. The bouncers at the door spared Thor and Cowboy both a brief glance before turning away as if they hadn’t seen them.
Cos made eye contact with Cowboy and nodded his head towards the door to the gambling spot. Keeping his hands low, he held down four fingers. Cowboy nodded and headed to the bar followed by his hulking friend. They sat at the bar just a few feet away from where the door to the gambling room was situated.
“Show time,” Cos whispered in Duce’s ear as he silently made his way across the room. Duce gave a brief look around and followed. Cos crept up slowly to where the door guard was standing and slid the small Uzi he was carrying from beneath his jacket. He took a minute to look around then pulled down the ski mask that had been rolled up on his head like a cap. Duce followed suit, pulling the stocking cap over his face.
When the guard turned around, Cos hit him with a sharp elbow to the gut. When the guard tried to double over Cos followed with a knee to the nose, breaking it. For the finishing touch, Cos whacked the guard in the back of the head with a small black jack, knocking him out. Before he could hit the ground, Duce caught him under the arm and placed him gently on a chair.
Duce had never heard him approach, but Thor was suddenly standing mere inches away from him. He gave the two men a checkered smile before pulling the ski mask down over his face. Reaching under his coat, opposite the shotgun, the man pulled out a very large sledge hammer. Swinging the hammer with all his might, Thor knocked the door to the gambling room off the hinges.
Big Sam Waters was a gambler, dope dealer and parttime pimp. Backed by some heavyweight cats from uptown, he had created the Doll House. It was a place where you could lose your money to one of the larcenous strippers who prowled it or in one of the dice games going on in the back. It was his pride and joy and because of it he was on his way to becoming a very rich man.
“How much is in here?” Moochie asked testing the weight of the shopping bag he was carrying. He was a barrel chested man who sported a full beard and mustache. Notorious for his skills with a knife, and his willingness to use a gun, Big Sam had hired Moochie to make the money pick ups.
“Counting what we pulled in earlier this evening, about $40,000. There’s another fifteen or so in the back, but I’m gonna keep that here just in case,” Sam said, mauling a chicken leg. He was a large man with a big belly and lips that seemed to dominate most of his face.
“Sam, you need to stop keeping all this bread in here at one time. Arrange for three pickups instead of two.”
“Fuck that, Mooch. This is a gambling spot. You gotta have enough bread in here to cover it if one of these mutha fuckas gets lucky. Never let it be said that Big Sam didn’t pay his winners. Besides, that’s why I got you making the pick ups. A nigga ain’t stupid enough to go at you,” he said, thinking of all the horror stories he had heard about Moochie. “Come on,” Big Sam wiped his hands on a napkin and rose from behind his desk. His large gut bumped against the desk, almost spilling the two liter Diet Sprite he had been drinking. “I gotta hit the main floor to make sure these bitches are on their jobs.” Big Sam and Moochie had made it out of the money room and halfway through the maze of gaming tables. when the door to the spot came crashing in.
The guard who had been standing behind the door caught the worst of it. The door, with the added weight of Thor’s blow, knocked the guard to the ground, pinning him. With a grunt, Thor brought the sledge hammer high over his head and slammed it into the center of the fallen door. The man gurgled up blood and passed out, or died. No one checked to see which.
The second guard wouldn’t be so easily taken. He drew his pistol and aimed it at Thor but Duce slapped his arm upward as soon as he pulled the trigger. Bullets ripped through the ceiling and rained plaster down on the gamblers. Duce followed with a sharp left to the head which succeeded in dazing the guard. Using every ounce of his strength, Duce hit the man with an uppercut to the chin, knocking him into the wall. The man tried to right himself to rush Duce but Cos stopped him by placing the barrel of the Uzi to his temple.
“Nigga, don’t be stupid. Get yo ass on the floor!” Cos ordered. Not wanting to get shot, the guard did as he was told.
Moochie immediately went into action. Tossing Big Sam the bag containing the money, he drew his weapon and fired on the robbers. The high-powered slugs scattered people and money as Moochie tried to lay down anyone who wasn’t on his team. Duce and Cos dove for cover, while Thor upended one of the tables and used it as a shield. Bullets splintered the wood and ripped through the cheap fabric Big Sam had used to cover them, but Moochie only managed to graze Thor’s arm. The big man snarled and popped up from behind the table, letting off a quick burst from his shotgun. Moochie was able to get out of the way, but the same couldn’t be said for a gambler who had poked his head up to try and lift some of the loose bills on the table. Stray pellets tore the side of his face off, sending him into a back spin.
The third guard, who had been watching from the other side of the room, cut loose with a Mac 10, hitting people and furniture. Duce executed a diving roll, narrowly escaping the bullets that tore into the wall where he had been standing only seconds prior. He moved with a fluidity that had been honed from years of stalking players of the underworld. He tumbled across the floor with his back coming to rest against a slot machine. For the moment he was safe, but the third guard kept firing, pinning him.
Cos dropped to one knee and squeezed the trigger of the Uzi, sweeping it upward. Bullets left a trail up the carpeted floor as well as the chest of the third guard. His body moved in a sick dance as Cos hit him from crotch to throat. Finally, he let up on the trigger long enough for the man to collapse onto the ground. Just as Cos was looking around to see how his partners were holding up, he heard shots coming from the next room.
The sounds of gunfire coming from inside the gambling spot were faint out in the club area, but Cowboy had been listening for them. When he was sure that his people had the party in full swing, he made his move. Putting on a pair of sunglasses, he drew a small machine gun from inside his jacket and climbed onto the bar. Firing the small submachine gun he aimed at the DJ booth. The turntables exploded bringing the music to an abrupt stop.
“You niggaz know what it is. Hands in the mutha fucking air and give up yo shit!” he ordered.
Hearing a shotgun blast, Cowboy’s attention was temporarily drawn to the room at his rear. In the brief second he took his eyes off the crowd someone decided to play hero. The guy moved so fast that even if Cowboy had been looking in his direction he might not have been able to keep him from reaching his weapon. A small .38 was now pointed directly at Cowboy’s chest. Before the hero could pull the trigger, his shoulder exploded.
A woman wearing a black wig and dark glasses was making military styled side steps across the club floor. In her hand she clutched two 9’s. The guns jumped and expelled shells and she blew off different sections of the hero’s body. The hero dropped to one knee and gurgled something just before she blew his b
rains onto the bar. The bartender belched and promptly threw up the Chinese food she had eaten before her shift.
“Any more heroes?” she asked, sweeping the crowd with her guns. No one moved.
“That’s my boo, always right on time,” Cowboy winked at her from behind his shades. “For a minute I thought you might’ve decided to sit this one out.”
“Somebody has got to keep your arrogant ass from getting killed,” she said, putting one more bullet into the dead man as she passed him. “How’re the boys holding up?” she asked over her shoulder, careful not to take her eyes off the crowd. A second kick from the shotgun and a chunk of the wall being blown outward caused them both to duck.
“I’d say they’ve got it under control,” Cowboy replied.
Moochie found himself trapped between Thor and Duce. He was returning fire as best he could, but knew that he was outgunned. Figuring a good run was a hell of a lot better than a bad stand, he began inching his way towards the rear door.
Duce was still crouched beside the slot machine gripping his Glock. The animal in him screamed for Moochie’s blood, but he knew better than to make a target of himself out of anger. He had been killing for too long to make such a novice mistake. He needed an edge and an overturned bottle of Jack Daniels laying next him might’ve proven to be just that. Clutching the bottle about the neck, he tossed it in Moochie’s direction. The bottle didn’t come close to hitting Moochie head on, but Duce hadn’t intended it to. When Moochie’s attention was drawn to the flying object, Duce let off two shots. When the bottle exploded, spraying Moochie with liquor and glass, the robbers were temporarily forgotten. This was the opening Duce had been waiting for. The first bullet hit Moochie high, shattering his collar bone and the second literally split his wig. Just as suddenly as it began, the fight was over.
Big Sam scurried along on all fours trying to put as much distance between himself and the blood bath as he could. The bag was clutched tightly against his chest. Covered in blood, he had to crawl through along the way. Just a few more feet, he thought to himself. He had made it all the way to the door, but when he reached up he didn’t feel a door knob, but a belt buckle. Shakily, Big Sam looked up and found himself staring down the barrel of Cos’ Uzi.
Gangsta Bitch Page 10