Bo-Bo Freeman, who was Teresa’s father, was one of the most vicious individuals from the Tidewater Park area, and her mother, Daphne Johnson, was what one would call a dime piece because of her all-around beauty, from the old school. She could still turn heads and put most of the young girls who thought they were hot stuff to shame, except for her daughter. Teresa was a fifty-cent piece. She was not only gorgeous; she was also a female gangsta at an early age. The way she carried herself was ladylike, but if you pissed her off or disrespected her in any way, then there was hell to pay. Teresa could transform in a split second from Dr. Jekyll to Ms. Hyde.
Teresa’s father had been found executed in North Side Park when she was thirteen, and it had been her and her mother living together from that day until Teresa turned seventeen, when she let a major player put her up in her own apartment, paying her all expenses and rent for six months without her having to give him so much as a kiss, let alone sexual intercourse or fellatio. In the streets, one had to question who was actually the player and who was being played. Only a female of Teresa’s caliber could have gotten something off like that on the man everyone referred to as Player Joe. At least that’s what Teresa thought.
One day Teresa was returning back from a visit at her mother’s house after a long lecture. Her mother cautioned her about being careful, due to the word on the streets that Teresa had Player Joe looking like a fool out in the public’s eye. Being knowledgeable of the streets herself, Daphne knew the reputation of the young player her daughter was toying with was on the line, but she knew her words to her daughter had gone in one ear and out the other.
Teresa was glad to be up out her mom’s house. Since she had been on her own, she and her moms had grown apart, but still she respected and loved her mother just the same and made it her business to pay her a visit once a week. It was the least she could do. As she reached the front of her one-bedroom studio apartment, she couldn’t help but to think back to some of the things her mother had said, especially about Player Joe being the laughingstock of the streets. She excused the thought and replaced it with her own logic, that if a man was going to be a sucka for a woman, then he deserved to be treated like one. That was one of the rules of the game and Teresa felt she was only playing by and respecting them. She smiled at her own theory as she searched for the key to the home she called her private castle. As Teresa fondled and rummaged through her Coach bag, she was so focused on finding her keys that she never saw the shadow that towered her or even knew what hit her.
Rich, who was known as Richie Gunz for the twin trey-eight revolvers he toted and wouldn’t hesitate to use, had just stepped out of Charlie’s Bar admiring the redbone, when he saw an unidentified man step from around the car and attack the beautiful young girl, knocking her over the head with the butt end of his pistol. Rich had recognized the pretty girl when she first caught his attention. They had gone to school together—or rather they went to the same school because Rich was older. He remembered before he had dropped out to take on a full-time job as a number runner and a gun for hire, that she had been the prettiest girl in the entire school and was amazed at how she had maintained her beauty. At the time, Rich was in the sixth and she was in the fourth, but girls were the furthest thing from his mind back then. He was more focused on surviving and helping to take care of his mother. The sixth grade had been the extent of his education, textbook-wise anyway. Since then he had been getting his education through real life. Ever since Rich’s mother had been murdered when he was fourteen, he had been out in the streets fending for himself.
Although the girl named Teresa was still unmistakably gorgeous, that meant nothing to Rich and wouldn’t justify him getting involved in something that didn’t concern him. What did concern him, though, enough to make him aid the girl in distress, was the fact that his conscience would not allow him to witness a man putting his hands on a woman. That was something he was totally against. Rich had grown up seeing his father beat on his mother as if it were the normal thing to do for many years until he reached the age of twelve. One day he had taken all of his lunch money he had saved up and gone without eating at times, and bought him a .22 automatic. No sooner than he had made the purchase, Rich came home from school, in the midst of his dad beating up his mom—just like he anticipated—and he shot him in the chest six times, emptying the clip in him. His father lived, but never told the police what happened. That was the last time he and his mother had ever seen or heard from his father. Shortly after that, Rich became the man of the house and turned to the streets as a means of survival for him and his mother, becoming the new breadwinner of the household. Even then, Rich’s mother still attracted the wrong type of men, who were physically and verbally abusive toward her. One by one, Rich would teach them lessons, that his mother was not a human punching bag, just as he had his father. Although Rich’s mother was against him going out into the streets to make a living, she knew the part-time job she struggled to hold was not enough to cover even the rent of their two-bedroom apartment. Rich knew his father had been the one to bring the bacon home, paying all the bills, which was why he felt his mother had tolerated all of the abuse of those years, thinking she couldn’t do better, that she and her child would be left out in the cold if she tried to leave him.
Rich felt it was only right to take on the responsibility as the man of the house and see to it that they were all right. Virginia streets were rough to be running, and Rich knew he had to get in where he fit in order to survive them. He began robbing, stealing, selling drugs, and running numbers, and it was all of that that put him in a position to tote two guns. Rich’s theory was in the streets you had to keep both eyes open if you wanted to live, so why not carry two guns? It felt safer than just having one, he rationalized. Between running the streets and protecting his mother, guns were a necessity in his life.
Seeing the unfamiliar man take advantage of the pretty girl stirred up memories in Rich’s mind of his mother. It disturbed him to see the man in action.
Rich dipped in the cut as he saw the unknown attacker looking around to see if anyone had witnessed what had just taken place, but from where Rich stood he went unnoticed. As the man turned in the direction of Rich’s view, Rich knew who the perp was and what he had just witnessed had become clear. It had been the talk of the town how some young, fine hot redbone had been playing Joe for the past six months, but Rich had no idea the redbone everybody referred to had been Teresa. Rich knew that in the streets all a person had was his or her reputation, so he understood Joe’s motives, but it didn’t justify them and he knew he couldn’t just stand back and watch as Joe did what he knew he intended to do. He waited for Joe to carry Teresa’s limp body into the apartment building before he decided to make his move.
He crossed the street with rapid speed, with no time to spare because he knew even though he had a rep on the streets for being a player, Joe had another reputation when it came to women. Rich entered the building with his two .38s in his hands. Rich had no clue as to what apartment Joe had carried Teresa into when he entered the building, and began walking through the hall in hopes of finding some type of indication where they were. Had it not been for his paying close attention, he would have missed the scream.
“S-s-shit,” Teresa cursed as she regained consciousness. Upon opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was Player Joe kneeling over her wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. She was sprawled out on the living-room floor in the nude. She was still somewhat dizzy and discombobulated from the blow she had taken to the head, so the reality of the situation had not yet really set in. But whatever the case, Teresa’s panic button in the pit of her stomach told her something was not right.
“Joe what the fu—!”
That was all she was able to get out of her mouth before Joe hauled off and back-handed her. “Umph.” The blow he delivered split her lip, drawing blood.
“Shut the fuck up. You know what it is, you young cunt. You think you just gonna play me the fuck out like t
hat and get away with it? Bitch, is you crazy?” he barked.
“How you gonna play a player, youngin’?” The slap dazed Teresa, who was stunned by the blow. She tried to recover from the hit and maneuver to get Joe off top of her, but most of her strength had been drained from the blow to her head she had taken earlier. Still, there was no way she was just going to lay there and let this fake player deprive her of the most sacred and precious thing she knew she possessed.
“Muthafucka, get off me,” she screamed as she twisted, kicked, and turned, but Joe paid her no mind. He was determined to teach her a lesson.
“Bitch, if you scream or move like that one more time I’m gonna put a bullet right in your pretty-ass face. Now stay still while I handle my business and get what I paid for since your gamin’ ass ain’t tryin to give it up,” Joe said, grabbing the gun from the floor and pointing the barrel directly at Teresa’s face. With the other hand, he pulled his manhood out of the slit of his dollar sign–printed boxers.
If looks could kill Joe would have been in his casket waiting to be buried. Teresa ice-grilled him, bringing chills to Joe. It was if her eyes had turned to coal right before him. For a split second, a sense of regret swept over him. He did his best to conceal his inner feeling, replacing it with lust. Teresa knew she was indeed in a no-win situation. She had dealt with more than enough men to know when somebody was serious and the look in Joe’s eyes said it all. This was not how Teresa wanted to lose her virginity, but she had no other choice. It was either let Joe have his way with her, and after it was all said and done, she could seek revenge later, or risk taking a shot to the face and really being scarred for life. Either way the odds were against her, and she had no one to blame but herself. She couldn’t help but think about how her mother tried to warn her and she had disregarded her words. Now she was being forced against her will to give herself to someone she had no connection with or feelings for.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. They became moist with tears as she felt Joe parting her legs. She could feel his hand between her thighs, touching her where no man had ever touched her before. She felt dirty and violated just from the thought of what she knew was to follow.
Joe’s mouth watered as he felt the heat generating between her young thighs. Already he had thought about how he would go around town bragging about how he had busted “little dick-teasing” Teresa’s cherry. His member throbbed at the thought of Teresa’s innocence as he pre-ejaculated from the excitement. He had never been with a virgin before and Teresa’s tightness turned him on. He couldn’t believe how difficult it was for his middle finger to explore the inside of her. She had made him wait long enough. It was time to take what he had been paying for the past six months. In his mind he began to rationalize and justify what he was about to do, figuring he had technically earned it and it was his to do as he pleased.
Just as he was about to exchange his hand with his manhood to penetrate Teresa, he was interrupted by a loud noise.
As Rich pressed his ear up against the door, he heard Joe’s threats. He checked to see whether Joe had been stupid and careless enough to have left the door unlocked, but he hadn’t. Rich knew Joe was about to make his move, and he could not let it go down like that, so without hesitation he stepped back and kicked in the apartment door.
“What the hell?” yelled Joe, turning toward the door area. In the blink of an eye Rich was up on Joe with both trey-eights pointed at him.
“Rich?” questioned Joe. “What the fuck you doin’ here, man?”
Rich clonked Joe across the head with one of his guns the same way he had seen him do Teresa, knocking him from Teresa’s naked body.
“Shut your bitch ass up,” commanded Rich as he backed up and closed the apartment door, not once taking his eyes or his guns off Joe.
Hearing a new voice inside the room, Teresa opened her eyes. When she did, she saw Joe lying on the floor next to her, holding his head. Her gaze landed directly on Rich. She wondered who this stranger was who had just come to her rescue and why. Whoever he was, she was grateful and thankful for his good timing and existence. When she noticed his eyes locked on her, a sense of vulnerability overcame her, and it dawned on her that she sat on the floor still in the nude. Conscious of the condition she was in, she balled up into a fetal position.
For a brief moment Rich gazed at Teresa’s feminine frame. The first thought that came to mind was flawless. In that quick, but deep, stare, he could see her body was intact. Despite the fact, he knew he had to remain focused. To stand there and entertain such thoughts would make him no better than Player Joe. The only difference would be he only thought it, Joe acted on it. He knew that the last thing Teresa needed was to feeling more uncomfortable than she already did, especially in her condition. Rich attempted to console her.
“You a’ight?” he asked. She nodded while wiping her stained face.
Looking around, Teresa didn’t see her clothes anywhere. Rich looked around himself without locating them. Sensing her discomfort, he unbuttoned his blue silk shirt and gave it to her, the whole time never taking his eyes off of Joe. “Put this on.”
“Man, who the fuck is you? Super-Save-a-Ho?” exclaimed Joe.
He was just now regaining his senses, after being caught off guard by Rich. It was apparent, thought Joe, that Rich either did not know who he was or was just plain high. But Joe knew who he was, and before the day ended, it was Joe’s intent to introducing himself to Rich properly. He made a mental note to teach Rich two lessons. One, who he was and two, to mind his own business.
Joe’s thoughts were quickly interrupted. Rich walked over to him and grabbed him by the face, sticking the barrel of one of his .38s into his mouth. “Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up, you pussy-takin’ muthafucka?” Rich spat. “Yeah, I know your MO, chump.”
Joe widened his eyes. He knew it was not in his best interest to utter another word. Aside from the gun now shoved in his mouth, Joe could see in Rich’s face he meant business. He had seen the same hardened look on other killers’ faces to know Rich had killed before and wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.
Rich turned around and took a quick glance back to make sure Teresa had put the shirt on he had given her, but when he looked she was nowhere to be found. He assumed she had gone to get properly dressed. As he stood over Joe with his gun in his mouth, he wondered what he was going to do from there. Initially when he decided to rescue Teresa, that was as far as his plan had gone, and he had accomplished what he had set out to do. He was now at a stuck point. Any other time he would have just slumped Joe because he had killed jokers for less, but it had always been for a reason, whether business or personal, and this particular incident was neither of the two since he had no arrangements or connection with Teresa. He had acted strictly on impulse, and now he was faced with a dilemma.
Though Joe was not known for being a killer, it was known he had killed before. Rich knew if he were to let Joe go, there was a strong possibility he might want to seek revenge. That was simply the code of the streets. On the other hand, if he bodied Joe, he would have to worry about witnesses—or in this case, a witness. Regardless of the fact that Rich had just saved her from a situation that would have most likely scarred her for life, when it was all said and done and the heat came down, Teresa could tie him to the murder. At that moment, the thought of killing both Joe and Teresa crossed his mind. He instantly shook off the notion. It would defeat his whole purpose for involving himself in the situation, he reasoned. The only logical plan he could come up with was to let Joe live momentarily and catch him another day before he had the opportunity to catch him first.
“Stand the fuck up!” ordered Rich. Joe hesitated before making any type of move. He knew how Rich played out in the streets, so he wasn’t trying to take any chances since Rich could have been trying to fake him out. “I know you heard what I said. Get your punk ass up.” Rich snatched Joe up by the arm.
“A’ight man, damn!” Joe shot back, snatching away from
Rich.
Rich hit Joe again, and Joe screamed.
“Next time it ain’t gonna be the back of my gun that I hit you with,” stated Rich.
To show his patience was wearing thin and he was growing tired of Joe’s cockiness, Rich contemplated shooting Joe in his kneecaps, but reserved the thought. He knew that he’d see Joe again. It was destined. And when he did, there would be no talking—not verbally anyway—only with bullets.
“Put your muthafuckin’ clothes back on and get the fuck up outta here ’fore I leave you here not breathin’,” Rich threatened. Without hesitation Joe began reaching for his pants, making sure not to take his eyes off Rich. When he bent down his semi-erection slid through the slit of his boxers, causing Rich to turn his back to Joe.
“This joker,” Rich said under his breath. “Hurry the fuck up and put ya shit on ’fore I change my mind.”
That was all the lead Joe needed. He saw an opportunity and intended to take full advantage of it. Rich was just about to turn back around after giving Joe time to get dressed, when he saw Teresa appear before him with an all-black .25 automatic pointed his way. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. What part of the game was this? he thought. Had Joe actually been Teresa’s pimp? At this point, Rich regretted changing his mind, thinking he should have gone with his first instinct and bodied both Joe and Teresa. Rich could see in her eyes that Teresa was in kill mode. There was no time to think. Rich’s only hope was to get a shot off first before Teresa did and make it count. Before Rich was able to react or raise his own weapon the shots rang out.
Unfazed by the four shots, Rich raised his twin revolvers with murder on his mind. Had it not been for the loud thud behind him, Teresa would have been riddled with shots and pinned against the wall from the impact of Rich’s cannons. Teresa’s heart pulsated through her blouse. She too knew how close she had just come to meeting her maker. Rich turned to see Joe’s lifeless body sprawled out on the wooden floor with the gun still in his hand.
Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 1: The Story of Treacherous and Teflon Page 2