I didn’t know where she found the screwdriver she used to stab me in my shoulder, but I ain’t a snitch nigga. One hit and she was out cold. I let my boys deal with her. She even had the nerve to tell Derrick she was actually aiming for my heart, it was only coincidence that she missed when I tried to throw her off. I looked at that scar every morning to remind me of a woman’s fury. No bitch got my full trust—not even Michelle.
I called Derrick’s phone and he picked up on the first ring.
“Damn, nigga, lemme find out you sittin’ on the phone now.”
“Shit, nigga, that’s only because I thought it was ya momma callin’.” He laughed loudly in my ear.
“My nigga,” I said in my most serious voice. “I done masterminded some shit that’s gonna make you piss ya’self. Go grab Honey an’ stop at Macy’s. Pick up somethin’ to make her look like a damn librarian or school teacher.”
“Nigga, Honey right here. She had asked me to run her by the DMV so she could get her license. We’ll meet up wi’chu in a bit.” I was surprised that Honey had asked Derrick to help her with somethin’ like that instead of callin’ me, but then I remembered that I did ask him to drop her off at work last night, so it was only logical that she asked him to help her out today. I dismissed my paranoia; the pussy wasn’t that good and the head wasn’t nowhere near hot enough to make me trip like I was trippin’.
“All right, D. I’ll see y’all’s asses in a few.”
Makin’ my way back into the bedroom, I looked in my pants pocket for the money from the delivery to Solana. It wasn’t there. A momentary panic coursed through me until I noticed the envelope sittin’ on top of my dresser. I must have taken it out and forgot; I was pretty fucked up. I chuckled to myself and grabbed up the envelope. I’d decided to just tuck it in the closet for now, and noticed a purple dildo on the floor in front of the clothes hamper. It was nothin’ I’d ever seen Michelle use before. As far as I knew she was too prim and proper to get herself off. She must have been on some new-age female empowerment shit or somethin’. Shakin’ my head, I made a mental note to tell Michelle her housekeepin’ abilities were getting kind of lax, and proceeded to get dressed and head out.
I picked out my favorite pair of khakis and an orange and white polo shirt, splashed my neck with a little Issey Miyake and grabbed my Edox watch. I prided myself on lookin’ like a business nigga no matter what. I’m black and my name is Rasheed. That in itself is niggerish enough to make the cops think I’m suspect; no need to look suspect as well.
The one thing I’d always loved about being a city nigga—the opportunities. Summer smelled like money, winter felt like paper, and the spring and fall screamed chedda. I was about a block away from the club when my admirers and customers started tryin’ to get at me. This bold, thick-ass li’l red ho walked up to the car as I pulled into my parkin’ spot tryin’ to do me favors. I told her stop by later for a real interview. Shit, I didn’t maintain ’em, but I’d train ’em and brain ’em quick. I needed to do a li’l ho’scaping anyway, switch out some girls so my clients didn’t get bored.
I needed to check the drop from last night’s business, and clear the girls’ safes. As I walked in I was greeted by the familiar smell of stale alcohol and baby powder, but nothin’ could cover up the smell of old sex and stripper sweat. I couldn’t help but wonder what Danita was tellin’ the cops, or not tellin’ the cops for that matter.
It had been a good six years since I’d even heard her name. I had to admit, I was younger and even dumber, but not damn dumb enough. Me and Dee would get a suite and lock ourselves in for days at a time. We couldn’t get enough of each other. I’d get a couple ounces of Kush and stock the fridge with bottles of Cristal; that was before niggas stopped fuckin’ with it, and we would get smashed and fuck until a nigga was too sore to keep goin’.
Danita was the first stripper I ever dated, so a nigga was extra sloppy with it. I’m talkin’ about goin’ raw and not givin’ a fuck if she was or wasn’t on birth control. This was long before Trey, an’ with my business just startin’ to pop off—shit, a nigga felt extra lucky. I figured if she ever did get knocked up we’d just make a quick trip to the clinic and be done with it. I was so into Dee at the time it wouldn’t have surprised me if she ended up bein’ the Michelle in my life. But Danita was on some bullshit, and I was just glad I caught wind of it before it was too late. I made a mental note to ask Honey if her birth control prescription needed a refill. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d asked me for some change to get any, but I knew she was resourceful and could’ve just been usin’ her own cash to get it.
I put all the money from the night before into the big safe in my office and logged into my computer to put a time stamp on the surveillance cam data. This way I wouldn’t forget that I hadn’t watched the footage from last night.
“My nigga,” I said to myself, “time to head the fuck out. . . .” I was focused on how this shit was gonna play itself out. A nigga like me imagined every scenario and worked out a plan so there wouldn’t be no damn surprises. Ain’t no such thing as gettin’ up early to catch me; a nigga just better not sleep at all. Just as my mind started to wander from plans and on to Ms. Red with the phat ass, Derrick rolled up with Honey in the passenger’s seat. This nigga couldn’t have had better timing.
I felt myself gettin’ jealous as Honey stepped out of Derrick’s banana-yellow Dodge Charger, lookin’ like Halle Berry, Gabrielle Union, and Jessica Rabbit all rolled into her li’l fine ass. They’d picked out a navy blue blazer with a matchin’ blue skirt. Underneath the blazer was this silky cream top that had just enough buttons undone to expose the tops of her pretty, round titties, and made her caramel skin look like it was glowin’ against the fabric. I was sure that was all Derrick’s doing. To set the outfit off she had on a bright red belt with matchin’ red pumps. There was no doubt in my mind those were Honey’s contributions to the ensemble.
“Ohhh, baby.” Honey started chatterin’ before I could get a word in. “Thank you so, so much. This is Versace. I’ve never had anything this nice before.” Honey was beaming and so excited over the new clothes. You sure as hell can’t turn a ho into a housewife or a businesswoman, but you can dress her ass up like one.
“Girl, you lookin’ right, right now.” I couldn’t tell her too much, ain’t wanna blow her head up a whole damn lot. Ain’t nothin’ worse than a ho who knows her worth. You keep ’em feelin’ worthless and they’ll pay you to show you what they feel like they value is. Yeah, it’s fucked up, but that’s life.
“My dog, good to see you.” I dapped up Derrick and gave him a quick rundown of what we was about to do. Honey had been listening to the convo intently. I could tell she was startin’ to get nervous from the sweat beads on her upper lip.
“Daddy, what if they look at the ID, or ask me somethin’ I can’t answer?”
It’s a fact of life, a ho is only as weak as the nigga who runs her. If I told Honey a flea can pull a tree, then she should be lookin’ for a leash.
I looked this girl in her eyes and told her she’s gonna be fine, when I sure as hell had no idea if this would work.
Business Time
10
I decided we would all ride in one of my Benzes since it was less obvious than Derrick’s yellow submarine, and we’d go two hours outside of town to a First Union Bank. This way I wouldn’t have to worry about the teller recognizin’ Michelle’s name, or Honey for that matter. The bank would be closin’ in half an hour and they would be in a hurry to just set up the account and carry they asses home. I handed Honey a thick envelope with six Gs inside. Her hands were shakin’ a little and I realized I needed to calm her the fuck down so this would run as smooth as possible. I’d decided not to go in with her. In the event the shit went sour later on down the road I couldn’t afford to be seen with her on a surveillance camera—I told you, a nigga stay thinkin’. I’d decided to just change the ATM PIN and request a new account number once we were set up.
<
br /> “You lookin’ like a real-deal accountant right now, girl. I might have to consider takin’ you off the stage and givin’ you a job in the club office.” Derrick glanced at me with an eyebrow raised. I knew he would catch on; we thought too much alike.
“Y . . . you, playin’ right? Baby, don’t be messin’ wit’ me right now, it ain’t funny.”
I looked into the rearview and locked eyes wit’ her. “Girl, you know I don’t play when it comes to my paper or my pussy. Look at this like an initiation. You get this situated and you graduate from the stage. Hell, I’ll even go ’head and get that car fa ya ass as a promotion gift.” I could see Honey’s eyes light up with the thought of finally havin’ a car dancin’ ’round in her head.
She squared up her shoulders, took a deep breath. “Well, nigga, let’s hurry up and get this done then, so we can go car shoppin’.”
“My neezy, you never fail to amaze me.” Derrick was lookin’ over at me in awe while we sat in the parkin’ lot, waitin’ on Honey to come out of the bank.
“Shit, Michelle is the one who gave me the idea. Nigga, this same shit happened at her bank and it took them fuckin’ three months to sort that shit out, and that was only after the mufuckas cashed an illegal check. All our paper gonna look legit and the account is gonna revolve like any other, so they won’t have no reason to expect foul play. Worst come to worst, I’m not even connected. Anything go down, Honey takes the blame. As long as I keep her comfy in the pen I know she ain’t rattin’ a nigga out. She actually love my ass—she’ll for real ride or die.”
I’d fed Honey some bullshit story ’bout bein’ a single career woman workin’ wit’ an accountin’ firm. Even gave her a li’l leather day planner with all the info prewritten out so she wouldn’t have to memorize anything while fillin’ out the paperwork. The banks didn’t question shit under ten Gs, but I told her the six Gs were her life savings she’d withdrawn from her prior account if they questioned that shit. Jus’ as Honey came walkin’ out of the bank my phone buzzed. It was Michelle, which was strange ’cause she rarely called when she was at work, but I was anxious to make sure everything went okay, and ignored the call to focus on Honey.
Honey walked over to the car, climbed into the back seat, and didn’t say a word. I didn’t want to seem overly anxious so I just started drivin’. Derrick, on the other hand, couldn’t stand the suspense and turned completely around in his seat.
“Damn, woman, what the hell happened?” For a split second Honey looked like she was about to tell us our worst fear, and then she broke into a full grin.
“I would like to go to the dealership now, thank you.” She handed Derrick the day planner with the account info, ATM card, and deposit slip. She told me the PIN was 1215, same as the street address for the club. That was my girl. I was so proud of her I really did consider givin’ her that office job, but I figured a new coupe and some daddy dick would keep her happy enough. I would just let her transport some product every now and again, and the car would actually be more like a biz investment. Yeah, I was definitely one thinkin’-ass nigga!
We stopped and ate at a small diner on our way back in town. As we were waitin’ to be seated, I noticed Honey textin’ away on a BlackBerry she’d just pulled out of her purse.
“Hol’ up, how you go from no phone to havin’ a BlackBerry in a day, and why the fuck I ain’t got the numba?” I tried not to sound irritated but it really was botherin’ me.
“Oh, daddy, I was gonna give it to you. I was so excited ’bout the clothes, and then I was so nervous ’bout my”—she paused to throw up finger quotation marks—“‘initiation’, I just forgot to even bring it up. One of the girls I met at that, ummm”—she glanced at Derrick for a sec and then continued—“that . . . party I told you about was damn cool, and suggested we keep in touch.”
Honey’s answer seemed innocent enough, and I was all right for the moment. Besides she really ain’t have a lot of close friends so one or two to keep her occupied when I was takin’ care of home with Michelle couldn’t hurt. I was in a much better mood after she texted me her number and the last four was a nigga birthday: 0801. We had a quick and uneventful meal. I checked in on Michelle and wasn’t even surprised when she ain’t answer. Most likely anotha one of her damn mind games, since a nigga ain’t answer her call earlier. I checked the voice mail she’d left and felt the blood drain from my face. She was handling business at a branch outside of town and would be late getting home. She needed me to pick up Trey from daycare.
I kept repeating to myself that out of all the banks in and out of Hampton Roads, there was no way we could have been at the same bank today. I would have heard something by now if that was the case.
Quiet Storms
11
We got back in town and I dropped Derrick off at his car. I was gonna take Honey to the club to get ready to start her shift, then decided to just get a room and celebrate a little since she really did do a decent job with the bank situation. Honey had gotten into the front seat and was textin’ away on that damn BlackBerry as she’d been doin’ all evenin’.
“Damn, girl, that betta not be anotha nigga. . . .” I really didn’t mind her textin’ ’cause it gave me time to think, but I just wanted to make sure she was still down for me and only me.
“No, baby, I know whose pussy this is.” She looked at me with so much trust and affection, like a nigga could lose everything tomorrow and she would still be there.
It had started to rain and I was actually enjoyin’ the quiet drive, with nothin’ but the sound of the windshield wipers and Honey tappin’ at her BlackBerry keys every now and again. I was really startin’ to wonder who the hell she was carryin’ on such an intense conversation with, but I didn’t know if it was the suit she was wearin’ or the feelin’ of accomplishment, but my dick was startin’ to beg for some attention. I pulled off the highway and took an exit toward the south side of town. It was rainin’ harder now and lightnin’ was shootin’ across the sky like fireworks as one of those summer thunderstorms moved in.
Honey wasn’t payin’ any attention to where we were goin’. She was so busy textin’ she didn’t even notice that I’d pulled into a closed park. She finally looked up over that damn phone, and even though I was horny I was actually startin’ to feel what I guess you can call jealousy. I mean, she’d just gotten the thing; was she textin’ ’bout the bank job? Hell, maybe it was anotha nigga. I decided to make her pay for the way I was feelin’. You never let a bitch know when you really feelin’ some kinda way or she’ll use that shit to her full advantage. But there were always ways to get your point across.
“What’s wrong, baby, where are we?” She was lookin’ at me quizzically and I didn’t say a word, just looked at her blankly until I started to see fear slowly creep into her eyes. That’s what I wanted. I spoke very calmly and tried to hide the bulge that was startin’ to grow from the excitement of the moment and the control I had over her.
“You love me.” I didn’t ask so much as say it like a statement.
I saw her fear startin’ to ebb away.
“You know I do, baby. Is everything okay?”
I knew this area of town was secluded; the chances of anyone comin’ out here were pretty slim. Trees lined either side of the driveway that snaked up to the park entrance, and once you made it through the park’s gate it was almost like sittin’ in the middle of a forest. There were a few park benches and picnic tables underneath a wooden shelter and for the most part it was pretty much peaceful.
“Come wit’ me.” I put my cell in the arm rest, shut off the engine, and opened my door. I could tell Honey wanted to say somethin’, ask for an umbrella, complain about gettin’ her Versace suit wet, but I just acted like it wasn’t rainin’ and waited for her to get out of the car, and she did with no further hesitation. I walked over, took her hand, and led her toward the picnic shelter with the picnic table under it. I picked Honey up and sat her on the edge of the table and stood between her legs.
She could feel the heat from my dick strainin’ against my khakis right up against her flesh; leave it to a stripper to be in two-thousand-dollar threads and not have on any damn panties. I smiled to myself. As I leaned in to kiss her she already knew what was ’bout to go down. I grabbed the back of her hair and leaned her head back so I could have full access to her neck.
She smelled like warm vanilla sugar and tasted just as sweet. I licked and sucked the rain from every inch of skin I had access to, from her collarbone upward to her earlobe, and was undoin’ my pants and pullin’ myself outta the slit in my boxers and khakis with my other hand. I stroked my dick for a second and let her hair go just long enough to roughly slide her ass closer to the edge of the table. I positioned myself and leaned forward, rubbin’ the head up and down the folds of her outer lips, teasin’ her pussy, slowly draggin’ her moisture upward and rubbin’ small circles ’round her clit.
She was moaning in my ear now, nibbling my earlobe in between sayin’ my name. This was the only time she ever called me Rasheed. Any other time I was “baby” or “daddy,” but when she really wanted it or when it was gettin’ extra good, she called me by my name. I was still feelin’ like I needed to remind her who she belonged to. Honey was about to get taught a new lesson.
I could feel her clit swelling as I maintained a steady rhythm rubbin’ myself across it. Every time I’d slip lower like I was about to slide in, she’d hold her breath and close her eyes, but then I’d move back up and massage her clit some more with the head. I’d decided it’s time she learn about the pleasure of pain. I almost laughed as a brief memory flashed my mind back to a time when I tried to go there with Michelle. She wasn’t goin’ for it and I never tried again. It always bothered me just a li’l that she could be so close-minded. But then I said to myself, Well that’s part of the reason I’m fuckin’ with Honey now.
Baby Momma Saga Page 6