Ricky had taken a special trip to New York. He had some things to get straightened out. He arrived at the prearranged meeting place and banged on the door. “Hey, baby!” were the words he was greeted by. He was not moved by the sexy siren standing in front of him. He was too infuriated to care.
Storming into the hotel room, he began his tirade. “You mean to tell me those fucking losers you hired couldn’t kill one measly piece of shit informant!” Ricky screamed.
“Well, they didn’t expect super-agent to step in. Didn’t anybody ever teach that bitch to play her position when she’s undercover?” Ferguson replied.
“Aponte is the least of our troubles. That fucking informant is gonna blow this shit if he makes it,” Ricky said, gritting his teeth.
“Why don’t you just kill Aponte yourself?” Ferguson asked.
“Mind your business when it comes to me and Aponte!” Ricky barked, taking his overcoat off.
“Well, this whole elaborate plan might backfire. Besides, I’m tired of holding this Reeves bitch hostage,” Ferguson complained, folding her arms across her chest.
“Yeah, well, her stupid-ass father should have refused to sign that drug control policy. Senator Reeves reneged on our deal, and now I got the fucking entire Mexican cartel breathing down my throat. That law could ruin us. So I’ve got to teach the little senator a lesson. I thought getting his slut-bag daughter addicted was going to be enough of a signal, but that bastard didn’t budge,” Ricky vented, getting close to Ferguson.
“Well, what now?” Ferguson asked, taking a few steps backward.
“What now? What now?” Ricky growled, descending on her like an eagle swooping down to grab a mouse. He grabbed her shirt with both hands and ripped it open, sending the buttons flying all over the room. Ferguson’s chest swelled and her eyes bulged open. Her heart raced, not from fear, but excitement. Breathing like an animal in heat, Ricky buried his face in her breasts. Taking a mouth full of her almost-black areolas in his mouth, he bit down on Ferguson’s sensitive flesh like a rabid dog.
“Aggghhhh!” she screamed, urging him on. He bit her breasts unmercifully as she dug her nails into his shoulders. “Fuck me!” she panted, barely getting the words out.
Ricky lifted his head from her chest, looked into her slanted eyes, and slapped her with all of his might across her face.
“Fuck you!” she screamed, blood trickling from her lips.
“Yeah, that’s what I want to hear,” he chuckled. “Your pussy is not better than Aponte’s,” Ricky said cruelly, getting Ferguson’s attention. He knew how much Ferguson hated Deidre.
“Oh yeah?” Ferguson commented, sliding from under Ricky’s grasp and dropping to her knees. “But I can suck your dick better than she can,” she murmured, flashing a wicked smile before wrapping her full lips around Ricky’s pale pulsing tool.
“You need to kill that informant. I don’t care how you do it,” Ricky growled as Ferguson looked up into his eyes and continued slurping. “Mm-m-m-m!” he moaned. He felt like the most powerful man in the world. Things were going splendidly, and just like he’d planned.
“Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. A’ight, it’s all here,” Officer Duke confirmed, slamming the leather briefcase closed.
“What, nigga, you thought I was gonna try to gyp you?” Chastity asked indignantly, rolling her eyes.
“C’mon, baby, business is business . . . pleasure is pleasure,” Officer Duke whispered, moving his six-foot, five-inch muscular body closer to her.
“Oh, I thought so! Not only do I pay you cash, I give you my priceless pussy. You know how many men wanna be in your shoes?” Chastity said, pushing her breasts in his face.
“Your eye is looking much better,” he said, changing the subject.
“Did you find out what I asked you about?” Chastity asked, licking her lips seductively. She was a pro at getting what she wanted through manipulation.
“Yeah, the dudes that tried to rob ya’ll are from Baltimore. One just got out of a federal prison, and the two others have been in and out,” Officer Duke offered.
“What about the name I gave you?” Chastity inquired, reaching out to touch his manhood.
“Nah, I didn’t find shit on any Deandra Barnes. She ain’t never been processed through the system—clean as a whistle,” Officer Duke replied, breathing hard.
“A’ight, thanks,” Chastity said, removing her hand and walking away. She was very into teasing.
“Nah baby, you ain’t getting off that easy. Now bend your ass over!” Officer Duke commanded, licking his plump lips. He wasn’t going to be toyed with. He grabbed Chastity roughly and flipped up her skirt, swiping his erect penis over her perfectly shaped bare ass, moving it up and down until he found her moist vaginal opening. “No panties on? You were ready for this, huh?” he asked, pushing all nine inches of his dark meat into her flesh.
“Mm-m-m-m!” Chastity moaned and laughed at the same time. When she turned her face away, her smile faded. Officer Duke continued to ram her pelvis, servicing her hot box as usual, but she wasn’t into it.
“Arrggh!” Officer Duke moaned in pleasure, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back as he bent over her back trying to reach her mouth to give her a deep French kiss.
Chastity turned her face away. She wasn’t kissing him anymore. Something was different about their lovemaking. It had become routine and mundane. She sensed that there was someone else, and she planned on finding out who that was. She said a silent prayer that she wouldn’t have to kill him for cheating on her, or kill the bitch for that matter.
As usual, Officer Duke sexed Chastity to sleep. Sliding on his clothes, he tipped out of her house without waking her . . . or so he thought.
“Spread your legs apart!” the police officer screamed.
“Officer, I didn’t do anything!” Tori complained, scrunching up her face in response to being manhandled.
“Shut the fuck up and spread ’em!” the officer yelled, grabbing both of Tori’s arms forcefully so he could handcuff her.
“Ouch!” she screamed, as he roughly placed the cold metal shackles on her wrists, rendering her helpless.
“That shit hurts so good, don’t it,” the officer whispered in her ear as he traced his tongue down her neck.
“Hell yeah!” she moaned as he took advantage of her while she was helpless.
“Get on your knees and suck it!” the officer commanded, releasing his throbbing tool from its polyester captivity.
Struggling to stay balanced with her arms behind her back, Tori waddled a little and dropped to her knees. “Yes, Officer Duke,” she cooed as he forced all nine inches of his stiff rod into her pouting lips.
“Mm-m-m-m!” he grunted as he proceeded to ram Tori’s face, gagging her in the process. I get two friends in one night, and fifty G’s, Officer Duke smirked to himself. “You got what we talked about?” he grunted, as he rammed in and out.
“Uh huh!” Tori moaned through sucks.
“Good girl. I get good head and free drugs. I ain’t never leaving your ass, baby,” Officer Duke commented.
Tori was so happy to be getting attention from him that she’d started stealing and making side deals with him.
Officer Duke thought he was the man.
Chastity sat on the motorcycle a few feet away from Tori’s building. Breathing hard and biting her bottom lip, she contemplated busting all of the windows out of Officer Duke’s black Lexus LS-400, the car he’d probably purchased with the money she paid him. Chastity had followed him after he collected his payment, fucked her brains out, and left her in bed. Suspicious of where he was going, she’d jumped on R.J.’s motorcycle and secretly followed Officer Duke. She had warned Tori never to mix business with pleasure, especially with someone who was bringing Chastity pleasure! Officer Duke had been on their payroll since he graduated from the Police Academy one year back.
Chastity was furious when she saw him exit his car and enter Tori’s building. Still giving Tori the benefit of the
doubt, she watched the window, hoping she wouldn’t see him. Well, she did. Officer Duke closed Tori’s curtains. Not only did Tori disobey what she was told, she was also fucking Chastity’s first love.
Bladen Duke was one of the first and only men Chastity had let into her heart romantically. She’d never trusted any man aside from her brother. Things didn’t work out with Chastity and Bladen of course, because he couldn’t handle her bossy attitude and the fact that she liked to wear the pants in their relationship. After they broke up, they remained friends, having sex almost every time they were together. It was a homie/ lover/business associate/friend relationship, but in Chastity’s mind, he would always be her man, which meant he was off limits to Tori. Tori had violated a cardinal rule amongst women. If your friend slept with him and you know about it, then you can’t. Officer Duke was playing both friends.
Biting down on her bottom lip even harder now, Chastity’s eyes filled with tears, and she didn’t cry easily. Deciding to keep this bit of information to herself for a while, she plotted her revenge.
Putting her plan into action, she picked up her cell phone and dialed a number she’d been dialing very often lately. “Hello, Coral? Yeah, it’s Chastity. You should tell the foster care worker to give your sister a drug test. Yup!” Chastity said into the receiver. Bitch ain’t never gettin’ that fucking baby back! Chastity said to herself as she revved the bike and pulled away from the curb.
Two days had passed since their dinner, and Deidre hadn’t heard back from the F.A.B. She decided to go visit Reemo, who was still fighting for his life in the hospital. She got dressed and headed to Brooklyn Hospital.
When she arrived at the Intensive Care Unit, she looked for room 808. Locating the room, she walked slowly inside. All she found was an orderly cleaning up, and winding up the wires to the heart monitors and preparing the bed for a new patient. A sense of panic grabbed Deidre tightly around the neck. “Where is the patient that was here?” Deidre asked.
The orderly stared blankly at Deidre, with no response.
“I said, where is the patient that was here?” she screamed, her voice trembling.
“No speak English,” the small Latina replied, looking at Deidre like she was crazy.
Deidre rushed out of the room towards the nurse’s station. She wanted answers. Before she could make it, someone grabbed her arm. “What the . . .” she whirled around, her heart racing.
“He’s gone,” R.J. commented in a low voice.
“I was just here two days ago. They said he was doing better,” Deidre said, feeling sick to her stomach. Although Reemo was an arrogant asshole, from what she’d learned, he never really got a break in life. She felt bad for him.
“I know. I was shocked myself. He didn’t deserve this shit,” R.J. commented, lowering his head.
Deidre took a good look at R.J.’s face, noting his red eyes. Even though he’d been crying, he still looked damn good. He wore a black leather Pelle Pelle jacket, a pair of Evisu jeans, and beef and broccoli Timbs . . . simple, yet sexy. R.J. never rocked a lot of jewelry. He showed wealth in other ways, like his well-manicured hands, always freshly cut hair, and the plain solid gold Presidential Rolex he rocked.
“No, he didn’t deserve this,” Deidre agreed, tears rimming her eyes.
“Yo, that was my nigga from the womb to the tomb!” R.J. lamented.
Deidre felt like crying. She loved to see a man show his sensitive side, while remaining rugged and manly. “What happened?” she asked, breaking an eerie silence that settled around them.
“Don’t know. The nurse said some lady came to visit him early this morning, and right after the lady left, Reemo went into cardiac arrest. His lungs collapsed and they couldn’t save him,” R.J. explained, rubbing his chin.
“Damn! I’m sorry for your loss,” Deidre lamented, rubbing her hand over his arm for comfort.
“It’s a’ight. He was a soldier,” R.J. replied, his voice grating on the words. “You wanna get lunch?” he asked Deidre as they headed for the elevators.
“That’s cool,” she replied, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She was attracted to something about him.
R.J. watched Deidre’s perfect hourglass shape move in her fitted jeans. He loved women that could wear jeans and still look like they were ready to go into a classy restaurant. Besides, what man could resist a woman who rocked a hot pair of Manolo’s?
They walked over to a small café on Dekalb Avenue. Deidre was nervous at first, but after a few minutes, she felt unbelievably comfortable with R.J. They quickly exchanged personal information.
“Tell me about yourself,” R.J. said, sipping his Mojito.
“I grew up in D.C., knocking around from foster home to foster home after my father committed suicide,” Deidre lied. She knew using foster care would give them some common ground.
“Word? My moms committed suicide too,” R.J. shared.
“My father was my whole world. He never got over my mother’s death. She died during childbirth,” Deidre continued, mendaciously.
“My moms was torn up after my faggot-ass pops left. You know, the same ghetto story. Mom’s raising kids alone after the pops up and left. Only thing is, my pops wasn’t no slouch, addict, or nothing like that. He was a military man with strong values, but I knew he was into some shady shit. After he left, I found a lot of money stashed in our apartment. I still think that nigga got killed or something. I just can’t see him leaving us. Losing my moms was even worse, she was my world. You know, no matter what a mother does, you only get one,” R.J. preached.
“I never wanted to believe that my father killed himself. When I heard it, I didn’t believe it and I still don’t. He would’ve never left me all alone. Maybe we were meant to meet,” Deidre said, this time speaking the truth.
“For real,” R.J. mumbled while crunching on his chicken fingers.
A few minutes of silence passed.
“How’d you get into the game?” R.J. asked the million-dollar question.
Deidre almost choked on her iced tea. That information wasn’t included in her script. “I started off running numbers for this old lady that lived next door to one of my foster parents. I met a man about a horse, and the rest is history. I don’t like to talk about it,” Deidre fabricated on the spot.
“I like that,” R.J. said. He knew she was legit, because real hustlers never tell how they got put on. He was smitten.
“What does R.J. stand for?” Deidre asked, figuring since he wanted to get personal, she would do the same.
“Nah, I never tell anyone my real name. Too much baggage attached to that name. So just call me R.J.,” he said, slightly annoyed.
Deidre scolded herself silently. Damn! You asked too much too soon.
During the entire time, Deidre did not look R.J. directly in his face, partly out of guilt, because of who she really was, but mostly because she’d finally figured out the uncanny resemblance. Maybe God was trying to tell her something. They say girls usually seek out men that remind them of their fathers.
R.J. looked at his watch. “DeeDee, I gotta go. I got a very important meeting,” he said.
Here’s my number,” she blurted out, scribbling the number down before her brain could really register what she was doing or maybe getting into.
“Ah, I was gonna ask for that,” R.J. said, flashing a smile. He grabbed the paper with the priceless digits. Surveying it, he thought how old school it was to get a phone number on paper. “Whoa, whoa! Don’t insult me! Put your money away,” he said, holding up his hand as Deidre pulled out her cash. R.J. paid the check, walked Deidre to her car and was gone.
That night after his meeting, R.J. called Deidre, and they spent three hours talking. He couldn’t get her out of his mind.
Deidre couldn’t stop thinking about him either. More importantly, she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said about mothers. She realized that the lie she told about her mother dying was sometimes what she wished for. She had not spoken
to her mother at all in the weeks she’d been in New York. Guilt trampled on her mood. She decided to leave the city and go home to see her mother.
R.J. climbed into the back of the black Lincoln Town car that had been waiting for him. “What’s the status?” his partner asked, exhaling a ring of cigar smoke into R.J.’s breathing air. “I’m almost where I want to be,” R.J. replied, waving the smoke from his face.
“And what about your sister and her little crew?” the man asked, this time blowing his smoke towards the ceiling of the car.
“My sister will do whatever I say. She only thinks she’s in control . . . for now,” R.J. remarked.
“Well in that case, I think this belongs to you,” the man said, shoving a black leather briefcase across the seat in R.J.’s direction. R.J. opened the briefcase, examined the contents and looked over at the man. “I guess so,” he commented, opening the car door and exiting.
VOLUME 12: THE VISIT HOME
Deidre drove from New York to Fairfax, Virginia in record time. Four hours straight, and she was there. She wanted to surprise her mother, therefore she didn’t call ahead. Pulling into the cul-de-sac, she looked at the house where she’d grown up. Nothing had changed. All of the lights were on. “Maybe she is sober. Lights on . . . good sign,” Deidre whispered to herself, putting her car in park. She fished her old house keys out of her purse, ambled up the front steps and unlocked the door. “What the . . . ?” she grumbled as she crossed the threshold. The sound of loud noises attacked her ears.
“Mom?” Deidre screamed out, moving closer to the noise, that she now recognized. “Mom?” she called again. Still no answer. Walking slowly, she heard her favorite childhood song resounding throughout the house:
“. . . Your Daddy’s home. Your Daddy’s home.
Your Daddy’s home to sta-a-a-a-y . . .”
Deidre began to regret coming home already. That song brought back memories . . . sad memories. “What’re you doing?” Deidre screamed over the music, finally locating her mother sitting alone in front of the television with her “Easy Jesus” in her lap.
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