Trust in No Man

by Cash

  “Yeah, do that shit!” I pushed myself deep down her throat until she gagged.

  She pulled back a little, then she slurped loudly on the steel, coating it with lots of spit. I gripped her head with both hands and fucked her mouth until I shot all down her throat.

  “Ummmm,” she moaned while swallowing every drop.

  I laid there thinking, It ain’t no myth. White hos really suck dick better than sistas.

  At least, Blondie was the best I had ever met. I wanted to taste that pretty white pussy, but I stayed strong and kept my tongue in check. I put on a jimmy hat and fucked that white ass and I do mean the ass! Then I hit the pussy ‘til the sun came up.

  We slept for a minute, woke up and got busy one last time before hitting the shower.

  While Blondie was getting dressed, I picked up the phone and dialed the number to a pay phone near Englewood. I used that pay phone regularly and knew the number by heart. I also knew nobody would be at the pay phone to answer it so early in the morning.

  I talked so Blondie could hear me.

  “Yo, this is Popeye. I checked out that club last night and you were right, they got some fly honeys up in there. Yeah—yeah,” I said to no one, but a ringing pay phone. “We need ten girls, but I don’t wanna use ten from the same club. I’m with one of the dancers from last night now. She’s a real fine snow

  “Hell yeah, they’ll be able to make it. Where else can they make fifteen thousand for a few hours of dancing and be in a rap video? All right. I’ll bring five girls from the club last night. We’ll pick five other dancers from a club in Miami when we get there. Send two limos to drive the girls down to Miami. Yeah, I know. Don’t—” I was running my spiel so strong I hadn’t realized someone had answered the ringing pay phone on the other end.

  “Man, who are you? And whud da fuck is you talkin’ ‘bout?” A lady’s voice screamed into the phone. “This is a goddamn pay phone you’re calling, dumb mothafucka!”

  I kept right on talking like I hadn’t heard a word the woman said.

  Blondie was listening to my every word, smiling and eating my game up. The bitch who had answered the pay phone cussed me out some more and then slammed the phone in my ear.

  I said, “I’ll see you in Miami tomorrow. Peace.” Then I hung up the phone before it started making that sound a phone made when no one was on the other end.

  “You got me the lead role in a video, sugar? Oh, thank you, Popeye! I can’t believe I’m gonna be a star!” Blondie covered my face with kisses. Her excitement turned her white face reddish pink.

  She had a thousand questions: Who was the rapper? Blah, blah, blah…

  “I’ll explain all that in the car,” I promised. “Right now I need to drop you off so I can take care of some other business before we leave for Miami tonight.”

  On the way to Blondie’s crib, I put the finishing touches on my game. I told her to call the three dancers I had asked her about last night, and to tell them and her roommate that I’d chosen the five of them, including Blondie to be in a rap video and we’d be leaving at 8 p.m. tonight.

  They were to all be at Blondie’s apartment by 7:30. They’d need proper ID, several G-string outfits, lots of jewelry since it was a bling-bling-type video, $750 for an acting permit, which would be non-refundable.

  She was to report that they’d be in Miami for three days, all expenses covered by the record label except for shopping expenses while there, and they’d each get fifteen thousand dollars at the end of the last day of the video shoot.

  “You’ll be paid twenty-five grand and get to stay with me at my house in Miami while we’re there,” I told Blondie.

  Standing in Blondie’s living room, with her roommate from last night present, I delivered the clincher. I gave Blondie the other two knots of loot out of my pocket.

  “Hold onto this for me, baby. I don’t like to ride around with a lot of money. I’ll use my American Express card if I need to buy anything.” I saw the roommate’s eyes sweating the two thick wads of cash.

  The trap was set.

  “I’ll call you at seven. Make sure all the girls are here. Remember, they can’t bring boyfriends or friends along. They’ll meet plenty of men in Miami on the video set.” I kissed Blondie and dipped.

  I went straight over to Lonnie’s crib. Delina and her sons were over for the weekend, but they dipped to the mall so I could rap to Lonnie in private. I ran the game down to him, from start to finish.

  “You had all this shit planned before you went to the club last night?” He was smiling.

  “Hell no, dawg! I was just making it up as I went along.”

  “What if she has your license plates number?”

  “She don’t. I was watching her to make sure she didn’t look at it.” We went over some more what ifs and what we’d do if we got to Blondie’s crib and more people were there than I expected, particularly men. We even had a plan for if no one was there, how I’d get my loot back from Blondie.

  Later that evening, we arrived at Blondie’s apartment about seven o’clock. I called to let her know I was on my way.

  I was in fresh gear, carried a tennis bag over my shoulder and a briefcase stuffed with blank typing paper.

  Lonnie carried a large tennis bag, too.

  By seven-fifteen all three girls that didn’t live there had arrived.

  One was dropped off by a butch bitch who had to be explained the whole situation before she jetted. She was afraid that me or Lonnie was gonna dick her bitch in Miami.

  After the butch bitch bounced, I told the dancers the limo would arrive by 8:30 P.M., it was running a little late. In the meantime, I needed to know if they each had the $750 for their acting permit. They did.

  “Cool. I’ll collect it from y’all when we get to Miami,” I said in a professional tone.

  “Let’s all of us decide what outfits you’ll each wear in the video. Y’all go into the bedroom and put on your favorite costumes. I’ll let y’all know if it’s straight for the video or if you’ll have to choose something else. None of y’all can wear the same colors.” I told Blondie we’d buy her something special to wear in the video when we got to Miami.

  She stayed out in the living room with me and Lonnie while her roommate and the other three dancers rushed to the bedroom to change into their favorite stripper outfits.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Lonnie drawed down on Blondie, like the pro he was. One hand choked wind out her windpipe while the other pointed a big heater in her face. Lonnie and I had decided that he should throw down on Blondie since she felt like she knew me and might try to buck.

  Lonnie was choking that white bitch red! We had her mouth, hands, and feet taped in record time. Lonnie had carried her into the kitchen in case one of the girls came out the bedroom while we were tying Blondie up.

  We pulled on ski masks and gloves and bum-rushed the bedroom where the other four girls were changing. Of course, they all had seen our faces already. The ski-masks were just to frighten them. Masks made us look more sinister and maybe confused them for a second, having them unsure if it was us, or not, under the masks.

  The sawed-off got their attention fast! Blondie’s roommate opened her mouth to scream and Lonnie knocked it back down her throat with the barrel of his heater. I was surprised the gun didn’t discharge.

  The snow crumpled to the floor.

  “One sound and I’m killing everybody!” Lonnie said forcefully.

  “Let me kill a couple of ‘em,” I added for effect.

  We got all four bitches taped, tied and on the floor and then Lonnie went to get Blondie to join the party.

  Two slaps with the heater and she told us were she and her roommate kept the money in the apartment. Lonnie put the tape back over her mouth and went to search the closet. Bingo!

  The roommate’s stash was under the mattress in the other bedroom. We robbed the other three bitches of their $750 each, plus whatever other money they had with them. I found all three of my k
nots inside Blondie’s purse, plus a wad of other money she had probably made last night. We took all those hos’ jewelry, though I didn’t usually fuck with that anymore. But these bitches’ jewelry wasn’t custom made or engraved, all jewelers sold identical shit as what they were rockin’. Besides, Lonnie would keep all the jewelry and sell it to a fence he knew.

  We put all of the loot inside of the tennis bags, wiped off anything we may have touched in the apartment, took off our ski masks and headed for the door.

  When I opened the door to leave the apartment, the butch bitch was just about to knock, her knuckles were still in the air.

  “Where’s—”

  “Come on in. They’re all in the bedroom,” I said politely, cutting her words off.

  The butch bitch came in and closed the door. We drawed down and robbed her ass, too. We tied her up with tape and kicked her in the ass, just for being stupid enough to invite herself to a stick up.

  We didn’t get rich off this caper, but I got all of my trick money back plus me and Lonnie split a nice lump of those bitches’ loot. They had more than we would have thought.

  I wasn’t worried ‘bout them getting my real name from Rich Kid. He’d say he only knew me as Popeye. I hadn’t told him I was gonna rob the bitches, but it wasn’t no loot out his pocket and Rich Kid wouldn’t rat. I’d done major work for him. The only drawback was I couldn’t go back to The Passion Palace.

  CHAPTER 21

  Summer and its suffocating heat passed along until finally school started up again. I took Lil’ T shopping for school clothes and supplies, making sho’ my lil’ man had all the freshest gear out for little kids. Shan was still mad at me, but she was never too mad that she’d refuse me buying things for my son. Her reasoning was simple: if I bought it, she wouldn’t have to.

  I also went and blessed Poochie with a little dough to help her with her sons’ school things. She was looking good and doing fine. So far, Poochie was outrunning the crack pipe. I looked around her crib and saw that nothing was missing and the place was clean and tidy.

  We talked for a while, just shootin’ the breeze. I wanted to make a play for one last time in the bed, but I respected the new Poochie too much to step to her like that.

  She told me not to be a stranger before I dipped.

  School was about to start for Cheryl, too. Her mother had signed her up to attend an alternative school for pregnant teens. I wasn’t against Cheryl going back to school and finishing her education, but I wasn’t looking forward to picking my girl up from high school. That shit sounded whack like I was Chester the Child Molester.

  I was living on Easy Street right now. My freezer was tight and my name wasn’t hot on the block. Niggaz couldn’t figure my steez, they just assumed I robbed ‘cause I rolled with Lonnie. Still, I had no beef with cats in the hood, I hadn’t jacked none of them.

  I was living day to day, maintainin’ until I ran up on that one big lick all stickup kids lay on. I was good for a minute, a young G with my own whips and crib, a shawdy with my seed growing in her stomach and I was doing what a nigga was supposed to do for his son.

  I didn’t own the world, but the world didn’t own me, either. I could’ve got out of prison and tried to blow up in a hurry, but when a nigga be speedin’, he’d eventually crash. I was a long way from Big Willie style, but I had patience on my side.

  I picked Cheryl up from school in the Nissan. I hadn’t been whippin’ the Lex truck lately, just in case those shake-a-booty bitches had po-po, or one of their trick, dope boy-boyfriends on the lookout for it.

  Blondie might not know my tag number, but she could damn sho’ describe my whip down to a T.

  “Hey,” Cheryl greeted me, closing the car door.

  “Hey, you.” I leaned over and kissed her.

  “I’ll be glad when I have this baby!”

  “Why? You should’ve kept your legs closed,” I joked.

  “Shut up! Dag. I’m getting fat, and my back hurts,” Cheryl complained.

  “You’ll be a’ight, shawdy.”

  “Hmmph! You ain’t the one pregnant.”

  I went over Cheryl’s crib and chilled with her for a while and then dipped. Her mom’s wasn’t at home, she hardly ever was.

  Now that Cheryl was back in school, she couldn’t hang out all night with me and get up in the morning on time for classes.

  Occasionally she’d stay over my crib and I’d take her to school, but not often ‘cause she’d hated to get up in the morning after we’d been fucking all night. So we agreed Cheryl would only stay with me on weekends. I didn’t wanna fuck up her school plans.

  On weekday nights, I would call Cheryl from the pay phone to make sure she was peace and then I’d hit the streets looking for something to get into, usually some bitch’s panties. I wasn’t tryin’ to claim no bitch but Cheryl, ‘cause when a nigga put his tag on ‘em, they expected him to pay their bills and lace their purse. And I wasn’t goin’ out like that. I’d bless Cheryl, but those stray pieces of pussy didn’t get nothin’ but some dick, maybe a burger and fries.

  Most niggaz hustled for bitches and didn’t even realize it. For the most part, they wanted big houses, fly whips and bling-bling ‘cause it attracted mad hos. If there weren’t any bitches in the world, niggaz wouldn’t really be on a mad paper chase.

  I admit a part of why I hustled was for the same reason, but not entirely. I had to look good for my damn self. Then I had Lil’ T to provide for. Plus, as long as money made the world go ‘round, I might as well get as much as I could. Enjoy life while I’m here, ‘cause tomorrow wasn’t promised. I could be sharing dirt with Freddie in the time it takes to squeeze the trigger. That was the life I lived. I didn’t lie to myself. I didn’t wanna live to be old and wrinkled, wearing diapers like a hundred-year-old baby, no mafuckin’ way.

  Months passed by without me puttin’ in any work for Rich Kid or hitting a lick on my own. The chicken boxes in the back of my freezer were still full ‘cause I wasn’t splurging, and my trick days had been over since I was a juvenile. So, I wasn’t pressed for loot, but I was getting vexed ‘cause I hadn’t added to my stash in a minute. Without a regular hustle, a nigga could go through his stash like whoa! And not being mad-laced with dough kept a nigga from ballin’.

  Around Cheryl’s seventh month of pregnancy, Toi moved out of my mama and Raymond’s house and into her own crib. Toi invited Cheryl and me over for buffalo wings and drinks, really just to see her apartment, and she wanted me to meet her boyfriend. He wasn’t living with Toi, but she’d told Cheryl he’d bought the furniture and was gonna pay her rent, which was expensive ‘cause Toi moved into a condo out in Buckhead, an affluent suburb of Atlanta.

  My mama and Raymond had strongly been against Toi’s moving out with the help of her boyfriend whom she’d not known very long.

  They threatened to take back the car Raymond had bought for Toi, but that didn’t stop Toi from moving out or continuing to date dude. He offered to buy Toi a better car if Mama and Raymond carried out their threat.

  Toi told me none of this. Cheryl told me all of it, of course.

  My sister’s condo was plush. Every room was like some shit out of a magazine. She even had a bar that sat off from the living room, stocked with mad bubbly, some I had never heard of.

  It was obvious Toi’s new boyfriend had spent a lot of dough decorating her crib, which put me on alert, ‘cause it wasn’t like he lived with her. So, off the rip I was wondering what his crib looked like ‘cause unless he was the sweetest trick in the Dirty South, I figured he wasn’t gon’ lace Toi’s crib better than his own. I was also wondering what type of job he had to be able to afford trick bills like this. And, what the fuck my sister did to get a nigga to bless her so lovely?

  Just as I was thinking all of this and stuffing my face with hot buffalo wings, Toi’s trick daddy walked into the crib. Partner might not live with Toi, but he had a key to the condo.

  “Hey, baby,” he said to Toi when she went up to g
reet him.

  He looked at me and Cheryl like we were aliens. Toi hugged him like they hadn’t seen one another in a while, then she read his expression.

  “Oh, baby. This is my brother, Terrence, and his girlfriend, Cheryl.”

  “Hi,” Cheryl offered.

  I nodded and mumbled, “Whud up?”

  “What’s up?” he responded. “My name is Glen, but everybody calls me Big G.”

  “They call me Youngblood.”

  Cheryl was looking at us like she wanted to say she had a nick-name too.

  “You want some buffalo wings?” Toi asked Glen.

  “Naw, I’m straight. I ate a little while ago.” Glen said. “Step back here in the bedroom. I need to holla at you right quick.”

  When my sister came back into the living room she mumbled some bullshit about Glen and her having to go somewhere.

  Now, I wasn’t no blocker and my sister was grown, so, if it was a matter of dude wanting us to bounce so him and Toi could get nasty, I could swallow that with no water. But that’s not the vibe I was getting. It just seemed like dude simply didn’t want us there. Period. The scene was so uncomfortable I didn’t even finish the wing I was biting on. I dropped it back on the plate and wiped my hands with a napkin, balled it up and tossed it at Cheryl.

  She said, “Dag.”

  “Let’s go, shawdy. I know when I’m not welcomed somewhere.”

  “Aww, it ain’t like that. I gotta go somewhere with Glen. I’ll invite y’all over again next week.” My sister tried to placate me with a hug.

  I hugged her. “What’s yo nigga’s problem?”

  “Dag, I feel too fat to stand up,” Cheryl said.

  “I’ll call you, girl.” Toi then turned to me and said, “Don’t be trippin’, Glen is cool.”

  “Whatever.”

  Cheryl and I left. It was the weekend, so Cheryl was staying at my crib. Her fat, pregnant self-went to sleep five minutes after we got there. I was playing Play Station II while listening to an Outkast CD and mentally sizing up Toi’s boyfriend. What really had me curious about Glen besides him coming into my sister’s crib like he owned the world was the whip I saw parked outside the condo when I bounced. A 600E Mercedes Benz, that Toi told me he owned.