Trust in No Man

by Cash

  The newest ghetto queen.

  I wasn’t mad at her, either. She had wandering eyes, but she’d been mostly loyal to Murder Mike, even when he was only clockin’ McDonald’s loochie. She’d excused him fucking her friends, beefing with them hos instead of with him, and endured the occasional beatdown whenever Murder Mike felt like Iron Mike Tyson. It was only natural that she’d want to floss, proving to the hood that her humiliations hadn’t been in vain. Mad hos had put up with the same and didn’t have shit to show for it.

  At least for now, mafuckaz had to respect Cita’s shine.

  Murder Mike ended his phone call and noticed my approach.

  “Whud up, main man?” I said, and dapped hands.

  “It’s your world, whoady,” Murder popped back.

  “What’s the deal with all the police and news people?”

  “Somebody robbed and killed the Ribs Lady. They just discovered her body in her apartment a little while ago.”

  “Damn! No more rib dinners.” I shook my head, disgusted at the thought, hungry now.

  “Yeah, that’s fucked up!” Murder agreed.

  Cita butted in. “That’s all y’all thinking about? Rib dinners? That lady is dead! And that lil’ girl she adopted is damn near dead!” Her face wore a scowl. Murder Mike told her to shut up before he slapped her lipstick crooked.

  “Matter of fact,” he added, “go sit in the car until you learn to be quiet when grown folks talkin’!”

  “I’m going over there with Fiona and ‘em,” Cita said defiantly.

  She took one step but froze when Murder said, “I’ll break your jaw if you don’t get in the car. I don’t care how many police are around!”

  Cita gave me the mean mug, as if it was my fault her nigga put her ass in check. Like she didn’t know there was a steep price to pay to be a ghetto king’s ghetto queen. The bitch hadn’t seen the half of it. Let her stick around while Murder continued to rise in the game. Eventually, she’d surrender all of her pride for the bling.

  Like a chastised child, Cita obediently went and sat inside of the truck.

  “I’m still training her,” Murder Mike half-joked. “Anyway, let me tell you what the business is.”

  “Run it down to me, my nigga,” I said, and then I listened intensely as he told me what was up.

  When he was done, I assured him I would handle his problem for him, right away.

  Later that week, I drove Inez to Kentucky in a rental car. She was down with helping me clap King. I’d enlisted her help the minute King had showed interest in her at The Player’s Ball.

  At first Inez had balked, not wanting to get involved with a murderous plot. But I’d given her an ultimatum—prove she was truly down with me or find another nigga to hold her down. Of course, I also threatened that she now knew too much for me to let her live if she wouldn’t cooperate. I also promised her my love, blah, blah, blah.

  So, King’s arrogant ass was put in the cross the minute he’d approached my shawdy. His own arrogance, mixed with his underestimation of me, didn’t even allow him to consider the possibility that Inez’ receptiveness wasn’t genuine.

  King picked Inez up from the motel that night, believing she had caught an airplane in, like on her first visit. He was pushing a black whip, with dark tinted windows. I was relieved to see that he’d come alone to pick up Inez.

  I followed in the rental car at a safe distance until King and Inez pulled into the driveway of a large white house.

  I drove on by, looking for a nice, quiet place to park and wait.

  It was a long, nervous, hour wait that seemed like four hours. I got rawed-up a little on powder, to put myself in that indestructale mode.

  This setup was a dangerous one. I’d have no one to watch my back.

  Plus, I’d be depending on Inez to execute her end properly. A lot of trust to put in a novice. If one thing went wrong, I could end up in a box. I’d drilled it in Inez that she couldn’t allow King to leave the bedroom once she’d made the call.

  “You’ll have to call me again if he does,” I’d lectured her. “And if he has music in his bedroom, turn it on so he won’t hear me climbing the stairs, not loud, though. I need to be able to hear. Make sure you swipe his door keys and drop them out the bathroom window. Wrap ‘em in a white towel so they’ll be easy to find.” I had told her.

  My cell phone twerped.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s all good,” she whispered.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. Wait about fifteen minutes before you come.”

  “Don’t forget to drop the keys. Is there an alarm?”

  “I’ve already dropped them. The alarm is off.” The anxiety had her on edge.

  “Are you sure the alarm is off?”

  “Yeah! It’s inside the front door. I turned it off when he went to the kitchen to fix our drinks. I gotta go!”

  “Wait! Where’s the bedroom, when I come upstairs?” Inez hurriedly whispered directions. I could hear tap water running in the background.

  “Call back if he leaves the bedroom,” I reminded her.

  “I will!” she assured me before disconnecting.

  Finding the white towel in the dark of night was no problem.

  Figuring out which key opened the front door took a few seconds. But I was inside fast. No alarm blaring.

  I tiptoed up the stairs, street sweeper in hand, ready to blast away anything that moved. Anything!

  Soft lamp-light illuminated the bed on which they laid, under covers.

  Inez saw me first.

  I put a finger to my lips. Still, she screamed.

  King rolled off of her, butt ass naked, and faced the masked gunman. Me.

  “Move and you die!” I barked.

  The nigga surprised the hell out of me when he grabbed Inez and covered his body with hers, simultaneously choking her from behind.

  “Fool! This will shoot through your bitch!” I bluffed.

  “Ahhh!” he suddenly yelped. Inez had bitten a plug out of his forearm. He let her go and she scrambled out of bed and then hurried into her clothes.

  I made King lie on his stomach and put his hands behind his back.

  I took a pair of handcuffs from my pocket and told Inez to cuff him.

  Shawdy wasn’t nervous.

  I then duct-taped his ankles together and removed the mask from over my face. I wanted to see his expression when he realized he had seriously underestimated me.

  But that was a mistake. ‘Cause now he knew he was gonna die and refused to tell me where his stash was at.

  It didn’t matter, I’d find it if it was there at the house.

  I taped King’s mouth and told Inez to go find a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

  She could only find Peroxide. That was cool. I poured the peroxide over the bite mark on King’s arm to wash away Inez’ saliva and DNA. Then I told her to take the peroxide and go wipe down everything she’d touched in the house, plus the inside of King’s car.

  “When you’re finished, wait for me downstairs.”

  “Rich Kid says hello!” I antagonized my prey. I taped his feet to his hands behind his back. It had to be painful, King was a big man.

  Then I searched his house, room by room, looking for a safe, or money hid in closets, drawers, shoes, behind pictures, everywhere.

  As I half-expected, I found rolls of money inside of suit jackets and stuffed in the toe of shoes. But the big prize was the safe in the attic.

  The problem was, I couldn’t lift the safe by myself and King wasn’t giving up the combination. Not even after I rammed the muzzle of the street sweeper up his ass! So I had to send Inez up the street to get the car.

  There was no way I was leaving the safe behind. Together, it still took Inez and me thirty minutes to get the safe down the stairs and loaded into the rental car.

  I had her go back and wipe down the house again ‘cause she hadn’t worn gloves as I had. She also had to pick up her broken fingernails. Though
the neighboring homes were spaced a good distance apart, we worked quietly. When we were finished I told Inez to go wait in the car.

  I went back upstairs to say goodbye to King.

  CHAPTER 32

  Back in Atlanta, I met with Rich Kid and collected the twenty-five G’s he had promised me for completing the hit.

  With Lonnie’s help I found someone to blow torch the door off of the safe I’d taken from King. But I didn’t allow the welder to look inside the safe after his job was executed. I paid him and hurried him along.

  Then, alone at Inez’ crib I tallied up the loot. Adding the money from the safe with all the loot I’d found hidden inside of closets at King’s house, the total came to $890,075.00! When I added the eight kilos I’d also found at King’s house, plus the twenty-five grand Rich Kid had just paid me, plus the loot I’d already had stashed at home in the freezer, I was a young millionaire!

  I had hit the fuckin’ stickup kid’s lottery!

  I was so excited, my dick got hard.

  “Yeah!” I ran around Inez’ crib screaming like a crazy man, beating my chest and high-fiving the air.

  If hos thought I was hard on ‘em before, how would they like me now?

  What could they do with a young, rich nigga? Nothing!

  I calmed down long enough to pack the loot in garbage bags and put the bags inside of my whip. There was no way I was letting Inez see how much had been inside of the safe. The bitch might have wanted half.

  I drove the money and dope to my crib, nervous as a mafucka, praying po-po wouldn’t get behind me and pull me over.

  Thankfully, I felt at the time, I made it home without incident.

  Cheryl was in the living room with the kids, feeding Chanté milk from a plastic bottle. Eryka crawled ran to me as soon as I stepped through the door. “Da Da! Da! Da!” she cried with excitement.

  I dropped the two heavy garbage bags and scooped my lil’ princess up in my arms. I rained kisses all over her fat, chubby cheeks. Then I sat her back down on the floor, dashed back to the whip to retrieve the other bags.

  When I got back inside of the apartment, curious Eryka was pulling stacks of money out of one of the garbage bags I’d left on the living room floor and putting the roll of money to her mouth.

  “Why the fuck you lettin’ her put that nasty money in her mouth?” I shouted at Cheryl.

  “You’re the one who left it where she can reach it!” Cheryl shouted back and got up to haul Eryka over to the couch.

  Eryka cried at the top of her little lungs. “Leave my lil’ princess alone.” I snatched my daughter from Cheryl’s clutch. “C’mon, honey bunny. Help daddy count his riches.”

  Later, I went out and bought two medium-sized safes to stash the money in. Of course, I’d waited ‘til dark to carry the safes into my apartment.

  All of the money wouldn’t fit inside the two safes, so I stored some inside of the freezer with my other stash.

  I gave Lonnie fifty Gs and a whole kilo. Just ‘cause he was my tightman. Inez got fifty G’s, too. She never asked how much was inside of the safe. I sold the other seven kilos to Murder Mike for one hundred grand. It sort of surprised me that he was sitting on that much cash.

  I had been prepared to have to wait until he flipped the dope to get paid in full. But Murder had all the loot, up front. Playboy was definitely on-the-rise. He asked if I was pushing weight for Rich Kid. Said he had heard me and Rich Kid was airtight.

  “We’re cool,” I admitted, “but I ain’t on his team like dat.” After a pause, I asked, “Why? You and Rich Kid got beef?”

  “Naw, main man. I was just wondering,” he said. But I didn’t believe him. Whatever. It wasn’t my concern.

  CHAPTER 33

  Now that I was sitting on grown-up money, I could afford to relax a while and ponder my options: How could I make the mil’ grow and last a lifetime?

  First and foremost, I wanted Cheryl out of my crib and able to support herself. I decided I’d rush her into applying for Section 8 housing. Once she was awarded it, I’d furnish her crib and let her have the Maxima. I’d also pay for her to attend beauty school since she liked to do hair. That way, once she completed school, she could get a job and support herself.

  I felt that was more than I owed the lazy bitch. She seemed to embrace my plans for her, but wanted to wait until Chanté was a few months older before going to beauty school. By then, her Section 8 application would be approved.

  I gave my apartment manager a thousand dollars, under the table, to allow Cheryl and the kids to remain living with me for three more months.

  Once they were settled in good, I took Inez and her daughter on a weekend cruise to the Bahamas.

  We had a nice time, though it would’ve been better if Inez and I had gone alone. ‘Cause her daughter definitely wasn’t feeling me! I guess she was a daddy’s girl and disliked the fact that some man other than Fat Stan was dicking her mama. I wasn’t trying to play step-pop, though. So I just made it through the weekend, ignoring the little brat as much as possible. There was no sense in trying to get the little girl to like me, shortie wasn’t having that! Her mom was carrying my seed and my secrets, so I’d have to deal with Fat Stan’s daughter, from time to time. No problem.

  Still I was glad when the cruise was over.

  Not long after returning from the Bahamas, I whipped up to Shan’s front door in the brand new SL-500 Benz drop that I’d just recently purchased. The exterior was bowling ball black, chrome trimmings, light gray, pillow-soft interior, DVD players in the dash and in the back of both front seat headrests.

  I was rocking blue denim Phat Farm, matching jersey and beige Timbs. Mad bling hanging from my left ear, neck and both wrists. My grill was polished and my braids were fresh.

  Lil’ T was dressed in Phat Farm gear that matched mine, his hair was braided, too. A small diamond in his left earlobe, riding shotgun with his pops.

  Inez was in the backseat, alone, having surrendered the front passenger seat to my son. She was fly in tight, hip-hugging jeans, cut at the navel jacket and a lace bra. She was iced-to-the-max, too.

  Lil’ Terrence had spent the past few days with us, but now I was returning him to Shan after a day at the carnival.

  I honked the horn so I wouldn’t have to knock on Shan’s door.

  The door swung open and ugly ass Shotgun Pete, who was home from doing county time, stood in the doorway. He recognized it was me, stepped back into the apartment and then Shan came outside to meet Lil’ T and help him take the prizes he had won inside of the crib.

  Inez got out the backseat and into the front, letting Shan peep her profile. I guessed it was a girl thing.

  Shan lived in a hood spot so mad mafuckaz was outside, doing nothing. Hos were eating me up with their eyes. Niggaz were doing the same to Inez.

  When I took the dirt bike I’d bought for Lil’ T out of the trunk, my jersey rose up, revealing the heater on my waist. I purposely left it uncovered in case niggaz were sizing me up for a jack, letting them know I stayed strapped.

  I dropped Inez off at her crib and whipped over to Englewood to cop some weed since Inez hadn’t any. Too bad the Ribs Lady had been killed, I could’ve gone for a couple of her dinners.

  I bought an ounce of ‘dro from the niggaz by the b-ball court and whiped back through the horseshoe, profilin’ in my drop. Fiona and ‘em waved me over.

  They came up to the whip in a cluster.

  “I like your new car,” one of them said.

  “Thanks.” I nodded at her.

  “You heard about junkie Blue, didn’t you?” Fiona asked me.

  I told her naw, I’d been out of town.

  “They arrested him for killing the Ribs Lady, and for almost killing her adopted daughter.”

  “Word?”

  “Un-huh,” they all said in unison.

  “Damn!” I was shaking my head.

  “They also found Hannibal’s body floating in a lake. He had been missing for weeks,” Fiona
reported. “I got the newspaper article right here,” one of her friends chimed in and then handed me the article from her purse.

  I turned off the ignition and quickly read the article. All the article really said was that Hannibal DeFabio and his alleged righthand man, Shawn Price, bodies were discovered floating faced-down in a lake in North Georgia.

  Damn! Hannibal had got caught slippin’.

  He’d pissed somebody off or else he’d been in the way of somebody’s come-up. I handed shawdy the news article back and let them all fawn over my drop for awhile.

  “Which two of y’all wanna go with me to the motel, get high and get our freak on—menagé trois-style?”

  Fiona said, “Hmmph!” But four of her friends were with it.

  I chose the finest two and dipped.

  At the Embassy Suites hotel, out by Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport, Keisha, Angel, and me smoked ‘dro and drank E&J. We all got nice and mellow, not too high. I turned the radio to a station playing love music and told them to get naked and dance with each other.

  Angel hestitated, but got on with the program when she saw Keisha coming out of her clothes.

  Keisha was five-seven and weighed about 125 pounds. Her skin was dark, like molasses, smooth like satin. She had a mouthful of titties with dark brown nipples. The hair on her pussy was a neat mass of silk. If I had to compare her to anyone, I would say she closely resembled the rapper Foxy Brown.

  Angel was a Charli Baltimore clone, red hair and all, even the small patch of hair over her plump pussy mound was red. Her titties were small but perky, with long nipples that stayed hard. She had a handful of freckles scattered about her light skin, adding uniqueness to her nakedness. An earring hung down from where I guessed her clit would be.