With only one remaining parent left, Netta couldn’t get her father out of her mind. It was time to seek him out. She wondered whether or not she was doing the right thing. Would he even acknowledge her as his daughter? Would he deny her very existence, forever leaving her a bastard child? She could ponder these questions forever, but there was only one way to find out for sure.
One thing that her mother had been absolutely right about was the popularity of her father. Dollar’s name was still ringing bells after all these years. Locating his whereabouts was easy. She simply asked some prominent hustlers she knew, and they told her about a bar he owned in South B-More. It was a popular hangout for old timers on Saturday nights.
The following Saturday night, Netta went to Sandtown and slipped into Legend’s. The bar was packed so she blended right in with the regulars. The party atmosphere inside the bar took on a late 60’s flavor, with all the old Motown records being played real loud. This was like a paradise for old hustlers who managed to survive in the game. Here they could relax and reminisce over days gone by.
Netta found herself a seat in the corner, where she sat nursing a drink. Patiently, she watched and waited for the man called Dollar. Since she didn’t have a clue as to what he looked like, she examined every man closely. Anyone of them could be her father. She scanned the sea of faces looking for the slightest sign of physical resemblance. She saw none. Netta soon realized that her hearing would be her guide and her greatest asset, since her eyes might possible deceive her. She began to listen intently for the name Dollar.
About an hour later, in walks a tall handsome dark-skinned man. On his arm was an attractive brown-skinned young lady. He made a grand entrance and was greeted by a chorus of greetings.
“Hey, Dollar Bill! What’s happening?” one man yelled.
“Yo, Dollar! Long time no see,” another said.
He was the life of the party. He joked and mingled with mostly all of the patrons in his bar.
Standing a few feet away from Netta, Dollar chatted with some of his old partners. She was tempted to walk over and tap him on the shoulder and introduce herself.
But what do I say? What would he do? Would he be angry or happy to meet me? Doubt crept back into her mind and she hesitated.
Netta knew that a conversation with her father would only raise more questions than he could possible answer. It was obvious that he didn’t give a damn about her or Renee.
How would a relationship with him benefit me now? she asked herself. Where was he when I really needed him? When I was messed up in the game, living in the projects and stealing food and clothes, where the hell was he?
Netta watched her father for a few more minutes, then got up and made her way to the door. Before she left, she glanced back over at the man they all called Dollar. She took a long hard look at her father.
“Goodbye motherfucker. Have a nice life,” she said under her breath before turning her back to leave. Now she could bring this chapter of her life to a close. She never wanted to see that stranger again.
Anxious to put the past behind her, Netta moved out of her apartment. She was trying to escape all the death and drama she’d experienced while living in that house. First Major, then her mother. She decided to invest a little of her newfound wealth. She wanted to own her own home. This way she would have a permanent roof over her head. She purchased a newly renovated two-story row-home in West Baltimore on Monroe and Fayette Street. She purchased the house dirt cheap because the neighborhood was so bad.
Before long, Netta and Mimi were hanging tough again, but things had changed now. Mimi was no longer the same naive person she had been. She got wiser and was playing more ballers than a Rutgers’ game. The Pussy Pound looked up to Mimi; she was their leader. To them, she was the shit. It didn’t take long though for Netta to wrestle away control. Mimi looked up to Netta, so naturally everyone else followed suit. At times their different personalities clashed, and they seemed to compete for dominance of the Pussy Pound. Mentally stronger Netta won out. She got them to see and do things her way. She organized the clique, teaching them as she taught Mimi how to work hustlers.
As a group, they would go on to make the Pussy Pound famous. Before Netta took over, they were running around fucking corner hustlers. Cats that had champagne taste and beer money. Netta taught them how to get paid. Like a madam, she directed traffic, steering all the big boys with big names and big cars toward her clique. In a matter of months—instead of just Netta and Mimi having their own cars—Fila, Petey and Rasheeda all had new luxury cars too.
Pretty soon, the Pussy Pound’s names were ringing in the streets of B-More, as loud as the hustlers. They were known for showing hustlers a real good time. Whatever was clever with them, behind closed doors anything goes.
Everything was all good, but eventually jealously reared its ugly head. Mimi was quietly pissed that she was no longer the focal point of the clique. Upstaged by her friend, she felt Netta stole her shine. She put this thing together and yet it was Netta who got all the glory.
It was Friday night and Volcano’s Nightclub was packed. Of course the Pussy Pound was in the house strutting their stuff in three-quarter length mink coats. There were a lot of fine and fly females in the club that night, but Netta and Mimi were stars among stars they were trying to catch. Tonight was business as usual. You got to pay to play.
For Black, this was truly a rare night out for him. It was his twenty-fifth birthday. He was accompanied by his right-hand man, Ty. Here he was, the notorious Black, in the flesh at Volcano’s after being on the down low for months. He’d been the source of too much drama to be partying and he was too hot to get caught slippin’ at some club. Too many people wanted him dead. His name had been linked with too many murders and too many shootings. Now that the heat had died down somewhat, he was free to make a public appearance. It was like he hadn’t missed a beat. Everybody still recognized who he was, a ghetto superstar. One of the top money-making cats in all of B-More, bar none. His name struck fear in the hearts of his enemies, while women openly lusted after him.
Dipped out in ice and platinum, both Black and Ty turned heads. They loved all the attention they received. The envious stares from other hustlers, and the flirtatious grins of the ladies, made his dick hard. Figuratively, Black owned the club. Even with the lights dimmed, his platinum link chain, diamond encrusted cross, platinum presidential Rolex with the diamond bezel, his two pinky five-carat diamond rings and the R. Kelly flashlights in his ears all illuminated from his body like fire flies. Black was giving it to them, and yes, he was hot walking around in that full-length black mink, but he didn’t dare take it off. He was strapped. Ty, his right-hand man, likewise was bejeweled and wearing a full-length white mink. As they walked through the club, people parted like the Red Sea to let them pass. While looking for a quiet spot to chill, Ty suddenly suggested that they head for the bar.
“It’s ya birthday, Black. Let me buy you a drink, yo,” Ty said, excitedly.
“Whatever, yo. That’s what’s up,” answered Black.
“We goin’ do it up tonight. Everything is one me,” Ty said, like he was sayin’ something. The fact of the matter was that Black was the one with the long money. He was the boss and Ty was the help. He could buy anything, or anyone, in that club many times over. If true money talked, then Black’s paper was shoutin’.
At the bar, Netta and Mimi were attracting plenty of attention of their own. Having shed their mink coats, they were showing off their tight-fitting Versace dresses. They brushed aside smaller hustlers in search of those that could put their weight up, hustlers with long money. They waited and watched, making idle chitchat while enjoying their drinks. In their own little world, they never saw Black and Ty slide up beside them at the bar.
But when they glanced over and saw Black, instantly they both recognized him. This was a chance meeting. Rumors had been circulating some time now that Black was dead, but the rumors about his demise had been greatly exaggerated because there he was standing right there in the flesh. Netta made her move on some smart luck strategy, seizing the opportunity and throwing herself at him.
“Ooh, that’s a nice cross. Can I see it?” she said, complementing him on his taste in jewels.
Without answering, Black stepped around Mimi until he was within Netta’s reach. Gently, she reached out and picked up the cross off his chest as if it had been touched by God. Cradling it in her hand, she admired it. As he marveled at her physical beauty, they both had each other’s full attention. Black liked what he saw in Netta; Mimi was an afterthought. Netta had two attributes he loved in a woman: aggressiveness and pretty dark skin. Dark-skinned women turned him on. The ‘darker the berry, the sweeter the juice’ was his motto. In his mind, there was no question who he wanted. The decision was made, and Black chose Netta. Within minutes, Netta and Black were openly flirting, and Mimi had no choice but to play the cut.
After she finished inspecting his medallion, Netta carefully placed it back on his chest.
“Damn, if I had ya hand, I’d throw mines in,” she sighed, throwing game and giving him a devilish grin.
“Girlfriend, ya hand the best hand. You looking like one in a million. By the way, I’m Black, Shorty. What’s your name?” he asked, looking her up and down.
“Netta,” she said, without hesitating. Turning, she added, “This is my girl, Mimi.”
At this point, Black introduced Ty to Mimi and the group split in two. Each was engrossed in their own conversations. While Netta had bagged the grand prize, Mimi had to settle for the consolation, Ty. He wasn’t chump change, but he wasn’t Black either. Netta had beaten her to the punch, and boy, was she heated.