As Trill cruised through the little hick town of Ashland, he consciously abided by all the laws. It didn’t matter, though, because the sheriff was sure he had hit the lotto when he spotted his mark: a young black male driving a $60,000 truck. The Hummer happened to be Sheriff Bowman Body’s dream truck. A truck he could only dream of having with his salary, and he despised the fact that some punk who probably never even finished high school was riding around in it.
Trill could have been wearing a priest’s collar, but as far as Bowman Body was concerned, he was a drug dealer and a prime victim of the monthly driving citation quota. Before Trill could think twice, the sheriff’s blue lights were bouncing off of his rearview mirror.
“Fuck!” Trill shouted. He beat his hand on the steering wheel as he spat the word out. He quickly looked down and, after making sure that his secret hiding place was secure, then pulled over. He watched from his side mirror as the small, thin-featured sheriff approached the car. His walk was like Forrest Gump but his look was the Terminator, coming to devour.
“License and registration, boy!” the sheriff said with authority as he knocked on the driver’s side window.
Trill rolled down the window halfway. “No problem, Officer,” he responded, and leaned forward to the glove box to retrieve his registration.
“Freeze!” The sheriff drew his gun and stuck his hand inside the car.
Stunned, Trill slowly eased back into the driver’s seat until he felt the tip of the sheriff’s revolver at his temple.
“I was going for my registration, man,” Trill said slowly. “Don’t most people keep their registration in the glove box?”
“You trying to get fresh with me, nigger?” The sheriff cocked his gun.
Trill could feel his blood boiling. Given the opportunity, he would leave the racist redneck stinkin’ on the hood of his own police cruiser for his fellow officers to scrape him off.
“You would think that you niggers would know the drill by now, and have these things prepared,” the sheriff drawled boldly. “As much shit as y’all stay in, you’d think y’all would pin the damn registration to your collars. Now slowly,” Bowman Body said, “open the glove box and retrieve the registration.” He paused before adding, “And I said slowly, not like you grabbing for the last piece of chicken out of a bucket of Colonel Sanders.”
Trill smelled the scent of trouble like shit from a three-hundred-pound man who just got an enema. He knew Barney Fife was gon’ fuck with him until he came up with a reason good enough to stick him. Trill was fully aware that the four thousand grams of crack cocaine in his hiding spot was 3,400 grams more than enough to get him a mandatory life sentence in a federal penitentiary. His intincts told him that he didn’t want to trust his life on the chance that this hillbilly didn’t impound the truck and stumble up on the stash box. He had to make a move. His next move would be crucial. A convicted felon caught with four kilos of crack cocaine was not a good look. He couldn’t take that chance; that was reason enough to give Bowman Body a run for his money. And he intended to do just that.
Trill grabbed the registration from the glove box and turned to hand it to the sheriff. When the sheriff reached inside the truck with his free hand and grabbed hold of the registration, Trill quickly hit the switch to roll the window up while he floored the accelerator at the same time. The powerful Hummer snatched the sheriff off his feet so fast he dropped the pistol, screaming while Trill put the pedal to the metal.
“Who the fuck reaching now? Get yo’ hand out the chicken box, cracker!” Trill screamed at Bowman Body. “Get yo’ shit out my chicken box, motherfucker!” His adrenaline was pumping, having the upper hand. He knew if he was caught he was gone for life. So he was going out like a real-live gangsta—with a mean fight.
He drove the Humdinger like he was on safari in Africa; the sheriff hung from the side of the car, holding on for dear life, slamming into the door every now and then as the truck dragged him at sixty miles an hour down the road. He went from Barney Fife to Barney Rubble as he ran alongside the automobile.
Bowman Body was swinging from side to side, praying and calling out every scripture in the Bible he’d ever known from his childhood days of going to Vacation Bible School. Once Trill felt like he was deep enough in the sticks and had room and leeway to run and hide, he pushed the window’s button down to release the sheriff and slammed on the brakes, throwing the sheriff face first to the ground.
Trill knew that the truck was going to be hot and keeping the beautiful machine would not be an option. This was most likely the only deserted stretch of road he was going to find. He grabbed a piece just in case he had to go to war, pulled off the road and got out of the truck. When Trill opened up the door, Bowman Body was crawling on his belly like a frontline soldier. He was relentless and wasn’t going to give up easily. He managed to lunge forward and grab Trill’s leg to try to slow him down. Trill laughed at first. He couldn’t believe the motherfucker was on his heels. But after he tried to wiggle his leg loose to no avail, he got pissed off.
Trill kicked the sheriff in his face with his new Timbs. Bowman Body’s head hit a rock, causing him to bleed like Rick Flair in a cage match. Blood gushed out all over the pavement. Trill didn’t waste time. Although his shoes had blood on them, he took off running like a jaguar in the wild. He was mad that he didn’t have on the fresh Jordans that he copped earlier from the mall, but Timbs were good in any kind of weather.
It was unlikely that the police would find the drugs, but if they did, it wouldn’t matter. Trill’s only concern at this point was to get away. He took comfort in knowing that the registered owner of the vehicle didn’t know him from a can of paint. He’d paid a friend to pay a friend $10,000 to put the Hummer in their name. Maybe the best $10,000 he’d ever spent; it pays to think ahead.
It felt like hours as Trill trudged through the trees, mud, rocks and small streams of water. Out of breath and panting, he found a tree to rest against. He knew that he would be there until sundown. Some hunter stopped to help the sheriff, and of course by now backup was on the way, but at least Trill had gotten a fairly decent head start. But no sooner had Trill thought the fading sun was his answer than he heard a sound that put him on the run again. And he needed to move fast. Trill knew he had to shed some weight. As much as he hated to part with it, the first thing to go was his brand-new chinchilla jacket.
The sound of bloodhounds let Trill know that backup and probably some deputized citizens with shotguns were on the scent of his trail. He wasn’t too much worried about the bloodhounds; his main concern was them redneck hillbillies who could smell a nigga a mile away. The manhunt was on.
As the pursuit continued, Trill knew that they were closing in on him. Not only was the sound of the hounds getting closer, he could hear the hum of a helicopter entering the area. He couldn’t see it yet, but the sound of the whirling blades were distinctive. And just because he couldn’t see it didn’t mean that it couldn’t see him. He knew he was doomed. But he trudged through the woods anyway, hoping no one in the distant houses would see him and give him up. He had no idea where he was going or where he’d end up. The only destination he had in mind was to get the fuck out of redneck county!
As Sunni stood in her kitchen warming up some leftover hot wings from the day before, she went to wash off the sauce that had gotten on her hands. As she looked out of the window over the sink, she could have sworn that she saw something. It was dark, and the light was on in the kitchen, so she could barely see. She flipped the light switch off, allowing her a better view of the rear of her house, and there it was again. It was a person; a black man, and then she zeroed in on the helicopter overhead. When she looked back down from the helicopter, she found herself staring into the eyes of someone in her backyard. She jumped, and a scream slipped out, but then she felt a sense of familiarity. It was the same guy from the Hummer earlier, the one who had given her a visual orgasm at the stoplight.
She knew for a fact that he wasn’t volunteering on the manhunt—a black man in this neck of the woods, after sundown? Hell no! Oh, she thought, this brother is definitely being hunted. Sunni knew that if he was caught only one of two things could happen: one, he would be shot dead on the spot, another black man out of the running; or two, he would go straight to jail and the key would be thrown away.
Guydamn, Sunni contemplated. Why’d he have to end up on my doorstep? What am I supposed to do?
As she watched him looking for a way out, somewhere to run, his face clammy with sweat, her heart went out to him. She quickly ran to the back door, unlocked it and called out, “Come on, come on, I got you!” She waved her arm, motioning him to hurry up.
She shook her head, knowing that she had let her emotions override her intellect for a man once again. Hopefully, this time it won’t turn out as bad for her as it did the last time.
Upon seeing the door open, Trill ran inside. He couldn’t believe it. He knew that it was only a matter of seconds before they had his black butt hemmed in. This lady being here at the right place, at the right time—he didn’t know if it was a setup or what. But for now he was grateful to be able to get some heat and a spot to hide. She slammed the door shut, locking both the security door and the entry door.
He inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath. “Damn, you saved my ass. Anybody see me?”
Sunni looked out the still open blinds in the kitchen. She separated the blinds just enough to peek out. The coast appeared to be clear. Sunni then closed all the blinds in her house and drew the drapes.
“You can hang out here if you need to,” Sunni said flatly when she returned to the kitchen. “You need to use the phone or something?”
“Naw, I just need to lay low and chill for a minute,” Trill said and then plopped down on her oversized yellow chaise, exhausted, dehydrated and hungry. Then he thought again. “You got a cell?”
Sunni nodded as she reached for her cell and handed it to him. She listened as he gave someone demands to report his truck stolen. After Trill ended the call, he sat there with a bit of slight anxiety, thinking about the stash box, wondering if the tow company would find it and rip it off. Sunni noticed that his mind was somewhere else, so she tried to redirect his attention.
“Well, I was just about to eat some hot wings,” she said casually. “Have some?”
“You got something cold to drink?” he asked. Writing off any negative thoughts about the drugs being gone, he knew he had the best secret hiding place money could buy.
“Sure.” She walked over to a cabinet that sat behind the yellow love seat. She opened the refrigerator, introducing a complete stock of liquor, most of which hadn’t been uncapped. She then hollered back to Trill.
“I have Coke, Sprite, Corona, Hennessey, Moët, Remy, Grey Goose, orange juice, basically whatever you want,” Sunni said, naming the drinks as she scanned the fridge then glanced over to her bar.
“Hennie’s good, give me a shot of that on ice.” He could feel her eyes burning into him, so he added, “Please.”
As she grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured Trill’s drink, she decided that maybe she’d have a drink, too. No use in having dude drinking alone, she thought. After pouring herself a Grey Goose and cranberry, she headed to the kitchen and grabbed some ice from the freezer. When she closed the freezer door and went to turn around, Trill was already standing in the kitchen. He pulled off his sweater and tossed it across the chair beside him as if he lived there. Trill’s body caught Sunni off guard. Seeing him in that black wife beater, she could see he’d definitely spent a lot of time working on his body. Penitentiary body, she thought as he drank the Henni like it was a shot.
“You mind?” he asked, referring to the wing he had grabbed off the plate on the table. Then with the same cockiness, he dipped it in the homemade sauce she’d made earlier.
“No, go on,” she replied as she watched him take a bite of the wing.
The way he sucked that chicken sent chills up her spine. She watched him put the wing in his mouth and pull off all the meat—with one bite, it was down to the bone.
Okay, she thought. That mouth could be a useful tool. “I didn’t know being on the run made you that damn hungry,” she said as she picked up a wing herself.
Trill looked her over for a couple of seconds. “What’s your name?” he asked in between chicken wings. While he waited for her reply, he continued looking her over and focused in on her perky nipples under the T-shirt she was wearing that read, “Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?”
“Sunni,” she responded, licking some of the sauce off of her lips.
“When’s your birthday?”
“What?” she asked, puzzled.
“Your birthday, when is it?” he repeated.
“September first. Why?”
“Was wondering was you born on a sunny day.” He looked around as if he was looking for something specific. Once he spotted the roll of paper towels, he walked over, grabbed one and wiped his hands.
“Actually it was raining.”
He nodded as he walked over to her refrigerator, opened it and began rummaging through it to see what was in there.
“Go ahead and make yourself at home,” Sunni said sarcastically. She shook her head as if to say, This shit don’t make no sense.
“Thank you, I think I will.” He grabbed a container of fruit punch.
He shook it and, since there seemed to only be enough for one cup, just put the carton up to his mouth and swallowed the last of its contents. He then scanned the kitchen to find the trash can. When he didn’t see one, he handed Sunni the empty carton.
“Yo, take care of that for me,” he said, followed by a loud belch. She stood, looked at him and rolled her eyes.
“No you didn’t,” she said—but she put it in the trash.
In a matter of minutes, the humbleness that had come through the door with Trill was gone. He was back in the role of the boss, calling all the shots. Headed back out of the kitchen to give himself a tour of Sunni’s house, he had a sudden thought.
“Yo,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t even ask if you had some nigga coming home. I’d hate to have to get buck with a nigga for a little misunderstanding,” he stated as he continued his stride, walking through the downstairs of Sunni’s house with authority, admiring the bright yellow color scheme she had going on. Sunni was right on his heels like he was a bull in a china shop, making sure he didn’t make himself at home with none of her stuff. Trill noticed how everything in her house was somehow connected to the color yellow, which made sense since her name was Sunni.
“Hell no,” he said with a snicker. “Ain’t no nigga coming here.” He turned to look at her. “Well, let me rephrase that, ain’t no real nigga livin’ like this.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought until another one quickly replaced it. “Seriously though, you expecting any company, any of your girls stopping by?”
Sunni had her arms folded across her chest, “For the most part, my house is off limits. I don’t really do much entertaining.”
“I like that.” Trill nodded with approval.
Sunni rolled her neck. Like I need this nigga’s consent to have company in my daggone house, she thought. Who the fuck do this dude think he is anyway?
“You done came in and took over my house, walking around my shit,” she said, pointing to her chest, “like you pay bills here and I don’t even know your name.”
“Trill,” he replied firmly and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, too, and if I ever needed to or wanted to, Miss Lady, I could pay bills here. And since you done brought it up…” He went in his pockets and pulled out two stacks of money. “I can pay you for your kind hospitality.”
“Naw, you go ahead and keep that. I can hold my owns. Believe that!” she said with an attitude.
“I hear you, ma.” Trill put his money away with a grin. “What is it that you do to hold your own?” He looked around at the nice contents of Sunni’s home. “You moving weight or something?”
“No, I own my own salon, darling,” Sunni said proudly. “Sunny Delight.”
“Oh, that’s what’s up,” Trill said as he kicked his Timbs off and sat down on the yellow sofa. “You got a nice place here.” He put his feet up on the coffee table and spread his arms on top of the sofa making himself real comfortable.
“Look, get yo’ guydamn feet off of my table. Nigga, are you crazy?” Sunni snapped. She had had enough of this disrespectful clown and had a mind to throw his ass right back out to the wolves except that it wasn’t in her character to hand over a black man to the police.
Not budging a bit, Trill looked up at her and signaled her to come sit down. “Come here. Relax.” He patted the spot next to him. “Come sit next to me and tell Big Trill what got you so stressed.”
Already, Trill could tell that Sunni had many layers of hostility, but he had enough confidence to try to penetrate through the shield. He was sure there was hope. If there wasn’t, she never would have opened up the door for him in the first place. There’s more to her than meets the naked eye, he mused.
“Nigga, yo’ ass was on the fucking run and you come in up in my shit taking over like you the damn president and now you want me to come and—”
He cut her off. “I like it when you get aggressive. Finally, some personality. See, most women don’t challenge me. They won’t stand up to a shot-calling, boss nigga like myself.”
“That’s because ‘most’ women don’t know any better. They want what you got in your pockets. So, they’ll stroke your ego however and do whatever.”
“How you know they don’t want what’s in my pants?” he asked with a cocky demeanor.
She laughed. “That lil’ shit?” Boldly, she walked over to him and touched his manhood, which took him by surprise.
“You can’t fuck wit’ it.” He laughed, putting his hand on his dick.
Sunni sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Nigga, get something for me to fuck with.” The talk alone was making Sunni hot as a hooker on dollar day. She hadn’t had dick in a bunch of months of Sundays. When men were concerned, normally, her guards were up higher than the Great Wall of China.
Sunni had learned to do without the emotional heartaches that came with men; as long as she could get the clit licked she was A-OK with that. Penetration wasn’t a biggie for her, especially not with any ol’ local nigga. That she saved. She often asked herself, save it for what? But as sexy as Trill’s lips and his overall persona were, she felt he wasn’t the average Joe Blow. She looked him over as he sat clutching his dick like it was a prized possession. Nice strong hands…hmm, average, Sunni thought. Cocky and street with a hint of attractiveness about it…cool. A perfectly good dick that fell out of the sky and into my living room…PRICELESS!
“Yo,” Trill said, interrupting Sunni’s thoughts. “Give me some fresh ice for my drink and hand me that remote.”
“You betta get that shit yourself since you seemed to have made yourself at home anyway.”
“Cater to me, ma.” Trill winked. “I got you, I told you that already. I’ma look out for you real decent before I leave.”
“I already told you, I don’t need your lil’ handouts.” Sunni put her hands on her hips.
“Naw, baby, you don’t have a choice. I always pays my way,” Trill said, shaking his head and holding his hand out for her to give him the remote.
The phone rang, and Sunni was glad. She needed the distraction. Although she should have been putting his tail out of her house, there was something about his confidence and take-charge attitude that did something to her. She was intrigued with him, but to protect her emotions she wanted to get rid of Trill soon. He was starting to make her feel as if she wasn’t in control. She was beginning to quiver just a little. This man had no idea how long it had been for her—she didn’t have time to play games.
As Sunni sashayed away to get the phone, Trill watched her move across the room toward the cordless phone. The word “Juicy” was printed across the ass of her pants. Sunni wasn’t the only one getting hot. This chick had his dick hard like he was still back in the joint. Or maybe it was just a mix of being on the run and now running into her. She’d already told him she didn’t have a man coming home, so both his big and little heads were beginning to make plans for the two of them. She looked as juicy and meaty as the chicken wings. Though she was looking rough from a hard day’s work, he could see her natural beauty. For some reason the girl from the movie Belly popped in his head.
When she got near the phone, she noticed that the receiver wasn’t in the base of the charger so she walked into the kitchen real quick and grabbed the phone in the entryway that was mounted to the wall.
“Good evening,” Sunni answered.
The voice came through the earpiece loud and clear. It was Ta-Ta.
“Sunni…girl, yo’ ass left too early!” Ta-Ta shot through the phone, sucking on her tongue ring as she said each word.
“Why? Is everything okay?” Sunni said, turning her back to Trill as she handled her business.
“Yes, but Beatrice had the nerve to show her face in here again after she ain’t paid booth rent in two months. Talkin’ ’bout she coming to get her shit out yo’ office.”
“What?” Sunni couldn’t believe this shit was happening now. “I’m on my way up there now, Takesha.”
“Nawww, girl.” Ta-Ta sucked her teeth. “Hell naw! You don’t have to come nowhere. Please believe that yo’ girl had that shit on lock. Don’t no beeyotch come through these doors with the white man.”
“The white man?” Sunni raised her voice in astonishment. Trill got up and moved in closer to hear what Sunni was talking about. Sunni took her ear away from the phone, placed her hand over the receiver so that Ta-Ta couldn’t hear what she was about to say and then whispered to Trill. “It’s just some shop bullshit,” she said, easing the look Trill had on his face, “no need to worry.”
“Go ahead and handle yo’ business,” Trill said with a nod. “I like a woman in control of hers.”
Trill listened to Sunni converse with Ta-Ta for a few more minutes. He could tell by her tone that she was definitely in control of her business. This was his chance. He’d catch her phat ass off guard.
He started to walk away but then maneuvered himself behind her. Without asking, he moved her hair away from her neck and started kissing the exposed skin. He could feel her tremble.
Feeling the heat rise, Sunni tried to hang up from her call in order to put the fire out.
“Hold on. Wait a minute,” Sunni said to Trill, but Ta-Ta thought she was talking to her.
“Finish talking,” Trill whispered in her ear softly. “Don’t mind me. Get all the beauty shop gossip because this right here going to be the shop talk tomorrow.” He took the phone from her, placed her hand on his rock-hard dick and then put the phone back to her ear.
“Hold on, Ta-Ta,” Sunni said. She covered the phone with her hand, and in a daring but seductive tone, she said to Trill, “That ain’t enough.” She probed his shit like she was examining it. “I ain’t impressed.” She then forwardly stated, “You want to impress me? You want to make my eyes roll back in my head, wait ’til I get off this phone and bring your A-game, head game that is. You did say you wanted to repay me for all my hospitality, right?”
Sunni released her hand from his member like she was throwing that shit back at him before picking up the last chicken wing from the table and licking the top of it like it was a dick, teasing the heck out of him. Mission accomplished.
“Save your chips for the hos who really need your money,” she said.
“Yeah, I’m back,” she spoke in the phone to Ta-Ta.
Trill stood there speechless, his dick getting harder by the second. If it had been any other ho, she would have found herself lying on the floor recovering from a hellified pimp smack. Although it would have been pure disrespect coming from any other broad, for some reason, coming from Sunni, that sassiness made Trill’s dick get harder by the second.
“Oh, that bitch had a motherfuckin’ locksmith with her, talking about her stuff locked in the office and she hired him to come and unlock the door,” Ta-Ta informed Sunni.
“Stop playing!” Sunni replied, taking her eyes off Trill.
“I ain’t playing. I pulled her to the side and asked her if I could holla at her for a minute. I took her to the back and…”
Ta-Ta was still talking, but those were the last words Sunni heard before she felt Trill’s touch. He grabbed her breasts from behind, one in each hand. He squeezed them, pushing them together, and soon felt Sunni responding by her ass wiggling against his groin. She wanted to turn around, but he had her pinned against the wall between the cabinet and the refrigerator. The phone dangled from its cord.
He yanked down her sweats, and spread her knees apart with his leg. She felt her body go weak and could faintly hear Ta-Ta on the phone calling her name.
“Sunni,” Ta-Ta yelled. “Sunni, are you still there?”
Hell no, she wasn’t there. How could she be with Trill all up on her? With her pants now down to her ankles and Trill’s lips on the cheeks of her ass, she felt him smearing something on her; when she tilted her head to get a better look, she found out that it was wing sauce. Anticipation was killing her, the anticipation of his tongue entering that sacred spot that hadn’t been touched except by that stupid-ass vibrator since who knows when.
Trill bent her over almost in half and she could feel the heat of his tongue, combining the tangy sting of the wing sauce with her own rising temperature. Trill sucked on her clit the same way he had done those wings earlier, maybe even harder, that is until she tried to warn him that she was cumming. But like Swiper the Fox, it was too late. He had sucked that out of her, too. With Sunni wasted and limp, Trill turned her around.
“It’s your turn now, baby girl,” he said as he used his hands to push down on her shoulders until she found herself on her knees in front of him.
“Unbuckle ’em,” he ordered, nodding down toward his belt. His aggressiveness turned her on.
“Sunnniii, Sunnnniiii!” She was distracted by Ta-Ta’s screams from the phone. She reached to hang up the phone, then looked at Trill.
“Trill, I don’t think you want me to do that,” she said, knowing that if nothing else, in this area she was an expert and would never lose her touch. That was the one thing that she could thank Scoop for, helping her to master the art of funky cold medina head.
Trill grabbed Sunni by the chin, making her look up at him. She knew she could easily turn this tough guy into a softie by her warm mouth. She unbuckled his pants and his dick popped out of his boxers. It wasn’t that it was so thick, but it was so long his last name should have been Longstockings. She’d never be able to deep-throat the entire thing, but she was damn sure gonna try. She started out by slowly licking it, teasing him. After it was wet and slippery, she was ready. She took a deep breath and began swallowing, a little at a time until she got her rhythm. She worked it until he began to pulsate and his knees began to buckle.
“Damn girl,” Trill moaned. “You got it all.”
She could taste little bits of his cum and she heard him faintly moaning, but she wouldn’t let him cum in her mouth. She slowly pulled back, letting his dick slide back out across her tongue. With him out of breath, she felt like she had seen and conquered. She whispered, “Who’s that beeyotch, nigga?”
“Baby, you are! You are! No doubt about it.”
Sunni knew he was about to explode, but no way did she want him to waste a good nut on the kitchen floor.
She stood up and led him into her bedroom, where it was a guarantee that she was gon’ make that nigga see the sunshine, even in the middle of the night. Giving a new definition to her given name.