CHAPTER 22
The day before my trip to Miami, I lied and told Nico I was in Detroit attending my uncle’s funeral. Too much had gone on over a few days, including going through with his plot to murder Shabazz.
Nico understood and, since I told him I would be back that Monday, he told me to just hit him up when I got back. He also told me that he was sorry to hear about my uncle’s passing.
Well, when I got back from Miami, Nico didn’t let any grass grow under my feet. He picked me up at around two in the afternoon and didn’t let me out of his sight until he had dropped me off at my house that evening.
Honestly speaking, pulling that trigger and killing Shabazz was without a doubt one of the hardest things that I ever did in my life. I never thought I’d have the balls to actually pull the trigger. It seemed fake; at first. Like I could pull the trigger and then undo what was done as if it were a dress rehearsal. Only it wasn’t. It was very real. I took a man’s life. And two hours after the shooting, my nerves were still very much on edge, just like Nico had warned me they would be. I was trying my hardest to relax, but I just couldn’t get out of my mind the image of Shabazz’s shocked and fear-stricken face when I shot him. I needed to smoke some weed to calm my nerves, but I was going to wait until later that night when my parents went to sleep, and then I was going to go outside and smoke.
I was surprised and extremely annoyed when my father told me that Simone was at the door because the last thing I wanted at that moment was company. And I was surprised because Simone hadn’t called me before coming over. Usually she would call me before stopping by. I had had a long birthday weekend, murdered Shabazz, and flew to Miami to secretly film Mia, so the last thing I felt like doing was entertaining. Reluctantly I told my father to let her in and to tell her to come upstairs to my room.
“Hey, girl,” I said as I got out of the bed and put on my robe and turned on the TV. I had just come out of the shower, and since it was still early, I wasn’t ready to go to sleep for the night. But I was drained and wanted to get a quick hour or two of sleep.
“Jasmine, what’s going on?” Simone asked.
My eyes flew open in shock. “Why? What you heard?”
“Heard about what?” she asked, confused. “You’ve just been real distant with me lately and you’re hardly ever around. I just want to know what’s up. You got a new best friend or something?”
“Oh, that,” I said, dismissively. “You know you’re still my girl. I just got a lot going on.”
“Like what?” She made herself comfortable on my bed.
“Like too much to discuss now.” I gently grabbed her by her arm and guided her off my bed. “I’m really tired. I promise I’ll hit you up tomorrow and we can hang out.”
Simone looked hurt. But she’d get over it.
When she left, as I lay in the bed, I sent Nico a text message asking how he was doing. Thirty minutes went by, and he didn’t respond to me. I just took that to mean he was busy, and I went to sleep.
I didn’t hear from Nico for the rest of the night, but he called me late the next day.
“Hello.”
“Jazzy, what’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m just laying in the bed thinking,” I said.
“About what?”
“You know . . .”
Nico was quiet, waiting for me to say something.
“But I’m a’ight.”
“You not falling apart are you?”
“No, not at all.”
“For your sake you bet’ not be.” Nico’s statement hung in the air as a veil threat. It sent a chill down my spine.
“Of course I’m not,” I stated. “Don’t think like that.”
“A’ight, I ain’t stressin’ that shit. But, yo, keep your phone on. I’ll hit you back. I gotta bounce,” Nico said.
When the call with Nico ended, my anxiety level was up. I was wondering what he was thinking. I didn’t want him to think that I would one day open my mouth and snitch about Shabazz’s murder.
I needed some weed in the worst way to calm my nerves, but I was down to my last few dollars and didn’t want to be totally broke. I’d already blown the two g’s Nico had given me on a pair of Christian Louboutins and a Fendi bag. I got up and paced around the house, and then I turned on the TV and started watching The View. It was still early, but it didn’t matter. I went downstairs to my father’s bar and poured myself some vodka and orange juice and took it back upstairs with me to my bedroom and drank it while I finished watching The View.
The vodka wasn’t doing it for me, so after The View went off, I called in a weed order, and when my weed supplier came by my crib, I gave him the last fifty dollars I had. But it was the best way for me to calm down from all the thoughts running through my mind.
While I was getting high, I decided to post another online ad so that I could get some more money in my pocket. Only thing was, I had just spent my cab money and my four-hours’ worth of motel money on the weed, so it didn’t make sense to place the sex ad and not have money for the motel or even for the cab ride to get me there.
I sat butt naked on my bed and thought about what I should do. No ideas were coming to me, and I was reluctant to hit up Nico for any more dough. And although I knew Nico was good for some money, I didn’t want him thinking that I was extorting him now that I had murdered Shabazz. That type of shit could get me killed.
While I continued to smoke, something hit me and told me to check the prepaid cell phone I used as my contact number specifically for turning tricks.
I had four messages when I checked the voice mail. Two were from guys I didn’t even remember being with, and one was from a new prospective client who had seen one of my old ads online and was calling to see if I was available. But those three messages were more than a week old. The last message was from the white guy, Mike, who had left a message the night before.
“Hey Chyna, I don’t know if you remember me, but this is Mike. No disrespect hun, so please don’t take this as me being vulgar or anything. But I really want some more of that black nigger pussy of yours. I don’t know if you’re working or not tonight, but if you are, call me on my cell phone at 718-786-XXXX.”
I called Mike back, and he picked up on the second ring.
“Mike?” I asked, just making sure it was him.
“Yes, this is Mike.”
“Hey, Mike,” I said, a smile on my face. “You still in the mood for some of this black nigger pussy?”
“Chyna?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Mike told me that he was just thinking about me and that he definitely wanted to see me. I hated feeling so desperate and putting myself in tough situations, but I had to do what I had to do. I told Mike that we couldn’t meet at our regular spot and that my pimp had access to a house in South Jamaica that I was going to be working out of for the day but only up until three that afternoon, and that if he wanted to get some he would have to come through ASAP.
Within a half-hour Mike had showed up at the front door of my parents’ house. I had removed all the pictures of myself and my family so that he wouldn’t have any idea that I lived there, and I took him into the basement, where I had let out the couch bed.
I told Mike that it was going to be two-fifty for the hour instead of the price that he had paid before but that price was inclusive of the tip.
Mike paid me the money, and we got busy.
I had hit a new stress relieving low, but it was all good because I set my mind to something, and I had achieved my goal. But I knew if I wanted to leave the prostitution world alone forever, I would have to set my mind to an ever bigger goal, that being to lock down Nico. And I was prepared to do whatever I had to do. After all, I had literally killed for him, so the least he could do to repay me was to wife me.