It was cold, but the sun was still shining. Summer had rolled directly into winter, leaving everyone to wonder what in the hell had happened to the fall? The hood was quiet, but active. It was always like that in the winter. In the hood, some cats hustled like squirrels, stacking their paper through the warmer seasons and only periodically enduring the bite of the nastier ones. Then you had the goons, the young boys that are so hungry that neither weather nor warfare could deter them from getting a dollar. This was the case with Young Sha-Born.
“Big Pete, what da deal, baby?” Sha greeted his boss with a pound and a hug. He’d been on the block since five o’clock the previous day and showed no signs of slowing down.
“How we looking out here, son?” Pete asked. Pete was a young dude seeing good money slinging cocaine in the hood. Granted, he didn’t have the deepest pockets or the largest crew, but he did very well for himself.
“Like money, baby, you know what it is wit this,” Sha-Born clapped his hands together to try and warm them.
“True,” Pete gave him a pound. “Yo, I’m going upstairs for a few, son, anybody else ask tell em you ain’t seen me.”
“I see we into big things,” Sha-Born looked at the girl Pete had with him up and down. She was the color of cinnamon with long dark hair, and a shape straight off of Sticky Pages. Her sky blue jeans hugged her hips so crazy that Pete couldn’t really be mad at Sha-Born for looking. Sha-Born wasn’t sure where he’d found her, but he wondered if she had a sister.
“Always, kid, you know how the God play it,” Pete said smugly. He pulled the sexy young girl closer to him. “But yo, you ain’t seen me, my nigga.”
“I got you, P,” Sha-Born nodded. As Pete and the mystery lady passed, Sha-Born took one last look at her ass and sighed.
“These lil niggaz act like they ain’t never seen a woman before,” she said once they were in the lobby.
“Nah it ain’t that, they just ain’t used to seeing somebody as bad as you on the scene,” he ran his hand down her arm. The elevator opened and they stepped in. Before the doors could close she was on him. The mystery lady shoved Pete roughly against the wall and jammed her tongue in his mouth. She stuffed her hand down his pants and began to massage his penis, while trying to suck the life out of him. By the time the elevator reached Pete’s floor his breathing was ragged and he could hardly breathe.
“Give it to me, daddy. I want you to fuck me right here in the project hallway like a dirty little bitch,” she panted in his ear while trying to undo his pants.
“Chill, ma,” he broke her grip on his pants. “Let’s go in the crib so I can bust that ass properly,” Pete tried to sound cool, but his dick was so hard that he was starting to feel like he’d cum before he even got inside her. He undid the three locks on his apartment door and led her into his pad.
“Oh, this is fly,” she looked around his living room in awe. There was a large flat screen mounted on the wall with a deep leather sectional opposite it. Lining his walls were beautiful prints of famous black leaders throughout history. The most impressive was a huge picture of Malcolm X greeting some of the locals during his tour of the Middle East.
“That was one bad mutha fucka,” Pete said, motioning towards the picture.
“You’re into Malcolm X?” she asked, seemingly impressed.
“Yeah, I’ve been following that cat since grade school. My father actually studied under him,” Pete lied.
“Baby, you are so deep,” she kissed him. “That’s what attracted me to you. You’re a street nigga, but I can tell you’re really smart!”
“You gotta know things outside of the block. I be trying to school these little niggaz out here, but all they think about is paper and pussy.”
“Speaking of pussy,” she slid out of her jacket and undid her pants, “I’ve got something for you, baby.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he ran his hand over her breasts through her tight shirt. He could feel her nipples hardening through her bra. “Damn, I need to taste these,” he tried to lift her shirt, but she pulled away.
“In a second, daddy, I got something special for you,” she raised his hand to her mouth and sucked his middle finger. She watched his eyes roll back in his head as she shoved it so far back in her throat that he could feel her tonsils. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Straight to the back,” he nodded down the hall.
The mystery lady picked her shoulder bag up off the floor. “When I come back, I want your clothes off and your dick in your hand. I’m gonna fuck you so good that you’ll think three times before picking a stray bitch up off the street,” she promised before disappearing down the hall.
By the time the bathroom door clicked closed, Pete had yanked his sweater off and was working on his belt. He placed the small Glock he’d been carrying in his pocket on the coffee table and started working his way out of his pants. When he’d met her at the car wash on 149th the day before he knew he had to have her. Pete vowed that he would do any and everything in his power to sample the sweet fruit, but luckily he didn’t have to do much. All he had to do was take her to eat on City Island and flash his bank roll and she was hooked. When he heard the door open, he sank back into his coolest pose on the couch, as naked as the day he was born.
“Are you ready to get fucked, daddy!” she called from the hallway.
“Ready than a mutha fucka,” he replied, stroking himself to an erection. When she stepped back into the living room, his dick went as limp as a noodle.
“Surprise, you’ve just been fucked,” the mystery lady smirked, pointing a very large handgun at Pete.
“Wh…what the fuck is this shit?” Pete stammered, looking at the pistol as if it was a UFO. The mystery girl’s eyes had gone from star struck to murderous.
“A bake sale, mutha fucka, I want the pies and the cake!” she said with a hard edge to her voice that hadn’t been there before. When she saw his eye twitch, she gripped the pistol a little tighter. “Don’t get cute, son. Follow the rules and I ain’t gotta lay you.”
“Yo, I got a few grams in the freezer and some bread in my top drawer, but that’s it. I don’t shit where I live,” he said in his most sincere tone. When her face softened he thought that he might’ve been able to talk his way out of the situation, but the gun slamming into the side of his face killed that thought.
“Son, I should lace ya fucking boots for even trying to insult my intelligence,” she was leaning in with the gun pressed against his forehead. “Either get up and take me to the safe so we can get this over with painlessly, or I can pop you and find it myself, what you trying to do?”
“Listen, sister, I don’t want no problems. You can get all of that,” he slid off the couch with his hands raised above his head.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” she backed up to let him pass, without allowing him to get close enough to try and grab the gun. “The faster you set it out, the faster I’m outta ya hair kid, this ain’t the only stop I got to make today.”
“Don’t worry, ma, you can have that shit, it’s nothing, but I hope you riding down on them white dealers like you doing us hood niggaz,” he remarked.
“You talking shit?” she asked.
“Nah, baby, just trying to make a point. I mean, we all sling shit, but at least I’m trying to keep the money circulating through black hands in black hoods, what the fuck is the devil doing besides getting fat off our backs?”
She paused as if she was measuring Pete’s words. He started to press his argument until the butt of the gun crashed into the side of his head. Pete dropped to one knee, and clutched his throbbing temple.
“Nigga, don’t try to sway me with that fake F.O.I, shit,” she jammed the gun into his eye roughly. “You talk about keeping the money in the hood like you’re doing a good thing, miss me with that. You have black children selling your shit to other black people, so don’t act like you’re some fucking savior of our people. I’d be doing society a service if I finished you right here,” her finger twitched on the trigger, but didn’t squeeze. “Get your ass up and take me to the safe, pussy,” she drew her hand back, but didn’t strike him.
If it wasn’t for the fact that he had a violent woman standing behind him with a gun to his head, Pete would’ve kicked himself in the ass for getting caught out there so easily. Walking on shaky legs towards his bedroom, his mother’s voice rang in his head. Don’t let the little head think for the big one. Considering what was happening, he knew his mother was wagging her finger at him from the grave.
Shorty had a fly whip, was rocking jewels and was the baddest thing he’d seen in a minute. There was no way she could’ve been greasy, at least that’s what he thought before he found himself being jacked. Opening his bedroom closet, where his safe was hidden, Pete made himself two promises; one was to murder the mystery woman if he ever saw her again and the other was never again to bring a female to his house.
“Drag that shit out here and pop it open,” she ordered.
Pete reluctantly pulled the two foot safe from the closet and punched in the combination. The door popped open and as he tried to reach inside, he felt the cold metal pressed behind his ear.
“I’m about tired of you playing on my intelligence,” she reached inside the safe and pulled out a berretta. She tested the weight of the gun before clubbing Pete in the eye with it. Blood gushed down the side of his face as he scrambled away from her. The mystery woman shook her head and tossed him a pillow. “Take the case off and fill it.”
“Yo, you ain’t gotta do it like this,” Pete began slipping the case off the pillow, blinking the blood out of his eye.
“I know, but it’s more fun this way. Now fill that case, yo,” she motioned at the safe with her gun. Pete knelt, bleeding and cursing himself as he placed every dime he had in the pillow case. When the safe was empty he slid it over to her. She peeped in the bag and looked back at him.
“Nigga, they said you were balling,” she laughed. The mystery lady looked at the expensive looking entertainment system. “Unhook that Blue-Ray and toss it in the case, and while you’re at it you can set out whatever movies you got for it.”
“Damn, shorty, you ain’t gonna leave a nigga with nothing?” he pleaded.
“Mutha fucka you need to be thankful that I ain’t taking your life,” she reminded him.
Pete went about the task of unhooking his two day old Blue-Ray before going to the freezer and getting the work. When it was all said and done she could barely carry both of the pillow cases and her gun at the same time. She walked Pete into the living room and for a minute he thought his humiliation was at an end, but it was just starting.
“We almost done,” she removed a roll of duct tape from her purse, “but I gotta tie up the loose ends,” she proceeded to bind Pete’s hands and feet. Once they were secure she used the remainder of the duct tape to tie him to the radiator.
“What you bout to do to me?” he asked fearfully as she approached him, digging around in her bag.
“Don’t worry, big daddy, I ain’t gonna hurt nothing else but your pride,” she grinned wickedly, pulling her hand out of the bag, holding a small case.
Sha-Born couldn’t believe his eyes. The sight was so crazy that he had to call his peoples little Dave and Mack, so they could vouch for the authenticity when he put the word on the streets. The three of them laughed so hard that tears ran down their eyes when they stumbled on Pete three hours later.
He was ass naked and tied to the radiator, but that wasn’t the funny part. Before the mystery woman had left she had applied lipstick and eye shadow to Pete’s face. He looked like a broken up drag queen, squirming around on the floor. The trio of young boys laughed at him for almost ten minutes before finally cutting him loose.