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At ten o'clock, the intersection of Madison and State Street was lined up bumper to bumper with a plethora of vehicles: white walled stretch Limos, luxurious Lincolns peppered with flashy chrome lights, classy Cadillacs armed with sparkling Rose Royce’s grills, some shiny sports cars, and every type of imaginable convertible. These cars were freshly waxed and painted. Many were brand new. Pimps pulled out there absolute best to outshine each other and to impress some strange whores. It was a noble experience. Retally8 and I decided not step in too early because we wanted a warm wet welcome from all the whores.
Meanwhile, we drove around the Loop of Chicago and marveled at the elevated train tracks. It was something alarming about being on fresh soil. Chicago was so much geographically bigger than little ole Akron but Akron held its own on the industrial front by being the rubber capitol. Nonetheless, Chicago was different, more blacks were into the jazz scene here, and that meant more brothas hustling women to sell pussy in the jazz clubs. As we drove through the south side, we heard some heavy blues singers with their sassy guitars blaring out of these tiny steamy jazz clubs. The experience of live wonderful jazz playing horns melted hearts of men and women alike.
Akron was mostly black and white, but Chicago had a wider variety of Chicanos, Asians and other minorities. It was so much more culture and diversity here. We eventually drove by The Biography Theater where John Dillinger was supposedly shot down by the FBI in 1934. A ghetto child like me was up in Illinois where the wicked Richard Daley and powerful Capone shattered the lives of many. I wonder if one day someone would revere and write about me and my exploits.
The skyscrapers and steel mills seemed to have a life of their own, especially the 108 story Sears Tower. It was amazing to think that man had built such a massive structure. This was the first time that any of my whores had been out of Ohio so they were memorized as we absorbed the complexities of Chicago. Seeing them in a state of complete wonderment touched my iron heart.
Finally, I pulled in front of The Transnational Playas Ball in my freshly waxed Mercedes. Retally8 was in tow. I stepped out reeking of overblown confidence. My hookers were fine eye-popping dick-ripening trophies. Regardless of how physically beautiful they were, I knew that they felt privileged to be in my stable. I made them feel worthy of something, some type of recognition because of my posture, my status, but most of all my raw respectability. Now that we were at The Transnational Playas Ball, we were certified hustlers. We had finally arrived. I couldn't help but to feel some stares from insecure pimps as I stepped onto the red carpet with my cool ass walk. Niggas had hard looks hung on their face as they mugged me with icy expressions. In spite of this, one particular face stood out from the crowd for some reason; it had a dab of familiarity to it. I just brushed off the envious looks, shot one of my own back, and chalked it up to jealousy. Who wouldn’t notice a handsome, dynamic young pimp—a potential threat? I was in the early stages of the game, but I was already pimping hard, only to pimp harder in the future. I glided with two hoes on each side. For the first time ever, we all seemed to move in chorus like music.
Even though I was rooting strongly for myself, I had nothing but love for my ace Retally8. He was on our heels as he stepped out of his suburban draped in a violet silk suit that changed to red then to blue in the light. As always his hoes moved in sync and they were cloaked in the same material, but their outfits were snuggly tailored. His bedrock bitch Tisha strolled in on his elbow with her infamous camel toe and exotic pretty toes. I actually observed one young counterfeit pimp take out an ink pen and write down notes. However, just as we had expected there was a lot of lip-smacking, envious eye-balling, and unmolested hatin’ going on. But what really seemed to bother the consensus of people at The Transnational Players Ball was that no one in the club knew who in the hell we were.
“Where are they from?” Some players asked.
Wide-eyed women whispered, “Are these niggas from New York? They don’t dress like niggas from around here." The whores up in Chicago took a liking to us off the rip because of our in your-face, up your ass, and out-of-city-vibe, and we took a liking to them as well. Nothing in my life had ever felt this good, not even messy wet pussy. Finally, the underdogs were on top.
It was an all you can beat buffet of pussy ranging from double-dark chocolate black bitches, banana yellow Asian freaks, and cinnamon Hispanic harlots, and of course, the forbidden fruit, the highly profitable white vanilla roller coasters. We were shitty sharp but what really made us stand out, is that we did shit differently. We had our own slang. I was a self-proclaimed python pimp who slowly wrapped my coil of pimping around bitches then squeezed, not gorilla pimp who charges with a one dimensional attack.
Retally8 was the only nigga there with a big ass beautiful truck, but most of the pimps drove plain ole’ played out Cadillacs and Lincolns, not a flamed out Mercedes. See, for most of the niggas, they didn’t even know what a Mercedes was. Yeah, Cadillacs were more costly but too many pimps were pushing the same ole’ shit. Retaly8 and I understood that the man made the car, not the other way around.
Nonetheless, to my surprise, the real show stopper was this tall, particularly thin character, the same guy that stood out and looked familiar when I initially stepped inside. He donned the smoothest copper colored silk suit and matching brim that I had ever seen. This nigga even had matching copper colored gators. This nigga didn’t even walk, he hovered. He had a menacing presence, and he had mastered the flam factor. His high end jewelry glistened like a disco ball and not one hair was unkempt. When he stepped in, every pimp and every hoe seemed to know who he was. Damn, who is this nigga? I looked over at Retally8 like fuck he's the man. I looked at his large entourage. I was flabbergasted and overshadowed with insecurity. He made me nervous.
Then this young Latina pranced up to him and said, "That new copper and black look good on you. Would you like a drink Sundown? It’s on the house."
I thought to myself, "Sundown!" He was tall dark and had a scar up under his left eye. Straight jet-black hair draped down to his shoulders. A flashy copper, tailored, silk suit and a black mink enveloped his magnificence. Four of his whores wore black minks and his other five whores donned black leather coats to match his tailored suit. He was the man, shinning brighter than the North Star. A muscular thug named Tanichi assisted him; he was wearing some air brushed black leather pants, at least they looked that way, and a snug ass muscle T shirt that would rip if he as much as sneezed. Tanichi had the face of a bear and the body of a musclebound bull. Sundown was revered by all pimps and almost every hoe. His fuck-you-nigga expression and arrogant persona showed it too. He was an undisputed mack, and he knew it.
Finally, the four foot eight inch MC walked on the stage and the ass shaking, shit talking show began. His big headed ass asked, “Are we ready to get it soaking wet?” The crowd went crazy with cheers as some lovely ladies slid down the pole center stage. “When I say it, I mean dick fellas. When I say wet, you say dick. Wet,” he held out the microphone towards the audience and they yelled back. “Dick.”
“Wet,” he held out microphone.
“Dick,” the audience screamed.
He repeated this about five or six times.
––––––––
After the applaud died down, he said, “I just wanted to thank you whores for your services because if it were not for money and your nasty asses, I would not have the equal opportunity to buy some of that good pussy from you bad bitches.” The audience laughed then the midget MC continued, “In fact, the last time that I bought some pussy, the bitch gave me a random discount. Shocked, I asked, why the discount baby?”
She replied, “After having some of this fire breathing pussy, you gone wish you had dis’counted some penicillin tablets.”
I said, “Bitch you know that you’re burning and you still selling pussy.”
She replied, “Yep, nigga you sought it when you bought it.” The crowd clapped as the midget MC set the night off, “As you all know today is a special day for you pimps, and just another day on the corner for you old battle bitches.”
Pimps got a big kick out of that joke, but one renegade female pimp-whore didn’t take to kindly to the little MC. “Shut the fuck up trick motherfucka,” she stood up and took another good look at him, “on second thought make that half-a-motherfucka! Get on with the show or follow the yellow brick road you mini-munchkin’ motherfucka.” The audience cried with screeches of laughter. She went on, “Here let me bend over so you can palm this big ass, oh that’s right, you got them pint size hands so you can’t even hold this ass up to your big ass face. It’s a shame that the only thing you got big enough for this ass is your wide ass face, so come wipe that shitty grin off with this fat ass.” I also had to laugh because that short joke took all the steam out of his act. However, he managed to hang in there and the show began officially.
The heavenly aroma of roasted pig floated beneath our noses. It was enough pork in the building to make a Muslim overdose just from smell alone. Sexy near naked wait staff carefully paraded special orders of zesty, grilled sirloin steak, steamed shrimp, deep fried chicken, and buttery scalloped potatoes. Few were strangers to the top shelf alcohol and high end weed being passed around. People were wearing happiness across their face as they splashed in lavish sin. Strippers flocked across the stage engaging in acrobatic pornography. Loud music echoed off the walls, but suspicion sang softly in the background.
A kick stand pimp named ‘Earp the slurp’ was standing with a huge wet spot saturating the center of his white slacks. Ten times out of ten, it wasn’t tea. He fell into the wait-staff, bumped into the wall, then tripped over his own two feet. His heavy oversized head merely bobbled because he never held it entirely erect. Armed with a cratered face and an ashy set of bright pink lips, boy was he a hard act to look at and somehow he was blacker than my late partner Blue. Plus his blood-shot popped-eyes couldn’t be neatly concealed underneath his eyelids. He staggered and slurred, "I'm Earp the mudda-fuckin Slurp, don’t know-bah-bah-body move and wah-wah-won't no bah-bah-body get hurt." And boom like that, an open door hit him and he fell straight to the ground.
In response, a short semi-muscular pimp named Serious remarked, "Shit, nobody but you. You Earp the perp and just looking at your sloppy drunk ugly ass hurts." Everyone laughed uncontrollably. I damn near choked on my soda. Earp was so uncommonly ugly that he would be barred from costume parties because he would always win for ‘best’ costume. But Earp wasn’t done doing his due.
“Why you got to be acting so-so-so ugly,” stuttered Earp as he pouted with his pink lined bottom lip hanging.
Serious mimicked, "Why do you got to be s-s-so ugly—you unlucky motherfucka! You the only nigga I know ugly enough to stop time and travel at the speed of frown.”
Everyone laughed again, but Earp stood up with his index finger pointed and without stuttering he said, “Don’t make me have to make you fuck me up.”
Earp drew back and threw a super slow punch, missed his target, fell over the table, knocked over the contents on it and shoved some hoe, and when he tried to get up busted his head underneath another table, knocked the second table over and then finally slipped on some ice that he knocked over from the first table and finally busted his ass.
“Don’t worry, you didn’t,” Serious laughed out loud.
“I’m gone get up and hurt somebody?” Screamed Earp.
“Yeah, your motherfucking self,” replied Serious.
Earp had certainly brought some unexpected flavor to the party. By this time, Serious was on the roll, “This pimping makes bitches delirious because this motherfuckin pimping is so serious. Now come get a whiff of this stiff pimping."
I studied several pimps because in many ways I was still a P.I.T: a pimp in training. A pimp's job was to always learn, to always study the latest and greatest tricks of the trade. I needed to know every angle of pimping. I need to pimp to live and pimping made me feel alive. My thoughts were consumed with mastering the game.
Meanwhile, we enjoyed the unbelievable music of the O'jays, The Manhattans, The Spinners, Rolls Royce, The Temptations, The Dramatics, New Birth, and, Chicago’s own home grown, The Chi-lites. My eyes were wide open. If I was this thunderstruck, then I knew I had blew my hoes mind completely. Some of the macks moved perfectly on the dance floor; I didn't know the first thing about hand dancing. The way these windy city chicks molested the dance floor made me melt. It was an assortment of excitement. There was every type of pimp there: plenty of popcorn pimps of various unimportant names. Of course, there were also some suave pimps like my partner Retally8, E- Z pimping, Noose, and a real slick nigga named Chi-town with pecan tan colored eyes.
Part of the players contest was to see what pimp could say the sharpest perverted nursery rhymes. E-Z pimping went first. His poem started out like this: "Pimping is hard but not for me because I make pimping E-Z. I will huff and puff and blow a hoe's house down, I aint wolfing, I’m the biggest, baddest, motherfuckin’ pimp around."
Then Chi-town took a shot at it, "Mirror, mirror on the wall is Chi-town not the slickest, tiger eyed pimp of them all? My pimping gets stronger and it will stand the test of time. Rarely beat bitches with my hands, but always pistol whip them bitches with my mind. Take a good look at these well-dressed facts as I put them naked bitches out on the naked tracks."
Now my nigga Retally8 lived for events like this. He said, "Yes, yes, I’m the CEO of the bologna-pony express. My pimping is solid as a rock and my whores’ prices are higher than camel cock. Jack and Jill went up a hill to fetch a nigga some ice cold water. When Jack came down he wore a frown because I was straight pimping his square ass daughter. Jack may be nimble and Jack may be quick but Jack will OD on a teaspoon of Retally8's pimp shit. Chitty-chitty bang-bang, it aint nothing but a pimp thang. What you know about that motherfucka. “He got his ‘propers’ and bathed in every moment of it.
On the other hand, there were the no-nonsense pimps like myself, Sundown, Serious, New York, Silky Slim, Double D, and Willie Mack. Double D was renowned for his double dose of dynamite pimping. Serious was a ‘cankle’ pimp because his hoes couldn’t look above a man’s ankles. He was so serious about his pimping that he watched and waited when his girls turned dates—too serious. Willie Mack, who was also from Akron, had eyes of ice. He was rumored to have beaten one of his bitches in the head with a sludge hammer.
New York was a militant mack that constantly tried to knock someone's hoe in blatant fashion. He would stare down to intimidate the pimps that he could. Silky Slim was a gangsta in disguise; his hoes had more bullet wounds than Vietnam vets, reportedly from him. And lastly, Sundown was a cold arrogant pimp that drove a brand new Jaguar and branded all his hoes because he knew a prideful pimp wouldn't want another pimp’s branded product.
Since I was at The Transnational Players Ball, I decided to do something that I never did—have a hard drink. The first drink of vodka was shockingly disgusting but I didn’t let that stop me. I sat back and downed a few drinks then let the thermo effect numb my throat. Now I understood why they called liquor spirits because a strange spirit fell over me. As I sat up on the stool to orientate myself, I reached for my pistol that wasn’t there; I felt naked without my gun; maybe that was the element amiss.
Retally8, on the other hand, did some major socializing. He was right at home among strangers. Earp the drunken slurp staggered into Retally8 then began to stammer, “Wah-watch wah-where you going sucka!”
Feeling a nice gentle buzz, I stood up on the defensive, but Retally8 disarmed him with one line, “Watch a mirror, I dare you.” Retally8 just waved him off and turned his back to him.
Once again everyone laughed. To make matters worse, Earp fell backwards on top a pimp standing behind him. The annoyed pimp pushed Earp into another hustler, that hustler shoved Earp into some musclebound thug, the thug punched Earp in his stomach, and Earp vomited everywhere then plummeted on the floor. I looked over at Retally8, and this Earp was really one unlucky motherfucka for real. Earp sat up and said, “If one more m-m-m-motherfucka hit me again, I gone k-k-kill me a motherfucka.”
Someone kicked him.
Retally8 really enjoyed himself and since he let his girls have some fun, I decided to ease up just a bit on mine. It was weird, although I had bad-bitches I just didn’t feel as if I belonged. Although the vodka had me a little lightheaded, I couldn’t see how people did this every day, or every week for fun. Here I was surrounded by people that I didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand. Meanwhile, Israeli went on the floor for one short dance and quickly returned so that she wouldn't lose her number one seat next to her number one man—me. This always made me feel empowered. It was the little shit that made all the difference sometimes.
However, the mellow mood wouldn't last for long. Bay and China ran over to me. China held her face while Bay screamed, “Sundown smacked both of us; he said that he didn’t appreciate us socializing with his bitch and he’s claiming his property back.”
I knew Bay wasn’t lying because she had a big ass handprint on her face. I immediately jumped up knocking over the table. I protested, "Property, one of my hoes his property. His hoe got chipped. I don't give a funky fuck about a motherfuckin Sundown. Where is this nigga at?" Bay pointed in his direction.
Several heads turned in unison in my direction. Blood rushed through my violent vessel of a body; my body instantly ignited with internal heat. I overheard some players attempting to whisper say that this was not a gladiator coliseum and I was a full blown gangsta, not a genuine pimp. They said I was corrupting the gentlemen’s game. Meanwhile, everyone crowded around us; bitches broke their necks to get a peek of the action.
Retally8 got wind of what was going and shifted in to combat mode; he always had my back. Deep down, I knew that he loved this gangsta shit every bit as much as the pimp shit. To me they were one in the same, they’re like the human brain and the human heart; vital together and worthless without each other. It was impossible to pimp as hard as I did without having some gangsta within. I marched over to Sundown and got his attention. "I'm not gonna take this personal because you did not knoweth that Lola is under new management with C-Note Inc. now. My fault, I should have gave you a courtesy call," I said smugly.
Tanichi stepped forward wearing war on his face, but Sundown motioned for him to stand down. Sundown pointed at Lola and said, "So is this supposed to be some kind of courtesy call nigga? This bitch is on the right track, but she must have hopped on the wrong train,” he moved closer; he studied me. “You sure look familiar baby boy." He stared me up and down once more then rubbed his chin. "I hear you are supposed to be an up and coming mack. You can run a check and let the record reflect that if you fuck with me, you're subject to be shipwrecked. Chalk this bitch up to experience baby bruh. Now you knoweth. I’ll keep the bitch and you can keep the courtesy call," he mocked me.
Heart pounding inside out, I balled up my fist, cracked my knuckles and snapped, "They'll be chalk lines before I chalk a motherfuckin thang."
Now his eyes were locked inside of mine. "Motherfucka, you aint even old enough to drink. Who let this underage motherfucka in here anyway? I've been the pimp of the motherfuckin year the last three years straight. Your after-school kiddy pimping can’t hold a match to this big poppa pimping. You best float the fuck on and maybe you live long enough to see puberty, boy."
"Boy, well your ex-bitch sure seems to think I’m a man. Is this why she is willing to blow out her bladder for me? Go ahead, ask her. Your bitch chose to be with me. You know the rules of this so-called gentlemen’s game."
He glared over at Lola. She turned away and looked over at me.
"Nigga please!" He motioned for her to come with him.
"Before I live on knees, I'll die standing," I growled as I reached for my heat, but quickly remembered that it wasn’t there anymore. Being in an argument has certain way of reminding you that you’re unarmed. Sundown heatedly got up in my face. We were standing nose to nose. I didn’t know if Sundown was armed or not. However, I had to bluff from this point.
"Now, I remember you nigga. You from Akron also! You that young, helpless, hungry, homeless motherfucker that was eating out of fucking trash, right?" Sundown stepped back as he laughed heartedly. At first everything was silent then all at once some hoes busted out in laughter too, even a couple of mine.
“Eating out the trash, a so-called pimp,” heckled Tanichi in the background.
The humiliation was remarkable. It killed me softly, but I refused to give him a straight answer, "Nigga, I aint your bitch, don't ever question me."
He stepped forward, dug in his pocket then laughed, "Look ya'll, this is the young nigga that I told yawl about. I felt so sorry for this high-yellow, broke ass chump back in Akron, Ohio when I was just in the little leagues. Shit the name speaks for itself, C-Note. Aint that what I gave you nigga, a C-Note?" He laughed even harder while holding his bankroll in his hand. “Nigga, you should be called handout.”
Suddenly, my whole world was spinning and crumbling right before me. Even through the words were true, they still hurt; I refused to let myself look naive or foolish. Suddenly, I lashed out. "Yeah, for handing out ass whippings!” The crowd grew loud and instigated by covering their mouths and saying ooooewww. Unfazed, I continued, “Crazy notions that’s what C-Note stand for bitch-built nigga. You better let the record reflect a reality check; I’m the motherfucka that put Spook in early retirement. Now, what you know about that motherfucka!"
The bloodthirsty crowd shifted into quietness again.
"Spook, he wasn’t shit, but a big black bully. You aint crazy nigga!" He retorted pointing his finger in my face.
“You’re crazy, if you think that you’re walking out here with my bitch. I've been chose so I guess with this bitch, the sun just set," I cracked my knuckles and fearlessly stepped toward her.
He jerked her back and pulled up her sleeve. "See this, that's whose bitch she always gone be, mine. Young nigga, you out of line because you are not respecting the game, this is real pimping, not gang banging."
I reached my hand out, “You made that up.”
Lola attempted to run back over towards me, but Sundown grabbed her from the back of hair as a consequence pulled her onto the floor. I grabbed him up by the collar, but he upper-cut me in the stomach with his empty hand. Mystified by how hard this little skinny motherfucka could hit, I winced but refused to fall. I wasn't going out like no bitch even if it meant my mortality. I swung wildly until one of my blows caught him in the jaw. He grinned, spit the blood out of his mouth, and shook off my blow. Afterwards, he snatched me by the neck then head butted me in the face. I saw red, blue, and green sparks; after that I became fantastically dizzy.
Suddenly, Tanichi clotheslined me, hard. Subsequently, Sundown started pumping pot holes in me with his feet. Although tenth of a second late, Retally8 suckered punched Tanichi behind the ear. The powerful punch from Retally8's heavily jeweled fist exploded off the back of Tanichi’s meaty head; some of Retally8’s diamonds flew out of his ring. Tanichi staggered in a drunken fashion before collapsed on the ground.
“Did you see that fat ass nigga stick him?” happily shouted a stray hoe.
Everyone crowded around trying to get a better look, and of course there were a few hustlers making bets on the sidelines. As Retally8 strutted over to finish Tanichi off, Tanichi leaped up and charged Retally8 by the waist; the impact shoved Retally8 over a table. Both on them landed on Earp. Earp’s eyes grew wide as he yelped in pain, “Oh Lord, I can’t even sit and not get fucked up.”
Frantically, I rolled around on the ground from side to side, weaving as much as I could, and used my elbows to block as many of Sundown's kicks as I could. Finally, after eating a face full of foot and a volley of violent kicks, I was able to grab one of his legs and tackle him onto the floor then quickly assume the position on top of him. I threw everything I had at him: fists and flying elbows. I flung a series of vigorous elbows against Sundown's face until I rendered him unconscious. This skinny nigga had heart and he made me respect what work he had too. He was so cocky that he was still holding his bank roll in his fist. My eye was swollen shut from the explosive head butt; however, I had finally come out victorious. I unclenched his fist and removed his bank roll then ransacked his pockets, my motto at this point. He was loaded. Although it hurt to smile from the swelling, I did any way. C-Note strikes again.
However, by this time Retally8 had flung Tanichi and another player over the marble counter-top then he turned around and bitch-slapped two pimps for betting against him. Both just stood there and held their cheeks like sponge-spined bitches. Then he knocked over a table where several over players were sitting. "What the fuck yawl gone do? You can't whip me," he scowled as he looked at this muscle-bound clown. He threatened, “Get your bitch ass up so I can show you how I get down!”
Suddenly, this gentle giant became a monstrous mammoth. He tossed tables over and shoved people out of the way. He was pissed; it seemed like nothing on earth could stop him. Not until Tanichi stood up from the behind the bar with a machine gun firing volleys of bullets throughout the nightclub. Everyone hit ‘the-shit-brick-button’ and chaotically dispersed. Champagne bottles shattered, napkins flew in the air like feathers, wooden tables splintered, and light bulbs exploded as the rapid fire cleared out the nightclub. Pimps ran into hoes, hoes ran into hoes, and hoes ran into holes. The midget MC ran under the table and peaked from under the table as people scrambled by. Everyone was gripping bricks. People were making paths out of people.
Unfortunately, most of the pimps cleared the building first and practically every hoe had to fend for herself. Women wearing the high heels were falling from bullet wounds; men were falling from slippery shoe soles as they sped around those wounded women. Everyone was panicking, but Earp the slurp. He was sound asleep in a puddle of piss. Bullets dashed by my ears as I sprang out of the exit and dived into the suburban. Candy already hopped in and had Suburban running. Retally8’s big ass leaped in the truck and I thought it was going to tip over. Expectantly, he was tired, sweaty and out of breath. My hoes and Retally8's hoes were packed in, but that didn’t stop a few of Sundown's bitches from jumping in too. Bullets have no fleshly preference. It was total chaos, and this war was far from over.
Cadillacs were being driven like mustangs. The street clutter was mind-boggling. Candy spun off and ran over the curb almost hitting a couple of whores. She maneuvered around them and crashed through some parked cars to make a path. Candy was not fucking around.
As always in the hood of any ghetto, the police arrived just in time to catch a few runners and bust some heads then ask questions later. The arrestees didn’t have a clue who was responsible for the shooting. This worked to our advantage because the information the referees called themselves beating out of niggas was inaccurate. Furthermore, long as the victims were black, pursuing black on black crime was typically a very low priority for law enforcement.
My eye was throbbing like a motherfucka and it was embarrassingly blood-shot red. My high yellow complexion made my black eye aglow. I looked in the mirror and hated myself for letting him get any kind of funky off on me. Even though I knew that I had came all the way out on top, I still felt short changed. However, I jacked him for twenty grand, his priceless four carat diamond ring and even three of his whores were part of my new family. They knew that they could never return after he found out that they jumped ship with the nigga that bested him. I gave Retally8 a generous cut of take. After all, if you don't have a partner, it's lonely as fuck on the top. Not even money can fill the void of a true friend.
Something told me to take my earnings and head back to Akron. For whatever the reason, I couldn’t just flee back to Akron. I wasn’t a track star and I wasn’t about to start running. It was nothing back in Akron, Ohio, but memories of the pain and heartache caused by homelessness and a heartless mother. Chicago was where a pimp felt important. It was a bigger, more exciting, and more profitable community. It was new territory for me to explore. Plus, if I were to run back, how would I be remembered? What if Sundown decided to hunt me down at a later time in Akron? Why leave and still have the stress of looking over my shoulder? Would I ever have some peace and mind? Would I ever feel like a man again? I had to face the music, with the grim possibility of that music meaning—murder.
Later on that night, the girls were working the track, but Sundown made his presence felt way sooner than ever I expected. Due to my naivety, I underestimated him. In the intervening time, while making my rounds, I found Bay with the back of her brains beat out, possibly with a baseball bat. Bits of her fractured cranium littered the alley. It was a horrible sight. Anger rippled through my heart like a dagger. He was fucking with my product, my profit, and my reputation. I kept my composure and looked in all directions before I leaped back into my Mercedes. My head was spinning, but I had to keep my eyes on the road in front of me and the road behind me. A dead prostitute was bad for business in more than one reason. Not only was I a hoe short, but gruesome murders like this make detectives ask a long list of questions. It also made streetwalkers leery.
This was war rather I liked it or not. The stakes were high but there was no turning back from this point. As I gathered my thoughts and frustrations, I drove by another one of my blocks and, to my disappointment, found Candy with a leaking throat lying in another alley. Fuck Sundown was not fucking around. In the jungle, the lion sleeps, but clearly there was more than one lion in this den. Palms sweating, I sped back to the hotel to regroup. “What the fuck could happen next?” I thought as I entered the room and disrobed my jacket. I wasn’t sitting down an entire ten minutes before another one of my employees came limping up stairs.
My mind was a plane crash; shit just wouldn’t ease up. Israeli was bent over, walking slowly and coughing up blood. I ran over to her and noticed blood running down the back of her thigh. He had sodomized her, and from the way she bled, I imagined, he used more than a standard dick.
Israeli was inconsolable. Tears tore through her make-up as she wrapped her arms around me. She cried, “C, Sundown said leave tonight or be butchered tomorrow. He’s on one C and I’m so scared. Why don’t you just leave C?” Just as I was consoling Israeli, I heard a volley of thunderous gun shots and shattering windows. I ran and looked out of the window only to see Sundown and Tanichi shooting up both our cars while Chi-town sat in stretch limo with a cigar in his mouth laughing.
Sundown looked up at the window and shouted, "Leave tonight and you can take your life with you baby boy." His eyes were intoxicated with revenge.
I knew that he meant it with every deliberate beat of his heart. The frigidness that registered in his eyes was unlike anything I had ever saw. For the first time in a many years, I was totally terrified. Not scared of what Sundown was going to do if I didn't leave town, but what would happen if I got uprooted from the pimp game. My choices were simple, run or die. If I ran, I was good as dead, so what was a pimp to do? This meant that I would have no other choice than to do-dirt.
However, if I wanted to be internationally treasured, nationally renowned and locally accepted, Sundown's demise would have to surface from the wrangles of my loins. The streets would have to know that I stood my grounds. If I left now, he’d brag that he sent the great C-Note back home with my tail stuck in between my legs, but if I stayed one of us would surely die. He wasn't concerned about his money and jewelry that I had confiscated; he was worried about giving up the name that he made for himself in this game. He was worried about being upstaged by another pimp. He was worried about baby boy becoming Big boy.
Since we were both from Akron, my departure would mean that my name would no longer ring synonymous with words like no-nonsense and python pimp, but would become the hallmark of bitch-built nigga who was pushed out of the game. The very thought of this was worse than death to me. Running off was not part of the do-dirt doctrine that I adhered to. I had risked my freedom and my very life to take the stripes from a seasoned pimp and finally carved out a name for myself in this game, only death would separate the two of us. I was married to the pimp game. My only options were to live like a man or die like one.
By this time, Sundown had long drove off and Retally8 could see that something other than the obvious was on my mind. "My nigga, we don't have an option now. These niggas want us out of the Windy, out the pimp game or even worse dead," he acknowledged.
I looked him in the eyes and replied, "If I can't pimp, I'm already dead. I mean I’m not a mathematician, a doctor, a lawyer, a politician, an electrician, an inventor, a writer. I don’t have an education. I don’t have what it takes to sit still and learn these disciplines. Without pimping, I’m absolutely nothing, it’s not like I’m going to cure cancer or negotiate world peace. I just want have my small slice of pie in this life."
Retally8 shook his head, "Cool we'll have to move on him before he moves on us. I’m sure that’s somewhere in that do-dirt doctrine you mention from to time to time."
The whole world was silent then a sad song on the radio gave the airway life. It was the song All is Fair in Love by Stevie Wonder. It was an emotional raging song. It was a song that I could relate to for some reason. It was a song that made me think about mom and how she used to say “all is fair.” It was the absent song on the radio when I found my mother on the kitchen floor with and needle hanging out of her arm, that selfish relentless arm. I never cried at mother's funeral but I wanted to, maybe I really wasn’t a heartless creature after all. A song like All is Fair in Love is what my bleeding heart needed to hear. My eyes watered as I listened to the soul stirring words.
Seconds later Retally8 walked into the room. "What's with the love songs my nigga?" he chuckled as he wrapped his enormous arm around Tisha.
I glared at him, sat Israeli on my lap, and replied. "I like this song Big pimping. Makes me think about my momma and grandma and how far I’ve come from picking scraps out of a trash can to being the man, from taking shit to being the shit. This song just makes me think about the realities of how cold and heartless the world can be, of a world where women can have children that they resent, where men can run from responsibility, where the hunter becomes the hunted."
He laid his stubby hand on my shoulder. "I understand the power of song C. What ya know about that? Are you ready C?" He told Tisha to grab her purse and give him it to him. Before I could even speculate exactly what ‘it’ was, Retaly8 handed me a brand-new pearl handed .38 Saturday night special with a holster that had C-Note embossed in it.
“What’s this for partner?”
He pointed at his head, “Did you think I’d forget your birthday my nigga? I bought this for you in Akron before you had to toss your other one, but I thought now would be a good time to drop it on you. Was planning on surprising on your b-day but we have to do-dirt before then.”
I inspected the sparking chrome and the fancy handle then smiled, “Man, I still have a few weeks before its here.” Israeli helped me put on my holster.
Tisha looked over as she helped Retaly8 tie his tie. She said, “You look good with that holster C.”
Afterwards, I put my new thirty-eight in my holster, put it on and headed to the door feeling like a new man, a dangerous man. “Thanks my nigga. Today we break bread, tonight we bust heads.” I stepped out into the dead of night. It was a thunderous night; I had never experienced the winds whistle so hard before.
My eye was still very swollen and it watered constantly. I looked into the rearview mirror and instantly pissed myself off. "Hum, a handsome nigga except for mangled right eye," I thought to myself. I picked up Lola; sweet talked her then reminded her about what he had done to her baby, her arm, and her hearing. This was her chance to get even. After rousing her emotions, I instructed her to go get him, to distract him, and to get even. “Tell him that you want to get back with him,” I pulled her in gently and kissed the bottom of her lip, “but make it convincing, you know how to do it.” I gave her a lump of money to give him. “Give him this, all of it. You know once you leave a real pimp, he won’t take you back unless you have a handsome ransomed to put in this pocket. This $1000 dollars should do the trick.”
Her eyes lit up as she asked, “This is a lot of money. Are you sure?”
I replied, “As sure as he’s going to want to put his foot in your ass! Most of these niggas are small time so this kind of money will definitely spark his interests to wonder if there is more where this came from and when he does anything, raise his hand, or voice, you act heart broken, afraid, run, and do whatever to get him outside. I’ll take care of him from there. All you have to do is get him outside.” I paused and turned around with my nose doing its usual flaring. I gritted my teeth and said, “Don’t come outside if you can’t get him come.”
I needed her to know that I was dead serious. I wanted him to have a quick execution because if I had to go, that would be the only way I'd want it. Lola, being the spiteful bitch that she was, showed me where he lived and told me the details I needed to know about the layout of the building. After she filled me in, she ran up the steps of his apartment; I jogged over and hid in the shadows beside it. As I waited there, I remembered the night that I slayed Spook. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and my palm sweated because I was anxious to get this over with.
Meanwhile, Retally8 waited a few apartments up the street as backed up. I could hear muffled chatter and each step squeaking from where I was standing. First her hurried steps resounded then his heavier thuds followed. Every step made my heart raced faster. My knees shook, a chill fell over me, and my palms sweated even more. The sky crackled with noisy thunder and flickered with bright lightning. Rain and sleet started pouring down and my mood mirrored the moment. Could it be that I was actually afraid or was it just the anticipation of a premeditated murder? This wasn’t the emotionally activated environment that I had grown accustomed to. Finally, I heard Sundown's masculine baritone voice and a few feminine moans from facial slaps.
“Bitch, you been up in anther pimp’s face! You in violation, pay up. Break yourself bitch, I want all of that paper. I don't trust you," he shoved her down and began to unbuckle his belt. She pleaded for mercy. Damn she’s good, very convincing.
"You know that young ass boy can't tame me, where is he?” he slapped her a few more times. He ordered, “You wait here bitch."
Lola being the true actress she was replied aptly, “He’s still in his room; he’s afraid of you. That’s why I want you back daddy. I need a real stand up man, not a boy.”
“Now I know you on some bull bitch, that scary nigga took my money and you gone help me get it back bitch,” Sundown laughed loudly then ambled over in my direction still mumbling under his breath. My vital organs froze and my finger on the trigger began to tingle. Subsequently, I could hear him pissing on the wall across from where I was standing in the shadows like death. All I had to do was simply squeeze the trigger, but I rationalized that it seemed quite cowardly, so I decided to give him a fierce slap across the back of his head. My pistol exploded as it shattered his cranium. He made a feminine sound like Lola as he plummeted onto the ground. While my adrenaline was rushing, I rolled him over and shoved the barrel in his mouth then squeezed. Sweat dripped down my forehead. I could taste blood in my mouth after I fired another shot. Smoke arose from his face; remnants of his cerebellum decorated my pin striped suit.
Suddenly, I heard a thunderous fleet of steps running down from inside of the apartment. Tanichi came out with a shot gun. I was at an angle where I could see him but he couldn't see me. Once I positioned myself for a good shot, I took it. "Motherfuck!" I sighed. Awestruck that I had missed, he turned towards me and I suddenly seen the unsafe end of his barrel aimed in my direction. It was a timeless moment as I stared down that barrel. I heard gunfire before I squeezed the trigger for a third time. Afterwards, I fired once more then Tanichi fell onto the ground, he was crawling on his belly at a slug’s pace.
Retally8 hopped out, ran up and blasted him again in the back of the neck. "Good thing, I drove down.” Retally8 looked at me and asked, “Why did you freeze up C? My piece operating right?"
I walked out slowly and remained silent as I got in the car. I actually sighed a bit of relief because this conflict was over regardless of the long term consequences. Meanwhile, Lola sat in the backseat smiling even though her soaking wet face was swollen with fingerprint imprints. She had experienced that special moment that nearly every street bitch wanted to see, her pimp reduced to wreckage and rubbish. She was one satisfied deceitful bitch.
Retally8 looked around for the police before he quickly peeled off into the night. The wind and icy wetness were unwelcomed conditions. We relocated to another motel on the other side of town in the heavy sleet. He shook me once, but I was non-responsive then he shook me again violently. “C are you straight?"
Something made me come through. "What's up my nigga?" I asked.
He looked puzzled. "You C, you froze up back there. I had already blown out Tanichi’s back long before you thought about firing. You must be in shock; you haven't spoken for the last twenty minutes. You in zombie mode my nigga."
Maybe I was in shock; I thought we had just left the five minutes ago. I didn’t even realize that I was drenched from head to toe. This timelessness, I couldn’t explain. Time seemed to stand still for me as if I was forgetting to do something. I leaped up. "Where is Israeli? Where is Lola? Where is our bitches?"
“They are straight; I'm going to get them shortly. I relocated here for the night because that area is going to be swimming with heat once those bodies surface. You need to stay here with Lola.” Retally8 calmed me down. “Are you going to be straight?" he asked.
Still half dazed, I nodded my head yes.
"Hey my nigga remember you did what had to be done. Kill or be killed, pimp or be pimped, all is fair in love and war." Then he stepped out of the door.
Chilled with wet clothing, Lola sat there shaking. For a moment, I searched my soul. For some reason, I was extremely cold and my teeth chattered the way they did back in the icy streets of Akron. This was artic coldness. I wanted to be warm; I wanted to be held the nurturing way my mother never held me. Yearning for the warmth that only Grandma Betty had given me, I wanted to hold Israeli’s soft body next to mine, to make love to her and to hold her. Israeli went that extra mile to make a nigga feel loved and not just feared. But why did I feel this way? I felt so damn vulnerable. I'm a pimp and I love pimping. Pimping gave me a name, an image, a reason to live, and a sense of self being. But I had finally come to the conclusion that I needed more than flashy cars, silk suits, and leather boots. I needed something to fill this void, something to dampen this desperation, something to fix this perpetual sense of brokenness. Am I the only hardcore pimp to feel this way? I undressed and crawled under a thick blanket then sent a prayerful shout out to Grandma, Blue, and Brutus then I quickly fell to sleep. I had forgotten all about the presence of double-crossing Lola.
