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The last two weeks were really rough. The police brutally interrogated me three times, but Israeli and Ebony had tipped me off because a trick-cop tipped them off. My stolen identify really came in handy. The word about Sundown and Lola had gotten out in the streets and the rogue referees were riding me, but I stayed one step ahead of them. The heat was on. The pigs were pressing my hoes, hard. Police were trying to get my bitches to testify against me. To keep my whores quiet, I found myself spending more money bailing them out than I was pocketing.
To make matters worse, rumors had it that Eula was thinking about breaking ice. However, she came up dead at a truck stop. It was a double edge sword because they girls thought that I was behind Eula’s murder. I honestly wasn’t and I believe it was a random murder, it just happened to Eula who was running from me. Whatever the case, it enforced the fear factor with my other whores. But business was suffering. It was a depressing time. I knew cops were watching me and the only thing that kept me free was the fact that niggers were dispensable and the county wasn’t about to waste its precious resources and man-hours on solving the death of a nefarious pimp or run-of-the-mill harlot.
Eventually, to my dismay, a couple of my hoes jumped ship and no one has seen them since. Tara and Dana were unremarkable anyway. Perhaps I was playing my pimp-hand too strong and their absence left me unsettled since I didn’t have a license to kill and I did have my freedom to think about. It was time to reconsider staying here, and my birthday was approaching in a matter of days, so it seemed to be a good time to make that transition. At least, I would return to Akron with my reputation in tack.
Israeli looked so relieved to be back home and suggested that we celebrate, after all my birthday was coming up. However, I wasn’t much on celebrating, but Israeli insisted on doing something special for my birthday, not getting arrested was special enough for me. Now that she was home, I had her physically go to bail the girls out for me. With the amount of blood on my hands, I wouldn’t dare voluntarily go near any jail or courthouse. Every day and every hour, Israeli proved her worth. She loved the ground I walked on and I loved how she loved it. Now, she was my eyes and ears out in the streets. She told me that Chi-town was still lurking around, but haven't much as heard a peek from him or his boys.
I guess Chi-town got the point that C-Note and Retally8 weren’t leaving until they fucking felt like it. Our pimping was too sharp and too hard to ever be stopped. Everywhere we went hoes and hoodlums were drawn to us. We had the walk, the talk, the money, all the respect and a fleet of the hoes, what was there left in life? I felt like God. We had the entire south side of town sewed up. Retally8 had hooked up with some young killas and he had them pushing dope for him. Plus, the heroine merchants were our extra ears and eyes out there in the Windy. After all, it was in their interest to make sure we stayed in business to keep them in the business of getting high. Man these young guns had so much love for the new macks on the block, but the old school players hated us and we loved being hated.
A day before my birthday, Retally8 called me back to our new spot, a duplex that we had recently leased. He told me that the word around town was that Chi-town thought I was growing too big and that it's time for me to take a dirt-nap. Rumor has it that Chi-town was the one that had the pigs pressing me and my whores so hard. I wasn't the least surprised because a jealous punk motherfucka aint shit. I had altered my entire routing that Lola was familiar with. I figured that he had paid her for inside information, but she didn't even have enough sense to filter his large sums of money and give me a bit here and a bit there. Dumb ass bitch, now that she's dead, she's probably a lot smarter.
In order to keep a low-profile, I made popcorn rounds, where I’d randomly popped in and checked the girls on the track. I couldn’t be two places at one time, but I could pop up and here and there to make my presence felt if they were not performing up to par. I suggested to Retally8 that we sit this out a bit because he was making so much paper pushing dope through the young guns and by now. I also had my girls selling plenty of pussy. He agreed that we should tap into this pipeline paper for a few more weeks and then make a clean sweep out of here with over a hundred grand a piece. With this kind of money and our reputation in tack, we could return to Akron, Ohio as living legends of the pimp game and invest our money into a legitimate business. Shit, who knows maybe I might even square up a bit and have a little C-Note. At Twelve O'clock sharp, just as I was thinking about being back in Akron, Ohio, I heard an enormous commotion on the stairway. I looked towards the source of the noise. Ebony and Unique dashed up the steps like never before. Clearly, they were terrified. Both were out of breath. Ebony caught her breath and hollered, "C-Note, Chi-town is on the track fucking with Israeli. He is talking about getting even for Lola and making her leave with him."
Anger instantly anchored my heart. Nearly in shock, I replied, “I just came off the track not even ten minutes ago.” I jumped up, slipped my shoes on, and grabbed my gun, put it in my holster, put on my holster on, then put my jacket on, and afterwards headed down the steps. My hoes panted behind me. I was ready to hunt something.
Meanwhile, Retally8 was out making his dope boy rounds. We were making too much money and these niggas were outrageously jealous. Would I feel any differently if the shoe were on the other foot? Shit, I still remember when I was barefooted! I knew that this Chi-town character would be a problem sooner or later. Later just came a whole lot sooner than I expected. I quickly drove down to the icy track, searched the corners for the law, and then spotted Chi-town in a screaming match with Israeli. He was still strong-arming my bitch, tossing my bitch around as if she was under his policy. My blood boiled and the red alert went off in my heart. I hopped out of my whip like I was the police. I smugly asked, "What the fuck is up Chi-town?” I could see uneasiness on his face. “First the police tactics and now this? Since you can’t chip a nigga’s bitch, you are trying to kidnap a nigga's bitch? What do you know about this policy pushing?” I grinned.
"I don't give a fuck about you little nigga or this broke ass piece of bitch," he shoved her forward as he looked in my direction. She fell in my arms.
Israeli hollered, "Your momma a broke bitch, bitch."
I smiled, "Daddy's here now." Only, Israeli had a way of making me smile. Although she was cold and shivering, she still smiled at me with her sexy candy-coated lips as she held me tightly. She squeezed me so close that I could feel her warm heart beating next to mine. Her fresh perfume let me know how sweet it was to be loved. Her firm embrace encased my masculinity and made me feel real like a natural nigga. “Press on Chi-town,” I demanded. “You paper pimps only have a couple more weeks to submit to this stiff python pimping.”
Israeli hollered, "Take yo’ tired part time-pimping, punk ass the fuck on bitch. Talking about you gone get even.” He looked at her in disbelief. “Yeah, I said it bitch. Do something. My man here now motherfucka," she barked once more. I was so proud of her that I wanted to kiss the ashy crack of her stanking ass. I kept a close eye on him because something unusual sparked in his eyes. Israeli moved even closer to me; she gripped me even tighter. Damn, life is good.
Nevertheless, Chi-town laughed robustly lit his cigarette then suddenly reached in his beltline for his firearm. This motherfucka, I thought. Israeli screamed, “Oh god, he’s got a gun.” She quickly dashed to the other side of my Mercedes. One of the coldest breezes blew at that very moment. My heart beat painfully hard like so many times before. Fear knew me not. I was ready for whatever.
Two tigers’ eyes locked; neither of us blinked. It was a face off of chump versus champion. There was no way on God’s green earth I‘d ever freeze up again during trigger play. Chi-town needed a big foot in his ass, and I intended to give him exactly what he needed. Seeing his finger easing around his trigger, I briskly reached down for my Saturday night special but my fucking jaw dropped. This couldn’t be. My holster was—empty. Son of a bum bitch! I thought. I deliberately stared Chi-town in his cold calculating eyes, and they were absent of the fear that I had become so accustomed to. I could hear his hollow heart beating. He smiled as he started to squeeze his trigger. "Gotcha-dumb-cocky-motherfucka!" He raised, aimed, and fired his pistol. Chi-town laughed, “You don’t know shit about your bitches do you? Your two-faced bitch set your real bedrock bitch up just to set your punk ass up.”
Seconds later, the momentous force of the slug slammed me against my Mercedes, and the pressure was so great that inhaling oxygen left me in blinding anguish. My lungs rapidly filled with lethal blood instead of vital oxygen. My vision doubled; I fell over. The very knife that I kept for keepsake fell out of my pocket. I watched it slowly spin to a stop on the icy pavement. It was the very knife I used to save Israeli. This was the deadly price you pay when you trust a bum ass piece of bitch. This is the price you pay when you become the victim of your own tactics. I used Sundown’s whore to set him up and Chi-town used my favorite whore to shaft me.
I could still hear Chi-town chuckling. "You thought us Chicago niggas was gone go out like featherweight chumps. I used you to get rid of Sundown, and I used Israeli to trap your young dumb ass. Aint no Akron player gone run shit up here! Both of you Akron motherfuckers thought you were going to run shop up here.” I held my chest as warm blood gushed in between my fingers. Although the blood clearly was mine, I was in utter disbelief. My heart was beating rapidly. I violently coughed up blood on my window and I tried to maintain my balance. I groped the hood of the car but to no avail, my strength failed me. My words drowned as pink sputum trotted down the side of my mouth. Before my body slid slowly down my car door, I could see her pretty little deceitful face on the other side through the glass.
If only I had of listened to Lola? With my bloody hands pressed against the glass, I asked ruefully, “Why Israeli?”
She was sobbing heavily as she held my pearl handled gun tightly against her bosom. She replied, "Because I could never possess you, never have you to myself, and I would've died for you. Since I can’t have you, I had you killed. That’s the only way to get over you.” She wiped tears from her painted face. “God forgive me. I will always be true to the game C. The game, learn the rules, stay two steps ahead of your hoes or another pimp will chip them from you. Right, Mr. All Pimp?” She wiped away the last of her crocodile tears and marched toward the competition. “By the way, Happy Birthday motherfucka! You're a dumb knuckle-cracking gangsta C-Note, not a brilliant pimp.”
"Correction, a dead gangsta or paper pimp what the fuck ever," barked Chi-town. Chi-town got into his red and white Cadillac then Israeli got in on the passenger’s side. Ebony and Unique were already happily sitting in the backseat under a blanket. He rolled down the window and blasted four more hot ones in me, then spun off. My demise was just like the song All is Fair said: after all is put away the losing side I’ll play...
Dreadfully, I heard those distant sirens just as I did when I butchered BAM. I had lived like a lion only to die like a lamb. Damn. All of a sudden, I began to freeze, a deeper freeze than I ever experienced. My teeth chattered. My toes tingled with a fiery sensation, that same icy sensation of homelessness. Then from nowhere appeared Brutus with his tail and tongue wagging or maybe it was just my imagination. He had saved me before when I was homeless, but not even he could stop this eternal homelessness I had to face.
Speaking of faces, they were everywhere; it was a sea of enumerable faces. Sad sunken faces surrounded with a web of blackness. Among those faces was mommy, she appeared to be in unspeakable agony. Misery hung from her face like nothing I had ever seen before. I heard cries in painful octaves that I had never heard before; they were unbearable. Within moments, more and more discolored disfigured faces appeared; among them were the souls of those I have murdered with my very own hands. Everyone was reaching with incredible disparity, competing and clawing ferociously, and screaming at the top of their lungs for help, but no one was there to relieve their blistering agony. Suddenly, an ultra-bright light shined on them, but they shuddered and quickly fled from it. Bodies exploded with such magnificent luminance that it rendered my mind’s eye temporarily blind. Their charred flesh smelled awful. Smoke enveloped their remains in utter darkness. Was my imagination just running away with me or was I really living this nightmare?
At this point, I shook intensely and blood flowed out of me like water out the mouth of the Mississippi River. Life was literally leaking out of me. Grandma’s sweet voice hummed the tune Trouble of the World. Her calming voice echoed off in the distance. My troubles of this world were now over, but my troubles of the next world had just begun. I had been engulfed in worshipping myself, the creature rather than the creator. As clips of my hard-hearted life played before me, I realized that there was indeed a heaven, a hell, and an almighty God, but I had made the terrible mistake of thinking that I was one. After all who sent Grandma Betty, Blue, Brutus, and Chappie to aide me when I needed help most? There were good things and good people in my life, even if it were only for a season. Yet, I chose to walk the wide destructive path of many instead of taking the narrow road that so few are willing to. The pimp game is a fatal game and like many before me, I lost. My tunneled vision was fading and so was my pulse. My heart was beating slower and slower by the second.
The most valuable lesson of the game came entirely too late. Expect the unexpected because often you become what you hate the most. In my case, it was weakness. I hated weakness. I hated helplessness. Yet, my hatred of weakness became my very weakness. I became so focused on being strong, that I wasn’t focused on being wise. Secondly, somewhere down inside me, I hated mom. I hated whores. I hated women. Women you can never trust or even care about. Just like a pit bull can sense fear, a hooker can smell weakness; Israeli smelled my weakness. Weakness is perceived as a sickness to uncut street people. We live in a world that loves to lift you up just so that it can throw you down. People embedded in the gritty ghetto are no different.
I fooled the entire world, but I could not dupe a single beat of my heart. I operated between two extremes: One, loving my grandma religiously and two, hating my mother detestably. I hated my flesh-peddling, drug-abusing mother, and I wanted to make her soul suffer. I wanted to push and punish all endowed with a pulse and a pussy, but I couldn’t smother out the capacity to love or desire for love because my grandma buried a trace of mercy, a vestige of love in my callous heart for one of them feminine creatures. All women were not bitches. They were humans; they were people not objects. Many were just like me lost and broken, hoping to find away when there was none.
I picked a poisonous path in life to follow, but I didn’t have to. I was determined to pimp and plunder my own people. I had profited off the backs and misery of others just as white slave masters had did our ancestors. I didn’t even realize that I had ignored all of Grandma Betty’s insights and lessons. Imagine what greatness I could have achieved, if I was willing to work as hard to do right as I was willing to do wrong? Maybe I could have used my mind to help instead of hurt others. Maybe I could have developed a cure for cancer or some other disorder. Perhaps this tragedy happened to me so that so many other brothas would open their eyes and see what a truly great people we can be. We can be great builders rather than great destroyers. We can be great lovers rather than great haters. We can be great healers instead of hurters. We can be whatever we strive to be. Grandma chose to be sweet, but I chose to be street.
I still didn't know if I truly loved Israeli, but sadly, I trusted her. I put my trust in a worldly woman that I knew not to trust, but utterly refused to put my trust in God. In the game of lust, there is no one on this back-stabbing earth that you can ever truly trust. When a man demands a fractured to woman sell her humanity and her morality for a few dollars, can he honestly expect to trust her? She’s willing to let a total stranger invade her body for a small fee. Who can expect to use and abuse and never once play the fool? I wasted my efforts and intellect on these immoral pursuits, but also sacrificed my very soul. Hell had a place set aside just for me.
How many more of our brothers will die trying to be bigger, better, and slicker than the next man? How many more young women will be exploited and have her youth sucked up and sucked on by some man that could care less if she lives or die? A man that is waiting to throw her away when she is washed up. How many of these young women will grow to hate men so much that when they become mothers, they will hate their sons like my mother hated me? How many will promote this psychological pain and poison. When will this viscous cycle of destruction end? When will the construction of our generation begin? If you are willing to live by the sword, be willing to die by it!
Now, I've unsuccessfully graduated from another crash course of Advanced Pimpology with five bullets and so-called honors, bullets that appear to be worth more than the cheap black and brown lives that they take every day in our ghettos and honors that mean absolutely nothing when you are dead and gone, an empty honor of street credibility lost on lost souls. "I've faced and fought my every fear, may the whole world know that C-Note a pimp-fool was here."
Tisha witnessed my demise and rushed the bad news to Retally8. He stopped and dropped his head. They both took my death hard. Retally8 actually shed a few tears. It was particularly heavy on his heart, but he had to push on with the family. What reason did he have to stay? Waiting around would be like signing up for assassination. At that point and time, Retally8 realized that it was time to move his operation back home in Ohio.
A couple days later, Retally8 arranged the coldest funeral in Chicago’s history. Of course, he had C-Note buried in Chicago that way the pimps would be just as jealous to see C-Note go as they were when he came. Hundreds of people came to pay their respects. It was mostly ladies of the evening. Retally8’s young killas were in attendance. A little of everyone was there including a few weak-willed cops. Nonetheless, the funeral was simply beautiful. A pearl casket trimmed in gold, plus a white and gold pin stripe silk suit enveloped C-Note. Of course, he buried C-Note with a matching pearl handled pistol. Across the casket was engraved—PIMP. Four Clydesdale horses pulled C-Note up the track laced with a twenty dozen white roses. Retally8 topped everything off when he played C-Note’s favorite song All is Fair in Love. All is fair for pimps and whores, the war is not with each other but the battle is over our souls.
"Since you roamed the earth with demons; may your soul rest in peace among the angels," Retally8 toasted among his hoes. Retally8 turned his back briefly as a stream of hot salty tears silently slide down his chubby face. Some spectators were there just to view the late legendary barbaric C-Note from Akron, Ohio. One spectator said, “No one ever knew his real name but everyone knew his true game—python pimping."
Retally8 took over the family; he now had ten whores headed back to Akron with him. However, it would never be as wild, fun and crazy as it was when C-Note was around. Tisha rounded up the whores in his brand new suburban and they drove off in route of heading home. Suddenly, Retally8 told her to stop. "I hate being in churches. I don’t even like to piss in them. I feel like pimp with a 9-5 job—out of place, but I have to piss not now but right now.” He quickly walked behind a building to relieve his full bladder. As he was pissing, he heard plastic crumpling in the alley. His eyes lit up. He knew he had enemies. His heart accelerated. He slowly turned around as he zipped up his pants. He let off a sigh of relief when he noticed that it was a German Shepherd assisted by this scruffy ten-year-old boy eating out of the trash; his heart is touched with compassion. The disheveled kid made him think about C-Note. He pulled out huge bank roll. "No one said life would be easy. Here take this and get some food. Look at me, pimping and hoeing is the only thing going. There are two types of people in the world and that's pimps and hoes. Remember to always expect the unexpected and your pimping can never be deflected. And there’s one last thing you ought to know, if you decide to pimp, never trust a hoe."
The little boy ruefully smiled as his dog limped over towards him. That little scruffy homeless boy clenched the money and said, “Thank you mister. My drunk daddy died and my mother abandoned me. She ran off with some fast talking hustler. She just packed up and left me with no money, no food, and no notice. Seen her at the train station and she turned her head as if she didn’t see me.” He tucked the money in his pocket then looked up at Retally8 with teary eyes and quivering lips. “Motherfuckas treat their dogs better than this.” He stooped down and petted his dog on the back. He asked, “Aint that right Brutus?” The little boy stood back up, balled his up his fists, and continued, “And I’m gone grow up to be just like you mister. I’m going to live in the lap of luxury, even I have to take it! I’m going control the minds and bodies of bitches just like that hustler did my worthless shit-stain of momma. I’m waging war on anything with a pussy! I swear on everything, I’m going to conquer bitches!”
Deeply touched, Retally8 took off his hat and placed it gingerly against his chest. “Little man, seems like you been through pure hell. I got nothing but love for you. I just lost a partner that knows exactly what you been through. Put on your battle boots, its war out here.” He wiped a tear out of his eye then cheerfully looked to the big blue sky. “Long live the blessed hard-learned lessons of C-Note in the hearts of hoes and hoodlums to come. That’s for you C." He slowly walked back to the suburban and sat inside with a strangely discontent expression strewn across his face. Tisha reached over and asked, “Retally8, what’s wrong hun? Why are you looking like that?” Retally8 seemingly in shock answered, “Seen a kid that reminded me of C-Note digging through the trash. I’ve never met anyone, not even a pimp speak so lowly, so recklessly, and so violently of their own momma.” He placed his heavily jeweled hand on Tisha’s toned thigh. “Promise me that you will make sure that your son knows that I never took you from him, never forced you to do anything that you didn’t want to do, but most importantly, let him know you love him, okay?”
Tisha looked lost, kissed his lips and replied, “Yes, I definitely will. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just don’t want another young brother experiencing the hell that C-Note and too many brothers experience all too often in this toxic jungle. It’s about making money, not misery.”
Tisha put the car in drive and drove off. She smiled, “I got you Retally8. My baby boy knows how much he means to me, but I will be sure to drive that point home just for you daddy. Let’s get home and make this money baby.”
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the seedy saga continues...
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HEAT ANTHONY PRESENTS
Volume no. 2
To Colonize One Mind at Time
A Novel
By
Heat Anthony
Copyright @ 2015 by Do-Dirt Doctrine Publishing
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For latest up dates and new releases visit The Do-Dirt Doctrine facebook page
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Link here
Warning Graphic Adult Content
This book contains language and content that some may find offensive.
This book is not appropriate for children.
THE DO-DIRT DOCRTRINE PRESENTS DO-DIRT DIARIES
VOLUME NO.2
Warning adult content: graphic violence and sexual depictions
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—Silky
PART ONE
Momma Knows Best
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From a distance, the driver of a big black Cadillac Brougham spotted her long shapely legs. These were no ordinary legs; these were the kind of legs that demanded a price, a price that even happily married men would be more than willing to pay. The kind of legs that swallowed promising careers and spit out tarnished legacies.
The illicit driver circled the block to make sure that the long arm of the law was nowhere to be seen. Shortly after his brief surveillance, the elegant Cadillac pulled up beside her. It was then and only then that the driver noticed her condition. “I’m sorry ma’am, I thought you were someone else,” he lied as he got ready to pull off.
She bent over with two tightly packed breasts and erect nipples staring at him. She winked, “I can be anyone you want me to be baby.”
“No thanks,” he adjusted his silk tie as he nervously looked around. “After all you’re very pregnant, what are you doing out here anyway?”
“Selling some very pregnant pussy,” she unsnapped her bra and let her double-barreled lust hang enticingly before him. “You ever had some good pregnant pussy boy?”
The naive driver fumbled with his cuff, as he stammered, “No ma’am.”
“Want some? It’s hot as fire and wetter than water,” she opened his door and hopped in. Before he could refuse, she reached over and grabbed his hand and ran it up her skirt, where his fingertips danced ever so gently up the crease of her vaginal valley. His eyes were frozen in awe as she pulled his fingers out of her hot hole and quickly licked her creamy secretions off of his fingers, “Let’s go baby boy. What I got will make you spend money.”
“Ma’am you’re pregnant, I can’t do this...”
Milliseconds later, his window exploded as a shot rang out into the night. His body lay limp from the unexpected gunshot wound. The alarmed pregnant prostitute immediately leaped out of car, fell face first, but rolled on the ground until she was able to get her footing then dash down the alley. Her stomach was aching and her heart was pounding painfully but she was too full of fear to stop. More shots were fired. She heard them but she refused to stop.
All of sudden, that same Cadillac Brougham sped down the alley behind her but now the shooters were behind the wheel. She dashed to her right and broke her heel as she turned the corner. The Cadillac screeched to a complete stop. She ran although not very fast being eight months pregnant and having on only one heel. The driver opened the door then he aimed his shotgun in her direction down the alley but right at the moment he fired, she tripped and fell again; the shot barely missed its target.
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The passenger leaned forward, took a closer look, then tapped the gunman, “Man, she’s pregnant. Pregnant as fuck.”
“So what,” barked the gun-man.” Let’s kill the black bitch.”
“We can’t kill no pregnant woman man,” he pulled the gunman shoulder. “Hell, my girl pregnant at home. Let’s go rob and carjack another trick then take our ass home before we do something we’ll regret, like kill an innocent baby.”
“She’s a bastard bearing whore,” the gunman stepped out of the car. “She seen us and can testify against us.”
“Man, she rolling on the ground in pain. She didn’t see us,” pleaded the passenger.
“Oh shit,” both carjackers look down the alley. “She’s in labor. She’s having the baby!”
The passenger pleaded, “I can’t kill no newborn. Let’s go, please.”
They both hopped into the stolen Cadillac and sped off into the night; the police arrived afterwards, noticed the pregnant hooker on the ground, and called the ambulance.
Mom was rushed to St. Thomas Hospital.
As you can see, my birth almost never happened, but since I was born, the story goes...
PECULIAR POPULARITY
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POPULARITY was a part of my life every since my handsome ass could remember. In the back of that ambulance, I slid out of momma’s wide wet womb being bombarded with warmth and purpose. Soon as mommy held me, she ran her fingers through my wavy black hair then she wrapped me tightly in soft cotton blankets and rubbed her slender oily nose against my cushiony chunky cheeks. Layered in baby fat, I was seven pounds and thirteen ounces of heart throbbing joy. Such joy resounded within her smile and on her pretty brown face as she looked into my precious deep blue eyes. Before I could even walk or talk, I was destined to invade the ladies’ heads and shatter their hearts. It was just that simple. I was Born to Conquer from the very start.
As you’ll soon discover, my popularity derived from, what some would say, an odd origin. Most of the guys in my neighborhood knew me because of my infamous mom, Tisha. See, mommy had me at the tender age of twelve. She was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I’m not saying that just because she’s my mother either. Mom’s legs were impossibly sturdy, her soothing almond complexion was soft and glossy, and her eyes were a deep, dark, sensuous brown. Her wide birth-bearing hips were the ultimate male bait, but it was her narrow waist and pierced bellybutton that left them awestruck. It was amazing that all of these incredible features could hang on one woman’s petite frame.
Mom stayed sharp from her thick natural curly Afro down to her immaculate pedicured toes. Mom stayed on top of everything and paid particular attention to her appearance, no flaky skin, no dry chapped heels, no pealing toenail paint, and never a single hair out of place. When you earn your income based solely upon your appearance, it tends to be top priority.
Everything about mom was seductive, her talk, her walk, and her scent. She was a walking hypnotist. Wide-eyed perverted guys all over Akron, Ohio wanted to bend her over or spread her eagle; mom was even a wet dream for blind men. Hot Chocolate wasn’t her nickname for nothing. Men, many men, were willing to pay top dollar in order to find out just how hot and sweet a sip of her chocolate was. However, it wasn’t the physical beauty that I loved about mom—it was her commitment to teach me how I deserved to be treated, what to expect from women, how to keep them ‘in pocket’, and what not to fall for, and most importantly, how to conquer them—how to colonize their minds. By now I’m sure you realize that my mother used her bodacious body to support both herself and me, and she did her best to make sure that I wasn’t ashamed of it either. It may seem bizarre to you but when that is all you know, what else can you do?
As a newborn, mom nestled me close as I nursed on her perky nipples, she looked into my baby blue eyes, brushed my ultra-curly hair, pinched me on my fat cheeks, and told me how great I would become one day. She always told me how handsome I was and how I would grow up to be a real heartbreaker. Mom had a unique way of spoiling me because she didn’t keep anything from me. She even asked one of her thick-lipped co-workers to give me a blow job when I was a mere six months old, back when you only needed two fingers to hold my little midget of a dick. Mom said nothing was too good for me, absolutely nothing. Every day as she played with my fat cheeks, she told me I was born for greatness, born to leave my mark in these ever changing streets. Why did mom have so much faith in little ole’ me?
Mom was never bashful with her overt sexiness. Then again with ever-erect 38 D cup breasts, a remarkable 24-inch waist, and some voluptuous 40-inch hips, I guess she had no need to be. Her full lips and shapely fat backside had men of all ages and races drooling. Not to mention, the dab of clothes that she wore left so little yet so much to the imagination at the same time. She smiled at every man and called everyone Hun. Believe it or not, she made the world a better place with her bright smiles, sweet perfume, smooth winks, and sexual healing. Mom made everything seem right and my closest friends wished that they had a mom like mine, rather strange huh?
Although mom was streetwalker, just about everyone in the hood seemed to be cool with it. In fact, mom even had a few cops that were her regular tricks. It seemed like the norm and very few seemed to frown upon it. Flesh peddling was just something that ghetto people did to survive. Of course, our neighborhood was filled with desperate junkies, half-dead drunks, heartless stick-up artist, powerful pimps, and pitiful punks. If you weren’t stealing or robbing from anyone in my neighborhood, weren’t you somewhat respectable? After all, whores didn’t force anyone to do anything that they didn’t want to do.
See mom never used hard drugs like cocaine, LSD, or heroine, but she turned me on to some pot when I was only five years old. Now before you past judgment, keep in mind that she’s the very reason that I love soul music so much. I loved being stoned listening and singing to the crackling 45s spin as she carefully placed the stylus in position to create the magic that would engulf my heart. These magical musical moments were unforgettable events with or without pot.
For several years, music kept me up all night imitating various artists. I spent countless hours rehearsing Jackie Wilson, James Brown, and even David Ruffins’ signature stage moves. Mom had taken me to so many concerts in nearby cities and shows within the circuit. In fact, mom spent a lot of time with a many musicians back stage. I had a front seat and I loved it and when I did my little dance moves everyone got a big kick out of watching me work the dances like a little Michael Jackson that sang with the Jackson Five.
But trust me when I say this—Michael Jackson didn’t have shit on me!
It was the 70s and the music scene was quickly changing. Marvin Gaye’s politically charged song What’s Going On turned more than a few ears; it turned the hearts of many men and women around the country. Music was more socially conscious and so were many of the blacks in our community, especially the Black Muslims. However, their local presence greatly declined in the late 60s’ after Malcolm X, Fred Hampton, and Martin Luther King Jr. were assassinated. The government made it clear that niggers that spoke up, got shot down. Although I was too young to remember any of these freedom fighters’ demise, I held a special connection to them, especially to Malcolm X because I was born on the day he was assassinated February 16, 1965.
Our shanty neighborhood was remnants of what it used to be. A shift from black owned businesses and a bustling local economy boosted by the rubber industry to a criminal war zone. Now, drugs, violence, prostitution, and corrupt cops ruled the scene, and you were better off being a rodent than being a nigga. Niggers no longer think and speak out like we did in the 1960’s. We just feel, feel helpless and we are willing to do whatever we have to do to feel just a little bit of sunshine while many of us still experience the American nightmare.
In spite of our meager existence, I loved nothing as much as I loved listening to the tight harmony of The Temptations, The O’Jays, The Chi-Lites, The Delfonics, The Four Tops, and many more artists all day long before mom would go out and turn dates all night. Nothing made me feel good as hearing the Motown sound or the sounds of Philadelphia. Mom always got a big laugh at watching me attempt to do dance like the Tempts, especially when I did my spin and split like David Ruffin.
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I really tried to impress her, anything to keep her from leaving me with her mean, old, chunky, heavy breasted, best friend Cindy. Sometimes mom would be working out of town for weeks at a time. Big Cindy baby-sat while mom worked, but Cindy seemed a little uneasy around me and didn’t engage with me anymore than necessary. She didn’t feel the same way about the fridge though because every fifth-teen minutes or so she was engaging with it like a motherfucka. When she did engage with me, it was to say something short and sharp, something mean. Some nights she didn’t utter a single phrase. All you could hear was loud smacking in between bites. I used this time to look up new words in this old secondhand dictionary while I listened to some good music.
However, before mom left, she always made me feel safe and secure. It was hard to worry about her when she looked so lovely and wore so much excitement on her face each and every night. When I was younger, before she left for work, she would say, “You’re momma’s little big man right?” I would look up at her goo-goo eyed and shake my little head yeah. She’d pick me up and kiss me on the cheek. Mom took the greatest pride in me. She made sure that I wore these cute little sailor suits or pin-stripe outfits. She put my long wavy hair into a neat little pony tail. She always treated me a like a little man, not a baby. Sometimes she would even take me, against her better judgment, with her to the crusty crowded bars and let me watch various entertainers perform live in the Akron Circuit at local bars. One of my favorite local groups were, Akron’s own home grown, the Meditations plus Ruby and the Romantics.
I vividly remember this one crazy Friday night back when I was seven. Mom was drinking/working when this liquor reeking drunk stumbled over and slurred, “Hey hoe, what you do-dah...doing with that boe-bah...boy up in the b-bah...bar, b-bah...b-bitch?” His dark, deep, crater face seared through her with bloodshot red eyes. The sour whiskey burned my nose as he nearly fell over into me.
“I’m selling pussy, why motherfucka, do you want to dig in a bitch right quick?” Mom pulled up her skirt revealing just the crease of her meaty twat; she was so bold and alluring: fearless. People must have been used to the foul language and blatant gestures because no one even blinked. I guess this was just a typical night.
“Girl, you turning tricks right in frah-frah-front of this boy? Pah-pah-pack that pussy up and go home and be a mother. He-he-he he gone grow up to hay-hay-hate you. What kind of woman are you?” The drunk tried to maintain his balance as he fell into a passerby. The drunk continued, “How can his fre-free-friends respect him knowing that his momma is a two dollar whore?”
Someone in the background shouted, “I’ll take a shot of that two dollar pussy.”
Meanwhile, mom stood up in his face and snapped, “Why don’t you do me a two dollar favor and shut the fuck up drunk bitch?” She turned her cup up and finished her drink. “I’m the type of woman that got raped when I was eleven years old but refused to abort or abandon my baby! I’m the kind of woman who takes care of her child. I’m the kind of woman that does not rely on the government to give me shit. Don’t worry about what kind of woman I am or how my son will respect me.”
She shoved the drunk. “How do your kids respect you being a pissy punk-drunk? Drinking every damn dollar you earn. Psst, you can’t even afford this two dollar pussy can you? But I’m supposed to be ashamed?” She looked down and pulled me close to her shapely thigh. “To hell with what you talking about. Respect me? Are you trying to tell me that your kids respect having a drunk dad who drinks his entire check up rather than support them? I put my baby first. What can people say when they see me walking down the street?”
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Mom snapped her fingers and continued, “Oh people pay to fuck her; meanwhile, half of these so-called house bitches give away more pussy than I could ever sell while their husbands are out tricking with me or some bitch just like me. Shit, their men taking out of their kids’ mouths to feed mine.” She threw her head back and continued, “Am I a nasty hoe? How can my son love me? How can any man love me? What do you men want from women anyway? Women give their bodies up all the time, often to a man that doesn’t even deserve it. I aint giving up shit! I’m selling it. Men merely pay to play in the pussy; they don’t destroy it. I aint met a dick that could do that yet. This pussy is still a tight delight. Respect that truth.”
She unflinchingly looked at various passersby. She continued her sermon, “ House bitches be handing out pussy on the low but getting credit for doing shit that they are not doing half the time such as being loyal! A lot of your mothers were closet harlots rather you know it or not, and you still loved them because they loved you, they fed you, they protected and sheltered you regardless of what they did with their pussy. Selling two-dollars of pussy put two-dollars of food in your stomach. That’s what counted, not the work they did.”
Now rubbing her chin, mom asked, “How come the men that buy all this pussy never get a bad rap? Every man in here is a trick; do you bitches think they’re buying drinks for some punk ass conversation? Hell no, the drunker you dumb bitches get, the cheaper pussy becomes. Niggas didn’t come here to talk; they came here to fuck. They are not trying to get to know you, they are trying to fuck you! Some people push dope, others slave in the coalmines and sweat shops, but I sell body, my motherfuckin body. Who can have a problem with what I do with my pussy? Certainly, not none of you drunk trick motherfuckas in here.”
She gently grabbed me by the arm and pulled me even closer to her, “But this little handsome devil, my little man was born to conquer. He aint gone pay for shit! He aint never gonna be no jive ass trick. I want him to see it up close and personal. I want him to see while he’s young. I want him to see how most double-double crossing bitches use and abuse men.”
Mom poked the drunk in the chest. “A bitch aint shit, I’m a bitch and I know what we are about. I want my little man to see how sorry selfish, self-destructive, backstabbing bitches will set a nigga up to get robbed or killed,” she shot dirty looks at various patrons and continued, “But not my baby, he gone be hard on these bitches. He gone know that it is exploit or be exploited! Just like the white man have been doing to us dumb niggers for centuries. Why haven’t we stopped the white man from stepping on our narrow necks? Simple, because we are too stupid and we learn too late to do anything. We’ve been used to being pushed and punished, especially us hard headed black bitches. Well, my little mack gone learn right now and see it firsthand. And he’s gonna love me for it. Respect that truth.”
There was so much commotion going on, lots of whispering, music blaring out of the juke box, cigarette smoke dancing in the air, shady characters slipping packages into busty women’s cleavage, and perverts slipping mickeys into naïve girls’ drinks. Even though it all fascinated me, the heart-warming music, oh how that music filled my soul and made me feel whole. Beautiful women were dancing in their skintight psychedelic dresses and not so pretty women were brooding with frown-tight facial expressions. Players were dressed in loud colors with huge collars, and high heeled platform shoes as they walked around and mingled with the ladies. Few were thinking but everyone was feeling good.
Although the bar was with filled with distractions, I was still able to look up at mom with her perfect Afro. It was seconds before she took a brief reprieve from her rant, looked back down, rubbed her hand through my hair, and smiled at me. Even while she was angry, she was the prettiest, coolest, and hippest person in the entire world. Boy, did I love momma. This precious moment was ruined by the drunk’s screaming.
––––––––
THE DRUNKARD slammed down and shattered his empty glass then grabbed mom’s arm, hard. “Bah-bah bitch you are crazy. You gah-gah-gone respect me,” shouted the drunkard. Suddenly, the owner of the bar looked over in mom’s direction. The drunkard continued, “Do-dah-do you know who you’re fucking with? I’m a bah-boxer, bitch. I’ll knock you the fuh-fuh-fuck out.”
I was petrified and my little heart never drummed so frantically in all my days. The drunk wagged his finger directly in mom’s face. Anger shot across my mother’s face as she slipped her free hand into her purse, pushed me behind her then quickly ran the blade across his throat, and said, “Knock this out.”
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Suddenly, passersby turned in chairs. He groped his neck as blood gushed out of it; his eyes popped, the music stopped, and the crowd came to a hush. As the bloody blade lay limp in her hand, mom snapped, “Let the bitch bleed, bet not nan-motherfucka touch him! Touch him and you can get it too, I plenty left for any of you motherfuckas.”
Not sure on what to do, I stepped back and fearfully watched as the drunk collapsed against the jukebox. It was only at that point that I realized I was not the only kid here, but there was a chubby pan faced kid, a few years older than me, standing there watching in disbelief too until some sharp brotha placed his jewel laced hand on the kid’s shoulder and pulled him up underneath the safety of his casual embrace. This imposing gentleman wore fine threads, gold chains, and the woman tightly attached to his elbow was even finer.
Meanwhile, Big Bob, the owner and reputed well-connected gangster, a steady customer of mom’s, ran over at this point, “Tisha get that boy out of here now, what have you done?”
MOM FIRED BACK, “Why don’t you ask the chump, oops—I mean champ? Punk drunk motherfucka, I’m a motherfucking woman. Did he think I was going to trade punches with him? Let his bitch ass spar with this blade.”
“Go now!” barked Big Bob as he signaled for his associates to check the drunk.
Dropping the blade, mom snatched my hand, and quickly dived out of the back door. I looked at the drunk as blood sped down his shirt and he lay near lifeless. I wondered how mom could run so fast in heels especially while dragging me running slowly behind her.
Meanwhile, Big Bob quickly had his bouncers and two corrupt officers clear the bar out, but rumor has it that the drunkard was dumped in Summit Lake with cement blocks tied to his legs. A lot of bad things went on in that bar and a lot of good people got hurt. A lot of people came up missing, forever. Big Bob had connections in all the right places and the means to make people disappear. All I know is that I never seen that drunk again. The odor of that event never left my mind.
Mom had clout in the streets because of her physical wares and her willingness to use them. She had a client list of who’s who: dirty cops, powerful lawyers, some greedy judges, and even heartless hoodlums. There wasn’t a man that didn’t seem to be fond of mom; many righteous preachers made their rounds at mom’s poking palace more than the corrupt police did. All of them wanted some chocolate and lucky for them, mom was born with a chocolate factory.
Everyone in Akron knew my mom and just about everyone knew that I was her son. Since mom was gone often weeks at time, some people didn’t even realize that mom had a child. On the other hand, when some did see me with my mom, many thought she was my sister rather than my mom because she looked so young. In truth, she was young enough to be my sister. This leads to the second half of my popularity, my astoundingly good looks. By the time I was ten, I was tall, athletic built, teasingly tan with naturally curly, wavy, jet coal black, hair and a long pony tail, and a set of aqua blue eyes. I was a specimen of spectacular proportions of vanity. My good looks was that of legend and made me somewhat of local superstar.
In fact, my good looks, dancing talent, and having a good vocabulary helped me game on the girls at school. I remember going to Bryant Elementary School, which had all black kids except for two white kids, a brother and sister—Brad and Pat. Well, one day, I was doing my fancy dances and people gathered around clapped as if we were doing our own version of the Soul Train dance line. I did splits, shoulder bounces, and rapid shoe shuffles like you couldn’t believe. Most of the girls adored me. In fact, that little white girl, Pat, came up and gave me a big hug. As she chewed her bubble gum, she said, “Wow, you sure can dance. Silky, I like you and love your blue eyes. You sure are cute to be black.”
Rather than get offended, I cashed in on her sentiments. I asked, “Do you really like me? Am I really cute?”
She nodded yes as her face filled with pink blush.
I asserted, “Show me.” Seeing her chew on gum, I continued to put my charm to work, “Give some of your bubble gum.”
She quietly dug in her pocket and pulled out several packs of gum and taffies. One of the other boys, on the playground named Joe, smiled and gave me a nudge of approval. After Pat removed the candy from her pockets, before she could even sort through them to hand me some gum, I reached over and grabbed all of it out of her hand. I ordered, “In fact, give me all this.” I took it then winked at her and put it all in my pocket.
Still blushing, she said, “You gone take all of my candy Silky?”
“I didn’t take none of your candy,” I paused then turned around and kissed her on the cheek. “You gave this to me.”
Meanwhile, I turned to the boy and said, “Want to buy some candy?”
She just stood there and held her cheek as if she couldn’t believe I actually kissed her. I guess it was a pretty bold move for a black boy to make considering about 20 years ago, a boy named Emmet Till was killed just for whistling at a white woman. However, times were changing, but soon as I turned around, I realized that although some things had changed, some remained the same.
Her brother stood there beak red in the face with his fists bald up. He yelled, “Did you kiss my little sister you dirty little half nigger?”
Everyone on the playground froze in total disbelief.
I finished selling her candy to this kid then spun around with fire in my eyes. With urgency, I asked, “Half nigger?” I ran towards him. “Well, I’m about to give you a whole ass whipping!”
He swung at me but I ducked the first punch. However, his second punch lit my ass up; it landed right center on my nose. Suddenly, my nose was bleeding everywhere. For a hundredth of a second, I just held my leaking nose. People busted out in laughter. I was angry and humiliated. There was no way I could let this white boy pull off a victory or I would never hear that end of it. Being ever resourceful, I kicked off my shoe then shoved him on the ground. Once he hit the ground, I grabbed my shoe and started pounding him in the face with my shoe, fast and fiercely. He started screaming and hollering like a little bitch.
“Please, stop it, stop Silky,” he begged.
“Oh it’s Silky now?” I slapped once more with my shoe then continued, “It’s Lord Silky motherfucka!” I stopped mid wallop and ordered, “Say it, Lord Silky or else.”
Reluctantly, he said, “Okay, okay, Lord Silky.”
“Don’t ever call me a half nothing. Shit, I aint even half amazing. I’m outright incredible pale pathetic motherfucka.” The thought of being half anything outright pissed me off. Shit, at least let me be 100% nigger, weak white motherfucka.
Suddenly, Pat started screaming, “Please, get off of my brother. Please Silky.”
I stood up, wiped my nose, and turned around, then said, “Fuck your punk ass racist brother.”
She fired back, “He was just protecting me. You’re mean.” She took a few steps back as if that would protect her then screamed, “Fuck you Silky.”
I looked her in the face without blinking and replied, “You got to pay to do that. Since you’re white—it’s gone cost you twice as much. Whole honky.”
As her eyes narrowed with anger, she said, “I never met a nig—.” She paused, most likely thinking of the consequence of completing that word then continued. “I’ve never met an animal like you in all my life.”
Proud of my recent victory, I fired back. “And bitch, you never will. I’m Silky the one and only. Don’t never forget it bitch.” I wiped my bloody nose and did a dance to the bathroom as my entourage of followers joined me.
After that incident, I was more popular than ever. Not only was I a handsome talented dancer, I also was a yellow nigga that didn’t take no bullshit from whites or blacks. I don’t know where motherfuckas got the notion that yellow niggas are soft, but they got the wrong little yellow nigga right here. I may not be the baddest’ man on the planet when it comes to fighting but I bet you one thing—I aint no punk, period.
For the most part, school was filled with chasing girls playing hide and go get it. When I wasn’t entertaining the ladies, I was making fun of the less attractive boys, which was essentially all of them. Most people just accepted the fact that I talked a ton of shit. Occasionally, a fist fight would break out and I would egg people on. It was only the right thing to do because that’s exactly what everyone did to me when I got into an altercation. One day during recess, one of the guys named Billy joked about my mother’s occupation. He laughed, “Hey Silky, I bet your momma got some good ass pussy.”
I laughed and replied, “Wouldn’t your ugly ass like to know.”
“Shit, for two dollars I can find out,” he laughed out loud. “Just like my big brother behind the Silver Leaf last night.”
The crowd of kids laughed and made fun of me. People were something else. One minute they would be laughing with you and the very next minute they would be laughing at you. It hurt my feelings so I ran over and put Billy in a hard ass headlock. I yelled, “Well, I hope you got two dollars to get out of this headlock nigga.”
Billy was bigger and stronger than me and he picked me up over his head with ease. He tried to toss me but I held on to his head so tight, that the only way he was going to throw me was to tear his head off in the process. Unlike the incident with the white kid that went unreported, our vice principal actually pulled us a part. A couple of kids said that I started the fight. Needless to say, I got suspended.
I told mom what happened when I got home. She rolled her eyes and said, “Silky, don’t ever give another motherfucka the permission to piss you off, especially about the truth. Shit, I was drunk that night, I may have fucked that little young mother fucker, but tell that nosey little nigga, that’s hoe business and he needs to mind his own. After that, leave that shit alone, fuck getting all emotional and shit. I sell pussy, period. You don’t have to fight to defend my honor, because to be honest, I don’t have any honor to defend.”
Since I was suspended, I ended up spending more time with Big Cindy when she went out of town. I fucking hated her fat greedy ass. However, being at home on suspension at least gave me more time to learn more words and more dance moves to game on the girls with. However, when mom was in town—it was the happiness time of my life.
Furthermore, mom always had some money; and she made sure that I always had some too. Imagine that, a handsome motherfucka with money. Girls liked to hang with me because I was handsome but the guys liked hanging with me because I had money to buy toys, candy, and little shit that neighbor kids couldn’t otherwise afford. Kids even came over to listen to our stereo system and keep up with the latest albums. I was one popular motherfucka and I loved it.
When friends came over, mom also had a little extra food to feed my closest poor friends. She never turned a hungry kid away. There were times that she would even take a pair of my old shoes or some of my old clothes and give it to a needy kid. If parents had kicked their kids out, she would even let them spend a few nights at our place. She honestly was a hooker with a golden heart. She seemed to have a rare soft spot for poor kids, especially homeless kids. People in my neighborhood were very poor so getting a good free hot meal was priceless. When you can fill an empty stomach in the ghetto, it’s easy to be treated like a queen. Mom was an Ebony Empress. She wasn’t pure, but she was genuine.
Youngblood was one of my daily visitors and became my best friend. We met in school on the playground. I’ll never forget that day because I was doing a Jackie Wilson impression as I spun around and did splits. My impressions and dance movements made the girls smile and gave Youngblood a big kick. From the very start, we hit it off. He and I both loved to go down by the Ohio Canal and collect Cray fish, snapping turtles, lizards, and various other creatures. We often cut through the slippery rocks when the streams were low. We lived for our little adventures on the Ohio Canal.
We played the regular Cowboys and Indians ordeal, but neither one of us ever wanted to be the Indians. Simply, because neither one of us wanted to be the losers. It wasn’t that we didn’t like Indians, hell we didn’t even know any Indians. I guess we felt this way due to all the western shows that portrayed Indians as uncivilized savages and the perpetual losers. No matter what the odds were, the Cowboys always won. And like the average person, I wanted to be a winner. Imagine that, the power of imagery on TV.
Youngblood was an overly curious kind of fella and he talked about everything from innocent girls we liked to the lewd women that worked along the side of my mom. One day after coming from the Ohio Canal, we were talking about grown folk stuff even though he was barely nine years old, and I’m just a few months his senior at ten. He and the neighborhood kids respectfully referred to my mom as Miss Tisha. That day while visiting my house, Youngblood suspiciously whispered, “Miss Tisha came over my dad’s house earlier today right after my mom left man.”
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Before continuing, he looked to see if my mom was in the room, “Dad didn’t know it, but I was peaking in his room and I saw him kissing Miss Tisha.” He looked around again to make sure that the coast was still clear and giggled, “in between her knees.” His eyes raced with amazement. He spat, “I couldn’t help but to notice that your mom’s coochie looked different than my mom’s coochie, different than any woman that I seen my dad with for that matter.”
I was puzzled, “What do you mean different? Coochie is coochie man. What are doing peaking at your mom’s coochie anyway little perve?” I play punched him in the shoulder. “Hell, what are you doing looking at my mom’s coochie? My mom sell coochie and I don’t even do that.”
He quickly shushed me by placing his index finger against his lips then carefully looked around to see if my mom was within earshot. He whispered, “Well, Dad always has different ladies, you know hookers, come over.” He paused suspiciously again, then whispered once more, “And I always sneak and peak. Not to snoop on my dad, but so I can see the chicks. I can’t help it man. But when Dad gets with these prostitutes, he makes these funny feminine noises which always make me laugh. But man, none of the chicks have the amount meat that your mom‘s coochie has. It looks like a huge pile of pink lunch meat; all that skin sits open like a big ole lunch meat pussy, but dad kept licking and smacking on it like it was the tastiest thing he’s ever eaten in his life. I mean licking his fingers and everything. I had to laugh because it drove me crazy. What did she do to it? Does she do something to make her coochie have some special kind of flavor man? I’m being dead serious.”
I reflected back on the harsh bar scene and remembered mom’s indecency, but at this point, her twat was the only twat I’d ever seen up close so I didn’t have a clue what any other one looked like. I hunched my shoulders, “Man I don’t know, I’m gone have to ask her?” I replied casually.
“Are you serious? You can actually ask your mom about her coochie? Man your mom is the fucking coolest,” he smiled.
Hell, I smoke weed with her, why not? I walked in the kitchen where mom was singing the Temptations’ song Get Ready and frying some breath taking bacon. Filled with anxiety, I blurted out, “Mom what do you do to flavor your coochie?”
Mom gave me this strange look and answered, “None of your business boy, what made you ask a crazy ass question like that?”
I looked over at Youngblood and his eyes urged me not to tell her that it was him. “Well, Youngblood said he accidentally seen his dad like licking your love muffin mom.”
Mom’s pear shaped face lit up, “Hum, accidentally huh? You boys are something else. Since you so damn grown, I might as well tell you; you’ll have to find out sooner or later anyway.” Mom turned the eye down under the bacon on the stove, and wiped her hands on her apron. She asserted, “Silky, mom makes it her business to be best in the business. The way I look, smell, and even taste is important in my line of work. I mean from head to toe. A lot of these street bitches, are lazy, they half wash their pussy and don’t take care of their hygiene. You don’t want a woman that sells a rotten, fishy, funky product. The word travels fast when your twat is aghast. See mommy avoids a bunch of meats; it makes a woman’s insides taste bitter and men don’t like bitter beaver.”
Ironically, she turns off the crispy bacon, “I eat plenty of herbs and spices, lots of fresh vegetables, tons of sweet fruit, and a few raw eggs with vanilla extract; my diet affects the flavor and body odor that I give off, plus I soak my body in hot vinegar water daily, to keep my coochie tight. One of my most prized tricks is to carry some bottled lemon water in my purse so that I can use it freshen up in between dates. See vinegar has a sharp unpleasant smell, but this lemon water will cut that rancid cum odor and fishiness. Remember this so that your ladies won’t be out on the block selling raunchy product like Sour Puss Salley from the valley. Lastly, I line it with flavored lip gloss, but both of you have to promise to never tell my secret okay?”
Youngblood was so proud; he was just ecstatic. “Miss Tisha, you are the coolest streetwalker I’ve ever met.”
Mom placed her hand on her hip and kneeled over to look Youngblood directly in the eyes. She squinted her eyes and said, “According to your dad, I’m the only streetwalker you’ve met.” I looked over at Youngblood; we both smiled and remained silent.
Mom was an extraordinarily open and honest woman. Mom kept it a million percent real. I loved her for it. She told me that I could ask her anything at any time. She told me about a month ago, when she went to Chicago under the management of her pimp named Retally8. She told me about his number one crime partner, a no-nonsense pimp named C-Note right here from Akron, Ohio. Mom told me how poorly C-Note’s mom, who was also a streetwalker, treated him and how he survived by eating out of trashcans. She told me that she couldn’t understand how anyone could mistreat children, especially their own flesh and blood. However, mom told me his story with so much conviction, so much passion—too much. Her eyes would often water as if she had lost a part of herself, especially when she mentioned Retally8. If mom was so strong, why did this Retally8 and C-Note make her so weak? Why did mom let any man pimp her?
Mom went on to suggest that C-Note was one of the rawest pimps to walk the earth. C-Note was a bonafide gangsta-pimping motherfucka, but he had one major flaw: he fell in love with one of his underhanded hoes. Being weak for a wicked working woman cost him his very life. She couldn’t stress how important it was to never trust women, especially not street women like her. I never forgot that story or the way mom told it, never forgot the pain riddled in her eyes. Do you know how strange it feels to have the woman you love dearly tell you straight out to never trust women, any woman? It was like telling children not to believe in Santa Claus, telling Christians not to believe in Jesus Christ, telling fat people not to believe in cheese cake, and telling racist not to believe their ignorance. Life was full of complicated paradoxes.
LOCKING THE EMOTIONAL LID
By the time I was twelve years old, I had a decent understanding about prostitutes and pimps, but I still didn’t understand why a woman would high-hump a total stranger then take all of her money to some pimp. One thing I did know; there were two things that women in my hood loved: pimps and singers. I was determined to be both. I noticed that singing could be used as a tool to woo women just as women often used their shapely figures to exploit men. Talent was a toolbox for exploitation.
Mom had a way of getting her way even when men initially said no. She had sex on her side. One minute a guy would be swearing up and down how he couldn’t do this or couldn’t do that, then after a few inspiring moments in a backroom suddenly he couldn’t say yes fast enough. I quickly realized the power and influence that sex played in our close-netted society. This taught me one thing: never let a bitch use her body to change my mind about shit. I’d use my mind over any sexual oriented matter.
Although there was a black power machine still blowing through our city and the bow tie wearing Muslims firmly opposed pimping, I was still fascinated with the fancy cars and the power pimps wielded over the mind and body of women; most of the men that I ever seen mom with were well-dressed and flashy. Mom called them high-end niggas. They seemed to have the world in their hands and they didn’t mind looking down on us little people as they talked their smooth talk and perfected their cool walk. These guys drove long fancy limos, wore expensive leather trench coats, donned gold chains and diamond rings, smoked Cuban cigars, and used the purest of dope. Even a few famous singers had ‘private’ time to spend with mom.
I loved my mom, but she made sure that even my love for her had its limits. After all, according to her, she was a conniving whore and I always had to keep my feelings in check about any hoe. A woman’s good looks and shapely body is her weapon. Mom told me that it was more about lifestyle than bloodline. Blood is thicker than water but mud is thicker than blood. She said people act like just because you and someone slid out of the same pussy meant that you were inseparable, but she asked me, who killed Able? That’s right, his flesh and blood brother Cain. Simply because Cain was jealous of his brother Able.
Mom stressed just because someone has the same bloodline doesn’t mean that they have your best interest. When a woman decides to be a whore, she is willing to engage in whatever sexual commerce that could advance her position in life. Often streetwalkers were drug addicts, which meant they would steal from and trick with—anyone, period, in order to get their next fix. In a nutshell, mom said blood don’t mean shit when someone is jessing’ for a drug or in a position to take advantage of you. Street women would exploit weakness, period.
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One busy Friday night, mom came home early; I was thirteen no longer needed mom’s friend to baby-sit me now. However, I was deeply shocked because it was payday; Fridays were mom’s late-late nights because all of the rubber factory workers got paid on Fridays. Nonetheless, she came home with a thick lip and a busted up eye. Who in the fuck hit my mom? I wondered as I ran over to my precious mother and hugged her, “Mom what’s wrong? Who hurt you mommy?” My eyes were filled with curiosity and concern.
Her eyes converted into evil slits, she shouted, “Don’t worry about it! Never worry about some teary eyed whore! They will play on your emotions, kick you when you’re down, and betray you when you least expect it. Do you hear me boy? We are strong black women. We have survived generations of rape. We shit ten pound babies out of our tight pussies; what can a man do that we can’t handle?”
She tossed a chair across the room. “Never wear your emotions on your sleeves! Never! It exposes your weakness to your enemies. You are a future pimp and whores are your inherit enemy. Every whore has a perverted desire to destroy her pimp; it gives her a warped joy of outwitting him. Pimps think that they turn bitches out, that’s bullshit. Bitches want to hustle pussy because they just got whore in them. They want to get over on men. It’s easier than working a nine to five. Street bitches put their lives and limbs on the line night after night because they love the excitement of putting their hands on new money every night and, at times, they actually even enjoy having some strange dick wedged in their nasty ass. These money hungry pussy merchants are a sick set of souls.”
With fire in her eyes, she uttered, “These bitches will get you killed. Do you hear me, killed? Bitches play with men’s emotions all the time. All we know is pain, not loyalty. These foolish niggas think that we are loyal to them but we are only loyal to our lifestyle. If we are high-end bitches, we are loyal to the high life, fine dining, and fancy garments. If we are low-end junkies, we are loyal to getting high. Life has taught us street bitches to live for the moment without the benefit of worrying about tomorrow’s consequences. Bitches are ruled by their feelings, and feelings change from one second to the next. Don’t be a bitch.” There was so much fire that resigned in her eyes.
I was totally confused, “But mom you are my mother. You wouldn’t...”
Mom interrupted me, “I don’t give a shit if I am your momma; I’ve seen bum bitches sell their kids to pimps, pimp out their own ten year old daughters, let their six month old babies scream in the night full of hunger, and for what? A goddamn man, a piece of pimp or even worst some damn dope. Son can’t you see I’m trying to protect you from these bitches in these streets? The streets is all the poor have and if we can’t survive them, we can’t survive, period.” Her eyes held back more pain than I ever seen her suffer as she pushed me away.
“Mom I love you...” I cried, not knowing what else to do.
“Get the fuck away from me. Control your feelings. You are man now so stop acting like a little weak bitch,” she scowled. Her voice faded as she said the last word. For some reason she couldn’t look me in the face.
Nevertheless, my feelings were hurt; this was my mom, my best friend calling me names, calling me weak. Are the streets that dangerous? Were whores really this treacherous? So caring made me a weak bitch? Instead of just sulking, I listened to some sad songs. Music always eased my mood.
Later on that night, Youngblood came over with two other guys. One was the pan-face kid from Big Bob’s Bar and the other kid’s name was Kenny. Kenny was one funny looking motherfucka. He had this extended neck, huge Adam’s apple, unkempt nappy hair, ultra-ashy cracked lips, and big ole ears. He looked as bad as I felt. Before I could get the kid with the pan face name, Kenny told him good bye. Pan face walked off as Youngblood, Kenny, and I become more acquainted.
However, Youngblood and Kenny were overjoyed because they had bought some stolen tickets for the O’jays at the Akron Civics. Youngblood quickly convinced me to come along them. What could make me feel better than some live music? Excitedly, I did a rapid James Brown foot shuffle impression. I quickly agreed and became more acquainted with Kenny as we all laughed and trekked to the Civics. Trying to restrain my excitement, I asked, “So Kenny is this your first time going to Civics?”
“Man this is my first time going anywhere,” he smiled, and then gave me a high five. Ugly or not, Kenny was one cool ass nigga. He continued, “Shit, from the way you was doing the mash potato and shit, I guess this is your first time too.”
I replied, “Man, that was the James Brown, not no mash potato man.” We both just laughed. It was my first time at the Civics also and it was magical. Women were everywhere, beautiful big breasted, bow legged, good smelling, hand clapping, foot stomping, lip licking, women. It was a stud buffet with all the pussy you could beat. I’ll never forget the way the women went wild when Eddie Levert was center stage singing soulfully into the microphone; females were fainting and falling out, the whole nine. Their screams were so loud that it cut down into my eardrums and made my intestines shudder. Big women, little women, black women, and white women were yelling and pulling off their bras and panties right before our very eyes. These women had lost their minds. I couldn’t believe it, but it was all true.
By mid-show, the smell of cheap perfume, sweaty armpits, and musty pussy filled the air. On the other hand, the bright lights, the blasting band music, and the invisible magic were spectacular. I was under a spell. The O’jays donned these rose-colored sharkskin suits and moved in syncopation. Sweat poured from their brawls, and their muscular vocals filled the hearts of horny hungry women. It seemed like singers were magicians and bitches couldn’t wait to disappear backstage with any of them. From that moment, I knew that I wanted to be the center stage of attention; I wanted to make women love me, and scream my name out at the top of their lungs just like they did for these ugly ass singers. After all, why wouldn’t they, none of these singers were as handsome as me? Sure they could out sing me, but I had plans to change that too.
Hours after the concert, Youngblood, Kenny and I immediately ran home while we exchanged stories about the concert. By the time we got to my house, Youngblood suggested that we start a singing group. I immediately did my David Ruffin impression and spun around like I was holding a microphone. Youngblood clapped and said, “That’s pretty damn good Silky.” Kenny nodded his head in agreement.
I took a moment to try to teach them a few moves, but they couldn’t catch on to all of my fancy moves. Even though they couldn’t dance one bit, we were going to make it big. I could just feel it in my bones. The next day, we had our first practice session in mom’s dingy basement. We were overjoyed and bubbling over with excitement. Life had a new meaning and now we could slice out our piece of purpose.
Each of us auditioned to see who would be the lead singer. Our different styles of singing the same songs made it easier to figure out who had the best delivery. Although none of them could touch me on the dance, Youngblood could sing as well as the wind could whistle. Needless to say, Youngblood was voted lead singer. Surprisingly, we all could sing somewhat, but three-part harmony didn’t come easy. I hope that they could learn harmony much better than they did dance steps.
Nonetheless, we pressed and pressed for months before we became a local force to reckon with. Singing night and day, before, after, and during school, we sang and sang every opportunity we got and it showed too. Teachers smiled at us as we walked down the hallway sanging’ popular tunes. It wasn’t long before we became popular with the ladies. Since we were so determined to become the next Temptations, we called ourselves The Determinations. It was the late 70s and Akron had a ton of aspiring singing groups.
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Kenny, ugly as he was, had this bottomless bass that would drive women wild; Hell, it drove me wild. Kenny was quite the party animal and he loved using some good drugs from time to time. Kenny had also become real popular with the ladies. It was common to see him coming from a show after a performance with three or four females hanging off of him. I was a bit jealous at first, but why should my handsome ass be jealous? After all, Kenny still was ugly enough to beat a Medusa in a stare down and turn her into stone. Shit, in fact, Kenny was ugly enough to have his face registered as a deadly weapon.
Secondly, Youngblood had the powerful spine chilling vocals; I don’t think that he even realized how great of a baritone singer he was. At least he didn’t, until he practically made this one young lady have orgasm on the spot as he soared into a formidable forty-second note that was comparable to notes sang by the Dells lead singer, Marvin Jr. On the other hand, Youngblood seemed to love the booze a little more than he did the ladies. Hell as time went on, he loved the booze more than he did practice and performing too. Either he didn’t show up for rehearsal, or he didn’t show up sober.
Lastly, I had a honey-toned tenor with a touch of menacing gravel edged baritone. I spent hours in the bathroom in front of the mirror practicing singing and my moves to spread magic among the ladies for when I graced the stage. I was a perfectionist and to spend five to ten hours was the norm. I just wanted to woo women in any way I could, rather it meant looking or sounding spectacular. I wanted to be just as stimulating to the ears as I was to the eyes. The looking part came easy.
For the most part, we still practiced every day before and after school when Youngblood wasn’t too drunk or Kenny wasn’t lying up in someone’s young ass daughter or old ass momma. As for me, I was spinning and hoping around doing some slick as dance moves in which I imitated Jackie Wilson and James Brown. Schoolgirls simply loved us. However, we made our share of male enemies. We loved every moment of it. At times, I would be making some boyfriends jealous by doing all of my fancy dance moves, only for Kenny to walk over and say two words and steal center stage from me. I still couldn’t get over how much attention that ugly ass Kenny got because of his punk ass bass voice. One thing for certain, we were on our way to making it big, really big.
I’ll never forget the joy that scattered across my heart the first time I held the microphone on stage. I prided myself in top of the line showmanship as I paraded on stage with my fancy footwork. On the contrary, Youngblood only wanted to do renditions of previously recorded material; he felt that we should do what other singers did better than they did it. However, Kenny and I wanted to do some original material, do some shit we wrote ourselves. A heated debate ensued.
“Man, we aint The Renditions, we The Determinations,” I protested. “I’m determined to do our own shit. As a matter of fact, The Interpretations, that’s all they do is interpret other people’s material musically. Hell, we don’t want to be some knock off Interpretations. We have to set ourselves apart.” I slid across the floor and did a split.
Youngblood refuted, “But Silky, writing our music will require musicians and promoters. Right now all we have to do is sing popular songs, all we need is our raw talent, not a ton of other middle men that we will have to pay to perform with us.” Kenny with his bottomless base said, “That make sense man.” Since Youngblood was initially Kenny’s friend and Kenny was somewhat partial to Youngblood, not to mention Youngblood had the strongest pipes, and most experience performing lead, I relented and let Youngblood have his way. However, it was hard suppressing my musical creativity so I always found a way to add lib and put my special touch to each song that we did re-interpret.
By now I had a stage presence about myself, women loved the way I would hum in this high pitch directly against the microphone when I sang at various jazz clubs; however, there was a lot of up-coming talent. One of our top rivals were The Interpretations; they could imitate nearly any of the Motown artists. The Drip-Drops and The Singing Soldiers were very good also. The From time to time, we would clash off stage in night clubs with other singing groups. Case in point, there was a talent show at The Akron Civics. We all performed that night.
The Interpretations performed first. Although they sang in perfect harmony, it seemed as if they had more than music in common. Their singer, Aaron, was exceptionally tall and had a unique bass-baritone voice. Actually, the Interpretations had a co-lead singer named Stephen, who had a muscular baritone voice with an amazing vocal range. The other singers just blended harmony and peppered the background. Aaron started out singing the lyrics to a very popular song: All the things, that we’ve been through, you should understand me like I understand you...
Although he didn’t sound like Teddy Pendergrass, he sounded good. However, Youngblood nudged me and brought something to my attention as Stephen followed up and started singing: We all got, our own funny moods, I’ve got mind, woman you got yours too...
Youngblood whispered, “Silky, look at them niggas man.”
I asked, “I am, what about them?”
“Silky, them niggas aint singing to the bitches,” He paused. “One of them is the bitch, they singing to each other.”
We both busted out laughing. Seconds later, Kenny leaned over and said, “Why don’t these niggas just get a room? He looking at him like he can’t wait to fuck the shit out of him tonight.”
I said, “Hell nah, that shit is crazy.” Just as the Interpretations was finishing their song, The Drip-Drops abruptly rushed by us as they headed to the stage to perform next. One of them knocked my drink out. I turned around and yelled, “Watch where the fuck you going!”
One of the background singers looked at me and frowned, “Nigga, fuck you.”
“Fuck your momma motherfucka,” I yelled as I pushed through crowd so I could lay hands on him. However, Kenny grabbed me then Youngblood said, “Save it for stage Silky. These niggas aint got nothing on us.”
The Drip-Drops were popular and reigning champions from the previous year. Their lead singer was Clyde, he had long super curly hair and as much as I hate to admit, a fantastic baritone voice. Clyde was doing his interpretation of the song— I Wish it Would it Rain by the Temptations. Clyde did a dead on impression of David Ruffin’s voice and the women went crazy. They were clapping and hand slapping. However, soon as he finished he called out Youngblood. Clyde said, “Follow that you ole fake ass wanna be singer.”
It was our turn to go up and perform next and boy did we perform. Youngblood grabbed the microphone and tore into a long muscle bound note as he sang the lyrics of You Are My Sunshine by the O’Jays. Kenny worked in his bass in the background and I did my thing with the tenor. We got a huge applause. However, The Drip-Drops pulled off another win. I stared at Clyde eye to eye as walked by to grab his trophy. He was a cocky ass motherfucka and it pissed me off that he had bragging rights on being a repeat Civics champion.
Big Bob walked over and said, “Keep at it fellas. It’s only your first stab at it. You guys are good. Real good.” After he patted me on the back, he disappeared into the crowd. See, Big Bob owned most of the clubs and occasionally I would see the pan face kid with Big Bob in attendance of our performances from time to time. Although I didn’t know the pan face kid, we always gave each other the nigga nod, which was a way for blacks to say what’s up with 100 % body language. Both of them were staunch supporters of The Determinations.
We took Big Bob’s advice and we kept at it. We kept performing at local clubs. One night we were performing at the VFW. It was a night to remember. We had sang Smiling Faces Tell Lies and I’m Gonna Make You Love Me by the Temptations, but at the end when I stepped out into the crowd, spun around, did a split, hopped up and grabbed this yellow girl by the hand and sang in a soaring perfect pitch tenor...yes I will, yesssss I will...come on and l-o-v-e (carrying this note for what seemed forever) me-eeeeeee-he-e. Big Bob and pan-face stood up and clapped enthusiastically. Mom blew me kisses from the front row. My heart melted. It was the most unforgettable moment ever. All of girls went wild and I outshined everyone that night; it also marked the beginning of the ending of The Determinations.
Later on after the show, Youngblood slammed the door of the dressing room. “Man, this aint your damn group. I’m the lead fucking singer. Why do you wanna do that David Ruffin showboat shit? You always have to try to out do me Silky.”
I was completely puzzled; I wanted to please the crowd, please the ladies nothing more, nothing less. I was a performer and that’s what I did, perform. I asserted, “Come on Youngblood you’ve been drinking a little too much. We all want the same thing, we don’t just want Youngblood to be the shit; we want The Determinations to be the shit at this rate no one will ever know the Determinations, at this point we’re mere imitations.”
“Man, who the fuck made your bomping’ ass the boss? It was my idea to start this group.”
Kenny interjected with his deep voice, “Come on fellas, tonight was a good show. The ladies loved us.”
Youngblood tossed his bottle into the mirror and shattered it. “Fuck the show, Silky, you self-centered, blue eyed motherfucka, you aint taking over my group. Stop doing that showboat shit. Just sing the damn song like you are supposed to.”
I stood up and protested, “Man, fuck this group and I don’t give a fuck who started it. You think I can’t see what’s going on? You’re becoming a sloppy drunk, insecure, petty, jealous, alcoholic motherfucka. You shattered that mirror like that liquor is shattering your liver, shattering your performance. I didn’t out do you, you out did your motherfucking self by becoming a damn drunk.”
Sweat was pouring off of Youngblood as Kenny said, “Yeah, he has a point.”
I turned to Kenny and snapped, “Man, fuck you too, you be back here fucking free basing; you aint got the room to call the motherfucking kettle black. Am I the only sober motherfucka around here? I can’t help it because I’m a singing and dancing motherfucka. You drunk motherfuckas can’t even walk straight.”
“Fuck you, you little conceited trick baby. Why do you think you’re so much damn better than us? If it weren’t for us, you wouldn’t be shit—pretty ass nigga. My dad paid good money to fuck your nasty ass momma whenever he felt like it. She used that trick money to feed your sorry ass. So if you ask me, my dad helped raise you. You aint no super star, just some wanna-be porn star’s son. Dance around that truth yella nigga,” Youngblood waved me off as he turned to the side.
Fire burned within as I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. I yelled, “No one asked you! Don’t you ever talk about my motherfucking momma. Your ole fake ‘wanna be’ preacher daddy wasn’t good enough for the pussy he bought from my momma.” Tears filled my face, “That’s my momma man, why do you have to go talk about my momma? Your dad is better because he pays for pussy, really? What book of righteousness did you find that shit in?”
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At this point, my face was full of tears, but I fought them back anyway. I had Youngblood pent up in the corner until suddenly a harsh voice rang out, “What are you ashamed of me for little yellow nigga? What the fuck do you got to cry about?” She waltzed in, “Youngblood and Kenny didn’t feed you— I did. Youngblood’s dad didn’t give me shit. I earned it the old fashioned way—I fucked for it. I could have been some strung out junkie bitch, that only fed my arm but no, I loved you and I’m not ashamed of you. I’m not ashamed that I have a weak ass son that’s going to fall for some pity trap, gone get caught up crying and dying over some teary-eyed bitch or worry about what somebody has to say about a bitch. Fuck what people say! People talked about Malcom, they talked shit about Martin, hell, they even talked about Jesus, fuck fickle ass people and their fickle ass opinions.”
She knocked the chair over, then walked over and put her finger in Kenny’s face, “You think he gives a fuck about you?” Then she turned around to Youngblood and piped, “And this jive ass nigga, why worry about what he saying; he used to see me and his dad fuck every other day, but it didn’t stop him from saving up two months of his allowance to eat my nasty ass creamy pussy, seconds after his daddy nutted up in me. Oh, don’t let me leave out the fact that he begged me NOT to wash it! Is something righteous about eating your daddy’s guiltless sperm out of my nasty pussy? You’re dad’s a preacher right?”
Youngblood dropped his head and regretfully nodded yes.
“Right, religious hypocrite motherfuckas! See Silky, this is the kind of shit that got C-Note killed, worried about what people had to say, being soft over a bitch, most of the people that talk about bitches and whores, are whores themselves or fuck whores with every few dollars they get.”
Mom stepped up in Youngblood’s face and wagged her index finger in his face. She continued, “Just like this nothing ass nigga right here that saved all of his money for two whole months so that he could eat cum out my pussy and off of my ass. Fuck what people say, listen to the money they pay. If a motherfucka aint putting no money in your pocket, tell them to shut the fuck up. People merely act one way in the day and creep around in filth by night. Yeah, I’m a hoe; I like doing what I’m doing while I can. God gave me this body and free will; I chose to take this road. I like selling body, it's what I got, it's what I do. Who else but God has a right to judge me? Hypocrites are never short of words or criticism—mother had them, so motherfuck them.”
The room was completely silent. Mom had shut us down as usual, then she announced, “Now if you don’t mind gentlemen, I have some pussy to go sell. Play righteous motherfuckas.” She stormed off. I had blown it big by letting my emotions run away with me.
Youngblood looked more dumb founded than ever as he uttered almost in a whisper, “Man, I’m sorry Silk; I guess I was being judgmental and jive. I never meant for you to find out about me and your mom.”
Subsequently, I stood there tight lipped and half teary eyed, “Don’t be sorry nigga. You never meant for me to find out about you being a sperm slurping sucka. You are more insecure and sicker than I ever imagined. Man, fuck this singing shit. I’m Silky and like momma said I was born to pimp, born to conquer bitches—not be one. Excuse me gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I got some pussy to go sell. You artificial ass genuine motherfuckas.”
Both of them sat there looking dumbstruck; they knew it was over. Subsequently, Kenny bluntly pulled out some foil and dope and began using. I guess he said fuck it why put on an act at this point. The show was over.
––––––––
That night was a long miserable night. My dreams had sunk and my friends were drowning with them. I walked and talked to myself for what seemed to be hours and the stress had my head throbbing with frustration. Mom’s message had finally fallen on open ears. Life had pointed out this path out for me. Weren’t women out selling dick-watering-refreshments at this very moment? Wasn’t some naïve girl giving away her virginity to some fast talking nigga that would say fuck her after he fucked her? Are wives cheating on their geeky husbands every chance they get while he’s out at work? Weren’t most of those same lame husbands spending that hard earned money on some young under-aged pussy every payday? Why not pimp? I was born with every tool necessary to be one, including a mom that that taught me all there is to know about pimping and hoeing.
Finally, I decided that if I was going to be the biggest mack that Akron has ever seen, I would have to always be in total control of my emotions, and no matter what, never let a bitch see my emotional side. In fact, remove any remnants of one. My mind had to become a machine. I had to murder every trace of emotion that dealt with women. I’m a pimp and that’s what I’m gone do—pimp! Aint no bitch ever gone pull me down; I don’t give flying fuck who she is, how fine she is, or how slick she is. I’m Silky and I’m in full control of my motherfuckin’ emotions. And the only thing that I’m going to control better than my emotions is the money I’m about to get from these bitches. I’m the real deal. I’m a motherfuckin conqueror, three-fourths god and one-fourth man. Bitch can’t get Nan motherfuckin’ pity or tear out of me. A bitch would have a better chance squeezing life out of a corpse than to see me cry. Fuck it from this point, my motto is, if the bitch bleeds she needs to pay me, even if that means suffering to go out and get my money because there’s something inherit about these bitches that wants to suffer. I’ll never have feelings for a bitch, ever. Bankroll over bitches, period.
After having this heart felt monologue, I walked home and stepped up to open my door. This clamorous commotion shook me. Screams like I had never heard before cut into my ears. There was a lot of bumping, thumping, and glass breaking. I hastily opened up the door and there was my mom fist fighting with some other hooker. These bitches were doing some serious banging. There was more than smoke in the city, plenty of pushing, pulling, punching, swinging, scratching, and kicking. They rustled and tossed each other back and forth, from the east side of the room to the west side. I started to intervene, but I remembered what momma said about letting bitches set up a pity trap.
Secondly, this was my mom that I had seen dismantle grown men and I knew she could handle this frail whore. The enemy hooker piped, “Bitch, you gone give me that money or take this ass whipping and make me take it from you. That was my date you snagged from me.” She wildly charged mom with her hands acting as windmills, but mom quickly sidestepped her and kicked right in the crack of her narrow ass; the hoe fell on mom’s couch.
“I done told you; he didn’t want no more of that jungle rot product,” screamed mom as she pummeled the whore with a wild three piece punch.
However, the enemy hoe quickly sprang off the couch and darted at mom again while swinging her hands in a more frantic windmill style this second time around, but mom grabbed a greasy plate off the table and bashed it over the bitch’s head. The plate exploded all over the floor and the tough bitch fell down, but not for long. This bitch sprang up with a piece of the broken glass with it clutched tightly like a dagger. I took two steps forward, but mom kicked the glass out of her hand then smacked her for good measure. Relieved that mom had won, I stepped back. However, her rival was riddled with rock hard determination as she charged mom for a third time. Meanwhile, mom had slapped her hands around the hoe’s throat and choked her, then tossed on the couch and commenced to squeeze the life out of her. I rooted for mom like a motherfucka—silently.
Nonetheless, the enemy whore must have surreptitiously had a knife because from out of nowhere —she gutted mom. Mom froze, then folded over, and fell to the floor with her eyes popped-locked wide open. The victor quickly turned victim. My lip hung ajar and my legs knocked. Although I tried to run, my knocking knees failed me. I could barely utter, “You stabbed my momma.”
The smack crazed whore snatched mom’s purse, looked up at me wickedly, then ran over, and pointed the bloody tip of the knife at me. She bitterly asked, “Do you want to die you little feminine fucker?” Death stared me in the face. Her eyes were filled with murder and madness. Years of streetwalking and drug abuse had darkened, cracked, and pealed her ashy lips. Desperation for those drugs had made a monster out of her. I was caught between trying to fight this bloodthirsty junkie or seeing if I could help my bleeding mom; there wasn’t time for both. Not knowing what to do, I took a good hard look at her face then reluctantly put my hands up so that she could exit out of the door. She ran out. I ran to mom but it was too late. Mom’s eyes were dead-locked, looking death square in the face. Lesson number one in the pimp game: watch what you wish for. Lesson number two: always keep a weapon somewhere on you. This is where the bullshit ends and bull pimping begins. When that junkie took momma from me, she unleashed a predator on all women’s humanity. Heaven better have mercy on these hoes because I sure in the hell won’t.
PART TWO
THE PRICE OF MONKEYING AROUND
A TIME TO CONQUER
After the loss of my mother, I fell into a terrible depression and began drinking and letting myself go. The bottom of the bottle had conquered me. My mother was my everything. She was my mother, teacher, coach, and mentor. I missed her in ways that words could not even capture. Day after defeating day, I sucked on that gut rot Wild Irish Rose and Thunderbird wine. Thoughts of being a total failure engulfed me. I was drowning in misery. I knew that I was living contrary to what mom had taught me. I didn’t look the part, didn’t feel the part of super-player so I couldn’t seem to cop a whore to save my life. Mom would have be so disappointed in me. It got so bad at one point, as much as I hate to admit it, I let down my long hair, popped on some pumps, lipstick, and dress then hit the stroll like I was a selling some sexual commerce. I made sure that I let my hair hang in my face so that a trick couldn’t’ get a look at me until I was up close and inside the car. By the time the trick realized that I had a dick, I pulled out my piece and robbed his horny ass.
I still remember my first drag-stick up. I had let down my ponytail, put on a skirt, some pumps and put on some clear gloss. I was sure to let my hair hang in my face because I wanted to be able to get close enough to actually fool the trick. My stomach bubbled with nervousness but I needed a quick come up and I knew a horny trick was a sure bet of doing just that. As I did my terrible impression of a whore walking on the stroll, a white trick slowed down, then stopped. He looked at me rather strangely for a moment. I thought he was going to pull off until he leaned over, rolled down his window, and said, “Hey, what’s up baby?”
I leaned in the window, batted my blue eyes and replied in the most feminine voice I could muster. “You baby.”
He leaned back with his eye brawls raised, “You’re a boy!” I surreptitiously raised my hand which was buried in a purse with a pistol in it. He pulled out his wallet and continued, “Even better—some he-pussy. I’m gone long dick your yellow ass.”
I quickly pulled out the pistol and yelled, “Lay the wallet down right now motherfucka! If you try to pull off, I’m gone shoot the shit out of you.”
“Hey, you don’t have to do this,” he pleaded as he tossed the wallet on the seat.
“You don’t have to be a fucking faggot,” I picked up the wallet with my free hand. “But you are. Now get the fuck out of here before I long dick you with some hot lead.”
This white trick was loaded too. He had over eight hundred dollars on him. See, white tricks were the best targets because they carried the most cash on them plus there was a much slimmer chance of them being from the neighborhood. However, I was only able to do this so long because word got around fast about blue eyed stick up artists in drag. One day I put down the bottle, picked my spirits up, and slowly got back on the road of redemption. I cleaned myself up and started to feel whole again.
––––––––
After a couple of years of chronic depression and drifting, I met this girl named Tina over by an ice-cream parlor, on the eastside of Akron, one hot Saturday afternoon. Tina filled a void since mom was gone now plus I no longer sang with the Determinations. Even though Determinations had the charisma of the Temptations, we would remain an undiscovered trio; it deeply saddened me that we would never fill the halls of musical history. However, music was still in my blood, and that’s how I initially nabbed Tina. I grabbed Tina by her small hand and softly sang I Only Have Eyes for You. She was sucked in with my honeycomb tenor. Her pale skin glowed with blush. After I serenaded her, I said, “I only got eyes for you as long as I can have that purse too.” I could tell by the way she blushed, the way her pulsed raced, and the way she held on to my hand when I shook hers, that she was physically fascinated by me and she did not hesitate to hand over her funds.
As time passed by, I clandestinely discovered that Tina had a particular bad habit. Do you know what that nasty little habit was? She had a habit of telling me yes and I couldn’t say no that. To her, I was simply irresistible. She adored my appearance, personality, and presence. There were some additional bonuses; she was a super-freak that loved to get her wretched womb stretched and bombarded with erect flesh. Guess what she loved more than being high-humped? You bet—me. Week in and week out, Tina kept telling me how much she loved me, how the thought of being with me gave her butterflies, how much she wanted to make me happy, and how much she needed me. More than her lips told me this, her awestruck eyes expressed her weakness, and just how much she loved and desired me. Like any smart pimp would do, I exploited her feelings the first chance that I got. I told Tina, “If you truly want to make me happy, go out on that track to flat-back and make me some money. Making me money, makes me very happy.”
Well, you know the rest, she said yes!
Come join me at Big Bob’s Bar where I first put my official ‘mack’ hand down on my very first full-blown genuine whore. And the winner is? None other than, Tina. I created a new pimping platform since my singing career had faltered. Although the Determinations were defunct, I was weathering life better than my former partners were. For instance, Youngblood recently got shot and critically wounded trying to stick up a corner store for some liquor. In addition, our bass singer, Kenny was now a full-blown dope head. Under the current circumstances, I knew that it was time for me to fly by testing Tina’s wings. Mom’s advice about bitches bounced around my head. Then one evening at Big Bob’s Bar, I pulled Tina’s flight card. I needed a bitch that would be willing to fly high and take me with her. I didn’t mind her being the plane as long as she realizes that I’m the pilot.
Times were tough and good jobs were scarce, especially for a black man—that didn’t want to work in the first place. Sure there were some black owned enterprises but they were by far a few among many of white enterprises. Even the multiple low paying jobs like nannies, waiters, yard laborers, housekeepers, and maids were easier filled with servile black women rather than rugged black men, but it was this one particular product that sold no matter what time of the year, and Tina happened to be in possession of one: a pussy.
Tina was a young, wild, brittle, pretty, freckle-faced white girl with fiery red hair that could deep throat donkey dick. She became my trick turnin’ money earnin’ vending machine. It was surprisingly easy convincing her to convert her ass into cash. All I had to do was give her dah’ dick, look in her eyes and smile, then tell her how much I wanted to spend my life with her, tell her how I wanted her to someday have my beautiful biracial children. I told her all she had to do was be loyal and stay ‘in pocket’. I schooled her about staying away from all pimps and out of any man’s face that wasn’t a potential trick.
I definitely schooled about the treacherous bitches who often operated as their pimp’s mouth piece for recruiting. I told Tina, if the bitch wasn’t talking about choosing me, the bitch shouldn’t be talking to her period. I also told Tina that we would tour around the world and that we would be the first couple from the hood to step on the moon. See, this mind control was more about my mouth than my manly meat. Having sex with her was merely a means to convince her that my sermons were sincere. I had to sell her big dreams, bigger dreams than she could ever manufacture on her own. I had to create the illusion of happiness for her and I had to be an integral part of that happiness.
I also cashed in on my nigger card. There was something rebellious in some white bitches’ blood, something that made them want to teach their daddies a dirty lesson, something about the thought of having their wet womb invaded with hot, throbbing, stiff, black dick, something that drove white women to arms of strong abusive black men like me. Whatever that something was, it sure was profitable. These white women would take from their square biological daddies only to turn around and it give it to their subordinate street daddies. The more you punished them today, the more they would love you tomorrow. Tina was no different than her pale counterparts. Tina seemed to be mesmerized by black culture: our harmonious music, our dancing, our cool walk, our foul talk, our soul food, and our long dick stroke. However, she was even more awestruck by me. My magnificence had a way of doing that to bitches.
Tina had been drinking and she pressed her soft thin lips against mine. She held me close and whispered, “Damn, I love you Silky. I want you to be happy.”
“Do you really want to me happy or are you just talking?” I asked smoothly as I stirred my drink with my toothpick.
“Why won’t you believe me Silky? What do I have to do baby?”
It was at that moment that the right amount of sincerity and weakness registered in her eyes. I had to capitalize on the moment. I stood up, made broad movements with my hands and said, “Baby, I need more than your love. I need your body and soul. I need to know that your love is deeper than diamonds buried beneath the earth’s defiant crust. I need you to do something that gonna set you apart from any of these other chicks that merely talk that love shit.”
“What do I have to do to prove how much I love you Silky?”
“You don’t have to do anything to prove anything to or for me but if you love me like you say you do, you should be willing to prove it to yourself, “ I quipped as I pulled her closer. “The white man hasn’t left me with many opportunities, unless I want to be some punk ass janitor, a miserable garbage man, or some bottom feeder creating wealth and comfort for some old white man. I’m not monkeying’ around on that bullshit. Fuck building comfort for other people, we can focus on building comfort and wealth for ourselves. Are you willing to rectify their oppression with your body, blood, and sweat?”
“Baby I’ll die for you,” she protested.
“You don’t have to die for me,” I kissed her then finished my statement. “Just do a few favors for me.”
“Sure, anything baby, anything,” she smiled all glossy eyed.
“I’m gone hold you to it,” I put my toothpick back in mouth. The caste was set.
––––––––
At first, I personally set up discreet dates directly in the bar restroom so that I could keep a close eye on her and assure her that she was safe, but once she popped the lock by turning her first date, I knew more dick would come directly to her rather than through me. The most important factor was getting her to turn that first date, getting her to part with what few morals she had in the first place. Once her moral compass was broken, this is when I put her in the trenches on South Arlington Street down by mom’s old red light district, Big Bob’s Bar.
––––––––
I called the streets the trenches because pimps and hookers were at war trying to get every loose dollar a trick spends. We were all scrambling for every dime and this wasn’t a friendly affair by far. Many of these so-called pimps were merely stick-up artists and they used the bars to stake out potential targets to rob. A real pimp had to be careful about being too flashy around the wrong niggas or snake bitches because the trenches was filled with booby traps.
Just like mom, on Friday nights Tina worked the trenches along South Arlington Street. She'd snag her dates then go behind the bar to bag them in the back alley. Having a white girl put me at a distinct advantage because hardworking black men couldn’t seem to cash their checks fast enough to blow it on a bag with a white girl, the forbidden fruit. White women were a minority in the trenches. However, the fairer complexioned black girls had an advantage over the darker skinned ones, not only did white johns prefer the yellow girls, but black tricks tended to discriminate just as much if not more. Beauty was commonplace so tricks tended to look beyond just the face.
Although the cards were already in my favor, I made it my business to stack the deck even more. Sometimes I pulled con moves on respective clients that were too anxious, too green. I flagged them down and pointed out one of the competing bodacious streetwalkers and ask the trick if he wanted to bag her for a special low price. The square would nod his head quickly, smile, and happily hand me his money; I acted nervous and kept asking him was he an undercover cop. After he confirmed repeatedly that he was not a cop, I’d tell him to pull in the back alley and wait for me to send the whore back to him so we wouldn’t get busted for soliciting.
The trick would wait until at some point he encountered the unsuspecting hoe and asked about his prepaid services, but you should have seen the faces on the vexed whores that never figured out why this was happening. They also never figured out why so many guys drove by them and snagged up my hoe Tina: the real deal, not just a pipe dream. Sometimes a pimp had to outwit competing whores as well other pimps.
Of course I had to be very careful pulling these scams, for one reason there were actually cops posing as tricks sometimes, but even worse was competing pimps that didn’t take getting ripped off of their proceeds lightly. I slowed my role down when this veteran pimp caught a junior pimp running confident scams at his expense; the outcome was bloody and fatal. The junior pimp inadvertently signed up for an early retirement. My mission was to make money, not enemies.
Nevertheless, seemingly overnight, Tina had become a pro. More traffic was available to her since the other girls had been tagged as rip off artists. I was making out lovely, for one, the money I ripped off from the squares driving through the hood and the extra money that Tina brought in from the squares refusing to bag with the other hookers in the same area.
Meanwhile, inside Big Bob’s joint, in the spirit of the early 1970s, I styled and high profiled over a stiff shot of scotch. After the warming affect kicked in, I started singing. I sang sweet impressions of Eddie Kendrick’s lead in Just My Imagination. Joy was an internal part of my heart as smiles grew across the faces at the countertop. Music was magic.
“Oowee, you can sang bay bah, let me find something to wipe off this seat,” uttered this whiskey smelling middle-aged bar bitch. “Shit, you sound like Akron’s own Howard Hewett. Are you sure that you don’t want to sweep none of the webs from this pussy, you ole handsome blue eyed devil? Where did you get those pretty eyes from, your momma or your daddy?”
––––––––
I just smiled, “My mom’s dad; granddad was a white blue eyed devil, and that’s about all I know about him.” She just seemed thunderstruck by a mere shade of eye color. I was amazed by my ability to lie so rapidly, I didn’t even know who my father was nor who my grandfather was for that matter. It never really dawned on me that I was a bastard to the fullest extent. Yet, I was of supreme talent, excellent endeavor, and handsome as hell, plus in possession of some aqua-blue eyes, so I was used to those kinds of responses, used to standing a foot above the competition, which was everyone.
Although I easily reigned over other men, I never understood why eye or skin color meant so much in the black community. Either you were too black to be cute or too yellow to be black. Niggas were obsessed with shades of color. Yellow niggers treated darker skinned blacks like subordinates, but didn’t they know we were all niggers to the white man? We were all diluted with his blood and his purpose. Doomed under the weight of his colonial destiny.
Men fawned over these half white bitches and those half white bitches fawned over my mild brownish hue because I was brown enough to be considered black but not so black that they felt like they were taking a step down. I heard some white women say brown skinned guys fucked better and harder than light skinned guys. Furthermore, I even heard some guys claim that yellow pussy smelled better than dark skinned pussy. Are they fucking kidding? I can only speak on my magnificent dick—and this yellow dick is dynamite! Far as pussy is concerned; pussy is pussy, period. To hell with all that complexion category shit. Didn’t they realize that men were men and everyone was out for himself? Didn’t they realize that dick was dick and all pussy was pink? Nevertheless, I wasn’t in a position to complain, I was in a position to gain. Shit, I thought I was better than everybody regardless of race or complexion. For a nigga, I had it all. Life was good and it was about to get better.
Of course, nothing goes smooth without a few speed bumps. I was doing some hand dancing with this fine young lady and watching her watch me to see if I could turn her ass out down the line. It was at the top of the hour when Tina strolled in, pardoned herself then handed me a punk -ass hundred dollars for a little over a two hour’s work. "Bitch, where is the rest of my money." It should have been at least twice that much plus I knew it was something wrong because typically tricks used twenty and ten dollar bills. Since she only had two fifty dollar bills, I knew the bitch was holding out.
The fine woman noticed my change and character and quickly excused herself. Meanwhile, Tina also stepped back, flinched, and batted her long fake eyelashes. "Daddy, it’s dry tonight." She replied, “Tricks are slow to bite.”
She was testing me. Seeing if she could outsmart and out hustle me.
Words like all and man filled the room from curious bystanders.
"Bitch, you as fake as your lashes. Do think I’m a game bitch? Do I got Milton Bradly printed on my forehead?”
“No Silky, seriously,” she continued to lie. “No tricks were biting baby.”
“Bitch, bite this." I pimped smacked her and watched her earring take flight. She quickly clutched her pale, cherry-red, freckled face.
Still determined to deceive me, she pleaded once more, "This is all, Daddy, I promise. I swear to God.” Suddenly, it was quiet enough to hear a flea fart.
I wanted to believe her but sure as she bleeds, she deceives. I knew that most bitches had a ‘run’ in them and if they ever intended on running, they kept a stash to do so. Bitches were dumb, but not that dumb.
I stood up in the over-crowded bar packed with working stiffs, hoes, and hoodlums as well as thick cloudy smoke that hung above us. Not to mention Friday was blue room night, where the dim blue lights made the mood more menacing. I walked around Tina then gave her a stiff kick in the ass. She went from crawling on all fours to sitting on her face. Some looked but others laughed. Now the entire stage was mine, so I let the show begin. It’s show time. "Oh, I must be a motherfucking game. I’m a square out this bitch huh? Describe me bitch..." I huffed.
Her eyes studied my intense body language as I stood there with a semi-fist by my side just waiting to be launched. "What do you mean?" she asked unsurely as she stood back up. Her eyes told me things that her heart wished they wouldn’t have.
“Am I not a handsome, ultra-talented, special, one of kind, blow your mind, motherfucka?" I continued.
"Of course you are?" She answered bucked eyed, still leaning back expecting seconds of my back hands.
“Sure the fuck is,” yelled the drunk, old, bar bitch.
"Is that all?" I suggested calmly as I held both of my hands facing palms up.
This is where I knew the bitch would either break down and give me my money or she would be committed to bullshitting me. Maybe she would try some amateur psychology shit and ask if we can go outside and talk, but there’s nothing to talk about. She was violating the code by stashing. It went against everything I taught her, it went against the game. If a bitch gone be with me, a bitch gone pay me in full, period. I continued to listen to this late bitch.
"No, you're tasty, tan, sexy, strong, smooth,” she replied as she moved in with an open embrace to patronize me, but I wasn’t in the mood to be patronized, I was in the mood to get paid.
"Foolish!" I interjected then belted the bitch in her belly with a quick stiff uppercut that buckled her up like a suitcase; she plummeted to the floor gasping desperately for breath. “Don’t try to manipulate me WITH your miniature mentality.” For a second, I thought she would die and never catch her breath. However, once she appeared to be semi-recovered, I continued my show. Afterwards, I pressed the sole of my shoe tightly underneath her chin. "Ready for seconds bitch or are you gonna manufacture the rest of my money?"
She quickly writhed and wiggled up her mini-skirt then dug inside her greasy twat to pull out a condom with some pussy-sodden bills and placed it in my hand. She explained, "I just wanted to keep a little for myself, just a little Daddy."
Why was she slipping? Why was she trying to humiliate me and make me look foolish in front of the entire bar? A bitch that held back was dishonest and a dishonest bitch was a dangerous bitch. I couldn’t stand a lying bitch. I had to make a statement not for Tina but for any other potential hoe that was scoping me out. Shit had to go down.
I tossed the condom back at her, “Bitch, remove the money out of this rubber! Don’t ever disrespect me like that again. Bitch, the only thing I pull out is my wallet.”
“Sorry Daddy,” she picked the condom off the ground and took the money out then handed me the cash.
I snatched it out of her hand then sifted through the sticky bills as I counted them out loud. "Naw, you wanted to keep something from me. What you get off bagging these tricks? What you all about charity now? Or are you trying to save so you can pay to be up in some other nigga’s face?" I kicked her in the ribs, thrice. She wallowed on the floor in pain.
"No, Daddy... no," she cried.
Remember never feel sorry for some teary-eyed bitch or a pity trap. I could hear momma’s words crystal clear in my ears. Bitches were wired to defy and defeat us. Tina talked all of that all talk only to come short with my money.
"That means all the money belongs to me. Bitch do you want to be with me or not?”
She nodded her head yes.
“Then bitch you got to pay to be with me. You can’t expect to be out here with me and you aint paying me properly. It’s your plane, but never forget who the pilot is, you're in violation for paying insufficient funds as an act of deliberate defiance," I deprecated. She cried prolifically because she knew any type of violation meant public mortification. I had to give a demonstration so everyone knew that I was more than a wanna-be singer, but a bonafide no-nonsense, act on the spot, put his size-ten shoe in a-bitch’s ass -right now pimp. Subsequently, I pressed my shoe sole against her tender lips, "Lick it clean." I pressed the dirty sole against her face. “You didn’t have a problem trying to humiliate me. Did you? Now lick it you idiot ass bitch.”
Several passersby snickered as they stepped over her. A few women looked displeased as they grabbed their purses and left. I heard a volley of whispers tainting the air. Tears pouring down her face, she pleaded, "Daddy, please...please, don't make me do this."
"Bitch, you can lick it," I scowled. “Or I can stick it up your white ass.” At that instant, I heard the stools squeak in syncopation. Suddenly, an uproar of laughter indicated that the crowd was entertained as she painfully molested the bottom of my shoe sole with her tongue. My artic stare burned through the tracks of her tears. “Act like you love it, remember you promised your blood and sweat,” I growled as I adjusted the shoe sole for easier licking.
renegade hoe suddenly shouted, “Nigga, that’s enough you made your point. Shit, whipping on that white bitch gone have the heat up in here.”
I replied, “Bitch, this is pimp business. Keep your reckless mouth running over there about some hoe business, you dig?”
I was a man of many moods. I could never let a woman know where I was coming from. One minute, I made her feel completely worthless by belittling her tiny titties, making fun of her ugly feet, her hard hands, taunting her freckles, and mocking her thin lips that she would pencil in thicker with lip stick. I reminded her of every flaw she had. I played on every insecurity I thought a bitch might have. Contrarily, on occasions I’d make a bitch feel like she was on cloud nine by giving her expensive gifts, holding her hand, looking her square in the eyes, and kissing her softly on her ear lobes so that she would absolutely appreciate the dab of sunshine I sprinkled on her. I was the puppeteer of every emotion she had.
––––––––
That’s what diversified my pimping. I had to know a bitch but I could never afford to let her or any other whore know me. I could never afford to be predictable. Predictability is a death sentence to a pimp. Early on in the game, I observed how squares let women have their way. These women took their husband’s hard earned money and gave it to a so-called gangsta or better yet —me. These niggas were predictable. They went to work and they came home with their wives’ checks. Square niggas paid the bills, but the street hustlers got all the thrills. These women played them like an old set of drums, but not Silky. My time and my money was merely an investment for future returns. If the only two options were the exploiter or the ‘exploitee’, guess which one I intended on being? I intended on being the conqueror that momma always intended for me to be.
During my chastisement of Tina, the sturdy pan faced bartender gave this one ominous character some dap as he approached the bar. Something was different about this guy. His bitter expression boldly stood out from the crowd. He stood out like a lead singer and the rest of pack were faceless background singers. People practically bowed and did 360s to get out of his path. Clearly, whoever he was, he was highly respected around this section. After engaging in a slight stare down, it promptly registered that it was a reputed pimp and respective adversary, Willie Mack. Willie Mack was the same veteran pimp that had retired the junior pimp not so long ago.
Willie Mack was tall, dark, and spectacular, but what really caught my attention was his company: two shapely show-stopping whores. Even through the murky smoke and blue flickering lights, I could attest to their similar facial geography. The resemblance alone suggested that they were quite possibly sisters. I cut my eyes over at Tina just in time to see her brush extraneous particles off of her tongue.
“Get your ass under that table and don’t move until I tell you to,” I demanded. She looked up at me as if she wanted to say something smart but the bitch knew better. Subsequently, she scurried underneath the table. Once she was under the table, I ordered, “Now bark bitch.”
She looked at me to see if I was serious, once I shot back my ice cold expression she knew I was. Subsequently, she barked as ordered. I could hear people laughing in the background and that put a devious smile on my face. Why did I derived so much joy as I watched closely as she pulled her knees against her breast then wrapped her arms tightly around them? What felt so good about being loved so bad?
Subsequently, one of the show-stopping whores called out the pan-faced bartender’s name, “Hey Bullet, give me a double of cognac. How is your uncle Big Bob doing?”
After he told her to hold on, the pan faced bartender slid me an ice-cold schooner of beer. After all this time, I finally realized that he was Big Bob’s nephew; I remembered him from when I used to perform with The Determinations. In fact, we talked about how much he enjoyed The Determinations back when I performed. We hit it off immediately. After I conversed with him, come to find out we even went to school together, but he was a few years senior to me. Bullet was big, husky, and how can I say this nicely—ugly, but he was a cool motherfucka that should have doubled as a bouncer.
“That’s on the house, Silky. Go ahead and let your foot take a break,” Bullet smiled. “A little Do-Dirt Doctrine aint never hurt anyone.”
“Except Tina,” I simpered.
Bullet chuckled half-heartily.
––––––––
Suddenly, a harsh tone echoed, “I aint impressed with that counterfeit pimp shit. Nigga, you aint never supposed to check your whore in a public setting so the bitch can have a bunch of eye witnesses when she press charges on your dumb ass.” I looked up at Bullet; his eyes lit up. We both looked around to see the source. With his chest stuck out, he continued, “A real pimp, a sharp pimp like me rarely has to use brute force or the pimp stick. You just bullying bitches, you aint pimping! Let a bitch choose. If the bitch want to keep a little money, let her keep a little money,” the voice barked with even more inflection.
Is someone trying to check me? I apathetically looked over; it was Willie Mack. Did I have the verbal skills to handle him? If we were in an alley or in private, I could have let him talk recklessly, but I couldn’t afford to let him talk any kind of way to me in public. My reputation was on the line and other potential whores were watching. Not knowing exactly how to handle this, I ignored him by continuing to sip on a swig of my beer and chewing on my toothpick.
Willie Mach taunted, “Drink up sucka then just maybe you might get the courage to man-up to a real mack, Willie Mack to be exact! Young motherfucka out here with that loud reckless ass so-called pimping. Nigga take your ass somewhere and get game, real game.”
A drunk in the back yelled, “Willie, you need to mind your own business. You got enough problems as it is.” Willie just took another sip and ignored the drunk.
––––––––
I could taste unmolested fear in the back of my throat as I eased around to face him. Momentarily, my fear was overshadowed by untamed lust. I lusted for his hookers to be on my payroll. His two hoes played music for my eyes and oh how my soul enjoyed it. Willie Mack was a heavyweight pimp, a bull in the midst, but somehow I had to suppress my inner fears. Willie Mack was known for rubbing out younger less experienced competition. Where would I muster up the courage from? “Don’t monkey around with me motherfucka! How I handle my hoes aint got a motherfucking thing to do with you. Nigga don’t make my hoe business yo business!” I piped.
“Little fella, you aint got no business,” he quipped. He laughed robustly and his hoes did simultaneously too. “You got lucky and broke luck, that’s all. Nigga, I’ll turn your pole into a whole and have your pretty ass out here selling that man-made pussy, now that’s some real pimping.”
I thought about when I dressed in drag to stick them trick-niggas up and his insult hit closer to home that I wanted to admit. I was seething and embarrassed, belittled. However, this old pimp wasn’t going to show my young ass out, but how would I show him up? He had out-dressed me. He was a specimen of physical perfection. He was smoothly outspoken and both of his glaringly beautiful black hoes out-shined my average white bitch. He had out-macked me.
“You peddling a little pale piece of pathetic, pale, white pussy,” he refuted. “If that raggedy bitch catch a flue, what the fuck you gone do? I’m tired of you young niggas fucking the game up. I’ve been pimping since the Vietnam War. I’ve was pimping when your momma was a curb-kicking whore. You act like you’re the pimp of the motherfuckin year because you have one stanky hoe.” He picked at his teeth with a toothpick. “Look at that bland bitch. She barely even got an ass” He nodded at his bitches for them to spiral around to showcase their curves and big bouncing backsides. These bitches had amazing globe sized asses.
Then all of sudden he starting mocking me via song as he held up his glass to give his audience a toast, “This nigga trying put on a show, but he only got one hoe.” Willie Mach went on to put it song, “One hoe, one hoe, this nigga only got just hoe-oooe.”
The entire bar flared up into an uproar of heavy laughter. At this point, the impossible happened as I looked under the table; Tina laughed at me. My blood boiled and my jaws locked. What would I do if he was a bitch? What would momma say at a time like this? “Bitch ass nigga,” I scoffed, “You lucky this one hoe aint your momma. I’ll pimp you and yo’ dick loving momma, the way I would make her get down, would tear your ancient ass up.”
His face shifted into a state of stone, and the bar became filled with silence. Bullet’s expression froze, as he slowly wiped off the marble counter in circular motion. Anticipation exploded in my exhilarated heart. Then out of the corner of my eye, I observed one of his hoes that stood behind him, blowing me a hot kiss. She was disrespecting Willie Mack as well as disrespecting the game. She was totally out of pocket so she must have really liked my fire.
Willie Mack snarled as he stood up. “Is that a fact little fella? Do you know what I do to niggas like you?” Willie Mack’s powerful build and burning eyes swallowed my narrow timid frame. Various faces in the crowd lit up like brake lights.
Someone yelled, “He aint talking all tough now is he?”
Consequently, I poked out my chest. I don’t know if I was full of more fear or myself. “Prehistoric nigga, you heard me,” I yelled. But no sooner the statement left my mouth, his fist was in it. My lip was split from the quick sucker punch, not bad for an old motherfucka. Out of pure impulse, I blasted him in the face with the beer mug. He sidestepped so that I didn’t catch him like I wanted to. Then he throttled me tightly, easily tossed me across the counter, and swiftly crammed his .22 revolver robustly against my nose. Even his square chin appeared to be menacing; he didn’t seem to have a single disadvantage.
“Come one better bitch boy.” he scowled, “you super-feather weight punk, oh my bag...uhg...pimp.” The crowd had encircled us, but his two-faced hoe blew me another kiss as she examined me closely for weakness. I actually wanted to piss my pants, but managed to smooth it out.
“What fuck are you trying to prove man?” I asked.
He replied, “That you’re a bitch.” he sneered. “So tell everyone that you’re a little bitch, a dick sucking prison bitch. Tell them you little cute motherfucka.”
Willie’s eyes spoke with a certain evil as Bullet spoke up, “Chill Willie.”
However, Willie just got more aggressive, and shoved the pistol even harder against my face, “Say it pretty blue eyed motherfucka!”
I heard a scream from within the heart of the crowd. “Just say it and live, shit. Willie always fucking with somebody.” I believe it was the same person that had yelled out earlier. Then another unfamiliar voice uttered, “If he can dish it out, shit he can take it.”
Willie just laughed and revealed his gold trimmed teeth then slammed me on top of the counter, again. Damn he was remarkably strong. Everyone was so attentive to his cocky nature. He was stealing my show and I didn’t like this shit one bit. All of sudden, I realized how Youngblood felt on stage when I had inadvertently up-staged him. Willie Mack was bigger, stronger, and armed. This magnificent motherfucka had me pent up from all angles. I couldn’t dance my way out of this shit. He had the upper hand, but I knew one tiny bit of information that he didn’t. Momma didn’t die for nothing. Her death had taught me a couple of things and that’s why Willie wasn’t aware that I always carried a loaded .38 Saturday night special in my right coat pocket. Out of sheer fear, I slipped my hand into my coat pocket, fitted my finger around the trigger, and then fired off three live shots.
––––––––
Bullet scurried over and yelled, “What are you doing Willie?” Then he looked at me only to see Willie Mack’s grasp fade as well as his smile. Willie’s eyes glossed over into a cold stare. Mass hysteria infected the crowd before his limp body could even touch the ground. I was surprised to see so many big badass pimps beat their hoes out of the bar. One thing niggas could do was move. The frantic crowd funneled out the front door like grains of sand pouring down an hourglass. Amazingly the crowd cleared out before the thick smoke that hovered above us did. I was intoxicated with murder as I stood over him, and looked into his ebony eyes and watched his life miscarriage. Although Willie was the one dead, he took something from me. I had crossed over a line that few ever crossed and that most never wanted to.
Bullet shook me because I was in shock. I was just numb and blank. Bullet unfolded the dirty blue rag that he was wiping the counter with. He whispered, “Toss the gun in here. You can’t afford to get caught running out of here with this. I’ll cover for you and toss it. Damn, you just like your momma. Get the fuck out of here Silky.”
I stood there and slowly released the pistol into his cloth. It was a chilling revelation because it was at that very moment that I realized Bullet was the other little kid in Big Bob’s Bar as I reflected on how mom had sliced the drunken boxer’s throat. Now here I was years later, in same bar in a similar situation to momma’s deadly conflict with the drunk. Nothing else registered in my mind until Bullet urged, “Go Silky, the hogs will be here any minute.”
Suddenly, I realized that I was standing right beside a pool of blood. Meanwhile, his pretty hoes were bent over him sobbing. Triple crossing bitches, just like momma use to say. At that moment, I reflected on Akron’s own legendary C-Note and how his triple-faced whore had set him up and got him killed. Here was Willie’s same sorry ass hoe that winked at me weeping over this fool, a fool that died trying to entertain her. Bitches weren’t shit, and here we were killing each other like animals to prove our worth to them. Now, blood is on my hands and for what? For one, to show that nigga and his bitches that I’m real. I was a real pimp and I made my living by doing some real pimping. The price of being real is real high. The bar was in shambles, but it was secondary to the thoughts that crowded my mind.
Instantly, I broke off and ran, fast. I hopped over the counter then fled out of the back door and dashed down the black alley at full speed. I intended to make a sudden sharp turn, but my slippery leather shoe soles didn’t. I crashed into the corner of a red brick wall and skinned the shit out of my hands from breaking my fall. The scratches on my hands and knees burnt like a motherfucka. Subsequently, I heard a thunderous volley of running footsteps drawing nearer to me. I held my breath and silently leaned back into the shadows of safety. I just knew it was the police until I heard some urban vernacular. “I’m gone split that nigga! Who the fuck is that nigga anyway?” cried a raspy voice.
“Harvey, why did he kill Willie? I’m so hurt right now. I just can’t believe this,” sobbed another male voice.
I quickly inferred that it was Harvey and Danny, his two brothers. I had heard a lot about the Mack brothers and they were somewhat of a legend in Akron. I almost rather the police find me because Tina used to be Danny’s girlfriend until I popped her lock and had her selling pussy. Supposedly, Danny was the first ‘nigga’ that she had ever been with but I had beaten him to his own punch bowl of profit. Ironically, I was merely a couple of yards away from them, but the dark night and my extreme silence hid me. I was still more squeamish than a piglet in a lion’s den. Shortly after, I heard their footsteps vanish into the distance of the night. Finally, I released my ass muscles, but fear was a unique enema. At this point, I had more than just a live shit stain in my silk underwear. I stood up and dusted myself off as if it mattered while I crept through the protection of the black alley.
Meanwhile, the hogs eventually arrived to Big Bob’s Bar about twenty minutes later. They weren’t the least concerned as they watched the paramedics zip Willie Mack up in his new body bag. One detective put a piece of gum in his mouth and said, “I’m so fucking jealous.”
His partner replied, “Of what?”
“That someone else got to cap this black bastard before I did. This was a terrible animal. He did some horrible things to a lot women.” He gave his partner a peculiar look then continued, “Even some white women.” He casually watched Willie’s body being rolled up in the meat truck. “Women, if they weren’t maimed, were too scared to stand up and testify against this animal. He was smart enough to beat his women in private, never leave bruises, and never have witnesses. This gorilla so-called pimp as they call him. Akron is a better place without him; the world is a better place for that matter. I wish that I could shake the man who killed him hands.”
His partner whispered, “Yeah, and it would be heaven if all of his kind were rolled away as well. Let’s see if we can get one of these coons to speak up. If not, oh well, just makes our job that much easier.” The hog took a seat at the bar and asked some general what happened questions. It didn’t matter to street people if it was detectives in suits or officers in uniforms, it was business as usual and no one had anything to say to them. And those who did have something to say to them, did so anonymously.
My mind was pregnant with uncertainty and my heart raced with unyielding ferocity. Tonight I had blood on my hands, and my consciousness was riddled with guilt. Why didn’t Willie just mind his own business like the drunk in the background said? I had to defend my reputation. I had to defend myself. He made me take it to him. I actually didn’t have a choice, did I? He would have killed me if the glove were on the other hand, fuck him. I’m a cold-blooded bull pimp, but he was trying to belittle me like I was a mindless monkey. He paid a hefty price monkey-ing around with me.
PART THREE
A PERFECT PANIC
WHO IN THE HELL
––––––––
Since I didn’t have a vehicle, it took me a little over an hour to get back to my apartment on foot. My pants were soiled, my ankles ached, my shins burned, and my feet throbbed from periodic running in uncomfortable dress shoes. I walked up the steps, dug into my pockets for my house keys, but they were gone. Somehow I lost them, probably when I fell. “Dammit, I’m locked out,” I sighed. But something inside me urged me to look down at the doorknob; the door was cracked open. Cautiously, I stepped inside. I was engulfed by the darkness. I groped wildly for the light switch. A slight dizziness came upon me as my eyes adjusted to the bright light.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. My place was in ruins. Actually it was Tina’s apartment, but anything that belonged to her was more so mine. My eyes searched the shambled dining room for answers. Who did this? A missile of atomic fear exploded inside of me. I carefully stepped over strewn furniture, busted lamps, broken tables, bent chairs, and shattered nick knacks.
Subsequently, I entered the kitchen to turn on the light. The tables were knocked over and chairs were broke, and the drawers were ransacked. At that point, I heard something in the bathroom. I froze like a thief standing in front of the unsafe end of gun’s barrel. Bouts of doubt and confusion bandied in my head before I quickly searched the sink for a steak knife before proceeding to the bathroom. The flimsy serrated steak knife didn’t afford me the comfort of my .38. I felt inept without my gun.
My heart percolated as I cautiously reached for the bathroom doorknob. Each drum of my heart kept asking who’s behind this door? Just as my fingertips grasped the knob, the eerie noise revisited. I inhaled then vigorously, mustered some courage, and then with all my might shoved the bathroom door open. The medicine cabinet was hanging by one screw; the mirror was shattered all over the top of the toilet, and scattered about through the bathroom. The dingy walls tattered with fresh holes were now aglow with heavy bloodstains. Who in the fuck did this?
My curious eyes carefully followed the lengthy blood smears. Blood lead me to a shocking narrow path; Tina was on the floor. Was she alive? In thick, slow-drying blood, she wallowed like a slug. Who would want to do this to a professional cock-sucker? Tina’s face had been scoured, and it looked like raw bloody roast beef. It was a grisly site. Agony was written all over it. I was a bitch-beating motherfucka, but this kind of brutality was known not of me. Why did this horrific scene seem to welcome me? I gently placed my hands beneath her blood-soaked head. I cringed as I stroked her fiery red hair now imbued with dark blood. It saddened me more and more by the second as I continued to run my fingers through her sticky hair. Although her left eye was raised and swollen shut, she tried to communicate with her right one. Even the surplus of blood couldn’t hide her tears. She groaned and grunted, but I was unable to interpret what she was trying to say. “Tina, who did this?” I hollered as if yelling would make her responded more readily.
She winced in anguish and, displaying incredible strength, somehow found the strength to say, “I’m sorry.” It was a low weak, yet soul stirring whisper.
––––––––
Consequently, I noticed a deep puncture in her lower abdomen. Warm blood flowed freely from the wound. I tried to staunch it with the pressure of my fingertips. Blood still oozed effortlessly. The deep wound touched a part of my humanity that I didn’t know existed. My pressure just made her cough up bloody chunks of murky blood. Blood had the weirdest smell or maybe it was pre-death that I smelled. She took a few more slow painful breaths before her nakedness was sheathed in a thick layer of death. I fought and fought but a warm saline tear still managed to trickle down my cheek. I had never showed her my sensitive side; until this very moment I didn’t realize that I had one. Mom would have been disappointed in me. I slipped Tina’s remains down, and silently sipped in my upper lip. What did Tina do to deserve this?
I’ve never been near a slaughterhouse, but I‘m positive that this scene mirrored one. I took one last long look at her pale, battered, gory freckled face. Somehow I had to black out the enormous pain, and suck in every cubit of fear. I know that momma said be weary of teary-eyed bitches, but Tina was dead. What danger could she present to me now? Maybe momma knew that there would days like this. What is feeling sorry going to do for Tina? How will feeling sorry help either one of us? Nonetheless, the million dollar question is who did this to Tina and why?
There was little doubt in my mind that Danny was behind this. Why, because he was jealous because Tina chose me, not to mention, she may have indirectly got his brother Willie killed. I figured that if Danny had a hand in it so did his older brother Harvey. They both were guilty of this far as I was concerned, but I’m gone prepare a bucket of butchery for them too. They did more than fuck with my feelings; they fucked with my property, my income. Didn’t they realize that I’m from the Do-Dirt Creed? Did they just think that I was some soft pretty motherfucka out here taking up the ass in the trenches? A conqueror defends his territory at all cost.
Tina, my one and only hoe had caught a permanent cold and even in Willie Mack’s death his words had come to haunt me. “A pimp with no hoe is like a shoe without a sole,” I contemplated. Suddenly, I felt feverish and panic worn. How long had I been in this murder scene of an apartment? Behind my eyes ached. “Get out of here!” Something screamed inside of me as my stomach bubbled from discomfort. I looked into the shattered mirror bits on the floor; those broken bits could have represented my life. My pine green sharkskin suit lay akin to the mirror pieces and the thin layer of quick drying blood had died it into a mangy brownish color.
“Were they just trying to get back at me or were they trying to set me up for Tina’s murder too?” I queried out loud then darted into our bedroom, and frantically wiped my ass then changed into a more comfortable jogging suit and my favorite Converse tennis shoes. After I had changed, I realized that I had also lost my money as well, but luckily I kept a stash of cash in my favorite my sapphire silk suit; Tina bought me this suit from proceeds of her first bag. I searched all of the pockets of just my sapphire suit then I searched the rest of my suits’ pockets, but my two thousand dollars of savings were gone, poof up in the air like cigarette smoke. I guess that ruined my plans on getting a brand new Cadillac anytime soon.
Maybe, that is what the bitch was sorry about; she tried to buy her way out of death with my money, and told them where my money was hid. At that point, I realized that I had a lot to learn. Momma was right about these no good bitches. Two dead bodies, no money, no hoe, but I’m suppose to be a motherfuckin pimp! Once more, I thought about momma and how she expressed the demise of C-Note due to his trust of a hoe. This would be the last time I ever trusted a hoe, period. From now on a hooker wouldn’t even know what hand I wrote with. The difference between C-Note and me is that he became a pimp, I was born one.
I grabbed Tina’s nylon gym bag then put my favorite blue suit along with a couple of my precious souvenirs. I had to hold on to the few valuables that I did have. I picked up my photo of The Determinations when we first sang at the Akron Civics. I reflected back briefly, we were crude but talented. We were so full of determination and hope, but they didn’t believe in themselves. Dammit, I believe in me. Nothing about me is average. I am of superior endowment, exceptional good looks, and advanced intellect. I was born to be a leader, born to be the center of attention, born to suck the oxygen out of a room when I walk in, and most of all born to conquer—women.
I hastily shoved my photo into the bag. Suddenly, a heavy sweat came down on me as I came to grips with the grave trouble I was in; I certainly don’t need to be the center of this kind of attention. Out of desperation, I douched the apartment with rubbing alcohol and set it ablaze. What was worse, catching a case for arson or murder? One thing is for certain, ashes leave a lot least clues than unburned white women.
After I lit the rubbing alcohol trail inside, I scampered down a trail along the Ohio Canal with my little gym bag. How was I ever gonna get out of this? I had traveled this path many times in my youth with Youngblood, back when innocence was a part of my essence. However, the task of running with this gym bag proved to be a difficult one, but my mindset was on getting away with my freedom and my life. Hell, I’m not a Determination for nothing, unlike the other ex-members. I may have been born with nothing, but I’ll be a pigeon’s pussy if I die with nothing.
I was born to pimp, and even through that’s gonna be hard to pull off, it’s possible. I’m gone be a legend and colonize one mind at a time. Somehow I’ll figure out how to grind my way back to the top; however, I must get to the top outside of spot light. I got to do something clever. How can I keep a high-end pimp profile now that I’m on the run? Maybe I should just turn myself in and explain that I was scared for my life? After all, Willie Mack had reputedly retired other young pimps. Nah, can’t do that, momma aint raise no fool. I’m not doing the police jobs for them, they’ll have to find me and they will have to find me before I can stack some money and flee the country.
Of course in the iron gates of ghettos, death is an everyday occurrence. Dead niggers just aren’t news worthy. It’s no different than a lion killing an impala in the jungle. No one sees it so no one cares. This was the concrete jungle where you could pay underpaid police officers fifty or hundred dollars to turn the other way, or better yet provide them with body of the prettiest streetwalkers around. It wasn’t uncommon for mom to bring home a uniformed officer take him into her bed and turn enemy into an ally.
When I was a child, my mother ran around with all sorts of hoods, hustlers, and killers, but as long as they kept the right palms greased their freedom didn’t seem to be an issue. Once a man was willing to kill in the hood, he became sort of a hero, a feared hero. He became a person that people remained tight lipped about because all blacks knew that the police couldn’t or wouldn’t protect them for shit, except possibly for a payment of some sort. Only a select few dare to trust the cops.
Nonetheless, I’m on the run from the law and Willie Mack’s brothers. Speaking of Willie Mack’s brothers, these foul niggas violated my haven, and split my hoe and foul shit like that is a no- no. “Who else would kill her? Who else had a reason? I don’t fuck around, I gets down,” I mumbled, as I continued to march on. My head was filled with so much murkiness and misery. It was a very thin line between pimp and gangsta shit. I had killed a man, taken his life like a perverted man would an innocent girl’s virginity—with the quickness. Willie Mack’s fading smile replayed over and over in my head. Harvey and Danny must realize that this is war, but there are no rules of warfare.
Although many people from the eastside didn’t know me, they did witness me shoot and kill Willie Mack. In little ole’ Akron, it wouldn’t be hard for someone to finger me in a line up. And how hard would it be to find some flashy blue-eyed nigga? On the other hand, no one could tell the police my real name, no one knew it. That was one of the few advantages of being unknown. Even though I felt the incident was merely self-defense, niggers didn’t have a right to defend themselves in America. Shit we didn’t have a right to survive. Although the walls of racism are supposedly torn down, they are very much alive today.
––––––––
Secondly, if niggers could rightfully defend themselves in America, what nameless witnesses would testify on a total stranger’s behalf? Tina was the only person who actually knew me in the bar and she was very dead. Maybe my nigga Bullet from the hood would? Then again Bullet is known to associate with people of ill-repute and he is also a reputed backbreaking henchman. I’m sure that he’d have to worry about his own legal affairs. Of course, my gun is stolen so it’s not registered in my name; I’m glad that pistol got ditched. I owe Bullet big time.
Furthermore, these crooked ass pussy-loving cops could careless about a dead no good nigga. Surely Willie Mack did not represent America’s darling image. According to the plutocratic government, the more niggers that end up dead or in prison, the better. Niggas are the cock roaches of society, no matter how much you try to get rid of them, they adapt and somehow survive. When you’re a nigga, your skin is your sin. Being a pimp with blood on my hands makes it all the worse.
To complicate matters, I honestly didn’t kill Tina, but I did kick her ass in front of a bar full of people. Who in their right mind would think that I was innocent? How difficult would it be to convince a white jury of twelve that although I beat her ass, I didn’t beat her to death? In America, kicking a white girl’s ass is murder. On the other hand, I wasn’t going to sit around so that I would have to explain it to the judge. What mattered was the fact that I was indeed guilty of pimping out a white girl; that’s guilty enough. The only factor that worked in my favor is that she was a reputed nigger-lover.
Finally, my side was burning so I stopped running. Fear had me so preoccupied that I didn’t realize just how thirsty I was. The roof of my mouth was dry and sticky, sweat clung to the creases on my forehead, and my shoulders ached from supporting the weight of the gym bag. I dropped down to one knee from pure exhaustion and asked myself,” How am I gone make it? I just need time to regroup.”
Suddenly, from the arch of salvation, my answer pulled up beside me in a huge rusty off brown country squire station wagon. The kind driver asked, “Do you need a ride?”
I looked into my rescuer’s face and said, “Absolutely.” Silently I wondered, now, where from here?
HARVEY’S HEAT
––––––––
Meanwhile, Danny and his brother Harvey sat at the haven on Howard Hill in front of a blazing fireplace. They discussed how they were going to bust-back on this nigga for killing their older brother, Willie Mack. Harvey, tossed his glasses into the fireplace as he reeked with revenge. Willie Mack had taught them the in and outs of the pimp code many years ago. Buffy and Vette, Willie’s widowed hoes gave a description of Silky to both Harvey and Danny.
“Those blue eyes, you can’t forget those bright blue eyes,” said Buffy admirably.
“A blue eyed nigga? One thing for certain,” Harvey stood up and placed an unlit cigar in his mouth. He said, “He shouldn’t be too hard to find. And I want to find before the law does, I want to spill this nigga myself.”
Danny’s eyes lit up as he lit his joint, “Blue eyes, I bet it’s the nigga that turned out my ole’ white bitch Tina before I got a chance to.”
Harvey rolled his eyes and turned his back to him. Danny wasn’t a hard core pimp like his older two brothers because he liked to fuck and get high too much to churn a profit. Danny just benefitted from his brothers’ reputations.
On the other hand, Harvey had missed the incident because he was out in the trenches tending to his untrustworthy hoes. Vette, the prostitute that blew Silky the kiss reflected sadly with cloudy eyes, “We thought Willie killed him, but that young scary nigga must have had a gun hid on him.”
“I’m gone hide him in a pocket of dirt, six feet deep,” Harvey retorted, as he lit his cigar then loaded his pistol.
Consequently, he examined both of the whores; they were both comely. However, Buffy was more attractive in the face, but Vette was cut like an hourglass with a meaty portion of overdeveloped backside, a big fat soft juicy ass. Vette had a solicitous walk that sold itself to the lustful hearts of men, a most profitable product. Harvey had taken a liking to Vette for some odd reason, and he had every intention on getting paid then test driving the pussy. “Who is this nigga? Where’s this young punk from anyway?” asked Harvey as he walked around to get a rear view of Vette’s wide bouncing backside.
Meanwhile, Danny lit up a joint of some fire green.
“I don’t know Harvey, but Willie did have a gun in his face,” replied Buffy.
“Are you trying to get a foot put in your ass? Are you trying to defend this nigga? He killed my motherfuckin brother,” barked Harvey as he shook his index finger at her.
Consequently, Vette shot her a peculiar look as if to say you shouldn’t have said that. Realizing that she had misspoken, Buffy quickly suggested, “The bartender seemed to know him. He was even giving him drinks. Maybe he knows where to find him.”
“You mean ole’ pan face Bullet?” asked Danny as he took a long drag of the glowing joint. “That’s one ugly motherfucka,” he coughed as he exhaled.
“He the only nigga I know that can make Jesus, say J-e-s-u-s,” laughed Harvey, “But on a more serious note, I need you girls to keep an eye out for him while you’re in the trenches. I have a wonderful reward for whoever drops salt on this slug ass nigga.”
Danny stood up and blew out a thick cloud of smoke, “When I stick that nigga he gone stay stuck.” Afterwards, he pulled out his revolver and made sure it was fully loaded. Harvey belted his gun and played with his four karat diamond ring on his middle finger and watched it glimmer from the serpentine flames that blazed in the fireplace. “Vette bring that sexy ass here,” Harvey requested.
Her shapely hips swayed back and forth like a chime from a grandfather clock. Those muscular, curvy, bowed legs made her walk nasty and seductive. Her smooth glossy skin was the brownish complexion of a stallion’s hide. She mastered a mystery that made men want to know how deep her love was, and how hot her pink furnace burned. Here was flesh at its worst and its best. Her magnetic glare pulled Harvey in as she stood in front of him with her legs parted shoulder length. She hissed, “What’s up baby? What do you got for me?”
Her deep brown eyes shimmered when he pulled her onto his lap. His broad nostrils bathed in her sweet fragrance as he looked into her busty sweaty cleavage. Harvey replied, “Ten inches and some stiff pimping. The question is bitch, what do you got for me? Open up that motherfucking purse. You know you can’t be in my face without paying to be in it. Bitch, you out of pocket.”
She laughed, “Owweee, you know what a bitch wants huh?”
“You have that look in your eyes,” he grinned, rubbed her knees then licked his lips.
She smiled, batted her fake eyelashes, and put forth a toothy smile. “Hmmmm. What look is that?”
“That ‘nigga-mack-me’ right now look, that I can’t wait to give this nigga my money look,” he replied as he readjusted his placed his cigar in the ashtray. “You want to be part of this big city pimping, baby this stiff pimping is scientific and terrific; don’t deny it—try it. I’m gone let you know what some money and magic feel like.”
Her long eye lashes batted once more, her smile faded, and then she dropped her head. “But your brother used to be my man. It simply wouldn’t be right,” she answered.
“Bitch, don’t get religion now. Correction, you once worked for my brother, but I’m not taking you from him, he was taken from both of us,” he explained. “You talking that lame square talk. This is pimp and hoe business. Willie would want this for you. He would you to stay true to the family by keeping that business in the family. You still gone slang pussy, right?”
Vette shook her head yes.
“So why be a renegade hoe? You know how hard it is for a bitch with no direction and protection out here.”
She replied, “I know but...”
He interrupted, “My pimping is a vacation full of sensations; what about a trip for six days and seven nights where hoeing is more glamorous than a Frazier and Ali prize fight. Let the record reflect, I gets paper and major respect. My stiff pimping is stone to the bone. Why be out there working the streets with no insurance? You know bitches been coming up dead, especially at the truck stops. The lost would be yours,” he simpered.
Her selfish eyes scanned the huge marble fireplace, the Persian rugs, the brass and crystal glass tables, and lastly, his hands that were detailed with fine gold and diamonds. Being the no good bitch that she is, she queried. “I’ve heard this all before but all I ended up with was a wide wet ass and sour sore pussy. What’s in it for me?”
“What you didn’t hear me bitch? Some direction and protection,” he asserted confidently as he palmed his manhood, “You do what you do best and I do what I do best.” He uttered, “I’ll be the king of keeping it going and you’ll be the queen out here hoeing. Together we gone build something special.”
She smiled hard and revealed the only chaste thing about her—virgin white teeth.
“Don’t talk about it, be about it,” she uttered as she bent over and hiked up her mini-skirt to expose a bulbous bucket of hand candy. She wasn’t wearing any panties: a typical hoe trait. The eye of her bright pink pussy peaked out and winked at Harvey from behind her blackened ass cheeks. He stood up, smacked her firm ass, and watched it shake like a bowl of cranberry sauce. Harvey dropped his slacks down around his ankles. He studied her deep dish and to watch her dark chocolate pussy lips part was almost amazing as Moses parting the Red Sea. By this time, she was bent over holding the back of her ankles while she viewed her fiery twat eat his wide erection.
“I want to see that fat dick hanging out of this fat pussy,” she moaned as she pulled her cheeks apart to enhance his entry. She writhed as Harvey crammed his extra wide ripe dick inside her surprisingly snug over-experienced pussy. She licked her greasy lips as he batted away doggy style. His strokes were long, robust, and deliberate. It was so good that she wanted to close her eyes, but watching his sweaty balls bounce off her pussy was just as intoxicating. Moments later, his strokes became more aggressive as he spread her butt cheeks apart even wider so that he could pipe her more intensely.
He stopped mid-stroke, “Hand me that purse, you know business is always first.”
Her hot pussy was aching; her thighs were shaking and the anticipation was getting her twat dick-sick. “You are certainly your brother’s brother. I thought I had pulled a Charlie on you.”
“Never that baby girl, bitch gots to pay for this stylistic stick. I’m too seasoned to fall for that Charlie shit,” he held out his hand and waited for her to payout. To be Charlied, was an inexperienced move that many premature pimps made. It meant that you were more concerned about pussy than paper; it meant you were a typical Charlie, not a hardcore Mack. A hoe would never respect a pimp that didn’t demand a tariff for his services. Harvey continued to put his heavy hump down.
However, a rancid after-bump emitted from the pussy as steamy cream trickled down her thigh. Vette had squirted a hefty load. The stench burned his nostrils and he felt squeamish. His erection abated; his heart drummed. His forehead glistened from pussy pounding. Her squalls of passion waned, but she still molested her pussy afterwards. The saline perspiration burnt her eyes but not nearly as intensely as the lust that burnt inside the belly of her womb. She carefully watched her secretions and his semen slide out of her soppy twat, and she opened her mouth as wide as she could in attempt to catch it like someone would do if they threw a piece of pop corn up in the air.
In spite of this, the glob of nut didn’t land in her mouth; it mostly ran up into her nostrils. She was so freaky that she didn’t care. She just wiped the cum with her fingers then licked it like it was finger licking good. She pictured the thick hot creamy strand of nut break onto her face and smiled. “Did you enjoy that daddy?”
Harvey zipped up his pants. “All except the after-bump.”
––––––––
She looked baffled. “What’s after bump?”
He pulled up his pants. “Funky pussy after you beat it!” he protested. “Now go douse that ole’ pickled pussy. Bitch, you need to eat more fruit and vegetables. I can’t sell a rotten product.”
She looked at him as if he were stone crazy, “Nigga you better check your raggedy ass dick, my motherfuckin pussy don’t stink.”
Harvey pulled out his pistol and took aim at her, “your dead body will.”
“Now, that you mention it,” She wiped some vaginal juice off her leg, sniffed it, frowned then quickly pulled up her panties. “It is kind of ripe huh?” She stormed into the bathroom, and quietly shut the door behind her.
Danny was in the love seat high and sound asleep. It must have been some awesome weed. Buffy sat by the fireplace with her legs crossed Indian style. Harvey walked over with his sticky cock and placed it against her lips as the gun rested firmly in his right hand.
She gave his confounded look. “Are you gone wash it?” she asked.
“No. You are,” He grabbed her by both ears, and pressed his unctuous cock inside her mouth, “with your mouth.” She hesitated, pulled away ever so slightly, before she succumbed to his will. Meanwhile, he dug into her bra and removed the bills she had stashed in it.
After a few moments of deep-throating, she paused, sighed, and rubbed her tired jowls. “Don’t cum in my mouth,” she scoffed before she resumed slurping his massive buffalo beef. Consequently, Harvey enjoyed watching her pretty face bob back and forth. He got off watching her jowls expand like a trumpet player’s face expands when they perform jazz. Harvey grinned, then emptied her purse, and he loved being the boss.
Suddenly, Buffy began to gag. “I told you not to cum in my mouth. I don’t like that shit in my mouth nigga.” Subsequently, she spat out the frothy semen on the carpet.
“Do you like foot in your ass bitch?” he backed handed her with his unarmed hand. “I’m the stiff pimp and you the loose hoe. Now dirty cock-sucker clean up my carpet. I’m not about that mouthy shit.” The smack left her face tingling. She was seething. The two things she didn’t do for anyone were take it in the asshole and swallow. Meanwhile, Vette stood at the door wrapped in a towel and tittered. For some reason, Vette loved an ill-temperate man.
Seconds later, Danny woke up mumbling, “Yeah, I cleaned it, I cleaned it. Didn’t I?” Harvey simply smiled.
THE PERFECT SETTING
After accepting a ride from this unknown person to this unknown apartment, I dreadfully walked up the steps behind this obese chick named, Tekia. She walked up her creaky, shanty, wooden steps and I prayed that they didn’t collapse. Her waddle suggested more than mere obesity, she was also tipsy. Not to mention, she kept repeating herself telling me how pretty my eyes were, how much she loved my ponytail, and how fine I was. Tell me something I don’t know. She had barely unlocked her apartment door before she staggered over and looked at me as if I were wrapped in a package that was labeled—dinner.
“Come in cutie,” she slurred as her sour breath speckled my sweaty face. At least her bubbly face was cute. She repeated her name a dozen times during the ride, and asked me mine at least a hundred. However, the way her lewd glare cut through me, she was fascinated with me like any other bitch. Normally a beach wale of a woman like this wouldn’t even catch a glare from me, but this fat bitch had her own place, for my future stable. How could I take advantage of taking advantage of her?
Her apartment was in the perfect setting for me. It was right around the corner from the notorious Trop and Hi Hat on Howard Street. Howard Street was a main drag for hookers, and of course the competition, pimps. During the day various ministers or Muslim brothers came by and passed out pamphlets; small militant factions preached black unity and black power but their message usually fell upon death ears and unhappy hearts. Poor people were desperate, disparaged, and hungry. Philosophy did so much for an empty heart but very little for an empty stomach.
Conversely, at night time, Howard Street was a street where hot whores snagged horny dates then bagged quickly in some unlit, unsafe corner, or some cheap dangerous, dope den. Hookers hopped out of trick’s cars and ran to their pimp to give him his cut. Meanwhile, the hogs shook down whores for money and free anatomical refreshments. It was a flesh Mecca reeking of self-destruction, drugs, sex, corruption, and hard knock education where few of the students lived to graduate.
Thoughts of fear and insecurity surrounded me as I reluctantly entered her musty, stuffy, discolored place, but I had to focus on manipulating this fat square chick. This was particularly hard to do considering life, as I knew it was no more. I had killed a man in front of a couple dozen people. Part of me wanted to flee immediately, to get on a train and never turn back, but I knew Akron, I knew how to navigate risk in this little city. Akron was small enough for me to see and hear the enemy coming. I had to brave it; I had to take comfort in the fact that Willie Mack was just another dead nigger, one less nigger to pimp out some ole white judge’s square daughter. One nigger that justice peaked underneath her blindfold and decided to turn the other way.
Focusing on Tekia shouldn’t have been too hard considering I needed her more than she needed my pretty, broke ass. I needed somewhere to lay low and to regroup; she merely needed to consume less calories and wanted some attention. Sadly, she wore a low cut cotton dress but her massive back looked like a big fifty pound bag of beans. To make matters worse, her ass had huge hard pockets of cellulite with dress fabric wedged deep in her enormous ass crack. It looked as if her ass was attempting to eat that dress. As if I wasn’t disgusted enough, a quick-acting rodent suddenly dashed across the floor right after she had flicked on the lights.
“Have a seat. Get comfy sweetie,” she offered.
Comfy in this nasty motherfucka? I thought.
I reluctantly sat down on her frayed couch, but I might have been better off just sitting on the floor because the worn couch springs didn’t offer a teaspoon of cushion. The couch fabric was dyed with layers of filth. Her apartment was nasty enough to piss off a pig. The rancid order burned my nose and soured my stomach. The walls had turbid smudges of dirt, sticky jelly, and dried peanut butter by every light switch. There was dried vegetables and weeks-old, rancid meat on the stove. Foamy, greasy, discolored dishwater remained at the bottom of her sink. According to the several layers of waterlines in the sink, it was waiting to evaporate like the rest had. The dining room that doubled as a living room had dirty dishes strewn everywhere some were broken. I held my breath and swallowed my pride. What the fuck have I gotten into?
“You are so goddamn fine,” she flirted. Before I could utter one word, she flopped her wide ass on my narrow lap. Every bone from the knee down popped and threatened to fracture. She gleefully raised her eye brawls then puckered out her dry, salty, liquor- wrenched lips and slurred, “Give me a big kiss.”
“Give me a big break!” I shouted, my legs were numb as fuck because she weighed every cubit of three hundred pounds.
Her expression sobered as she asked, “Am I too heavy?”
“I don’t think so,” my eyes bucked like Don Knots as I responded. “But my legs beg to differ.” She sprang up clumsily. Her silence said every thing that she didn’t. However, I couldn’t exactly afford to hurt this hippo’s feelings. “Don’t get me wrong; only a dog wants a bone. I love big women,” I lied. Just not on my bony ass lap. I stood up and let my legs regain their sensation and circulation then I caressed her corpulent arms. Fat hung off of her arms like sheets on a clothes line and when the wind blew, they just blow back and forth. However, I closed my eyes and sipped on the wide arches of her lips. Can Silky the great pull this off?
Her kisses were thick and sour from the bourbon. Nonetheless, I envisioned a sexy Asian female placing soaked sounding kisses on me. I thought about any woman other than the one I was kissing. Tekia’s palms simmered from the lust that shot down her spine. She scooped my narrow ass up and carried me into her slum of a bedroom. She had all the bear-like qualities I resented in a bitch. The busted box spring and mattress sat directly on the floor; her attempted white sheets were worn from filth, but I wasn’t in a position to complain, yet. She dropped me on the bed like a bag of potatoes then hungrily removed my clothes. She peeled off the sausage skin of a dress and her blubber dangled like tensile from a Christmas tree. I examined the stupendous bulk and screamed inside. Aint no way I’m gone fuck this—am I?
Consequently, she lay beside me then I could feel her enormous body heat. Fat or not, that body heat felt great and even inspired my naughty nature to rise. She caressed me with her torched lit hands. Suddenly, the room didn’t seem as foul and she didn’t seem as fat. My fleshed somehow hungered for her next touch, her next embrace. All of my body was caught in the moment, but my mind knew that means would have to justify the end.
Finally, I got the courage to dive inside her. The moment my naked dick plummeted to the base of her saggy pussy, I realized that a pimp was the ultimate whore. Whores sold their bodies due to their love of vanity and receiving attention. Pimps sold their souls due to their love of money. I knew that sexing this big girl was a mistake, but I needed to re-group and the chips were not on my side. However, Tekia was surprisingly flexible as she spread her flabby legs eagle.
Although endowed with a big black instrument, it wasn’t until I began swimming in her scandal-canal that I realized she had room for 84 piece orchestra. It didn’t bother me though because I went to bat in that ballpark of a pussy. It was a challenge that would make me throw balls and all in the pussy. I slithered inside her back and forth and moved almost mechanically up and down until she clawed into my back like a rabid raccoon. Her pussy’s succulent soaking sounds brought me internal joy. I was skinny dipping in a pool of pussy. In the ninth inning, her body shook because I worked it out in that deep, wide, watery coochie. I repositioned myself by snatching the back of both of her feet and pent them against the wall at the head of her bed. I anchored my legs wide apart for balance then slammed the longest, deepest strokes I could muster. I was a scrump specialist—super hump artist. I wondered how privileged she felt to fuck a pretty nigga like me, the incredulous Silky?
Ultimately, my deep thrusting and master bagging paid off. Her body trembled violently as she splashed from ecstasy, and when she shook, she shook! The homerun, I hit it. Her hands were still tepid as we lay there in the twilight phase. I smiled to myself because she looked like she was experiencing child pangs, pure facial distortion. I loved making bitches cum and act a plum fool. Momma taught me well. She didn’t leave much to the imagination, and I handsomely profited from her diversified sexual portfolio. I knew that I had to continue to do what other players wouldn’t or couldn’t do, so that I could hold the ladies down and keep them around.
Some pimps believe that super-sexing a whore has no effect on warping her mind, but I believe that there’s something special when a pimp pleasures his whore in mind and body. It demonstrates that he’s both a man’s man by besting the competition, and a lady’s man that knows how to dominate a bitch’s emotions by dominating her body in tandem with her mind. A smile grew across my face. She asked me what I was grinning about, but when I turned to answer within seconds, she was snoring. I just came and conquered that beach wale of a pussy, now it’s time to figure out how to colonize this big bitch’s mind. Subsequently, I got up and took a bath then I ran some more bath water. I came back to the bed to awaken her.
“What do you want?” She mumbled half awake.
“Ran you some hot bath water,” I replied.
Suddenly, she became more alert; she was awestricken. “You ran me some bath water?” she twaddled, “Awe that’s so sweet, you shouldn’t have. Why don’t you just take a bath, I’m so tired?”
Tired? Bitch you funky! I thought to myself.
I insisted she go get in the tub. Even though she may not have known it, I wasn’t gone sleep up under her fat ass smelling like must and foul after-fuck. She eventually dragged her flabby frame to the tub. While she bathed, I made big plans. I had big plans for this big bitch. How big is the question?
PART FOUR
ALONG CAME THE APOSTLE OF PIMPING
Harvey the Hound
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THREE WEEKS LATER: On North Howard Street, Harvey made his rounds in the trenches. He made it his business to creep up on his hoes because if he caught them slipping off the track even for a minute, they would be limping for a month. Harvey was a bull pimp who relied on violence and vice to control his whores. Harvey even powered his nose from time to time but he kept his whores high, to keep them numb and dumb.
In addition, Harvey had to constantly keep his eye out for Johnny Law because these dirty cops were quick to shake down his hoes for any money or drugs that they might have on them, only when a whore got way out the pocket would cops actually arrest them for soliciting. Between keeping one eye on Johnny Law and the other eye on his product, he had his hands full. Harvey had to be a hound and keep his nose open for upstaging and back-stabbing.
After recruiting Vette and Buffy, he had a stable of eight hoes. Three of which were anatomically exceptional. Firstly, there was Atina. She was slender with walnut colored yes. Her skin was a silky deep olive complexion. Her body was lean and athletic. Her hair was short but fashioned. Her only flaw was her wide Barney Rubble shaped feet. Her feet were so fucked up that scientist could have used them to prove primate evolution. Atina was a quiet but good hoe. She knew the game and got along well with her co-whores.
Secondly, there was Eula. She was short with sturdy shapely legs and bulbous calves. She was a sleek dark almond complexion. She was of Negroid and Filipino extraction. Her slanted eyes, thin facial features, and tight figure were very exotic. She was a black Chinese, the poster girl of exotic pussy. Eula’s feet were polar opposite to Atina’s feet. Eula had the softest, smallest, prettiest feet in his stable. This may seem unimportant but when a whore came across a trick with a foot fetish, it paid off handsomely to have some pretty well-kept feet. Eula was a seductively sneaky whore who rubbed with one hand and stole with the other. Her exceptional good looks let her get away with a lot of slick shit.
Lastly, there was Terica. She was cute and high yellow with absolutely flawless skin; she owned a set of pear colored eyes and thick soft pouty lips. She had the perkiest set of breast equipped with ever-erect extended nipples and a set of endlessly long legs. She even had a star tattooed on her left ass cheek; she said it represented her five star pussy. Terica acted the total opposite of how she looked. Terica was a loud foul mouthed whore who always talked about whoring and jealousy. She swore that all of the whores were jealous of her near white skin and pretty eyes. Terica, Eula, and Atina were Harvey’s high roller hoes; these whores were his biggest money makers. Johnny Law pressed these beautiful hoes, often for freebies.
Harvey drove up into the Trop parking lot and stood outside of his Caddy to collect. North Hill and Howard Street was completely his turf when Johnny Law wasn’t around to muscle him for extortion/ bribe payments. Any flat-backer that planned on bagging in his neck of the woods had a rude awakening coming because these cops also shook down his competition. Harvey’s whores were always looking out for Johnny Law or other fishers in the sea. While at the Trop, he waded through the rowdy crowd up to the bar draped in his purple leather suit and purple lizard boots. Gold ropes dangling around his neck and several sets of full flawless karats of diamonds lace his knuckles. He looked like the hood version of Bootsy Collins. He lived like a king when few poor white men could live decently. Even renegade hoes gawked at Harvey, but he only wanted the best hoes, unless of course it was a young whore because young pussy outsold an old pussy twenty to one. Harvey understood that old men love stuffing their old dicks into young innocence, or what was recently innocent.
He turned around on his barstool and held out his hand that glistened with precious gems then his hookers lined up in single file so that they could take turns paying him and kissing his rings. Once they made payments, they stood in a single line and said in unison, “Hale to our King Harvey.” He chuckled as he counted his wads of cash and shoed his hoes off like they were flies on sheep shit.
Meanwhile, envious spectators and potential stick-up artist studied Harvey for potential weakness, and prayed for opportunity to present itself. The question of the hour was: what exactly was Harvey’s weakness? His whores were well-versed in the pimp game and they got along pretty well with the exception of Terica who would mouth off from time to time. They were also his eyes and ears for potential new recruits and enemy pimps. With the recent death of his brother, Harvey keeps his ear to the pavement.
Atina entreated, “Harvey, let us stay here with you a little while. My jowls are so tired from sucking the skin off of these pigs’ nasty pink dicks.” She continued to pop the gum she was chewing.
“Don’t make excuses bitch! Make money!” As he griped her tightly by the small of her chin, he sneered, “If sucking a few free dicks keeps you out on the track to make my money then so be it. You’ll never get to it, if you can’t hoe through it.” Atina shot him a burning glare, but remained silent then trotted back to the lonely sidewalks of North Hill. Subsequently, a john pulled up in a struggle buggy and she disappeared briefly.
Two of Harvey’s low-grade ten dollar hoes were standing on the curb laughing hardy as a trail of tricks drove by. These whores were so into their side conversation that they were not even making eye contact with potential customers. These whores were in strict violation. He strolled up on them wearing anger on his face. He asserted, “Shut the fuck up! Money just driving by you bitches. You bum ass bitches get to beatin’ your feet until the rocking robins go tweet, tweet, tweet!” The sidewalk cleared instantly.
By this time Atina had just got out of the struggle buggy and Harvey gesticulated for her to come to him. She rose up her index finger and said, “I have another date back there waiting.” She dashed behind a condemned house. Meanwhile, he patted his feet against the pavement as he waited impatiently.
Terica sauntered over with some crispy fifty dollars bills in her hand. “I’m rolling daddy,” she smiled. “Bet them other jealous bitches aint making money like I do daddy.”
He examined her sexy faultless flat stomach tucked beneath her hot pink halter-top while he pulled out his cigarettes. “Keep the stroll up, you sexy little roll up. You keep bringing money like this, I’m gone fire these other underperforming bitches. I’m gone go out and buy you some fine threads and sharp jewelry.” She smiled and scurried off to the track. Harvey was wise enough to let a whore feel some success and by taking money from one bitch and spending it on another, he could do just that without spending a single dime of his own.
Consequently, Harvey heard a loud shriek sizzle in his ears. He watched as Atina dashed towards him wearing nothing, but total terror on her pear shaped face.
She screamed, “Stop this sick pervert!”
––––––––
Harvey had just struck his wooden match against the box to light his cigarette, but he darted towards his property and let the cigarette fall of the arch of his lips. Simultaneously, he observed this white nerdy trick giving her chase. It was his job to protect his whores from aggressive or unruly tricks. Harvey ran and busted the antagonist in the nose then planted a thunderous upper cut to the assailant’s gut.
The white weirdo buckled to his knees and held his stomach with one hand and his bleeding nose with the other. He screamed, even though his cries were muffled with his hand, “You broke my fucking nose! You worthless nigger pimp!”
Then Harvey bitch slapped him with his ice-studded hand. He barked, “Square motherfucka, if you want to lay up, pay up!” Afterwards Harvey noticed some of his diamonds missing from his rings then kicked the trick one, two, three times. “Fucked around and lost my diamonds because your trick ass.”
The helpless john wallowed in the street crying out, “I want to feel some hot shit on my chest, on my face. I just want the bitch to shit but she won’t shit! Everyone has to shit, why won’t she just shit!” Snot drained on his top lip as he pleaded. Harvey had a quizzical look on his face as he turned to look at Atina. She stood there sobbing, trembling and shaking. Her arms were folded so that they could cover her perky breast; she even crossed her legs to attempt to hide her nakedness. While Harvey looked at her, he couldn’t help but to say, “Miss erratic-dramatic you need to hide them web-feet.”
“He paid me a hundred dollars to lick out my ass, but once he realized I wiped better than he expected, he started growling and biting me in the ass and demanded that I dew-dew. He went crazy and attacked me, ripped off my clothes and everything,” she cried. Harvey nostrils flared across his face like a raging bull. He looked around quickly slipped out his .38 snub-nose then flogged the john across his temple.
“Oh, I’m a pervert just because I want to eat a little ass? I just want her to shit,” the john whimpered like a wounded puppy.
Harvey held him at gun point and made him empty out his pockets then took his money. “This is for my diamonds punk motherfucka and you still owe,” Harvey ordered. Some passersby watched curiously until Harvey aimed his barrel in their direction and yelped, “What the fuck are you looking at? If it was a hog ripping off a nigga, you’d act just like you didn’t see shit.” He pulled Atina inside the safety of his embrace then turned to the wailing pervert and kicked him once more for good measure, “You ole’ musty mouth motherfucka...get a tic tac! All these four legged bitches running around here that can’t wipe their ass but you paying two legged bitches not to, you are a sick puppy.”
The trick leaped up and fled by foot. Several cars rode by blowing their horns at Atina’s enlightening figure. Harvey hurried and placed her inside his Caddy so she could warm up. He almost melted as he gazed in her sultry walnut colored eyes. “Next time a motherfucka wants to eat some ass, ask him if he wants it with some sugar or shit,” he taunted. Seconds later, a police cruiser slid around the corner but Harvey slipped off into the night: one step ahead of the man, as always.
The Foundation
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BACK AT TEKIA’S PLACE: Tekia lived right around the corner from the Notorious Trop and the Hi Hat. Although Tekia was a square bitch, I coaxed her to polish up her act; it took weeks for her to scrub down her apartment. Slowly, I had dug my hooks of charm and good looks deep into her portly heart. No matter how you looked at it, her apartment was a slum, but I demanded that she keep it neat and clean. In fact, she even kept herself up as well. She kept her hair and nails done plus she bathed at least twice a day. From this point on, every bitch around me had to serve a purpose. This was my new foundation and I had to build one brick at a time.
Every time she looked in my eyes, she seemed to be taking a romantic journey, laying another brick to my majestic castle. She was weak and mom told me how to use weak women—any way I wanted to. Tekia was so love-struck that it wasn’t hard to convince her of anything, not to mention her very low self-esteem due to her weight problem. Low self-esteem was the most desirable ingredient that a pimp looked for in any female. All women have insecurities, some of them just learn how to deal with them more effectively than other females do. Most guys never seem to understand that even the prettiest girl wasn’t shit if she didn’t feel like she was something. Why do you think the curbs are littered with tons of beautiful women? Simple, because they are a bunch of broken bitches trying to put it together while they search for the missing pieces of their dignity. Often a pimp’s approval temporary filled that void that they were searching for.
Nonetheless, I knew that the Pope was more likely to sell pornos than Tekia would sell pussy. Outside of an occasional trick with a fat-bitch fetish, there were simply too many pretty young cheap strung out whores for Tekia to compete with. Let’s face it thinness is highly prized in our society and often even thick shapely women are overlooked in preference to a long lean thin one. Therefore, I knew that I needed one of those sexy, young trophies or at the very least a seasoned vet who knew the tricks of the trade to compensate for the loss of her youth. Tekia had her place and the curb was not it.
However, I still needed Tekia because I needed her apartment. I had to make her feel as if she was a major part of my plans by making her feel like my plans actually included her. Pimping is an art but by the time I’m done with it, I’ll have it down to a science. Ever since I was a little boy when mom would cuddle me, play with my curly hair, and tell me, “Baby, you gone be a heart breaker. Give ‘em hell every chance you get and make them love you; make them respect you, serve you. You are momma’s heart and if they love you half as much as I do, they’ll wait on you hand and foot. If you can’t use a bitch, lose a bitch. It’s too many bitches out here giving up they money, for some of them not to be giving it to you.” Momma’s words rang inside of my ears, inside my heart. She had programmed me to believe that women are here to serve their man, and if a woman is not willing to serve, she has no purpose. Momma was right.
As for Tekia, she was very creative when it came to hairstyles. She made sure that I had the freshest finger waves in Akron. Of course, I kept my signature ponytail. I loved the fact that I had naturally curly hair, but niggas with them perms would stare burn holes through me. I had it so why not flaunt it? Momma would be proud if she could see me now. Tekia also made a nice little piece of change doing hair at Sis-Trunk’s Solon. I thought of recruiting some bitches from the solon but there were entirely too many drag queans harbored there for me; prison pussy also known as ‘he-pussy’ was not my specialty.
I’ll admit that Tekia took exceptional good care of me. She fed me and ironed my threads. Plus, she always complemented me when I jiving around doing my dance steps when I was in a particular good mood. In return, I‘d flatter her and sometimes fuck the spit out of her. Hell, she was my biggest fan—literally. When I farted she’d take a deep whiff then clap and tell me how my farts didn’t even stink. Tekia worked well underneath me, but now it was time for me to do bigger and better things. I had weaved my wickedness inside of her heart. It was time to expand. I asked, “Tekia, are you ready to really live, are you ready to go to the top with me?” I gently queried as I shuffled my shoulders from side to side with such rhythm and glare.
She was so taken aback by my question that she studied my eyes for vestiges of sincerity. She smiled, “I’d go anywhere with your fine ass. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ve been so good to me, I owe you and I’m ready to give you the best this world has to offer. I’m ready to drape you in diamonds and pearls and even take you all around the world.” I continued with my act. “Satin dresses hanging elegantly off your back and glass Leafs on your feet...we’ll have front seats as we go see the O’jays, the Temptations, the Spinners and I’ll resurrect The Determinations featuring none other than the show stopping’ get the panties dropping’ Silky.”
Her eyes suddenly saddened. “You’re the only man that has ever made me feel this way. I love you so much. You haven’t abandoned me after sex. You like me for me,” She continued, “I know that I’m fat (a tear dropped) and that you can have any woman that you want in the world. I won’t even speak on that big ole elephant trunk you call a dick.”
I smirked and leaned closer and whispered, “Tekia, we can go anywhere you want, fancy clubs and restaurants but,” I paused for effect, “I need your complete trust. You have to believe in me with all of your heart, with every ounce of your soul. You have to know that any and everything I do is for me and you. No matter how strange or bizarre it may sound; it’s for us, period.”
She softly grabbed my hand and replied, “I don’t know. Momma always told me to never put your trust in man. Men will always fail you, people for that matter. She said that the only man you can trust is God.”
“How do you spell Jesus?” I asked.
She started to spell it, “J e ...”
“Stop right there. J e, same letters that begin jealous, and even Jesus would be jealous of nigga like me.”
“You are cray-zeee I’ve never met anyone like you,” she smiled.
I kissed her hand and replied, “And you never will.”
Then my momma’s words revisited me again and echoed in my mind, ‘Women are weak for a fine ass man, I don’t care how much a hoe denies it, and I’ve seen and done it a thousand times myself. Hoes charge a trick for some pussy, but then take the trick’s money to pay their pimp. I’m a hoe and a damn good hoe; I know what hoes want son. And hoes want to use or be used, but not you Silky, you gone be God’s gift to them triple back-stabbing bitches. See, can’t no man bully a bitch into selling her ass, women want to sell their ass! A whore knows that anytime a whore gets in a car it can be her last. Can’t nobody teach a pimp how to pimp better than a hoe. Trust me, most bitches are weak.’
At that point, I gently wrapped her bottom lip with both of mine and sucked it softly. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. Her carotid artery leaped, her right eye jumped, and her palms sweated as she caressed the back of my neck. I didn’t just listen to her words, but I watched her actions and read her eyes. I said, “Trust me. Have I ever led you wrong? Aren’t we here to help each other? Don’t we deserve more than this?” I stood up and turned around, now filled with fresh confidence. “This could be the birth of a beautiful beginning,” I rubbed my smooth chin then whispered, “or a bitter ending.”
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Panic registered rapidly across her face. “I...I...don’t want to lose you because I’ve never been this happy in my life,” she stammered.
Damn, momma was right again.
I carefully removed her hands from her pudgy cheeks then I took my thumb and caught the hot tear sliding out the corner of her eye. “Follow your heart and follow me. Just listen to me and I’ll never hurt you,” I coaxed. I just laid down the foundation. What’s next? Answer: recruiting.
Opportunity Knocks
LATER ON THAT NIGHT: After rehearsing my comeback to the pimp game and singing some sweet ballads in the shower, I got dressed up so that I could go out and deal this die-hard pimping. My sapphire silk double-breasted suit was tailored made. A slick matching brim crowned my head, but what really set it off was my black leather trench coat that hung about six inches above my snakeskin shoes. I was sporting some polo cologne and my shit didn’t stink. This was the first time Tekia had seen me so dapper and her eyes were filled with questions.
“Where are you going?” she inquired.
Be cool Silky. “To do big thangs and make big moves, not now, but RFN, right fucking now,” I replied suavely.
“You’re coming back aren’t you?” her eyes were riddled with sympathy.
There wasn’t nothing I loved more than a weak bitch, okay maybe a skinny cute weak bitch. “Um... hum, I’ll be back, so you can shake all that your momma gave ya,” I jived.
She smiled, sat down, and blew me a kiss. She knew not to push too far. Meanwhile, I sauntered around the corner while I counted my money that was Tekia’s just moments ago. I had finally mustered the trappings to knock off some whores already in the life or better yet to snag some young run away pussy that I so desperately needed to come across. I carefully kept my eyes pinned out for the man, after all, I hadn’t been out since the night I killed Willie a few months ago. Lucky for me, Willie was just a disposable nigger, not a precious white man or no good ass cop. Who would pursue a huge investigation over a mere nigger? Black life was cheaper than the drinks, drugs, and whores that often cost young black men our lives.
Out of the corner of my eyes that very moment, I noticed a dirty cop shaking down these two fine whores. He blatantly disrespected them. He stripped search them out in the open, planted the barrel of his cold steel against their necks, and lastly, took every red cent he could find. After he took their cash, he mocked them then let them go on their merry way knowing that their hungry pimps would whip them for coming home broke. I can’t say that I was any better because I wanted to chip those bitches, but they were top notches. I needed more flash and cash before I could feel comfortable enough to step to them. How can I come up on some hoes like that? Fine bitches loved find cars. Pimps often drove fancy cars because cars said things that they didn’t have to. If a guy was doing some real pimping, he’d be driving and dressing nice. So what I needed to knock off some of those top notch whores was a nice fine ride. It’s time to get this money so I can go out and buy the finest automobile I can afford.
Suddenly from out of the ashes of the ghetto, a sexy busty teen caught my eye. Teenage pussy? She was walking slowly with a stroller: a stroller on a drug infested street at night? I studied her carefully, and it wasn’t hard to discern that she was ill humored. I walked over to her and said, “What’s wrong baby doll?” She just kept walking and was sniveling. I continued my mission, “What does it profit you to walk through this concrete jungle crying with your baby like a potential victim?” Her walking slowed down a bit.
“He said that I fucked his best-friend so he put me and his son out,” she sobbed. “Do you live far from here?” I asked as I tried to get some eye contact, but she dropped her head. My initial impression was that she was a square bitch, not a whore.
“I’m from Chicago and I don’t have anywhere to go,” she cried. “The only person I know here is my boyfriend, ex-boyfriend that is. What in the hell am I going to do?”
I heard opportunity knocking like a motherfucka! Along came the apostle of pimping just in time to nab this chick.
“What he put you and your baby out on these thirsty streets with dangerous dope fiends, hardcore stick-up artist, cut-throat hoes and even pity-free pimps,” I went on. “Look I have a cousin that lives around the corner, I know you don’t know me but she just loves kids, and I’m sure that she won’t mind if you chill for few days or so. We can help get you turned around, but the choice is yours,” I urged. “Addicts know no shame, have little fear, and are full of destruction of anyone in their path. I would hate to see you and this cute little baby be in that path.”
She looked down at her precious little child and smiled ruefully. A thousand thoughts of its safety must have flooded her adolescent mind. However, she didn’t respond verbally. Meanwhile, I studied her eyes, pulse, and even watched her fingers and toes for tapping or nervous twitching. Where’s her weakness? I looked in the crib and had a pretty good idea that I had found it. I queried, “What’s your baby’s name?”
“Devon,” she replied and at that very moment she began to cry.
“And your name is?” I asked sinfully.
“Jackie,” she answered.
She handed him a nearly empty bottle of milk. Then I grabbed her hand, bent down to one knee and began to sing Hey There Lonely Girl. I was quite impressed how smooth my crisp tenor landed on her ears. After all, I hadn’t sung to anyone live in months. Tears poured down her face and seemed to rinse away some of the pain and frustration. One of those two fine whores that I had seen earlier clapped her hands and whistled at me. I still had the vocals and the charm. “Come on lets get him out of this night air,” I coaxed.
I eyed her closely as she began to push his stroller. She was definitely a vain man’s definition of a woman. She had a deep rye complexion and lips that would make a priest want to feel her liquid fire. Her hips were rounded and her waistline was remarkably thin. The ass was an engine of lewdness. She walked a few steps behind me, but I could feel the caution from her eyes pressing against my back before she said shyly, “You have an astounding voice.”
“I used to sing with this local group called The Determinations, but the only thing we seemed to be determined to do was self destruct. It was too many egos clashing, too little practice, too many women distracting the guys, too much dope and not enough hope. I still have dreams to have me a successful group,” I answered gleefully.
“Really, I wished that I could have seen you perform with your group,” she paused for a moment, “Are those your real eyes? I’ve never seen a caramel complexion man with blue eyes. I’ve never seen no black man with blue eyes.”
I turned around and pulled her chin closer to me then leveled our eyes so that we could look directly into each other’s eyes, “You tell me.”
She squinted, smiled, and said, “That’s crazy, but it’s not like they would be fake or something anyway. I guess that was a stupid question.”
I replied, “No stupid questions, only stupid answers.”
Subsequently, we arrived at Tekia’s apartment then walked in. Tekia’s eyes were like torches burning with fury as she witnessed Jackie enter behind me. She leaped off of her couch wearing her mismatching braw and dingy granny panties. She looked like a sumo wrestler in drag.
“Silky, what the fuck are you doing?” She screamed as she put her tight fist on her flabby hip.
I quickly turned to Jackie and said, “Have a seat. There’s a little misunderstanding.”
Jackie looked puzzled but took a seat as I marched Tekia into the bedroom with me. Tekia pouted and her eyes were vengeful. She sneered with watery eyes, “Why did you bring that little bitch into my house!”
I paused and just stared at her size 8-X ass. Then I barked, “Look didn’t I tell you to trust me hefty hoe. Who are you to question me? You don’t even know who she is; she could be my sister for all you know, but your big fat jealous ass is jumping to conclusions,” I grabbed her by the square of her chin. “And your big ass can’t afford to be jumping to shit! I told you that I had big moves to make.”
Her eyes fought to hold on tight to her tears. “Silky she’s not your sister; how dare you bring some spare pussy to my house. I thought we were together.”
I stood directly in her face and whispered in her ear,” Are you gone sell that fat ass pussy for me? Because I don’t mind giving Porky pig a wig and pussy popping gig, you dig!” I continued. “Either she stays or I can leave you alone in this pig pin.” I stared her directly in the eyes, “Now come again. Look at me very closely. I got enough charm to set off an alarm. I’m Silky and I can have any bitch that I please. Any bitch. Now ask yourself, what the fuck can your fat ass do for me? I’m a pusher; I push pussy. I’m a flat-back captain and I got a ship to sail, so do you want to be a part of this project or not?”
A stream of hot tears dripped down her pudgy face. ‘You’re a pimp,” she cried. “I had no idea that you were a pimp. Oh My God.”
It was my time to shine as I stared stone faced, “Now that you do know, don’t ever fucking question me in front of prospective employee again. Big bitch don’t ever question me at all! This may not be a castle, but dammit I’m the king.” I could tell that she felt the evil of my eyes piercing through her soul. Then I shoved her onto her bed and stumped out of the room. The entire apartment was disturbed from the vibration of her fall.
Jackie glanced up at me and asked, “This isn’t a problem is it? I don’t want any trouble.”
Innocence hung off of her little face, but soon that would all change. I replied, “No, my chunky ass cousin thinks that she be running shit, but the only thing she runs—is to the fridge.”
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Jackie timidly asked, “Your cousin aint gone be mad at me is she?”
I lied, “Of course not, long as there is food in the cupboard, she’s happier than being the only hooker in Harlem.”
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Meanwhile, Devon was crying so hard that I took his empty bottle that Jackie insisted on trying to pacify him with and filled it up with some warm milk. I was amazed at how hard and how fast he sucked that nipple on that bottle. Jackie belched him and he fell right to sleep. I remember how mamma always talked about how spoiled I was as a baby. I looked down at the cute little chocolate fella and he was quite adorable. However, he was not nearly adorable enough for me to give a wisp of mercy on his young unsuspecting momma’s innocence or pussy. Mamma told me to use a bitch or lose a bitch. And I intended to use the fuck out of her.
Consequently, I walked in Tekia’s room and jerked the blanket off of her bed then walked back in the front room and handed it to Jackie to cover him with. “You can sleep on the couch,” I said. I figure that I would reel her in playing the perfect gentlemen and show no apparent sexual interest in her which would only intensify her attraction. I asked, “Would you like something to eat or drink?” One thing for certain, Tekia may not have a pot to piss in, but I know her fat ass got something to eat.
“No thanks,” she replied.
“Don’t be shy with your cute ass. You’ll go hungry,” I joked.
“Thanks for everything. You are so nice,” she added.
And I’m so many other things that you’ll never imagine.
“You’re very welcome and by the way you have a fine child. He’s almost as handsome as you are cute,” I flirted. She responded with a toothy smile. I winked at her then returned to the bedroom with the Willie Mammoth, Tekia.
Tekia was sadly slumped on the edge of the bed with her pudgy face trapped in the palm of her hands. Subsequently, I sat beside her and massaged the nape of her chunky sweaty neck. “Why did you hurt me Silky? You promised that you wouldn’t,” she moped.
“You said that you would trust me, but you don’t. You didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt. You thought It was about some pussy, but it’s about some money. I’m not a trick; it’s never about the pussy. I need three hundred dollars this very moment, do you have it?”
“No, but neither does she; she doesn’t even have a place to stay,” she sobbed. “That’s where you are wrong,” I whispered. “She’s got a fifty dollar per pop pussy. A pussy that can be popped and purchased all day and all night.”
Tekia’s face came to grips of the reality of what I saying and she asked innocently, “Are you gone pimp that young girl? She’s just a baby with a baby Silky.”
I looked her in the eyes with an artic glare and snapped,” As sure as the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor! She aint no baby; she got a baby. I don’t give a fuck if she’s only fourteen, she’s fucking aint she? These stupid young bitches give away more pussy than old hoes sell.”
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There was heaviness other than the weight on Tekia’s face that hovered over her. “Silky, you’re using me aren’t you?”
“No, I’m merely trying to help you, but you’re too stupid to see the big picture. You’re on that typical square shit, one man with one chick shit. You don’t think that I know what’s good for you, but I know what’s right for the both of us. I’ll teach you how to keep your eyes on the prize, and how to follow my lead. I’ll fulfill your every need. Hey I’m not putting you out on the track. You get to eat off of the sweat of another bitch’s back.”
She canted her hot flesh against mine and sobbed, “Why did you call me all those mean names if you really care about me?”
Never short on bullshit, I quipped, “Why does a parent chastise their child because they love them and even though the child doesn’t realize it at the time, they’ll later discover that they need it. Tekia, I remember when my mamma would beat the fuck out me. I’d cry and cry because I was a mammas boy you know. She would slap me down to ground when I asked her why she had so many boyfriends or why did she make all those faces and noises when men would be behind her or on top of her. As I got older, I understood that I had to stay in a child’s place, even though at the time I only had a child’s mind. Damn, I miss that woman. Now let me ask you a question. You wouldn’t question me if you really trusted me now would you?”
She sniveled, “I guess your right. Are you gonna leave me?”
I had to sell Tekia on this act; she had the upper hand and had not a clue. “The only thing that I want to leave is poverty. I’m tired of rats and roaches; I’m ready for rubies and broaches. I want to travel to Cancun and go from there to the moon. I got direction. I can make our dreams into reality. Just watch you’ll see. You are looking at the next Marvin Gaye only sexier,” I boasted.
“Are you serious?” she perked up just a bit.
I grabbed my crouch, “Is this a neck full?”
She smiled and moved closer. “Um...hum can I have a refill?”
All fuck! I wanted to put my foot in my big ass mouth. Whoever said pimping was easy? “Bend that sexy big ass over,” I whispered. “But be quiet, you’re supposed to be my cousin.”
According to her eyes she wanted to gripe, but I suspect that her pussy was so thankful to be serviced that she thought better of it. Then I started to slap mad scandal pole to her from behind. She grabbed the pillow then bit and grunted down into it so that she could muffle her moans. I was digging deep in this whale of woman.
Meanwhile, as Tekia was being pounded from behind, she held back the fact that she had did Silky the ultimate favor with a dirty homicide detective who just happen to have a fat-bitch fetish. In fact, she initially thought he was being funny until she noticed his stiff two inch pecker poking in her direction. After he spelled out his terms, she gave him a blow job and told him that Silky had fled the state went to New York. The homicide detective, who knew she was lying, promised to forward the false lead but told her to be available if or when he needs her services. Although feeling Silky inside of her felt so good, she felt so bad knowing that he didn’t have any affection for her. Silky didn’t even realize, Tekia was already turning tricks for him.
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Quite frankly, I was ashamed that my dick was capable of maintaining an erection in this bear of bitch. Her bulky, flabby back fluttered as I jack hammered her intestines. The whole five minutes I was fucking her, I was envisioning myself fucking Jackie’s fine ass. My next move was to place Jackie in the trenches and on my payroll. Want to see what potent pimping is all about?
Harvey’s Hit
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THREE WEEKS LATER, Harvey was cruising around grooving to the sounds of the Mighty O’jays hit Back Stabbers while he talked on his bulky mobile phone and made rounds on his track. From a distance, he noticed a big brute flagging him down standing in front of the Trop. By the time he pulls into the parking lot, he realizes that it is Bullet by his trademark pan face and top missing four teeth.
Harvey casually rolls down his window. “What’s up Bullet?”
Bullet replies, “Not much. I’m thirsty for some action. My engine locked up on my Nova plus I lost seven hundred dollars last night. Now I’m butt- broke, please tell me that you got a nigga for me to split, somebody that has been ducking you or some sucka trying to raise up on you.”
Harvey threw up his hands. “It’s been real fucked up since my brother Willie got shot by that bitch ass nigga. I don’t know why aint no one dropped salt on this nigga. Bring that little pretty motherfucka to me, and I’ll see what I can put together for you.”
Bullet replied, “Today’s newspaper said key suspect for bar shooting believed to have fled.”
“Man, fuck what that newspaper says! What are the streets saying? You know that they don’t give a fuck who killed my brother man. I want some get-back on that punk motherfucka.” Harvey plays with his luxurious diamond ring. “I have to lay low because you know how these hogs sweat my hoes. It’s getting costly to do business up here. I’ve had to bail three of my mouthy bitches out twice this week.”
Bullet dropped his head and sighed, “Any body else that I can crack for you? I’m so thirsty out this bitch man. Lost my job and shit, my uncle fired me all because the cash drawers came up short a few times.”
Harvey played with his diamond ring once more and replied, “Just find that sucka that killed my brother. I got to Bustback on this generic nigga! I mean really, this nobody ass nigga comes out of nowhere and just kill my motherfucking brother. Fuck that!” Harvey backed up and drove off hastily.
Bullet feeling dismayed, walked into the Trop and little did he know that I was sitting there at the bar getting right. I was sipping on some gin and juice trying to chip this feisty hoe named Terica. Her creamy skin was smooth like butter. She also had light green cat eyes, which was my cue. “Why don’t you come to my stable and pay me to pry this ten inch cable off in you. Stop being a looker when you can be my hooker,” I taunted.
“I’m with Harvey Mack and he aint having that. In fact, I best be heading back to the track,” she retorted and quickly turned away.
I thought, Harvey Mack? Mothafuck, aint this something!
“This pimping is all about you baby. This aint no illusion, I’m about cold cash not confusion. He’s out to break ya but I’m out to make ya,” I quipped.
She grinned sinfully and turned back around in my direction, “What can you make me? Harvey keeps at least five or six grand in his pocket daily, so you know the routine you have to come out of the pocket to knock this.”
“Baby, you sound like the phenomenic -comic.” I continued, “Baby, I can make you look good.” There was a mirror a few steps away. I said, “Come here, see how good you’ll look standing next to me, so you can be the envy of the all the bitches in Akron.”
She smiled and walked next me as I put my around her so that she could see our glamour reflection. I had her. Now that she was in my grasp, I asserted, “In fact, break yourself for being out of pocket,” I grabbed her arm and turned her around so that I could see if she had any money in her possession. Terica was a seasoned whore and she knew the rules of the game and being in another pimp’s face when you belong to another pimp is major no no. So it was my job to check this bitch. I continued, “You braggin’ about what’s in his pocket and don’t know what’s in mine, but do you know how money feel baby? Do you know how to keep a pimp up?” Before she could answer, I replied, “By keeping dicks down. Aint no business like hoe business, take this pass to some first class pimping, and that’s exactly what you been missing.”
Bullet interjected, “Silky, where the fuck you been? I need to holla at you.”
“I thought you said your name was Lay-low,” rasped Terica as she eased her money back into her bra.
I turned to look him in the face and wink at him then turned back around to her. “Don’t trip honey dip, I’m the captain of this ship. I’m different things to different people. In the meantime, you just worry about transforming from Terica to Miss America; I’m the eye in the sky and I’m watching you baby girl.” I jived with my quick slick lines.
He nudged me with great urgency so I turned to him and yielded my attention. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “You must be fucking crazy! Don’t you know that this is Harvey’s strip and that nigga wants to kill you,” whispered Bullet.
My eyes expanded. “Give me a split.”
I walked over to Terica and planted a killer kiss on her lips then reached in her bra and removed the cash that was owed to me. “I got a big nut that I can’t wait to bust on that big butt, but shit will be greater later, Daddy got big moves to make and numbers to take. Gone and start the show, let me sit back and watch you play—this is how we hoe.”
She sucked her teeth and batted her eyes. “Whatever baby boy. What’s up under this skirt will make you spend money,” she laughed.
I walked towards Bullet but turned to say, “What’s under that skirt gone make me some money. Don’t you know that hoeing for me is like eating pussy?”
Terica seemed to be baffled and replied, “How is that?”
I fired back, “If you don’t watch what you’re doing with your tongue, you’ll end up in some shit.” She smiled, shook her head in amusement and walked off to the tracks. I slipped her proceeds in my pocket.
Subsequently, Bullet and I decided to slip out of the side door. I was alarmed with the information that he gave me. For months, I had been parading around in enemy territory. I couldn’t believe that all this time I’ve been nesting in the Lion’s den. I should’ve known better any way.
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“Silky that nigga gone kill you unless you kill him first! King Harvey got it locked up over here,” urged Bullet. “He’s even got rogue cops on his payroll.”
“King Harvey? Kill him?” I thought. Isn’t this a bit extreme?
“Silk I covered you at Big Bob’s and I tossed the pistol, but these niggas live by The Do-Dirt Doctrine and they’ll die by it. Nigga they want blood, your blood,” he protested.
My stomach was overflowing with nervousness. “But Bullet, I killed his brother,” I confessed half-heartedly. Gastric gases bubbled in the back of my throat.
Bullet replied, “Nigga that shit was self defense. What did you think he was gonna do with that gun he shoved in your face? That nigga was trying to chump you right in front of your bitch. He didn’t have any respect for you. Fuck him, I never liked the bastard in the first place but, I know this I’m busted, dusted and disgusted. I need a quick come up, a real come up.”
I was grateful that he tossed the murder weapon for me, and I felt as if I owed him something. Bullet was looking out for me and I had to make it a priority to look out for him. I only had the two hundred dollars that I just took for Terica so I gave him a hundred. Split right down the middle because that’s what true partners do for each other. Bullet had my back and I had his as well. “Here Bullet this is half of what I took,” I offered. I kept thinking about Terica’s sexy ass. It wasn’t sexual; it was financial. It’s been well noted in the pimp code purse first and ass last, none of that Charlie shit here. However, far as business, she had all of the perfect dimensions to keep a man’s attention, but her biggest flaw was her messy mouth. I couldn’t’ stand a loud mouthed bitch that let her ignorance get in the way of making my money. Wonder what would mamma say about this kind of bitch?
“Silky,” Bullet rasped to get my attention because I had drifted off into deep thought. “Pull yourself together. I really appreciate this c-note, by tonight it will be five hundred, you’ll see. I’m about to bubble up nigga. I’m a gambling ass nigga,” he spat.
“I’m gone bubble up on these bitches nigga,” I laughed. “I’m the apostle of pimping.”
He searched my face momentarily then said, “Why not bubble up on the competition? Why don’t we rob and split Harvey? Don’t just hit the competition, profit from it. I know you down for some do-dirt shit.”
“Split or be split that is the question...”
Suddenly, my mouth felt like it was full of cotton; my palms leaked perspiration. Here he was talking about taking somebody’s life like it was just taking out trash. I already had one body beneath my belt, but it was hardly premeditated. All I wanted to do was pimp and profit from these stupid bitches, not get caught up in all this gangster shit. I wasn’t a pistol-grip pimp, just a smooth-talking, money-making mack. Then a chill numbed me and it dawned on me that I could crush two ravens with one rock. Knock off Terica and Harvey with one stroke. I could simply hunt the hunter, and rid myself of the competition just like Bullet suggested. “Hey if I’m gone be the king of pussy patrol then heads got to roll,” I replied.
––––––––
“Silky, you done already took it to Willie, so I know you got the raw dog in you. Nigga you big timing out here. Why sign up to be second? Harvey aint got no love for us, so why should we have any love for him?” He went on. “Hell, you gave me half of your doe just on the strength. And to be honest, you don’t even know me all like that. But for that nigga Harvey, I done cracked junkies and hustlers that owed him money,” replied Bullet. “Harvey even tried to have me bang on some of his ex- hoes, but I aint into putting my hands on women. Harvey aint nothing but a spineless pistol packing pimp.”
“Bullet, you looked out for me and I got mad love for you,” I smirked. I picked my teeth with a toothpick then said, “What would Bob Marley say?” Bullet shrugged his shoulders. Then I finished my statement with a fake Jamaican accent, “No weapon, no case. No wea-pon, no case, aye.”
Bullet laughed loud and to see his nearly naked mouth made me laugh with him as well as at him. However, Bullet was right; Akron wasn’t big enough for the both us. Why should I be the one always looking over my shoulder? Surely, a successful pimp like Harvey has more enemies than friends. Any nigga in the hood with money did. Pimps like Harvey and I enjoyed rubbing everyone’s nose in shit and letting them take a whiff of our success. To be completely honest, I was nowhere near Harvey’s pimp status. In another world perhaps Harvey and I would be the best of friends. Maybe he would even teach me a thing or two about bull pimping but I had killed his brother and there was no coming back from that, there was no patching this hole up. We would be enemies to the bitter end. Rise always required fall.
Unsurprisingly, Bullet and I plotted to catch him this Friday Night when business is usually booming and profits are sky high. We didn’t just want to kill him, but we wanted to catch him with a pocket full of money. Compliments of big mouthed Terica, we knew he carried between five and six grand on average. This is one of the few reasons why it is so important to have a tactful quiet hoe. Too often, whores knew details and secrets about their pimps, but momma had schooled me very well in that area. I kept my whores on a total need to know basis, if they didn’t know it, they didn’t, period. Tina taught me about even letting them know something as simple as stash locations.
Bullet and I discussed the various details on my way back to Tekia’s apartment. Then a brilliant idea struck the shit out of me. “Bullet, when we step in here I need you to rough me up a bit, and pretend that you are outright pissed with me, pissed enough to kill me.” I suggested. “Be convincing.”
He looked confounded. “Are you sure because I can make it look convincing than a motherfucka,” he asked. I nodded yes and that was all it took to convince him.
Consequently, he slammed me against the front door hard, too hard. Shit, I was completely convinced. Once Jackie ran and opened the door, he pushed me inside then throat slammed me to the carpet. “Blue eyed bitch-built nigga, don’t make me kill you!” he scowled. He certainly made it look good, and even my aching back was convinced. Certainly, he had the girls fooled because I was totally fooled. He stood over me then kicked me, and smirked ruefully before he turned and exited out of the front door. I didn’t have to act like I was hurting, I was hurting like a motherfucka as I rolled on the ground.
Tekia held Devon tightly to her enlarged breast while Jackie kneeled down to tend to me. They cried out simultaneously, “Are you okay?” Jackie touched me softly on the face with concern carved in her eyes. It was a wonderful sign of weakness, great. Jackie looked better and more tempting every day. Her perfume was a pleasant melody to my nostrils and her wanton curls that hung past her ears fascinated my eyes.
While still wallowing on the floor, I caressed the arch of her back and inadvertently her plump rear end. Her ass was fat enough to sprint with a coffee mug on top of it. “Silky, what’s wrong with that ape? I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t insult apes like that.” Jackie’s eyes danced in curiosity.
“I’ll be alright,” I grunted. It was my moment to display an Oscar worthy performance. Tekia rocked Devon to stop him from crying and she rasped, “Who was that big ugly motherfucka?”
“He had me scared senseless,” added Jackie.
“Me too,” asserted Tekia, “He’s a big boy, well big creature.”
Look who’s talking, I thought.
“That’s Bullet, I owe his boss some long doe. He followed me from the Hi Hat pressed a pistol to my back, slammed me into the front door. He said he gonna kill every one in the house if I don’t get his cash. Maybe hearing the baby cry sparked a little mercy, but if I don’t come up with four grand that’s our asses.”
“Our asses?” uttered Tekia as fear hung off of chubby face.
“Four grand?” asked wide eyed Jackie, “By when Silky?”
I had both of these broads right where I wanted them. “By this Friday, so come hell or high water I have to have it,” I lied.
“Where on earth do you intend on getting four thousand dollars from in two days?” queried Jackie.
Tekia walked over still holding Devon and said, “I only have thirty dollars and you’re welcome to every dime.”
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Meanwhile, Tekia thought about her recent visit by the detective earlier, who came to collect on his debt by way of sexual services. He showed her the newspaper with the head line that read the key suspect has fled and there are no witnesses who can positively identify him. Even though she had sucked off this detective to keep Silky free, she felt guilty for giving her body to someone else other than him, for not telling him what she had done to protect him.
Deep down inside I smiled because her words and timing were perfect. I painted the most pitiful look that I could muster then I said,” If only everyone was as concerned and helpful as you, Tekia, I wouldn’t have this problem.”
Tekia thought, if only you knew how true that was.
Jackie now sated with guilt spoke up,” Silky, you have been wonderful to both my child and me. I don’t know where I would be if Tekia and you didn’t let me in your home. I may be dead, strung out on drugs or anything by now so if there is anything that I can do please tell me, anything.”
Mamma was more than a whore; she was a genius.
“Please, Jackie, do not say things that you truly don’t mean,” I replied sullenly. Tekia remained silent, but her eyes cursed me heavily as she tensed her jaws.
“I mean it Silky with all my heart. Just ask me I’ll do whatever it takes, really,” She confuted.
I stood up and dusted myself off then I asked, “Can I please speak to you in private?” She shook her head yes and followed me into Tekia’s dusty bedroom. Tekia patted Devon on his back and cut her eyes suspiciously at me. I softly closed the door behind Jackie then examined her every gesture. I said, “Jackie, since the night we met. I’ve always wanted you.” I sat down on the edge of the bed and gently touched her hand. Then she sat down beside me with this quizzical look on her face. I studied every inch of her body, every vein, every artery.
“I notice that you stare at me from time to time, but you have always been a perfect gentleman so I didn’t think you were interested in me.”
––––––––
“The truth is because I want you, all of you, not just your body. That’s why I borrowed this money from this loan shark so that I could make you and Devon safe and secure, so that I could be the man that his father wasn’t, stand by your side, and always be there for you. I wanted to give you the stability no one had ever given you. I gambled trying to do good on the loan, but I’ve lost every single dime.”
I thought of momma’s horrible death and what she meant to me; within a tenth of a second, my eyes clouded with real tears. I meditated on the saddest day of my life when that triple crossing bitch stabbed and killed my momma. Oh how I really missed momma, her wisdom and her wit. Mamma always told me to never trust these bitches because bitches were too weak, too easily conned, too selfish and too sneaky. I kept hearing her say, use them or lose them Silky. Naturally, my eyes watered even more. Jackie’s eyes were stepping inside of mine and they were yearning to console me. And I needed to be consoled by placing a contract on her soul. Will she sign it is the question?
“Silky, I think you’re very handsome, very funny. Devon likes you but I get so tense when I’m around you, my insides shake, but how on earth can I help you?”
I slowly stood up, wiped the tear off my cheek, and turned my back to her. “That’s the hard part Jackie. Do you really believe that I have your best interest at heart? Do you think I want what’s best for you and our, I mean, your son?” I queried and awaited for an answer, but her expression spoke up first.
“Yeah, you always have but what does that have to do with me helping you out of the terrible bind that you are in?”
I embraced her hand and got down on one knee just like the first day we met then replied, “I want to make this world your empire. Look at me, look in these blue eyes. I wish that I didn’t let my foolish pride get in the way of telling you that before I got my ass in a snag. Jackie, I want to give you everything that your heart desires. I want to keep you and Devon safe; he deserves a good life, doesn’t he? I want to take you from Bellaire to New York square...”
“But Silky,” she interjected.
I placed my index finger on her soft lips and continued. “I want to make you my Queen and shower you with true love, diamond rings and silver things, even suck on the bottom of your feet, and if they smell like corn chips I’ll still say they smell sweet.”
She blushed hard and smiled. “Silky, you are so crazy but just tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do it, I’ll do it.”
I paused, sighed and then gazed into her eyes as I returned to my feet. “Really, because you would be doing this for the both of us...”
“Do what Silky...just spit it out?” she smiled gleefully.
Her face was so full of fantasy and bliss, but not for long. I said, “I need you to hustle for us. Turn dates for us. It’s the fastest way for me to repay off my debt, the only way—and if you work with me and trust me, I’ll place the world at the arch of your feet,” I promised. Her smile must have fell on the bed before she sprang off of it.
She yelped, “Do you want me to sell my pussy for you?”
Fire burned in her eyes and the tightness of her face let me know that she was beyond miffed, but I instantly flipped the script. I was determined to pop her lock. First, I shoved her back down then pressed my index finger against her forehead. “I don’t want you to do shit for me but I do expect you to be a woman of your word! You stood here right before my face just seconds ago and said that you would do anything.”
I forcefully canted her head up by the tip of her chin. “You already confessed that you didn’t know where you would be if it was not for me. How were you gone to feed Devon? Shit, everyone fucks; it’s part of life. And evidently you didn’t mind giving some pussy up to some sorry ass nigga that abandoned you and your child in the streets, not to mention you fucked his friend, because that what ungrateful bitches do. But you’re too good to sell some pussy? So tell me this, how many men have you ever fucked?”
She dropped her head and remained silent.
“don’t plead the fifth, answer my question,” I raised my voice. “and look at me when I’m talking to you.”
She answered, “I’ve been with five guys.”
“Jackie I said ever, not last year, be serious, how many men fucked you. You’re too fine for someone not to have talked you out of some pussy come on now.”
“Well, I’m a little embarrassed,” she confessed. “I’ve been with eleven guys.”
Which let me know that the bitch probably has been with at least twenty guys. Even whores lie about the amount of dick they had because they know lower mileage pussy has a greater value. I said, “You will give pussy away by the pound huh? Aint nothing worse than a stupid bum ass bitch!” My words tore in her like termites did wood slow and deliberately. I could see the thought process on her face.
Suddenly, her yellow face became ruddy and tears erupted from her eyes. “I can’t do that Silky. I’m not that kind of girl; I don’t do that nasty shit,” she cried.
Now I was ready to bite down and tear into her soul like a blood thirsty pit bull, so I used the lock and shake method. I jerked her by her shoulders and shook her violently. “Oh I see, you can eat, sleep, shower and shit for absolutely free while I put my life on the line to give you a better one. You bring your young stupid ass down here from Chicago with some lame ass nigga to dump you like dirty mop water. Him and his boy get to play hop-scotch in your pussy. Yet, I stick my neck out on the line for you and this is how you repay me by saying fuck me huh?” By this time, I had quit shaking her and she cried even harder than before.
“It’s not like that Silky,” she sobbed. “I’ll get a job, I’ll cook, and I’ll clean around the house anything but...”
––––––––
Then the door squeaked it was Tekia peeking in, but I shot her a nasty look and she couldn’t close the door fast enough. Then I continued my mental mauling. “Bitch, you should have been cooking and cleaning, but now the only way you’ll help around this house is to sell pussy up out it! Time to serve notice bitch.” I knew that I had created a comfort zone, a dependency for her. Furthermore, I knew that she didn’t want to return to the empty ghetto streets with her little baby not to mention enemies, me. I had made her a dependant zombie just like welfare has done to millions of American moms in this so called great nation. Jackie was young, naïve and homeless plus she felt helpless combined with obligated. These wonderful attributes were desired in a future hoe.
“I...I... just can’t,” she stuttered as a thread of mucous clung to the bridge of her nose.
“You know what, you don’t have to. Just get your son and your high and mighty ass the fuck out here. Not now, but RMN, right motherfuckin now! Since you can’t get some direction here, get it elsewhere.” I roared. Ironically, now she was down on her knees with salty tears smearing the make-up on her face.
“Silky, p-l-e-a-s-e don’t put us out; we have nowhere else to go,” she sobbed.
“I didn’t put you out, your lack of participation did. Bitch, your dead weight and quite frankly you don’t give a fuck about me so why should I give a flying fuck about you?” I went on. “You’re some sorry bitch that afraid to face the pangs of the game of life. You are more worried what they are gone to say or think about you but what are they gonna do when your broke and your baby is hungry? I don’t have time or use for no worthless ass self-centered bum ass bitch. They didn’t help you, I did! But that concrete jungle out there got a shallow grave with you and that little fucker’s Devon’s name on it; the streets will make a believer out of you. My life is on the line bitch and you worried about being a good girl. I’ll be good and dead and before you know it, you’ll be back out here passing pussy out like free Jehovah witness pamphlets.”
At this point her hands were cuffed around here face, she was balling like you wouldn’t believe. Her pretty face was now distorted with disbelief. I mugged her by the side of her head. “Bitch, get the fuck away from me with your worthless freebie pussy.”
“Please, please, please,” she sobbed, she groveled.
“Bitch, I aint James Brown so don’t give me that please, please, please shit. You might as well get a cardboard and write will fuck for free on it because that’s all you know how to do and that’s all you’ve ever done,” I sneered as I slowly turned the doorknob. I could hear her take a deep breath and then a dry gulp.
“I’ll do it,” she sniffled and wiped her face. “I’ll do it for you.”
I spun around. “This aint for me, it’s for us! This is a mere investment on your behalf. You’re doing this so you and your son won’t become maggot meat.”
She smeared her make up even more as she wiped the salty tears from her face. For a split she reminded me of Tina. That very instant I knew that I had Jackie exactly where I wanted her, at her weakest point.
I stepped before her and unzipped my pants. “Since, you said that you’re going to work; show me what you’re working with.” I jerked her by her hair hard and pressed her dry salted lips against my half erect dick then she reluctantly yawned her mouth and slipped it beneath her tongue. Afterwards, she closed her eyes and painfully slurped away.
I really got a big kick out of watching my full erection disappear and reappear in and out of her jowls. From the flow of her rhythm I could tell that her lips were not virgin to dick sucking because no hoe can handle a dick like this on the first try. As her hot mouth devoured my stiffness, I caught a case of lock ass and viciously nutted inside her mouth. I squeezed her head and yelped, “Swallow! It’s much more profitable so get use to it.”
After she was finished blowing me, I slung her across the bed, ripped off her panties then brutally busted up her young birth canal. I made sure that she knew I was dead serious. Once I was finish, she laid quietly across the bed with a blank expression. I tossed her ripped panties on her face. “Slut clean up! You’ve been served notice. You were happy to use me, now the shoe is on the other foot.”
She ruefully removed her panties off her face. “Why are you treating me like this, I’m gone do it?” she sobbed.
“Because your dumb ass had to think twice about helping your motherfuckin self, and your son. I’m gone have the world with or without you. There’s always a pretty weak bitch willing to be under my wings. I certainly hope that you’re wise enough to see that I’m giving you some direction.” I continued. “I want you out on the trenches in the shortest, tightest, tiny-winy, mini-skirt that you can find, no panties. I want it short enough to scratch and sniff and get a whiff of pure pussy.” I watched the hot tear slide off of her nose onto the dirty floor.
“Okay Silky,” she replied as she stood up with her shoulders slumped.
“The money comes directly to me and if you take the time to read the serial number on the bill, you’ve had my money too fucking long. In fact, you can turn dates right here in this room.” I went on. “When the trick cums, he goes. We sell lust not love. If he aint paying then he aint staying, you dig? Don’t make me have to turn street business into blood business.”
She nodded her head in compliance. Fortunately, I was wise enough to take advantage of each of her disadvantages not to mention her lack of experience. Afterwards, I pranced into the bathroom and washed off my long sticky dick and musty balls. As I stared into the mirror, I had almost forgotten just how handsome I was, but if that mirror, mirror on the wall, could reflect my inner ugliness and all, it would shatter the entire wall. My mind was a motherfucking machine and I could control my emotions like a water facet, on and off in an instant.
When night fell I sat on the front porch and monitored Jackie strolling up and down the sidewalk. She switched in exaggerated fashion as I instructed her to do. I felt so proud to see my product being marketed right before my eyes and within five minutes her first bag bit. He rolled down his window and said,” What’s up baby?” Then Jackie pulled up her mini-skirt and smacked her naked pussy then replied, “That dick won’t be much longer.”
She was a natural. She gesticulated for him to pull over and come inside. As soon as he stepped foot on the porch, I put out my hand out for the fee. He was in his early twenties. She tugged on the trick’s tie and guided him inside. I was so proud of her but even more proud of myself. I knew that she had whore running in her blood all along. Actually in my opinion, all women got a little hoe in them, hell; my momma was a stone hoe. Women are especially suspect for hoeing if the environment is fertile for the growth of self-degradation. I know how to nurture a female’s atmosphere plus I got just the right pimping to bring any bitch to her fullest whore potential.
As Jackie serviced her trick, I thought about how young he was. It amazed me that a man so young would even want to purchase some pussy. Why? He wasn’t even a bad looking guy and I know some bitch would have given him some pussy freely. Nonetheless, I’m grateful because weak niggas like that make it easier for pimp ass niggas like me. Not everyone is born to exploit, born to tear into a woman’s soul, and born to conquer these bitches’ minds and bodies.
Later on that night Jackie continued to work, but Jackie had struck gold with that young fella because he left his wallet and his badge. I guess he was supposed to be working vice but he was too busy having one. Neatly packaged flesh on a soft woman made life hard on men. Pussy made it hard for them to be faithful to their wives, hard for them to concentrate at their jobs, but most importantly hard for them to keep money in their pockets. Several other tricks bit afterwards and Jackie was on the roll.
She had turned seven dates within the first hour at fifty dollars a bag. As she performed her last date, she heard Devon crying so she walked towards him and asked, “Can I get him?”
I looked at her heartlessly and replied, “You can go get my money or get knocked the fuck out.” If looks could burn, I would have been ashes. I turned towards Tekia sitting on the couch with this paperback book in her hands as she let him cry his heart out.
“Tekia you have been acting fucked up all day. Why are you letting that boy cry?” She canted her triple chin up and me and sneered, “Because you fucked that nasty bitch in my house and worst of all in my bed! Then you even have the nerve to ask me to do her hair and watch her son. You got some nerves Silky.” Her eyes fogged over with tears.
I simply wasn’t in the mood for her mouth so I slapped a horrific chokehold on her with both hands. I scowled, “Bitch, I motherfuckin Mack machine, do you want to continue to be my problem? Because I’m a solution having motherfucka.”
Her eyes answered quickly as her fingertips freed this book titled ‘Runaway Child’ form some generic author named Heat Anthony. Her hands shuddered in fear and my ego shuddered in joy. “Now, get it right biggum! You better hurry the fuck up and get some motherfuckin direction. Do you know what I have in common with a 600lb lion?” I released the lock on her throat then she gasped and returned to her normal complexion.
“What Silky?” she sobbed with disgust written all over her face.
I pointed my index finger in her face, “You don’t want either one of us to have to put our paws in your ass!”
Consequently, she tended to Devon but she had to get in a last word, “You wrong Silky. This aint right. This aint right.”
“Bitch, weighing three-fifty aint right either,” I replied.
She cuddled Devon and waddled slowly into her room.
Subsequently, Jackie walked by with this peculiar looking white nerdy guy. I didn’t trust him. Then again, I didn’t trust white people, period. He was tall, pale, and slim. He wore some pop bottle glasses and I couldn’t imagine him ever amounting to more than a mere trick. His hands shook in palsy fashion as he handed me this crispy ass one hundred dollar bill. “Come right on in,” I greeted and sent him to the back with Jackie. Tekia smacked her lips in the background, but I chose to ignore her fat ass this time. Less than ten minutes later, I heard outlandish screaming so I darted into the bedroom. Once my eyes registered what was taking place they widened the size of tennis balls. Here it was the trick had his face wedged jowl deep in between Jackie’s fat ass cheeks plus he was brandishing a pistol.
“H-e-y-ee, what’s up man?” I asked confoundedly.
I pulled the suction of his face out of her rear end then he hollered at me with the pistol aimed at me. “I paid you so that this bitch could shit for me, and I want some hot shit now.” His gums quivered violently but I was completely baffled.
“You paid me for some pussy, didn’t you? Because there’s a fetish fee for shitting man,” I replied then Tekia leaned over my shoulder and peaked inside the room. I was scared and confused: two things a pimp can never let his hoes see, so I had to put on my best poker face and bluff my ass off.
He sprang to his feet, tossed me another two hundred dollars and yelped, “I want this funky black bitch to shit on me right now. Aren’t you niggers good for anything?” He took his hand and attempted to hide his nakedness but quite honestly he didn’t have much to hide. I looked over at Jackie and hunched my shoulder. “Forgive us. Were used to being shitted on by white people not shitting on them,” I turned to Jackie, “Shit, Why don’t you just shit on him?”
“I tried but he had his face so far up my ass that I don’t have to go now,” Jackie uttered with fear of my wrath.
I had to think of something because I had no intentions on un-assing these dead presidents, but I needed to think of something clever to get that gun away from him. “Chill bruh, if all you need is a shitter, I have someone for you.” I replied as I turned to look at Tekia.
Her eyes about fell out of her head. “Uh...ahh...no way...that shit is crazy,” she rasped. “Plus I’m constipated.”
“What’s so crazy about it? It’s just shit.” I turned toward the trick, “Just be cool. Let me talk to my girl right quick, alone. I’ll make everything right okay?” He reluctantly agreed then Jackie brought her sexy naked ass into the front dining room. The only thing she was wearing were the few tears that clung to her face.
“Silky, that’s one sick motherfucka,” she cried as she looked back at her backside. “Boy does my asshole sting.”
“Look how often do you get paid a three hundred dollars to shit?” I asked.
Here was this scary ass nerd terrorizing my turf, my hoes in my house. I had to do anything but panic. I realized I had this badge but needed a calmer outcome. I looked down at my slender male stature and made a quick slick calculation. “Grab me one of your dresses Jackie. Tekia, you hand me some lipstick,” I ordered.
For a split they both looked baffled until they saw me stripping off my clothes. Jackie leaned forward with curiosity on her face but quickly did as I commanded. Meanwhile, Tekia had this detestable smirk on her face as she shook her head. As I slipped on the body dress, I told Jackie to lace me up with some lipstick. She giggled as she put it on. I hated being laughed at, but this was business, my business. “Something funny bitch!” I ranted on. “Shit, yall think I’m full of shit anyway. If a funky ass hoe can’t do the job then the pimp has to. You fight fire with fire and sickness with sickness in the quickness.” I needed turn this adversity into an opportunity.
This pimping shit aint easy, but I had a risky plan and I had to cleverly carry it out. I switched into that room and imitated a females voice best I could. The nerd’s chin shifted then he gave birth of a smile. Luckily for him I was a fan of a high fiber diet, but truthfully I felt like a buffoon. However, to be a successful pimp there is a unique sense of dedication that one must acquire for the game. Once again, this demonstrated that a pimp was an outright whore. Unbelievably, I hiked my narrow, slightly hairy ass over his face and gave a childbearing squeeze. I barked, “You bet not stuff your face in my ass.” He laid his face at the foot of the bed to receive his chunky milk chocolate shower. All I could do was hear him saying ahhh like he was at the dentist. Finally, my strenuous efforts bare some intestinal fruit. This sick cat blew my mind; he was slurping in total bliss. What could lead a man to such sickness?
Suddenly, I remembered that I was not only fond of prunes but corn held its own place too in my diet too. He all but bathed in it, but the room was a total funk. Why would he pay people to shit on him? What sexual gratification could arrive from such filth? Then a moment of truth struck me, probably the same reason that I shit on him, personal gain. For me the gain was monetary and strategic; perhaps the gain for him was the utter control over another individual and I certainly could relate to that as well. Then opportunity waylaid my inquisitions, and something gansta took over me. This square motherfucka aint got the right to control me or nothing in my hood. Who does he think he is? I noticed that his pistol was lying beside him so I swiftly bent over and snatched it up. What really felt funny was the fact that I hadn’t wiped my ass yet and my rapid movement sent a gush of wind to highlight that fact right up my ass crack.
“Now, that you’ve experience the corn and shit. I’m gone show you some true gangsta shit!” I slapped him across his shitty face and called out for Jackie simultaneously. She jogged in, stopped and instantly grabbed her nose.
“Damn,” she roared.
“Search his pants pockets and check out his wallet.”
He sprang off of the bed holding his bloody shit riddled face.
“You dirty nigger...you fucking tricked me!!!” he growled.
“Imagine that, a trick being tricked,” I flogged him again and knocked him back on the bed with a split lip. I felt as I had recaptured my manhood.
“Nigger, you’ll pay dearly for this,” he yelled with his blood stained teeth.
Jackie darted behind me with his wallet and I could smell her fear over my shit. I could feel Jackie tittering behind me. I cocked the trigger and scoffed, “Shut the fuck up you freak!”
He simpered, “You’re wearing a fucking dress and lipstick but I’m a freak.”
I was ready for his smart remark and retorted, “What do they call a pimp with a pistol?”
The trick’s eyes clouded over in confusion before he femininely mumbled, “I don’t know. What?”
“What the- fuck- ever he tells you call him!”
Naturally, I fired a shot in between his legs just short of missing him. He shuddered in fear and began to plead so I dragged his pale ass onto the porch and when he leaped up to run I managed to kick him right in the crack of his ass: More of momma’s home training.
Oddly enough just as he fled across the street, Harvey, Danny, and Vette were driving up it. Now, was I lucky or what to be dressed in drag? I hurried inside and removed my disgrace, not to mention wipe my ass. For the first time in life I knew how it felt to be pimped, my drive and greed wouldn’t let me separate from that almighty dollar. On the other hand, I had set the ultimate example on what needs to be done to make that money. If I can do it, then certainly these second class hoes can do it.
A Mystery in History
––––––––
Inside Harvey’s Caddy: Harvey took a long joyful drag off of his Cuban cigar and his eyes squinted as this naked white guy fled across the street and onto the next. “Danny, that’s the same white boy that I stripped; he aint had enough yet,” Harvey boasted.
“Is that what it looks like on him?” asked Danny.
Vette interjected, “Looks like shit.”
Meanwhile, Harvey followed the pervert and Danny anxiously rolled down his window as he reached for his burner.
“What the fuck are you doing?” protested Harvey.
“Let me pop this pervert for fun,” grunted Danny.
“Nigga, I got paper to collect right around the corner. If you shoot this white fool the police will flood my track.” Then Harvey pulled his car over and continued, “Can’t fuck with Daddy’s Benjamins.”
Vette smiled at Harvey, “I know that’s right Daddy. Let me get out here and make you some money.”
Danny put away his firearm and quickly lit up a joint. “Awe bruh, you’re no fun.”
“You’re no pimp,” Harvey chuckled.
Harvey just shook his head and drove around to the Trop. The parking lot was full so he decided to park across the street so that his big beautiful black Caddy wouldn’t get trapped in. Harvey and Danny got out of the vehicle in chorus. Vette got out afterwards. As usual, Harvey’s hoes lined up to salute him and kiss his ring then pay him his money. Danny marveled at his brother’s crafty pimp-ship, but other pimps envied it. Danny was merely a gambler that dressed like a pimp and smoked weed like his life depended on it.
“Money and hoes is all a pimp knows but thank you bitches for keeping big daddy on his toes,” chortled Harvey as he waved side to side with wads of cash in his hands. “Let’s take a short intermission with daddy.”
His hoes meticulously followed him into the Trop. Harvey handed his whores some reward dope to keep them numb and dumb as usual. Pimps clung to their fresh hookers in fear of getting them knocked by the all mighty Harvey. Harvey was outright full of himself and from the looks of everything he had every right to be. Harvey glanced around the smoked filled Trop and he felt like he was on top of the world.
Harvey was flexing a virgin white rabbit mink coat with a white silk suit but his purple brim, purple silk shirt and purple gators really set off his attire. His hoes tarried closely behind him around the bar. By this time, Danny was fingering this white piece of trash right there on the barstool. The fact that he was fingering at the bar wasn’t the bad part, the fact that everyone within ten yards could smell it was.
For the meantime, the jukebox blared the muscular harmonious sounds of the O’jays ‘Back Stabbers’ one of Harvey’s favorite tunes. Him and his hoes were drinking, drugging, dancing and playing pool, anything to have a great time. All except one stranger in the midst; he watched Harvey like a hawk.
“Get these lovely ladies whatever the fuck they want to drink,” Harvey demanded. The popped eyed skinny bartender gawked at the lewd women. His eyes were so big that his eyelids never actually touched. “Are y-y-y-you sure s-s-sir?” he stammered.
“Y-y-y-yeah...pah-pah-pop eyed mah-m-motherfucka,’ Harvey taunted.
Harvey condescendingly tossed a hundred dollar bill on the table. “Keep the change...chah-chump.” All of the hoes laughed hardy and they all continued to party. They enjoyed what little time that Harvey would shower them with attention; nothing else could make his hoes happier.
Harvey stood up on one of the bar stools and chanted, “Say it loud, I’m a hoe and I’m proud.” They repeated him in unison. A couple of the bodacious whores stood in the center of the floor, flashing their perky breast and dancing with each other. Two old drunk big beer bellied men got a thrill out of the little hoe show. The music filled the air and liquor sated every one’s thirst, except the villain in the midst. The bartender was puzzled and his big bloodshot eyes made him look dizzy as hell. Harvey pointed his finger in his face and said, “I intend to amuse not confuse.”
Subsequently, Vette blew Mr. Pop-eye a husky kiss.
Meanwhile, I had taken a bath while Jackie cleaned up the shit in Tekia’s bedroom. I laid my head back against cast iron tub and simpered. I still couldn’t believe that I put on a dress, bent over, and shit on a grown ass man. Although I did take his gun and his money, I’ll never do no stupid bitch shit like that again. But now Jackie and Tekia both knew that I was all about the paper chase. After today, who could deny that I’m strictly business? I opened up the trick’s wallet and it had little over four hundred dollars in it plus Jackie had made me close to nine hundred dollars.
If I was a farmer, I’d still rather sell young pussy than cotton or corn. I had made a little money, but I had a long way to go before I could consider being in the realm of rock solid pimping. At least now I had enough money to bluff and chip off a few renegade hoes. Renegade hoes were somewhat marketable because they tended to be more desperate and they hoed harder because these whores didn’t have a man to bail them out of jail, to stand up for them when a trick or another pimp got out of line so these whores had to be about their money.
In addition, some renegades did what other whores wouldn’t or wasn’t experienced enough to do. Although at times, these bitches could grow strong in spirit and try to organize some resistance. However, once you conquered this type of dedication to your stable it was most marketable. You had to push the bitches like patriots that punished the Indians for their very own land—hard. It’s no different than when you punish a bitch and take control of her mind and body. Colonize and control their resources for your benefit.
I got fresh dressed to impress when I finally stepped into the dining room to see Tekia on the couch snoring. You haven't heard a rumble in the jungle if you haven’t heard her snore. Then I looked over to see Jackie rocking Devon to sleep. “Get dressed!” I snapped. I was impressed at how quick she put her son down then dashed into the bathroom. She must see the big picture. Suddenly, my concentration was disturbed when a robust volley of knocks sounded off. “
Police!” barked the voice. My heart thudded explosively. Then I heard this gruffly familiar voice, “Silky, open up it’s me.”
I hesitated to open the door. However, once I did open it, I soon realized that it was ugly ass Bullet, my nigga, but my heart was very receptive of the relief of his familiar face. In fact, I had never been so happy to see an ugly face. He stood there with beads of sweat pouring down his extended forehead.
He huffed and puffed as if he was out of breath. He said, “Hey, I know it’s not Friday, but we gone clamp on them niggas tonight; they are at the Trop flashing mad cash around like they just hit the lottery. You know how fast niggas blow money Silk,” he whispered with exceptional urgency.
He looked so anxious, but I had to keep my cover from being blown. After all far as Tekia and Jackie was concerned, this was the same guy that was willing to kill me earlier this very day. “The baby is sleep, let’s step out on the porch,” I nodded my head so that he would take my cue. I couldn’t afford Jackie to find out that I had schemed to pop her lock.
Once we stepped on the porch, he whispered, “I don’t have a gun though.”
I pulled open my blazer then revealed my revolver and badge I earned earlier. I smiled, “But I do.”
“Cool, but we gotta to split them tonight because I know they gone fuck that money up Silk, plus I’m busted. I mean flat broke. I’m just so tired of hurting and struggling out here man,” he ranted. The look in his eyes was a 14-karat crazy.
“No wonder you convinced they gone fuck the money up because you seem to be an expert at that shit yourself. Maybe, gambling aint your calling; try a little pimping my nigga,” I joked.
“Man, Silk, I aint got style and class like you. I don’t know the game. I aint no pimp,” his face went blank, “Are you down to get dirty for this cheddar?”
“You can’t imagine how down I am for it.” Then I pictured myself in drag shitting on a sick trick motherfucka. It is not a pretty memory. Maybe, even too down for it.
“Here’s the plan Silk, I’ll tell them that I know where you are at. I’ll tell them that you’re sloppy drunk laying up with some hooker then I’ll have them follow me to the vacant red brick house around the corner from the Trop on that dead end street. I’ll make them think you’ve been hiding out there,” he spat.
I took a moment to picture what and where he was saying. He continued in a light whisper, “Soon as you see Harvey’s Caddy pull up, you run out spitting fire into them lame ass niggas!” Bullet’s anxiousness made me somewhat suspicious. He was just too anxious more than I was. Wasn’t it I that killed their brother? Shit, I had more to lose than Bullet did.
“Tonight? But I thought...”
He cut me short. “Silk, Danny is a fuckin’ gambler. Take it from me, we aint got all night,” He went on. “I don’t know why you’re hesitating because they sure in the fuck won’t hesitate to split you. Man have you forgotten that you killed these niggas brother? Don’t you remember reading about Retally8 in the news paper several years ago?”
I had remembered mom mentioning him along with C-note before. I said, “Not exactly, enlightened me.”
––––––––
His eyes grew cautious as he told me the story, “Silk, back in the day this crazy pimp named C-Note and his partner Retally8 was doing some top shelf pimping.”
I interjected, “But C-Note got set up by some hoe in Chicago and got killed, but what does this have to do with us making the move tonight?” I inquired.
“If you let me finish you’ll see,” he placed his heavy ashy hand on my shoulder. “See this nigga named Wilber had plotted to rob and kill Retally8, because everyone knew Retally8 was loaded. What most people didn’t know is that Retally8 had ears and eyes all over the city because he used to push smack too. When Retally8 heard about this nigga suppose to bum rush him, he acted first. He and one of his henchmen, Snookie, kicked in the mark’s door and snatched Wilber up out of his recliner,” Bullets eyes were full of fire, “Retally8 grabbed Wilber’s arms and Snookie grabbed the guy’s legs, but Wilber didn’t just go without a fight, he was kicking and tugging like crazy, so crazy that one of hands got free, when Snookie bent over to restrain the loose hand, his pistol fell onto Wilber.”
By this time, my eyes had lit up like some break lights, “What happened?”
“Wilber was now a desperate dude, and his scary ass scrambled and eventually got a hold of Snookie’s pistol, and fired off some random shots. The first shot hit Snookie and the second shot wounded Retally8.”
I still couldn’t see where Bullet was going with this shit. I interjected, “Man shit happens but...”
Bullet continued, “If Wilber hadn’t of waited, he could have killed Snookie and Retally8 without being killed himself. See, Retally8 got a shot off right after Wilber shot Snookie, but Wilber was able to fire back one last fatal shot at Retally8. If Wilber had made his move sooner, Retally8 wouldn’t have had a chance to hear about it and catch him by surprise, period. It’s never the right time to die.”
His words were caustic and his eyes spoke fluent sincerity according to my gut and my gut seldom ever lead me wrong. “Bullet, let’s do this dirt and get this money, split these niggas and leave these suckers to become a mystery in history!” I gave Bullet a hip hand shake as I asked, “Man, you don’t even carry a gun, so why do they call you Bullet?”
He just laughed, “Cause’ I don’t need or use guns and the only thing can stop me is a bullet.” He patted me hard on the back.
I nodded and said, “Oh I get it. It’s like calling a five hundred pound nigga Tiny. An oxymoron or some shit like that.” He nodded in agreement. Meanwhile, I took a full moment to reflect on my finances that would greatly be improved not this week but tonight. In addition, I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder any longer far as Harvey and Danny were concerned. In fact, I would mack enough hoes to relocate to the Windy city or New York where Big Pimping is a responsibility not an opportunity. Once I blew up and got more recognition, it wouldn’t be long before I outgrew Akron anyway. Why not leave before it’s too late? Why not go conquer more whores in a bigger city?
Bullet walked me to the vacant brick house and showed me the intricate layout. The house was in a perfect location because it had tall shrubs surrounding it and stood next to a small defunct auto-repair shop, which meant we didn’t have to worry about nosy neighbors. I slipped into the creases of darkness to prepared the waylay position on the side of the vacant house and behind the shrubs. I even did a quick rehearsal of leaping out of them. By taking these few precious moments of preparation, I felt so much more confident. And where I was positioned, I could see my adversaries long before they would discover me. Thus, instant checkmate. Bullet told me to wait until they pulled all the way in the driveway off of the street that way the chances of someone seeing us from the corner would be greatly reduced. My stomach full of uneasiness, but it was even hungrier for money and bloodshed.
PART FOUR
STRANGE SHIT
CHAPTER TWELVE
Money and Murder
––––––––
MEANWHILE, at the Trop, Bullet impatiently waded through a drunken mob of people. Frequent ‘drunkies’ and inebriated floozies did the drunken shuffle on the dance floor. Some were humped over in their seats sleeping; others were in the bathroom puking. In the meantime, the turbid marijuana smoke burned the white of his eyes as he walked closer toward Harvey. A hardened stranger gives follow to Bullet through the crowd.
Finally, Bullet managed to get close enough to Harvey so that he could whisper words of deception into his ear. Harvey’s expression instantly hardened. Subsequently, Harvey nudged Danny then whispered in his ears. Danny’s face became visibly aroused. The triad waded through the wild crowd toward the exit. Harvey’s hoes gave follow until he gave them that look of stay out my way. Then he stepped out into the Trop’ parking lot.
However, Harvey’s glare didn’t go unnoticed. A Black Muslim approached Harvey and said, “Brotha the movement could use a strong brother like you, but first you must stop exploiting our sisters.” Black power was the sentiment in big cities and Muslims brothers often tried to spread the words of peace and prosperity, not to mention breaking the yoke of the blue eyed white devil.
Harvey removed his sunglasses, “Hey brother no disrespect, but you’re job is to save them, my job is to pimp them. We have separate realities; what’s the difference in me telling her to step out on the block and you demanding that your women walk several steps behind you and what to wear? How often do you promote the movement at bars?”
The Muslim brother held a newspaper entitled The Final Call and smiled, “Brother, I have to come to the pits to pull you out of them. Allah orders our steps, and every good leader at some point must be a good follower...”
Harvey abruptly held his hand up and snapped, “I follow no one; they follow me.” The Muslim tossed up his hands peacefully seeing that peace would not continue if the conversation did.
Suddenly, the hardened stranger leaped at Harvey with switched blade, but Bullet fired off a powerful body shot to his kidney. The stranger bucked, dropped the blade, and hollered, “Harvey, you gone get yours; you pimped out my daughter, bastard.”
Bullet stumped him hard on his hands. Harvey held his hand up for Bullet to hold off, “Man, how you gone fault me for what another brother would be doing if it weren’t me? A woman has to have hoe in her blood to be a hoe; you should consult her momma on this issue, not me.” Danny and Bullet laughed.
The fallen assailant holds his hurting hand and warns, “No good deed goes unpaid. The price of sin is high! ”
Harvey walked over and pulled out a ten dollar bill, “Sorry about yo’ hoe ass daughter man. Speaking of prices, this should cover pain and suffering. Don’t worry, keep the change, she was just a two dollar whore.” He turns to Danny and inquires, “What’s up with all this damn preaching tonight?”
“Maybe God trying to tell you something,” suggested Bullet.
“Now, there he goes too,” Harvey, laughs as he high fives Danny.
Afterwards, Harvey crossed the street to his Caddy. Harvey got in first then Danny leaned up his seat so Bullet could slip into the backseat. Bullet pointed his index finger giving them directions around the way to the red brick house. In the meantime, Bullet secretly put on his do-dirt gloves. Harvey drove around the corner then Bullet interjected, “Here it is. Funny eyed nigger been hiding out here.” Simultaneously, Bullet quietly slipped his ice pick out of his belt line.
Harvey and Danny peered at the empty house suspiciously. Harvey asked, “Are you sure this is it nigga?” Harvey stepped out on the driver’s side of the Caddy.
Meanwhile, I was over anxious just sitting in my ambush position; I sprang out of the black shadows, ran up to the Caddy, shot Harvey twice then blasted three shots through the passenger window at Danny. The rounds screamed in the night, the glass exploded and as an arc of ruddy blood spluttered across the interior of the windshield. Little did I know my restless timing was perfect. After I fired the shots, Bullet vehemently slammed his ice pick behind Danny’s ear then rapidly slammed his head robustly against the dashboard. A powerful torrent of blood imbued Danny’s neck and thoracic area. The hit was a hit. Death prevailed.
Bullet slid across the backseat and got out so he could quickly divest Harvey’s precious rings, medallions and bulbous rolls of money out his pockets. I mirrored the same motion with Danny’s corpse. We took anything of value and double checked to make sure no one could see us then tossed Harvey’s body into the backseat. Subsequently, we carefully wiped the car down for fingerprints. I never sweated so intensely my entire life. My chest pounded painfully as we scampered tepidly through the darkness of the black streets.
Luckily, police were usually slow to respond to calls in the inner city. Sometimes it would take them more than forty-five minutes to respond to gunshots; sometimes they didn’t respond at all. Bullets ringing off in the middle of the night were nothing new behind the iron gates of our ghettoes. Police had their hands too full with corruption, strong-arming, prostitution, and bribery. They only cared about upper-class white suburban areas, a far cry from Howard Street.
We reached Tekia’s apartment and dashed inside. I smiled as I noticed Jackie completely dressed sound asleep on the couch and, of course, Tekia was still raising the roof with her Fred Flintstone snoring. I was still sweating profusely and beads of sweat sizzled down my forehead. We crept into the bathroom to count our nightly earnings. I couldn’t believe it; Bullet helped me pull it off.
I looked over at Bullet and he was still shaken up pretty badly as he wiped the blood off of his ice pick and dropped it down into the back half of the toilet. Then he continued to clean up the rest of the blood from his forearms and face. As for me, I felt weirdly wonderful. I no longer had to worry about Harvey or Danny hunting me. Since Bullet had blood on his hands too I knew that his lips were good as sealed also. After tonight, all I had to worry about was pimping. We struck a damn good lick. Harvey had over four-teen grand and Danny had a little over eight grand, not to mention thousands of dollars worth of jewelry. Our faces were air brushed with delight. It was the dawn of a new era.
––––––––
However, we had to haggle over how to split it because it was his idea but business is business. Finally, we came to the conclusion that Bullet would take the jewelry and a small cut of cash because he knew some fences where he could sell them for a good price. Nevertheless, I knew that he would probably use them as collateral for a gambling debt, which was good because there was no way that I was going to caught with either of them dead niggas’ jewelry on me. Needless to say, I came out with sixteen grand not including the eight hundred that I started with.
“What are you gonna do with all that cash?” Bullet asked.
“Purchase some fine threads and a brand Cadillac or shall I say Fabullac,” I smiled. “With that I’m gone pimp even harder. Knock me off some nice sexual real-estate so these wealthy white tricks can come looking for my dick-loving whores and their wide black asses. What about you?”
“I gotta gamble craps that’s my hustle. It’s in my blood. I’m addicted,” he replied.
Hopefully you’ll win enough to buy some teeth.
“Yeah, I feel you,” I chuckled. “Different strokes for different folks.” Bullet rounded up his goods and quickly vanished off into the night. Then I walked over and kissed Jackie on the forehead and she smelled baby fresh. I laid beside her and fell to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up before everyone in the apartment. I felt a little unsettled as pictures of Harvey and Danny’s expired faces flickered in the back of my mind. But those thoughts were soon overshadowed as I reached in my pocket and pulled out last night’s illicit earnings. I was too anxious to spend this money. I tossed on my favorite sapphire silk suit and strolled down Howard Street on foot. As I walked, I passed the death-plot spot. I looked over at the murder scene and it seemed to whisper disturbingly at me. A veil of guilt shadowed over me like a dark cloud, but I reached into my pockets, felt my knot of cash then managed to swallow that cubit of guilt, again.
As I sauntered doing my George Jefferson walk, this older woman pulled beside me. “Hop in handsome,” she uttered with a smile. Handsome? Bitch must be talking to me because I was feeling gansta-riffic. She had to be cool because she certainly had an eye for fine art—me. She smiled at me just a little harder and just a little longer than a mere friendly gesture.
She asked, “Where you going this time of morning handsome?”
“To buy me a fine automobile. I’m going down Clark’s Caddy car lot to pick out a little something,” I replied gleefully.
“Then you probably don’t have much time then...” she gave me a toothy smile. Her teeth were so bright and so perfect. She wasn’t a bad looking woman to be older.
“Don’t have time for what?” I asked.
“For me to give you a hundred dollars to slurp on that young pretty dick,” she smiled as she held out the crisp one hundred dollar bill. “Ooh, I bet it taste sooo good.”
A hundred dollars to suck my dick! Awesome! “You must be kidding. You must be a cop,” I replied.
“Pull that fat ole dick out; I’ll pull out these dentures and I’ll show you what the fuck I am,” she responded.
––––––––
“Pull out that hundred and pull over somewhere discreet. I don’t have a problem letting you choke on this miracle meat.” I wasn’t about to let a hundred dollars or a blowjob go to waste. I grabbed one of her titties as she dug in her purse to get my money. This old bitch had some nice titties. After she pulled the cash, I pulled out my slab of soft dick. She was still holding on to the money. I said, “Pay up before you play up.”
She happily paid me then pulled out her teeth and wrapped them up in some paper towels. Then that old coon sucked stiffness in and out of my scandal pole. She slobbered on my miracle meat from the bell head down to the base of my balls. Long unbroken strands of mucous created a slimly swing-bridge from my dick to her lips. This old chick really knew how to suck a dick. I was awestricken. I never knew how good some old gums would feel on a young dick. I guess you learn something new every day.
She paused and wiped some cum off of her chin then she reluctantly asked,” Do you want stick this dick inside some of this fire asshole for another fifty?”
I raised one of my eye brawls. “Well, I know it’s old but is the pussy condemned? I aint too crazy about putting my chocolate in some old woman’s old ass peanut-butter.”
She popped her dentures back into her mouth and remained silent like she was pleading the fifth.
“Don’t get act shy now. What’s up with some of that antique pussy?” I joked.
“I ahhhh, I ahhhh, uhhh thought you knew,” she stuttered. “I don’t have a pussy...”
“Huh? You don’t!” I scowled. “Shit, you got some nice ass titties. What do you mean you aint got no pussy? Don’t monkey around me.”
“I was born a boy. Since you were walking by this queer park, I thought...”
Before the queer could let another syllable fall out of its mouth, I struck him with a wild blinding hook in the jaw. “You sperm burping bitch!” I yelled as I swung with an awesome volley of punches. I kept striking him until his screams and movement ceased. Then I sprang out of the car and dashed across the street to reach my mission at Clark’s which wasn’t much farther. My greed had blinded me once more. If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is. Was the pursuit of the almighty dollar pimping me?
From the very first minute I stepped on the lot, I knew exactly what ride I wanted. It was a 1975 Candy Apple Red drop top Cadillac Coupe. I almost forgot why my sticky dick clung to my leg due to the foul shit that the elderly she-male got off. Nevertheless, it was going to be a productive day. I ran my mouthpiece and got a reasonable deal on the ride. I sped off towards home to floss my new whip. I felt like I was the big shit now.
By this time, Jackie was woke and still dressed. Her skintight body dress displayed her wonderful bodily contours. “Jackie, come on baby,” I coaxed. She swayed across the room with Devon on her wide hips as her narrow waistline pined for my embrace. Jackie was a fine motherfucka and she was going to look real nice sitting in my new whip.
Tekia grabbed Devon and stood at the screen door. Jackie walked out of the house with toward my new ride. Tekia’s curiosity was gripped and she stepped on the porch as I opened the door for Jackie. Naturally, Jackie blushed and placed both hands over her mouth; her face lit up with excitement. She was just tickled to death. However, Tekia stood on the porch seething with her balled fist on one hip and Devon propped on the other.
“I told you baby that pimping and hoeing is the best thing going. It’s only going to get better from now on,” I bragged. My Cadillac shined like the best shoeshine boy had just polished it.
Tekia pouted,” Silky, why I got to be stuck here with the baby? I want to come too.” She rocked Devon up and down to keep him from crying.
“Tekia, I really want you to come too,” I paused for effect, “but the shocks on my Caddy seem to be in great disagreement. Soon as I get a super-duty truck, I got you,” I taunted as I got in and drove off. I looked back and watched as Tekia slammed the screen door and stormed back in the house.
Jackie held her shaking stomach while she laughed. She said,” You are so fucking mean. Why do you do that girl like that?” Her eyes went aglow as she looked me up and down to somehow ingest this new reality. Then she paused and rubbed the smooth leather interior. “This car is so nice. I’ve never been in a car this new. Is this your car?”
“Baby if I’m in it, I own it,” I boasted and winked at her.
“I wondered where you were this morning,” she smiled with sunrise in her eyes. “So you got the rest of that money together huh?”
“Duh, do you believe me now? You just keep undoing them zippers and see if I don’t have you in some glass motherfuckin slippers.” She just looked at me and smiled hard. This was my moment to really hook her on hooking. By spending some time with her and some money on her, I was cementing the benefits of her hustling her body for me. I took her shopping downtown to O’Neils. I bought her fancy body dresses, seductive mini-skirts, heart stopping halter-tops, and matching dress shoes. Although she considered them clothes, I considered them as uniforms and work equipment. In addition, she didn’t know that her pussy would pay for this shit ten times over. In fact, I even bought that little black bastard of hers a few baby out fits. I didn’t have anything against him personally, but being the handsome ass pimp that I am, I hate them little attention-smuggling fuckers. I expect to be the full center of attention. Is that sick or what? No matter how you feel, it’s the damn truth.
At this point, Jackie could stand next to the very best of curb-huggers. I just bought me a few zoot suits, a leather trench coat, and matching lizard boots. I even bought me nice gold and sapphire ring. You better believe that this set me back a pretty penny too. Afterwards, I drove around showing off Jackie and my Fabulac. Far as whores were concerned, this flashy move would prove that I just beefed up my mack hand. Now any whore that walked up to my car or got in my face, had to pay to be in it. All of the Mack brothers was gone and it was on.
I said, “You love this big city pimping don’t you? Little ass Akron, Ohio aint ready for all this ultra-pimping.” Jackie just batted her long eyelashes and gave me a big toothy smile. I continued, “This is just the tip of the ice burg, you’ll be a winner as long as you never quit but you’ll never win if you’re a quitter. Look in my eyes and listen to the ice in them. Eyes don’t lie. This is some rock solid pimping. Keeping hooking for me and you gone stay in the lap of luxury.”
She rubbed on her designer purse that I had just bought her. I could tell that she wasn’t used to feeling no money, used to having shit. Her mind was on cloud on nine. Then I deepened my voice in a harsh rasp. “Always obey, trust and respect me, only me. When you out in those trenches, never get in a pimp’s face. It’s outright disrespectful and it means that you want to be with him. You understand?”
She nodded her head yes. I continued, “I’m not trying to run no game on you but the only way that we ever going to have something, some real money is to work together. And you can’t do it alone, I have to get out here and get some sister flat-backers to work with you. You can’t be on that square jealous shit. I need all you whores getting along, you dig?”
“But Silky, am I enough woman for you? Look you got a nice car with just me,” she asked softly.
“Bitch never ever question me. I have foresight, I’m not just three steps ahead of the game, I’m three games ahead of the game. I can always see the big picture. I know what’s good for you even when you don’t.” I slammed on the breaks and grabbed her tightly by the wrist. “Never ever make eye contact with another pimp, don’t conversate about nothing but selling my pussy, the only conversation you should ever have with any man is the price of the pussy,”
I twisted her hand tighter and continued, “Any man, I don’t give a fuck if its your brother, uncle or father, if I see you talking to him, he’d better be purchasing some pussy. Jackie, don’t ever disgrace me because if you do, I’ll disgrace you and deface you,” Her eyes seem to absorb me with great intention, as I continued my tirade, “Look me in my motherfuckin ice-cold blue eyes and see that I’m not lying and listen carefully to them because I’m a cold blooded killer!” Her eyes were gravitated by my intensity. I pimped by the 80/20 code: 80% love and 20% fear: anything she didn’t love about me, she would fear. Love makes whores want to give a man her money. Fear aligns a hoe’s action more than love ever will. “Give me one good reason not to listen to me,” I ordered.
She sat silent and shrugged her shoulders and said, “Wow, I don’t know what to say.”
“Look at our car, look at your clothes and your baby’s clothes. Could you accomplish this overnight? Could you do any of this without me? Be honest.”
A sad reality seemed to fall in her lap. “No,” she whispered. I could tell that I had her quite jarred. To mix it up, I took Jackie out to fine restaurant for lunch. During this meal, I showed her my softer sillier side. I made little jokes and told her how much I adored her son, Devon. I also hinted about us having a family out in the suburbs living the good life and growing old together. I stressed that all she had to do is continue to hustle her high-hump for me and help keep my new whores in line after I recruit them.
After lunch, I broke in the backseat of my Fabullac by giving Jackie a nice slow dedicated dick-down. Giving a girl some stick-dick and dreams is one sure way to make her cream. As I dived into her lake of liquid fire, Jackie melted like ice under salt. I cocked her legs over my shoulder and gave her the pound-pound. Jackie’s young little wet pussy soaked my backseat. She was so embarrassed, “Silky, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up your seat.”
“Well, I meant to mess your pussy up,” I laughed. “Don’t worry, we can wipe off the seat. Shit, its leather. It cleans up easy.” I really enjoyed this pussy the second time around. Jackie seemed like she was soaking up the game fast. That made my wicked heart so happy. Consequently, as we returned home and I pulled into Tekia’s driveway, I continued, “I don’t mind treating you like a queen just as long as you remember that I’m the one and only king.”
“Silky, I know you asked me to never question you, but I have one little question to ask, just once.” I nodded to give her my approval. “I’d love to be a wife and full-time mother. Do you really care about me or do you just want a hoe?” she asked ruefully.
“I want you to hold me down anyway and everyway that you can. I have wisdom far beyond yours, light years ahead of you. If you’re looking for weakness, look further bitch there is none residing within me,” I pulled her chin so that her face would be facing me. “I love that you love me enough to be a hoe, to better the both of our lives. Look at it like this. This Caddy has an engine and it has tires, right. Now, some would argue that one part is more significant than the other, but I disagree...”
“But aint the engine the most import part of any car?” her question couldn’t have been better.
––––––––
“I’m getting to that. Is any car any good without tires?”
She nodded her head no.
“Precisely, that’s what a hoe is to a pimp. Whores are a pimp tires and he needs more than one tire. See he can’t go nowhere without any tires, but remember tires are very easy to replace. Would you rather change tires or replace the engine? Shit, the engine is the heart of the vehicle just like the pimp is the heart of the flesh factory. Your body can have a heartbeat without hands or feet, but not without a heart. So to answer your question, I do care about you because I care about us climbing to the top—together. Just as these big rubber corporations have members come together so that the company can be successful, I need you and some other whores to come together with me, so we can be a successful team. We need each other. If a whore gets out the pocket with me, you are my lead whore, that’s hoe business so you better check that bitch, but if you get arrested or a trick gets out of the pocket with you, that my business. I protect you and get you out of jail when you get in a jam, you dig?”
“You could be a teacher, or preacher,” she asserted, “You have a way with words.” She uttered with amazement sketched across her face.
“I have a way with this dick. Now remember, we must all play our parts, you are part of my world and I’ll give you the world but know this. I don’t chase hoes, I replace them. I never ever had a bitch that I couldn’t live without. That may sound harsh, but it’s some real ass shit. Love and listen to Silky and you’ll be happy.”
She slightly rolled her eyes and made a strange face then leaned over and kissed me. She said, “Silky, you are something else.”
Afterwards, we got out of the car and walked into the apartment. I grew furious as I witnessed Tekia just sitting on the couch letting Devon scream his head off. Her eyes were puffy as if she was crying also. I walked over and slapped across the face. I yelled, “Get that crying ass boy, girl!” Jackie attempted to tend to her son like she should have, but I had a point to make. “No, let ‘biggum’ get him.”
Still holding her face, she yelled, “Fuck you and that baby; it aint mine!” She waved her stubby fingers in my face. Jackie stepped around to grab Devon as anger set into my tense jaws. Usually a stone look would make Tekia mind her manners, but she ranted on like a wild woman until I punched her hard in her solar plexus. In mid sentence, she buckled to the floor and gasped for air like a fish on dry land. Now reality had set in.
“You promised not to hurt me Silky,” she rolled on the floor and grunted.
“You were in violation,” I turned towards Jackie. “Wear your finest, I want you in the trenches tonight. Remember aint nothing under the sun that can’t be done when you learn to listen. We have to operate as a team, period.” I looked down at Tekia scornfully as I stepped over her. Her eyes hollered for attention so I decided to ignore her form that point on. I knew form experience that she would rather I stand there and beat her than to outright ignore her. What could make a woman feel more worthless than simply ignoring her?
Night had fallen and Jackie was looking hoe-some. Tekia just held her stomach and walked around sulking. Ignoring her was quite effective. I escorted Jackie down to the Fabullac. She looked in the rearview mirror to check her make up. I paused for a moment a glared at Tekia while I was draped in my favorite been through-it-all double-breasted sapphire silk suit and new accessories. I reflected on just how far I had come that night since Tina. This was my moment and I had arrived as a true mack. Seconds later, I got out of the Fabullac and I jogged up the steps, stood in front of Tekia. “Get on your flabby ass knees.” She plummeted to the in servile fashion with tears hanging in the balance. I pulled out my lengthy dick and let it hang ever so gently against her face. I ordered, “Kiss it.”
She looked at me with guilt bearing eyes and pecked it softly. She sighed, “Damn, Silky.”
––––––––
“How does it feel to know that you just kissed this dick good bye?” I shoved her forehead and she fell onto the floor. “Bitch, your services have been revoked.”
“Dear God. Silky, don’t you dare do this to me. I don’t want to be alone...”
words were broken. I started to slap her across the face with a slab of limp dick. I fired back, “You did this to yo’ dammy, hard-headed hippo. Like I said, I never ever had a bitch that I couldn’t live without, especially a big bitch.” She cried and cried plus grappled at my legs trying to stop me from leaving.
I kicked my way out of her clasp then jogged back to the Fabullac where Jackie awaited. I started my ignition. “Tonight is the night that you and I shine. Don’t get out the pocket and never walk in front of me. Did you bring that bottle of lemon water with you?” She shook her head yes. “Good, because I don’t want you out here selling no funky ass product plus I don’t want my Cadillac smelling like hot open ass when you come from off the trenches. Lastly, if a whore wants to conversate tell her that she can do that when she becomes part of my stable.”
Jackie grinned and gave me a nod of compliance. She said, “I’m gone make you proud, Silky.”
“Fuck making me proud, make me some money, just be aggressive and impressive. Be the first to hop in with a trick and be the last bitch that any other hoe want to see on the trenches because you when miss dates that money is coming out of your dreams and out of my pockets. I need you humping hard and heavy baby. You got to hoe with urgency, race to them tricks, make them feel good about spending every red cent.”
She sat there and absorbed every word quietly. Within a minute or two we arrived at the Hi-Hat. That night Smoking Joe Frazier and the Knock Outs were performing. The parking lot was so full that I tried to park across the street, but both sides of the street were full. I had to park a little further up the street. I listened to my heart sing due to the poetic beauty that my eyes witnessed. Look at my shiny blue attire with my eyes as matching accessories. The handsome hoes that aligned the curbs stared at us with envy. Even the long luxurious limos with the gangsta white walls and the diamond in the back paused. Although some pimps respected the game when they got chipped for their bitch, they just moved on to another whore. But salty pimps resorted to bullying and violence. Nevertheless, I was ready to take some of these hoes and make some money, not to mention make some enemies along the way.
Thugs smoked home grown bud on the block like it was legal and canted their heads in reverence as they let the smoke exhale from their mouths. But what was most rewarding was my reception once I waltzed into the frantic club. I became drunk from the musical atmosphere. My song For the Love of Money by recording artists known as the O’jays was playing on the jukebox and I was living every word of it. I really loved the line that said, for the love of money a woman will sell her precious body for a small piece of paper that carries a lot of weight. Yeah, those lyrics were right on time.
I barely spotted Bullet’s burnt face and toothless ass way across the room. He knew it was Friday and I was bound to be there on a payday like this. By this time Smoking Joe Frazier and the Knock Outs were performing. Meanwhile, I suavely waded through the rabble in efforts to get Bullet’s attention. However, fate would test my attention out the corner of my eye where I spotted Terica. Unbelievably, she was in company of the same hoe that blew me a kiss the same night I killed Willie Mack. Terica waved me over wearing a big smile. I gladly walked over with my trophy, Jackie. “Good evening ladies,” I greeted urbanely. I could overhear Terica’s so called whispering.
“Vette, he’s the one I was talking about.”.
––––––––
Vette shot a burning glare at me. Her eyes lit up, “Yeah, he popped Willie and some no good nigga killed both his brothers last night!” She gritted her teeth, and frowned her face. I needed a moment to check this bitch so I sent Jackie out to the trenches while I worked my hand.
Suddenly, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “You know that Willie would have killed him,” refuted Bullet. My nigga to the rescue as usual, I contemplated. He spoke bitterly but I couldn’t have felt better.
“He still killed him,” Vette protested.
I knew that this evil façade would fade quickly. I could feel her unearthly attraction towards me. “Yeah, I got a few bodies under my belt, and I can make it one more! Bitch I’ll split your breast and leave your heart on the floor, right here, right now! Need I get nasty, or you gone play nice?” I rasped with my nostrils broadened and reached toward my beltline. She sat her ass down and hushed; she got the cue.
Meanwhile, Bullet looked sullen. His face seemed longer than normal. He actually looked uglier than usual as if that was possible. I knew what his reaction was a symptom of. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Been gambling huh?”
His eyes seemed to fight back tears as he shook his head yes. “I was up to forty grand but lost it back before the night was out,” he sighed.
Dumb nigga, you lost forty grand!
“Here my nigga,” I handed him a four hundred dollars. “I’m gone chip these two hoes off over here.” This was my nigga. The nigga that freed me from worry and the nigga that kept me free of serious competition plus he was great muscle to have in my pocket in case some new jack hustler ever decided to get out of line. Bullet reluctantly put the money in his pocket as if he was ashamed.
“Silky, you really are too good to me,” He sighed. “If I had some of your style and been blessed with your great looks maybe I would be a pimp too.”
“Bullet, I was born to pimp, born conquer bitches and their human spirits,” I bragged as I adjusted my fancy suit. “Shit, bitches even love hating me.”
“I just don’t have the stone heart required to do the things that you do to women. You are a heartless killer and one hell of pimp. People gone write books about you,” He whispered.
“Really? What do you think they’ll name my biography?” I smiled, “Perhaps, Silky: The Apostle of Pimping,” Then my wide smile narrowed a bit and I whispered in his ear, “Killing Willie Mack and his brothers aint shit compared to pimping. I get a rush selling pussy. I’d pimp my own flesh and blood momma; she’d expect me to. These bitches need to be pimped; they want it. A hoe aint nothing but a mere trick to me because she gone pay me. I can finesse the hoe out of any bitch,” I boasted.
He shot me a cock-eyed look filled with both clueless-ness and sadness. I guess he couldn’t grasp this cold-blooded pimp shit. Bullet and I walked over to the counter and I bought Terica and Vette a drink that, although they didn’t know it, their pussies would soon pay for. Just as I pulled my knot out of my pocket, Jackie came and handed me a roll of cash.
“You must be broke in,” said Vette to Jackie.
“Silky, has room for you too,” she replied curtly.
Yes Jackie! I looked inside Vette’s eyes with mine. Her eyes were laden with sexiness. I spoke directly to her, “You have that look in your eyes.”
She batted her fake eyelashes. “That shit is old.”
“Oh you’ve been from the southern plantations to the capitol of the nation and from the gulf coast to the ivory coast?”
“Where the hell is the Ivory Coast? Is that where they get the soap?” she queried.
“See, there's so much for you to learn but you can’t hear shit because you always got some dumb shit flying out of your mouth. Why be just an average hoe that you are when you can hook for Silky and become a star.”
Curiosity sparkled brightly in her eyes. She replied, “I’d be better off just being a renegade hoe. I lost two pimps within two months.”
“You be better off with Jesus, but let’s face it we wont find him here.” I jived. “Baby come do what you got to do, your hoeing is the sock and this big city pimping is the shoe. Vette why look anywhere else? My money, my hoes and clothes speak for themselves. Fuck this everyday go to the bar and get drunk shit. This shit gets old. I’m talking some global shit, some international traveling and shit. I talking totally different shit, shit that only pimping and hoeing will get us.”
At that very second, I heard a squall from Jackie. “I’m with Silky dammit!”
Some young jive ass nigga that didn’t know any better was pulling on my bitch. And a nigga pulling on my bitch was pimp business. He must have been drunk so I ran over and shoved him on the floor then reached for my burner to pop this nameless lame motherfucka. But Bullet grabbed me and whispered. “Chill Silky. Let’s leave.”
I looked into his foggy eyes. “I aint leaving shit. He was out of place, not me.”
By this time, the adversary was back on his feet; Bullet turned and grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off of his feet. “Get out or get knocked out!” he roared. As soon as the adversary’s feet touched the ground, he fled outside and the rowdy crowd was thankful for the brief entertainment at my expense as usual, but I was a potent pimp not a jive joke. I had to make a stand.
I followed the sucka that tried disrespect me, but by the time I got outside he was long gone. Then I noticed an old wretched washed up hoe; she walked over and pan handled. “Please spare some change mister.” I looked at this old raggedy hoe and it was something troubling about her. Was it the fact that she was so down trodden? She caught me on good night and in a good mood. However, just as I dug in my pocket to get some change, it dawned on me. I knew this bitch. “Bitch you got a lot of fucking nerves.”
“Please sir, I just want to get a bite to eat.”
“Member’ me bitch,” I pulled out my burner.
––––––––
She fell to the ground and covered her face, “No, I just wanted some spare change. Please don’t hurt me mister.”
I kicked the old bitch in her chest hard, she fell backwards. Then I stepped on her old throat. I warned, “I’m not gonna do you the favor of putting you out of your god damn misery. I hope you starve to death bitch. Get some direction. You can’t beg for spit from me.” I punted her in her dusty cunt. “That’s for my momma. The only bitch I ever loved, you rotten drug loving junkie-whore.”
The woman cried out in enormous pain, but her screams fell on death ears. To split this bitch would make me feel good, but it took me back to time when I was capable of caring. It was too risky getting close to old feelings because it brought about new pain. Speaking of old feelings, I thought about Tina. I thought about mom. I thought about death. I decided to return inside and continue to do what I do best: conquer.
Soon as I walked in Jackie ran up under me and Vette was looking at me with lust in her eyes. Vette asked, “Can you fuck with your fine ass? It would be such a waste to get all worked up only to get let down.”
I knew Jackie was seething because I could feel her temperature rise. Vette and I both knew but neither of us gave German fuck.
“Don’t worry about how I fuck, worry about how much you’re going to get paid to fuck. Serving notice that’s the game I play. You can choose a nigga right now,” I grabbed Vette's hand and kept Jackie beneath my right arm. Seconds later, even Terica followed; she didn’t want to be left out on the fun. I turned to look for Bullet and he had suddenly disappeared, most likely he was off to the dog races or craps: somewhere gambling. Sadly, somewhere losing.
As I walked across and up the street to my Fabullac, I saw Youngblood sitting on the curb with a bottle of mad dog 20/20 in his hand. Sour whine whistled from his bitter breathe, He slurred, “Silky, my nigga. How have you been?” He fell over and thick slobber slid down his crispy lips.
I pulled my hoes closer to me and responded, “Better than your balance motherfucka!” Even though my mother was a whore, I couldn’t believe my so-called number one ace fucked her. “Bet you can’t hold a note as well as you hold that bottle.”
Vette interjected, “Silky, you know this lame?” I looked down at him, pulled out a loose dollar and tossed it at him. “Don’t worry about who the fuck I know,” I barked as I walked away.
Youngblood stood up slightly unbalanced, and stammered with slobber rolling down his chin, he limped over. He pled, “Silky, man, we can come back and be better than ever. I’m sorry I hurt you man, I’m sorry about what I did.”
I stepped up and shoved him back on the curb, and spat, “You just plain ole’ sorry. Get some direction. Fuck a come back, can’t you see I’m a solo artist now?” As much as I hated to admit it, I really missed my niggas. I missed singing with the Determinations, which were some of the fondest memories in my life. It was lonely at the top. Pimping was the loneliest occupation on the planet.
Consequently, while I drove the hoes back to Tekia’s place, I tickled their ears with my crisp tenor. Vette couldn’t stop twisting her legs back and forth. Terica looked at me as if I was a bowl of rice and she was a starving Ethiopian. Jackie was just flattered as always. When I song my version of the Chi-lites Have You Seen Her, them nasty hoes almost passed out. From the moment I unlocked Tekia’s door, it was on as Vette and Terica jockeyed for my attention. Jackie was full of jealous tension but knew better than to try me. We tipped passed Tekia, which was sound asleep on the couch: boy could she snore.
We were all buzzed and I was ready to splash deep inside of Vette’s boiling birth-basin. Now, I don’t know what Terica said to Jackie in the backseat, but they were tonsil surfing like two teenage lovers. I watched Terica turn Jackie out right before my very eyes and just hearing the soppy lick smacking of pussy-slurping drove me insane. Inwardly, of course, I could never let these hoes know how I really felt. They would never know when I was really excited or turned on. It was my job to get to know them and never ever let figure out how my mental clock was ticking.
I banged Terica from behind while she leaned forward and sucked away the sex-soup from the creases of Jackie’s pussy. In mid-stroke, I turned back to Vette and said, “Aren’t you bitches forgetting something?” Everybody looked like I had just asked a million dollar question so I held my hand out. Being hoes, they knew what was up and each of them dived for their individual stashes and place it in my hand. Shortly after, I put my money up I installed my long greasy penis deep inside Vette’s pretzel twisted vessel. I put her in impossible positions as I tried to knock her uterus out of place, but Vette hit positions that double-jointed circus bitches couldn’t.
Vette licked her shiny lips and panted heavily. “Get every inch of this pussy. Break that dick off in this pussy.”
Even with this elephant trunk that wasn’t possible, but I resituated my fortified dick around the pussy like a merry-go round. I slapped balls and all in nothing, but pure pink never-ending pussy. Although I was a gifted dick-smith, I knew that pimping had little to do with fucking. After all no matter how big a dick is, there’s only so much a pole can do to a hole, right? Pimping was about mastering your emotions and never letting a bitch get in your head. Never let her know what your next move was or what you were thinking. A pimp’s job is not to out-fuck his hoes but to out maneuver them mentally. It is a special blend of entertaining and manipulating them simultaneously. Meanwhile, Jackie’s breathily moans permeated a spell over me. Seeing her young convulsing thighs locked around Terica’s face birthed a most erotic joy for my mind’s eye. However, that didn’t distract me, I just got more disciplined to the pussy.
“Ooo...oooo wee if your young ass can’t do nothing else, you know how to get some pussy,” hissed Vette. Both passion and lust had gone overboard and now I exploded inside of her boiling twat. My forceful ejaculation actually hurt a bit but it seemed to trigger a multi-orgasm for her also. She screamed, shook, shook, and shook, grinded vigorously, screamed again, froze with her eyes dead-pan locked, exhaled heavily, twitched for several seconds then rested exhaustedly in my arms. My mission was complete.
Now, I could be a chef of a pimping buffet with all the pussy you could beat. I studied Vette; she was the head-hoe type, which meant that she could knock off other hoes for me then I looked over at Terica hugged up with Jackie and realized that she had earned a position in a pimp’s mission too. My bed-rock pimping was finally coming together. These sister-whores made up a solid stable.
Vette was smiling as she licked the thick creamy pussy secretions off of her fingers. “This pussy is finger licking good huh?” she uttered. “So when are we going to the Ivory Coast?”
It took me a second for my nose to readjust because her pussy surely felt better than it smelled. Nevertheless, I had enraptured her body and soul. “When you earn it. I gave you some of this tree trunk; now its time for you put in some time and commitment. You three bitches are like family and I’m the head of you sister whores, you dig.”
“Didn’t you just get some pussy!” she barked with a hand on her wide hip.
“Don’t get mangled motherfucka. You gave me some funky pussy that smell like last year’s yuck. Bitches pay big to lay with me, so consider yourself highly lucky, but I’m interested in your leadership, not some watered down whoring,” I nodded at Terica. “Recruit me some more hoes like that and I’ll take you where ever you want to go.” I sounded so sincere that I almost believed that myself.
She smiled and then Terica and Jackie joined us. We tumbled in between the sheets again then eventually fell asleep. When I woke up next morning, Vette had slobber tracks that soiled the side of her mouth. Terica and Jackie were still cradled like teenaged lovers and, to be honest, it light weight pissed me off. Jackie looked so happy, a little too happy for a hoe. The only sex I wanted that bitch to enjoy was sex coming from me.
Then I stepped out into the dining room and Tekia sat on the couch holding Devon; she was crying. I stared at her blankly then walked back in the room to get some clothes so that I could dress to leave. I refused to speak to Tekia; silence was a deafening punishment. She rather me put her on a diet than not speak.
I got into my ride and cruised around so that I find me a nice big house for my hookers and me. My next move had to be my best move. While I was searching for a suitable whore-house that could sub as an underworld after hour also, I fell upon an opportunity that I couldn’t refuse. I witnessed this young pimp slapping his fragile drug-thirsty hoe while standing beside a brick building. Meanwhile two of his other fine floosies sat idly and watched. I parked up the street, pulled out my stolen badge and pistol then spoke with authority. “Alright nigger, that’s enough put your hands up!” This young punk seen my badge and quickly filled with fear then immediately put his hands up. “That goes for you ladies too!” I aimed the unsafe end of the barrel their direction. However, they quickly followed suit.
“Get down on your knees and place your hands behind your head,” I instructed. It was such a thrill to witness the power that we so easily handed over to the police. Police had the right to rob, steal, brutalize, and even kill in the black community. Once I stepped closer, I realized that the fine floosies weren’t as fine as I initially thought they were. They had make-up caked on their old faces. Two were decent but the ass-whipping recipient was completely weathered from drugs and street vice. After a little more intimidation and tough talk, I searched the girls’ bras, fish net panty hose, and purses then made their almighty pimp dig in his pockets and put every cent on the ground. This was easier than pimping; I had come up on a little over two thousand in a matter of seconds.
However, the bitter pimp said, “Man, don’t I pay your partners enough? And I’m damn sure not late on any payments.”
I kicked him in his ass and snapped, “Bitch keep your mouth closed or you won’t be able to be late on payments.”
Suddenly, the beaten drug-thirsty hoe looked me in the eyes. She asserted, “Now, I remember you. I know you.”
“Bitch, you wish you knew me,” I barked.
Her face was now riddled with tears, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
Her pimp still tried to hold on to some power, “Bitch I didn’t tell you to be sorry.”
I smacked him with my pistol and looked at this mangy woman; it was something in her eyes, but I couldn’t put a finger on what that something was.
She cried, “I know you’re gonna kill me this time, but you got to understand. Harvey got me strung out on drugs, had me turning tricks in the back of my father’s church. These streets and my conscience have been eating me up since. My soul is in agony.”
––––––––
I looked her in her dingy colored eyes as I tried to process who in the hell was this worn out hoe. So much was on my mind that pieces weren’t clicking like they should have.
She continued, “My father, still drives around looking for his baby girl. He’s so naïve for a minister, he doesn’t realize that his innocent baby girl has been dead for a long time. I knew this day would come and I knew you would take me out of my never-ending misery, just like I took your mom out of her misery. Look at me a prostitute turned diseased pan handler. I can’t even give this broken body away.”
All of a sudden, it clicked. Big hot tears dripped down my face. Damn this was that same pan handling murderous bitch, again. Well, whatever disease she had disfigured her even more. She was nearly unrecognizable. I was just as speechless then as the night mommy died. Pictures of my dead mother flashed across mind. Numbness controlled me as I actually absorbed my emotions and faced the reality that the only woman that I was capable of loving was stolen from me and this bloodthirsty junkie bitch was responsible. Here I was with another opportunity to erase this bitch but life was doing such a good job at breaking her spirits that killing her would be such an injustice.
From nowhere, this long Lincoln spun out of control, hopped the sidewalk, barely missed me, and slammed into the brick wall with the two street walkers lifeless pinned between the huge vehicle and the sturdy brick wall. Death seemed to be dealt out like cards, randomly. Before I could find out what was going on, the pimp fled at the speed of thought. I quickly tucked my pistol and badge then pocketed my instant earnings.
However, by the time, I turned around another vehicle was coming directly at me, but the tires screeched as the driver made a sharp turn to avoid hitting me. Although he managed to miss me as a mark, he wasn’t as lucky when it came to the already wrecked Lincoln which he collided into with great impact. The whistle and bells of the moment left me temporarily paralyzed until, I notice a police cruiser seconds away down the street. I quickly got my ass in gear; ran up the side street, cut through a backyard and dashed back to my Fabullac hopped in then sped off quickly. My heart was racing faster than my engine’s pistons were. As I drove off into safety, I heard display of gunshots. It sounded like a battlefield. What the fuck just happened back there?
––––––––
Knowing that I had barely escaped death, I reached into my pocket to get the badge. I looked at that shiny badge, a badge with no honor and no memories. This badge was a thing, just like my mom was a thing in that hungry drug thirsty whore’s way. Part of me was empty; the other part was angry because I didn’t exact revenge for mom. On the other hand, since tragedy intervened and I didn’t kill that pan handling bitch, I did get revenge because I didn’t interrupt her never ending suffering. Now this drug thirsty bitch would have to exist yet another day yearning for the refreshment of dope, yearning for a good night’s sleep, yearning for a cure for her debilitating disease, yearning to forget all the pain and pillage she has done in her miserable life. For the rest of her days, she will yearn for a piece of mind, just like me.
“I better stick to pimping; I’m born to pimp, not be a stick up artist.” I tossed the lifeless badge out of the window, but no sooner it hit the ground when I looked out of my rearview mirror, I witnessed a familiar face bending over to pick it up. After further investigation, I realized it was Kenny, a former Determination. I didn’t harbor the bitterness for Kenny that I did for Youngblood, so I turned around. Once I got a close up, I could see the pain, the struggle, and dope’s wear and tear in his face but also the wear and tear in his soul. Kenny was even funnier looking than I recalled. His thinner frame gave his neck the illusion of looking even longer, his head look even bigger, and his big ass ears really made him look like jack ass. He spoke to me shamefully in his ever-deep voice, “Hey Silky, where have you been brother?”
“Get in, it’s not safe to sit here and talk,” I suggested.
He happily limped in and weakly closed the door. His tattered clothes reeked and his hair was remarkably unkempt. He smelled like an outside commode; it was a horrendous sight. He attempted to smile but his strength failed him. “Man Silk, I see that you accomplished everything you set out to.” This once remarkable bass singer now reduced to baritone bass head, confounded me. His eyes watered, perhaps it was jealousy but I believed it was self pity. He was ashamed that he had let himself fall so deep, deeper than his incredulous bass, and he should have been. How can any man let himself nose-dive this low in life without blowing his head off? Wasn’t this type of existence a death sentence?
“I’ve been doing okay,” I answered as I reached and turned on my radio hoping to hear the news. “What happened with you Kenny?” My eyes couldn’t seem to stop staring at this immense failure of a man. Deep dark circles were carved around his eyes like a raccoon. Circles from weathering life and being worn down by addiction. With all this flesh to peddle, how could any man exist like this? Even if he couldn’t pimp, couldn’t he run numbers, stick up people, booster and steal for living, or become a card or pool shark? I just couldn’t rationalize this.
His sunken bloodshot eyes spoke before he could, “Damn, Silky, I just wanted to live for the moment. Get some pussy. Get high. Sing to some bitches,” he turned away as if he didn’t want me see him cry, “But this cocaine, this freebase got me man, holding me tighter than virgin pussy a stiff dick. Man this addiction doesn’t want me to have nothing, nothing but misery. I no longer want pussy, could care less about singing, only eat enough to live, but how do I thirst to get high? It’s an ever-present thirst Silky, I can’t shake it man, been to every rehab in town, I can’t shake it Silky.”
You haven’t lived until you heard a man with a deeper voice than Barry White cry; it moved me. What if my mom didn’t care about me the way she did? What if she had of been a dope fiend and loved dope more than me? Would I be sitting where Kenny is today in the passenger’s seat? Would Kenny give a fuck about me, if he were in my shoes? I looked at this dope-thirsty weak guy that used to be a respectable man torn down into pharmaceutical rubbish. I asked, “Kenny what do you need man?”
Shame took place across his dingy scruffy face once more as he answered, “Just ten dollars man, just enough to take this sting away. Man, I’ll be so grateful.”
I pulled out my knot of money then pealed him off a twenty because if I gave him too much, he would just kill himself. Afterward I rebuked him, “Don’t be grateful, be ashamed, be disgusted with the waste you’ve become. Man, you are supposed to be a Determination. Get some direction. What kind of legacy will we leave behind? You’re a dope head and Youngblood is wino.” I couldn’t help but to look down at them; they both knew better.
He didn’t just get up and run off to my surprise, but he asked in the gentlest voice that I’ve ever heard a heterosexual man speak in, “Silky, do you really think pimping is something to be proud of? You don’t think there’s a God up in heaven frowning down at you hitting, choking, and exploiting his babies, man?”
Normally, I would have been pissed, but he wasn’t trying to be a smart ass; he was trying to help his friend, but he should have been trying to help damn himself. I replied, “God gave me every attribute I have, from the baby blue eyes, the wavy hair, the great looks, and this thigh bruising dick I have to painfully walk with every day.”
He smiled at me ruefully and said, “You never change. Thanks Silky, if you never see me again, thanks a million. You always were light on your feet and even quicker with your tongue. Take care, brother.” Kenny limped out of my Fabullac and I realized that I didn’t even have the decency to ask what happened to his leg. Maybe because I was too busy condemning him.
––––––––
On the other hand, the local news on the radio cleared up the bizarre accident from earlier. The drivers in the Lincoln had just robbed the bank for a hundred thousand dollars, and the second vehicle, a Chevy Nova was a back up vehicle. The 1970’ model Lincoln lost control from driving so recklessly, but the Nova driver had got shot in the shoulder, dodged around me then struck the Lincoln. Everyone but the Lincoln driver was eventually shot and killed soon after they exited the cars. The Lincoln driver was in critical condition and faced two counts of vehicular homicide, grand theft larceny, and strong armed robbery. How had I escaped that madness? Was luck on my side or what? Why rob a bank when these women can write all the deposit slips you’ll ever need?
Finally, after several more hours of searching, I discovered a house, just like the Columbus did America, only the house didn’t already have people living in it. It was currently vacant and it suited the location I needed. It was a six bedroom house. It was at the corner of Vesper and the end Carpenter Street on the dead end but only a matter of blocks away from Howard Street. I reflected on my conversation with Kenny, and somehow I just couldn’t pity a man who willfully used drugs, willfully set himself up for failure. Some people are designed for destruction and others aspire beyond understanding. I was the latter, I didn’t know why God picked on Youngblood, Kenny, and so many other self destructive fools, but he blessed me with gift of gab, the art of flash, and the cunning combinations necessary to woo women. Was it my fault?
The large house was a slum, the steps were shabby, the paint was weathered, but it would serve my purpose: a twenty four hour whore house, a pussy palace. It was pre-furnished because an elderly guy had just passed and left his old timer furniture there; all the landlord wanted was green cash. All I wanted was a haven for my hoes to make me as much money as possible. In addition, having bag rooms would make it easier for them to keep their musty pussies clean, and I could charge more per hour because tricks would also pay for the room as well. This would help stack the cash I needed to leave Akron for good. In fact, leave the country. I was ready to go somewhere and start fresh, somewhere big enough for this big pimping.
Subsequently, I got in my car and drove back to pick up my hoes. During that drive, I thought about momma. Why was she my best friend? Why did she go out of her way to make me all but hate hoes? What did she see to make her feel so strongly against them? She seemed to be right on all angles, but Kenny’s question hand bandied in my head every since he asked me. Certainly, everyone is put here for a purpose: some to preach, some to teach, some to reach, some to fail, and some to prevail. Everything I have ever learned prepped me to pimp, taught me to seduce the mind and hearts of weak women. If I didn’t pimp them, wouldn’t some other pimp? Why should he have all the fun? Why should he make all the money?
––––––––
These women would be lost without me; they needed me. Why do people act like pimps are slave owners? No one wanted to be slaves, but these bitches want to be whores. It’s in their blood. See what squares don’t understand is whores give pimps their money because they like the pimp or something about the pimp. For instance, she may like the way he looks, talks, or even the color of his eyes. But what people don’t realize that it’s no difference than a square man who sees a woman he likes. That man, takes her out to dinner, buys her flowers, does nice things for her, spends both his time and money on her, why? Simple, because he likes her and wants to be with her. This is what hoes do for their pimp. Give him money because they like him and they hump for the money because it’s one of the easiest ways to make good money, fast. It’s simple, if one really thinks about it. Nonetheless, the white man knows a lot about pimping because he has over four hundred years of experience. Negras and Negroes are his best hoes, who give their everything to fit in simply because they want to be accepted by the broader white society.
Back at the apartment, I blew the horn impatiently. Jackie knew the sound of my horn and ran on the porch like an anxious toddler awaiting daddy with a handful of candy. “Get Devon and tell the bitches to pack up.” I ordered.
She darted inside then quickly returned with Devon and the other two hookers in tow. However, I couldn’t help but to notice a little tension between Jackie and Terica. I looked at them and said, “Sometimes the gin wears off, but the sin stays the same.”
Jackie looked disappointed in herself.
“More like a mickie,” Jackie snapped.
Terica fired back, “Bitch please, you wanted some pussy. Don’t act like your trying to fight the feeling the morning after bitch. Bitch just admit it, you like sucking on pussy. If you gone ashamed of the shit, don’t do it.”
“Both you bitches shut the fuck up and get in!”
Suddenly, they both dashed for the front seat. Terica ordered, “Get in the back bitch!”
Jackie retorted, ‘Bitch please, I’m the lead bitch.”
I interjected, “Empty your pockets right now! Whichever bitch got the most money can sit in the front since you want act all childish and shit.”
Both of them stood there and dug through the purses. After Terica realized that her purse was empty, she dug into her bra and pulled out two hundred dollars. Definitely a stash she was holding back from me. However, Jackie took her sweet time looking through her purse. I think she was waiting to see just how much Terica had so that she could give more than Terica but also hold back on her stash as well. I may be young but I aint dumb, I know bitches gone hold back. Shit, if I was a hoe, I’d probably do the same thing. Soon as Terica hopped in the front seat and sat down. Jackie said, “Here daddy.” She had two hundred and fifty dollars. I looked at Terica and gave her the nod to get her ass in the backseat with the baby. Soon as they settled in, I asserted, “My agenda is full and I aint got time for some cock-biting bitches to fuck with my tick- tock; my time bitches, my time.”
It was time to really sell the life to these whores so I took them out shopping for some new clothes. Women in general loved nice clothes and receiving attention for their attractiveness, but whores were on an entire different level with this shit. Whores drooled over clothes just like men did over whores in those very clothes. I loved seeing the girls smile and giggle as they tried on various outfits. Their pussies would soon gladly repay me for my precious time and ill-gotten dollars. Now, I had to make it my business to spend quality time with each individual hoe so that I could make an appointment with Mr. Sandman for each one of these dream-struck bitches.
Finally, we arrived back at my new house. It was raggedy but new to me. Each hoe had their personal room to dress, sleep, and turned dates in as well. I was going to have a 24 hour jump spot, called The Rip and Dip. Here you could sip on a few drinks and get ripped then go on up stairs and take a dip in some pussy afterwards. I have no problem sending these simple men home drunk and broke to their wives and children. See at The Rip and Dip, there will always be some good music, some soul food, and some wet pussy for paying customers.
I decided that I would even start up another group and we could throw VIP parties where I would sing live and entertain the shit out of everyone. Fuck going to Las Vegas, I’d bring a piece of Las Vegas to my very own living room. But I did have one problem, how would I keep the man off of me? It wouldn’t be long for everyone’s ears would be burning with Silky this and Silky that. On the other hand, if I could figure out a way to make this a jowl jacking Mecca, I wouldn’t have to run behind the street bitches. I’d be inside and out of sight and when I have enough money to travel where-ever, whenever I wanted to, I could relocate up out of Ohio—for good without wanting or worrying for nothing.
After getting settled in, Vette shocked me with her eagerness to work. I surprised her by taking her out to Tangiers one on one. She ordered a T-bone steak and chef salad. I just ordered a grilled chicken breast with a baked potato. I couldn’t even pronounce some of those fancy dishes on the menu. Tangiers was the spot. It was elegant, draped in timeless art. The walls were filled with stars that had performed there like Red Foxx, Richard Pryor, The Temptations, and many other performers. I hoped to see my face on these walls one day.
As a matter of fact, I had to take a double take because Bill Cosby was sitting across the room with this young pretty little white girl. Okay Cosby, I thought. When she got up to excuse herself to go to the ladies room, I noticed those long lovely legs of hers and the way her dress hugged her slight curves. It wasn’t the only thing I noticed, looked like Bill Cosby was breaking a capsule or something into her drink. I wondered what the fuck he was up to. Oh well, I took a sip of my wine, and looked down, ‘cause that’s none of my business.
Meanwhile, Vette forked into her steak and noticed a long Caucasian hair on it. She brought it to my attention and I abruptly brought it to theirs, “Hey waiter, there’s hair in my lady’s shit!”
The uppity waiter quickly grew frustrated, “Psst, excuse me, we don’t serve shit; there’s nothing in her food!”
I stood up, slammed my knuckles into the table, and shouted, “I said she got some hair in her mothering fucking food!”
Vette interjected, “No Silky, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”
“Shut up bitch, if it was okay, why didn’t you just eat the shit?” I protested.
Then some well-dressed balding white guy walked over, “Sir, we have respectable guess here and we expect the same from all of our patrons.”
I knocked the seat over, “You can expect the same of these nutts. I don’t have to put up with this shit! I’m Silky and I don’t think I’m better than nobody. I know I’m better than everybody!” I motioned for Vette to get up and we left the joint. I was a nigga, but I was a high-end nigga with money. Certain treatment I didn’t have to tolerate, period.
Afterwards, Vette had me driving around looking for her sister, Buffy and her friend Nicole. Vette explained, “Silky, they are gonna love everything about you. The way you smell, the way you walk, and they way you talk...”
“The way I fuck and take your money,” I interrupted.
She smiled and batted her eyes, “That too.”
As we drove down Howard Street, she spotted Buffy and Nicole dashing across the street. “That’s my sister in the hot pink.”
She’s cute, but Nicole, that grey bitch was absolutely gorgeous. I could instantly tell from their panic worn faces that they were in danger. What the fuck had these bitches did? I sped down toward them then screeched the tires at a halt beside them. Buffy’s fear almost hid the cuteness beneath it. Vette yelled, “Hurry up get in!” Swiftly, Buffy leaped in huffing and puffing.
Nicole was only a handful of steps behind. I was watching joyfully as Nicole's bountiful titties bounced happily about. Vette and Buffy both screamed, “Get in, come on girl! Hurry get in!”
“What the fuck are you bitches yelling for?” I asked.
Just as Nicole grabbed the door handle I found out why.
Her forehead exploded right before our eyes. “All shit, that’s why!” I slapped my car in reverse and burned rubber down the street. I whipped that long Caddy with ease until a drunk fell in the way of my car. I shouted, “This stupid asshole done hit my car. Nigga need some direction.” Meanwhile, I could still hear deadly bullets whistle behind us. I mashed the gas and slumped down in my seat low as I could and still be able to see the road.
As I turned a corner on two tires, Vette asked, “Buffy what the hell happened back there?”
Buffy shuddered frantically. “Nicole got shot!”
I looked at her through my rear view mirror. “No shit bitch! What caused her to get shot?” I snapped.
“Nicole stole his wallet while I shit on him,” she sobbed.
What? I bet it was that same sick ass pervert. Why didn’t I kill him when I had a chance? But what’s really fucked up is that I’ll never get to know just how good Nicole’s pussy was, how much mileage she had left on that young, gorgeous, white pussy, and how much money she could have made me. Shit, if you ask me, that’s the true tragedy. After ten minutes of an adrenaline overdose, we returned home safely. This was one more reason to set up my all in-one full service entertainment drink- suck- fuck- stop and shop spot. Akron needed The Rip and Dip, bad.
Back at my house, up in my room, I made it my business to take a grand tour of Buffy’s purse, bra, and anywhere else I thought she would stash money then I happily patrolled her young pussy and broke her in to all of the house rules. I could smell the jealousy on Jackie so I had to be twice as smooth with my pimping.
Jackie unlike the other hoes loved me. She was there before all the flash, and the cash. I meant more to her than the rest of them, but she was just another hoe to me. The one thing I knew for certain was how dangerous it was to fall in love with a hoe. Too bad C-Note wasn’t just as wise but my momma taught me better. When it comes to these bitches, it’s no different than going to a car lot and picking one out. It’s that simple, see them, pursue them, and conquer them.
However, within the next three weeks, I was pimping harder than a motherfucka but I found out that pimping was anything but easy. Tricks were lined up and down the street and I even had to buy a line of seats for them to sit in while they were waiting to turn dates. The girls took turns bartending and bringing the tricks drinks while they waited. It was busy and chaotic. But this was better than chasing my whores up and down the street, this way I could keep track on how many dates they were turning. Nevertheless, the whores were a handful, a headache. They fought over everything but most of all me, especially Jackie and Terica. I yearned to take a moment all to myself with a big fat joint so that I sit back and plot my next move with these bitches.
However, Jackie caught the short end because she was the youngest and had a baby plus she was not part of their original click. At times, I had to force the other whores to watch Devon so Jackie could turn dates. It wasn’t that they didn’t like Devon, but they were merely trying to be loyal to their sister-whores. However, Jackie had a line of regulars unlike the others whores because they would rush and at times even steal from their tricks. Despite what I told them. Buffy couldn’t keep her hands out of niggas’ pockets so I had buckle down on her and also beef up security to handle the ticked-off tricks. I wanted more money, not more problems.
Of course, Bullet assisted me with security and he loved my crap addition that I added to the basement. When Bullet wasn’t working security, he was playing craps or some other form of gambling. I also worked out a deal with the owner of a local liquor store to sell me liquor at wholesale prices. All he wanted in return was to be able to turn a few free tricks a few times a month. I was making a killing, and it was killing the competition. I was selling everything from hard liquor to soft pussy. What pimp could compete?
After a couple more weeks of trial and error, I made the hoes bickering work to my advantage. Now, they were trying to out fuck, suck and best of all, out hoe each other. Each wanted to be daddy’s queen bee. I did things such as reward the top earner with bonuses and buy them the most expensive gifts. I learned that it was more effective to give the whores incentives to make more money. Now, that I had worked out the little quirks, my pockets and wardrobe was ultra-right. I wore the finest of gators and gold. No matter how much new attire I bought, I always had made love for my sapphire suit. It represented the beginning of my pimpship. It always held a special place in my heart.
On the other hand, I’m wise enough to know that a pimp only looks as good as his hoes. My hoes are a direct reflection of me and people are starting to realize that Silky is the Mack of North Hill. Having a one-stop whore house set my pimping a world apart from the small time pimps. Players, hoes, and hustlers admired me but pimps outright resented me; I loved it. I had come up fast and hard because niggas knew that Silky was on some pistol-grip shit. My dreams of attending The Player’s Ball in Chicago are right around the corner. In Chi-town, I could be as flamboyant as I want to be.
After all this is small ass Akron, Ohio not to mention that I got two bodies under my belt. I believe that more people knew about my history with Willie Mack than they lead on. I could see hatred in young hustlers and enemy pimps’ eyes as I walked by. I knew that I always had to stay ahead of the stick-up artist, salty pimps, triple-crossing hoes, and worst of all Johnny Law. I finally started to realize why it was so lonely at the top because for those who truly desired to be winners, second best is like death. One thing about The Do-Dirt Doctrine that I know to be true, is that fact that you always have to be weary of number two.
PART FIVE
THE IMPOSSIBLE TASK
New Territory
IT WAS LATE FRIDAY NIGHT: I was out driving around the old trenches making sure that none of my product had slipped out of the window and on down to the smack house. Vette and Buffy both were increasingly more and more unreliable because they were succumbing to their drug addiction more and more. I realized that many pimps relied on the dope to do the work for them, girls got addicted to the dope and if the pimp kept some dope, he could keep control over his stable. As for me, it was a waste of time, a waste of good product because dope made whores age faster, dope made whores desperate, and dope also took money out of a pimp’s pocket. I don’t know what genius pimp thought of using dope to help turn and control his bitches, but he was a stupid motherfucka.
While I was out making my rounds, I slowly drove by Tekia’s place. At that point and time, Tekia approached me from her front porch. She said, “I heard about the Rip and Dip. You got hoes, a house and car. Now you don’t need me anymore. You lied to me but I forgive you, just as God forgives us all.”
I sat there silently counting my wads of money but she continued. “Just talk to me Silky.”
I rolled my eyes at her. She fidgeted her hands and said, “I’m pregnant Silky. I know you don’t want to hear this but it’s your baby.”
“See, you play too much, is this what the fuck you stopped me for?” I was pissed so sighed long and hard.
Tekia, teary eyed confessed, “I wouldn’t have bothered you if the police weren’t looking for you and that thug named Kelvin ‘Bullet’ Jobson, but even though you turned your back on me and our baby, I didn’t tell them nothing. In fact, I lied and told them that you hopped on a Greyhound when you found out that I was pregnant. I care enough to warn you to be careful. I want to be a blessing to you.” She wiped the tears from her puffy eyes and tapped me softly on my shoulder, “It may sound crazy but I have to ask you this. Have you found Jesus yet Silky?”
I rolled my eyes and jerked away from her and replied, “I didn’t know he was lost.” I sat back in my seat. “My time is worth money not sympathy! You couldn’t think of a better stunt than that? You aint pregnant, you just fat! Don’t no cops care about no niggas. Aint no cops looking for me! How come no one else has heard about them looking for me? Half of them bitches on someone’s payroll anyway.” I knew to never let a bitch ever think that she has done something special for me.
“Silky, I swear I’m not lying to you. Why are you doing me like this? Why do you hate me so much when I only want to love you?” she sobbed.
––––––––
“Love me? Do you want to suck fifty or sixty dicks a day till your mouth is swollen with sores? Do you know what they call a fat hoe?”
She hunched her shoulders that she didn’t know.
I answered my own question, “Unemployed!” Her head dropped in defeat. I went on. “From the time we met, I was a pimp so I did to you what I do—pimp! Don’t try to win me over with some recycled religious babble. You want a square motherfucka that believes in having a wife and kids and working a nine to five job. Do I look like that type of motherfucka? Why don’t you get some direction?” I sped off just as she began to open her mouth.
Why would the bitch make up some shit about the police looking for Bullet and me? Oh shit! My stupid ass wasn’t paying attention. Didn’t she call him by his full name? Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen him since last Friday. I’ve just been so busy juggling these hoes, tricks, and completion that I haven’t been able to keep with every detail of everybody. Regardless, it’s getting too hot for me to stay much longer, perhaps its time for me to take flight and get out of this little raggedy ass city and better yet out this fucking country—before my luck runs out.
After giving her statement some thought, I feel slightly sorry for the big bitch, but how can an authentic pimp feel sorry for any bitch? To be an effective pimp, you have to be hard on hoes. I don’t love or even like bitches just pimp them. They’re objects; they are worthless hoes. They are only good enough to be a dick stand. I can’t afford to be weak no matter what a bitch does for me. I have to be hard on these hoes like Pharaoh and never let these hoes go. It was my responsibility as a pimp to use Tekia and any other bitch that I could to the best of my ability, even if the bitch is pregnant with my baby. Either its use or be used. I’m a genuine pimp, getting used could never be, could never ever happen to me.
After moments of contemplation, I returned to scope my trenches and see if any corrupt cops were patrolling. I had to be particularly careful at this point and time. Hoes still were sprinkled about various corners, I still had to plant some hoes outside of my after-hour to advertise until we were the local address for every good paying trick. However, if Tekia already heard about my whore house, then I must be doing a decent job. I wanted to get my after-hour packed with business so that a flashy pimp like myself could make the big bucks without the high profile. It wasn’t hard for anyone to finger a flamboyant pimp, let alone a cop. I wanted that money, but not the flack of being on the trenches making it. I had to stack my scratch so that I could leave this joint and set up a nice flat in a bigger city where I could take on a new identity.
Meanwhile, back at my spot—the Rip and Dip, the more pussy got spanked the more my pockets got thanked. It was high traffic and high drama and I really had to use my wits to keep down the static. Of course, when you are dealing in sexual commerce, you are dealing with a lot of street motherfuckas and engaging in street business, often, street business mean blood business. I was doing my best to make as much green money without having to shed anymore red blood.
Since business was so good, I wanted to commemorate the moment so I donned my classic sapphire silk suit. I felt phenomenal in my favorite sapphire silk suit. It was so much more than a sentimental token of my very first hoe Tina. This suit was a symbol of me breaking luck by copping a whore who would bring me some money. I remember when, all I had was this lonely suit and one broke ass hoe. I smiled and kissed my diamond beget cross. Now look at me, I have the very best of hoes, precious rings, and golden things that life had to give, aint life funny? Finally, I was living my wildest dreams, the same dream I sold these hoes that would never manifest.
As I sat in my Fabullac admiring my jewelry and good looks in the mirror, Jackie walked up, kissed the hot hood on the Caddy then brought me my money while rubbing her lips. She removed her leather trench and the only thing she was wearing was a smile. “Tekia came by the Rip and Dip tripping but we got her together and sent her fat ass home.”
I looked at Jackie without cracking the slightest smile, “Shit, that’s hoe business. Talk my language. Let me hear what that motherfucking purse got to say.”
––––––––
“Am I still your queen?” she held some money in her hand and asked seductively.
A fatal mistake that all hoes make; they believe that we really love them, but all we love is money and our egos: Never hoes! Before I could answer, she bent over and unpeeled my dick with her hungry hot lips.
“How you gone play me like some lame trick?” I shoved her face against the dash and removed the cash from her hands. “You a mere hoe, when I have an opening for a queen, I’ll let you know. You can’t win me over with some blow game. You got to win me over with the show game, show me the money. King money.”
She fought tears and rustled with her tongue. I knew that she wanted to say something sharp, but whatever she said wouldn’t have been as sharp as this left hook. She reluctantly returned to the trenches with Buffy and Vette. I still had to beef up that hoe-house clientele. Meanwhile, Terica babysat Devon and turned a few dates with her regulars at the house.
It was an outstanding night at the crib, but I decided to chill at the Trop for the rest of the night. I had placed the fear of God in my hoes, so they knew not to fly away from the nest. But down inside something troubled me; I had grown a lump of anticipation in my larynx. Was it time for Silky to take his big pimping out of little Akron?
Shit, Tekia came to the Rip and Dip looking for me? Maybe the bitch is pregnant with my baby. Maybe, just maybe the police were looking for me and Bullet about Harvey and Danny’s demise. After all, niggers do go to prison for killing other niggers, even if niggers are a low priority in the law’s eyes. Suddenly, I caught an image of Bullet hunched over an empty shot glass with his jaw hanging and a set of protruded blood shot eyes. I firmly nudged him on the shoulder, “Bullet where have you been, my nigga?”
“Gambling again,” he replied remorsefully. “Losing again.”
I whispered in his ear, “Hey I hear the police have been looking for us. I’m thinking about blowing to the windy city on the first thing smoking tomorrow morning.”
“Why would the police be looking for us?” He asked confoundedly.
“Because of that jack move, not to mention I popped Willie. Man, I got blood of a whole slain family on my hands. Maybe, you come with me up to Chi-town, and help me hold down my whore house and serve notice to these bitches. You couldn’t do any worst than you do at that gambling shit.”
He shot me one dirty ass look, but I guess the truth fucks with us like that. I thought about all that we been through and my empty heart went out to him. Even though his gambling kept failing him, I couldn’t so I dug down into my pocket to give him an uncounted amount of money.
Bullet looked more pitiful than ever as slowly reached over grabbed the handful of bills. He sat the knot of money on the counter and returned the shot glass to the cusp of his hands. He confessed, “I’m a looser Silky. I’m nothing like you, I’m no pimp either.”
––––––––
“As long as there is pussy to be sold, you’ll have some cash to hold. Nigga it’s because you looked out for me after I split Willie that I was even around to blow up like this anyway...”
“You did what you had to do man, right?” He inquired dryly.
“Hell yeah, I split that nigga. Gave that nigga some direction. He was trying to make an example out of me. And I offed his brothers just to get some elbow room. We some raw ass niggas because we on that pistol-grip shit.”
“I’ll drink to that, you sure in the fuck did Silk,” he smiled ruefully.
Bullet kept his head down the entire time we talked. The only time he lifted his head up was to turn up that shot glass. Usually, after I gave him a little cash he ran off to the races but not this time. I just couldn’t seem to bring him out of his ill spirits, so I bought him another drink and just reflected on the song playing on the jukebox. It was a song entitled Smiling Faces and I was really digging the lyrics and the musical composition. As I listened I thought, some songwriters be on some real ass shit.
The Trop seemed to be filled with more prospects and youngsters than usual. The smoke seemed to be thicker, but the air actually felt lighter. I felt as if I was on acid because pimps seemed to be staring at me and whispering about me. Everybody was talking about me, and I couldn’t hear a word that they were saying. Were these thoughts only the illusions of my mind? Maybe I was just paranoid. Bullet looked at me in the grimmest fashion ever. His red eyes told some sad ass stories. “Bullet cheer up. You had my back and I got yours. Long as I got, you got.”
Bullet held his drunken head up the best he could. He was so fucked up. Bullet said, “Silky, you always stay on top. You always are plotting and planning some shit, you always got a back up- back up plan and you always manage to keep a back-up stash nigga. If a bitch want it, she got to fuck with you ‘cause you got it.” His bloodshot eyes were bulging more than usual. Something was amiss.
“I’ll be a pigeon’s pussy if I don’t,” I smiled still nodding to the music while chewing on my toothpick.
He took a gulp of another drink and winched from the bitterness. He patted me hard on the shoulder hard and said, “You wear the fuck out of this suit. This must be your favorite suit aint it? It must be your lucky charm or some shit because you rocks the fuck out of this. You one slick ass nigga, even your eyes match your suit. Man, you got it all: smarts, good-looks, women, and money.”
“Don’t forget twelve limp inches,” I laughed.
He ordered another drink. He confessed, “I wish that I could at least save some damn money, but I can’t hold on to shit. I fucking win only to lose. Can’t keep a running car, can’t keep a woman; I can’t keep nothing, man.” He gulped down the next drink like it was a soda. Boy was he putting away some liquor. I just listened. “But one day, I’m gonna buy me a new car. I’m even gonna buy me some nice suits so that I can look good like you. Hell, I might even manage to keep me a two thousand dollar stash— just like you keep a stash in this fancy ass blue suit. You are brilliant Silky. See my dumb ass would hide my dough in a shoebox or under the mattress, but not slick ass Silky, with his slick ass stash blue suit.” He lifted his head up and looked me directly in the eyes with a blank glare.
Something artic shook inside me, a sudden silent rage erupted, and an arc of fresh fear tightly gripped my purple heart. I couldn’t believe my motherfucking ears. I slammed my shot glass down on the marble counter; the noise made the bartender look up and quickly stepped back. I spit my toothpick out of my mouth. My soul was contorted with questions and my eyes blistered from frustration of fighting off tears. I asked in disbelief, “So this is why you are wearing such a long motherfucking face. Are you serving me notice nigga?”
Bullet slowly lifted his head up.
I slid my shot glass away and stood up. I aggressively asserted, “No one knew about my blue stash suit or my two thousand dollars—but Tina!” Dismalness sat across my face. “She was the only hoe, the only person in the world other than me that knew I kept a stash in this very suit back at that time. So how would you fucking know that and how would you know the exact amount?”
“I’m just pissy drunk, just talking shit that’s all Silk.” Unsure-footed, he stood up. “I can’t even see straight so I know I can’t think straight.”
“Try seeing straight with a slug in your face,” I pulled out my pistol, but my hands burnt from the intensity of vengeance. My heart sank and my stomach erupted. “Bullet—you did that to Tina? You duped me?” I was dumbstruck. I was traveling on new territory, a territory better known as betrayal. The barroom listened intently. Some people started easing toward the exit. Others were too nosy to think about their safety.
Bullet fearlessly stepped into the line of fire just inches away from the barrel. The unsafe end of a barrel that usually swallowed the hearts of many men, but not Bullet. In fact, Bullet boldly spat, “Yeah, I did it; you young, dumb motherfucka. Your pretty ass thought you knew it all, didn’t you?” He laughed robustly. “But you don’t know shit, but how to be a punk ass pimp and a pimp is a bitch!”
“Fuck you!” I yelled with my nostril blowing out smoke. The crowd grew serpent silent as their eager eyes hugged my actions out of anticipation. I could only see so much out of the corner of my eye. I held on to that steel ever so tightly.
That’s right Mr. Drag dress to shit on a man, if the hoe don’t do it then the pimp got to. That aint pistol-grip shit, that’s sick faggot shit. Nigga you talk all that pimp shit but you let some paper pimp you.” He stepped into the barrel of the pistol, which was now buried in his flannel shirt as if he was taunting me to kill him. Echoes of his laughter ate at my fragile ego. If mere laughter can hurt as it did then certainly my ego needed a reevaluation, but this wasn’t the time for all of that.
“Bitch, you know I will kill you,” I huffed.
“That’s exactly what Willie Mack told my momma—before he beat her in the head with a sledgehammer and made a total vegetable out of her. He thought that I was too young to remember but I never forgot. Why do you think I used to be at my uncle Big Bob’s Bar? My uncle had to raise me because of what that punk pimp did to my momma.”
Right at that moment, I specifically remembered the chubby pan faced kid, Bullet, from Big Bob’s Bar standing there with Willie Mack, the sharp brotha with the woman tightly attached to his elbow.
Bullet continued, “I didn’t have anyone to take care of me at home. By the way, I just came from seeing her in a nursing home today. I been gambling trying to get the money so that I care for her at home, but you wouldn’t know about that huh? Its punk shit to care about any woman, even if it’s your own mother huh?” he sneered fearlessly.
I took one step up and planted the pistol against the monstrous scar on his face with a burning tearing trickling from my eye. I said,“I never served notice to your momma. You were my nigga man, my friend. Niggas are supposed to have some direction.” Someone mocked me from the crowd.
––––––––
“But you would have, you confessed that you would pimp your own momma man. I knew from the moment you killed Willie Mack that he deserved it, and you were dumb enough to take the bait, do-dirt, and kill him in cold blood with a barroom full of people, full of witnesses. You the dumbest smart motherfucka I ever met. Everyone is watching you now Silky. I’m the one that sicked ole’ Willie Mack on you. I told him to pull your card soon as I seen you zero in on Tina. Why do you think he fucked with you in the first place? Why do you think I gave you a drink on the house? I pimped both of you fools for a free drink of beer. You may get women to sell their bodies but I had both of you fools sell your souls. Did you really think I covered up a murder for you? Nigga please.”
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A flash of that night registered before me. I recalled Bullet sliding me the beer and thanking me for the entertainment that’s when Willie dived in on my case. That was a signal for Willie to move in on me. Still clinging on to shock, I had to ask him, “But why on earth did you kill Tina? How can the pot call the kettle black? If you love women so much, why did you beat that poor girl to death?”
The crowd became hungry for blood. I could hear the uproar erupting form all four corners. Then I realized that the bar mob was trying to get out, but it seem like a force from elsewhere was demanding its way in. Sighs and cries satiated the air.
“Because that little bitch saw me give the police your gun, that’s why. She ran out soon as I told them what went down. I knew she’d break her neck to tell you, so I got in my car and followed her back to her apartment to shut her up—permanently,” he sneered.
“And you had me thinking that it was Harvey and Danny,” I protested. Now, it’s all clear. I had been conquered.
“What difference did it make to you? She was just some wet slimy ass for you to sell but she was a tough little bitch and she loved your pretty ass exactly like my mom loved Willie Mack. My momma was a weak working-woman, but that is the only momma I have man. Women don’t love average niggas like us because they are sold on getting the gold and the fancy clothes, the fast cash and the flash from pitiful niggas like you but worthless niggas like you just convert them into cheap, dirty dick-sucking hoes.”
He looked at me with madness. “Tina confessed just how much she loved you even after I stabbed her. She said tell Silky that I’m sorry I couldn’t make him happy. I only took your money to make it look like a random robbery, in case of an investigation,” Tears now flooded his blood shot eyes, “Damn, she loved your punk ass. She didn’t even care about her own life; she cared about making you happy even though she was dying. Why couldn’t a lady love me like that? Why couldn’t I have been you?”
“You big, jealous, pan faced, bear-built, bald mouth, backstabbing motherfucka!” My blood boiled and my heart still couldn’t absorb it all. Why couldn’t I see that this ugly nigga wanted to be me? I wanted to do more than shoot this bull of nigga. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to feel how suffocating betrayal was, but the moment of retribution was now or never. Somehow out of the corner of my eye, I witnessed a triad of police forcing themselves through the turbulent crowd. While holding their guns above their heads, the cops shoved the pissing and moaning drunks out of the way. I could feel the anxiety in every bead of sweat that dripped on my eye brawl. Life as I knew it was over. What did I have to lose?
Unexpectedly, Bullet being both bigger and stronger decided to grab my pistol; we tussled frantically until the gun misfired. Time stood totally still. The crowd was fully alert now and total chaos ensued. Some ran, some dived, and other hid. Bullet buckled down to the floor with a steady flow of warm blood streaming through his fingers that he had pressed tightly against his fresh gun wound. I guess he had asked the same question before grabbing my pistol. What did he have to lose?
“Do you think your God?” he spat up blood, “You a punk, Silk.” As he struggled to force out his last words, I noticed the little black wire hanging from the collar of his shirt. He must have caught case doing some other dirt then made a deal with the cops about Harvey and Danny’s death since he had already sold me out about Willie.
“You set me up but I’m a punk. You practicing the religion of snitching and bitching, that’s a punk,” I fired another shot in his face for good measure. In fact, he looked better with the bullet in it. If it hadn’t been for the flickering lights and wounded up crowd, surely the trigger-happy cops would have fired by now. If it weren’t for enemies I would have no friends.
By this time the cops pretty much had me in eyeshot and one of them shouted, “Drop it Silky...freeze now.”
Only my heart cooperated with that command. I swiftly dived over the counter and dashed out of the back door, but two cruisers awaited. “Fuck it, I’m Silky.” I tossed the gun down, then darted right between them, and sprinted on top of an on coming cruiser, ran over the hood, and landed safely on the pavement. I felt like a feather and too light on my feet to accept defeat. I dashed past my hoes with their palmed horrified faces as they yelled, “Run Silky run.” I had too much to lose to stop. I had to run; I had to push beyond the barriers set before me. And to think, all this time, I’ve been running with the enemy.
Meanwhile, Kenny and Youngblood were now like zombies as they watched it all, but I knew deep down inside they were silently chanting for me too. After all, I represented the better third of The Determinations. This moment represented everything we could have been, and everything we weren’t ever gonna be. The music and memories we made, would be the only decent traces that we left behind for humanity.
The pale officer in the cruiser sprang out and hollered, “Halt you no good nigger or you’ll be sorry!”
Another cop yelled, “He’s a nigger, he’s already sorry.”
Fuck stopping! Shit, I’m facing the death penalty or even worst life in prison, which was not good for a must have constant-control beautified pimp. I hit a sharp turn then shot through a thick shrub at top speed in someone’s backyard. Beads of sweat dripped down my forehead as many distant memories flooded my mind, memories of momma and her forthright speeches, days of singing with The Determinations, and Tina’s smile at the ice cream parlor played ever so softly for me.
On the other hand, I envisioned Jackie and her shattered innocence, Vette and Buffy’s deceitful faces and shapely bodies that gave me the drive to push on. I must get away; they need my rock solid pimping. They need me to be the dreams that failed them. I need to be their everything. I had to out maneuver these cops just like I out maneuvered Willie, Harvey, and Danny. Lady luck had been on my side this long, I know that the bitch wouldn’t pull out on me now.
Ultimately, a salvo of shots were fired. I was running way too fast, pushing too hard to worry, too determined to look back. More shots were fired. Some whistled by my ear. I took a few more fantastic strides before my body abruptly collided into the frigid sidewalk. I’d never landed so hard before, my hot body never felt so cool against the concrete. My stomach burned and my spine tingled. The intense sizzling sensation slowly cooled as the torrent of burning blood gushed out of my back’s open wounds. My pretty face now suffered barbaric brick-burn.
All of momma’s advice, all of my good looks, and all my rock solid pimping, couldn’t put ole’ Silky back together again. Claps of fast footsteps drew nearer and I heard feminine soprano echoes in the darkness of the night.
Damn momma, you never told me it would be days like this.
However, waling sirens screamed louder and louder, but my drumming heartbeat drowned them out. Time was ticking a little slower than usual. Faces of death stalked me: Willie’s fading smile, Danny’s stoned expression, and Tina’s battered flesh. Subsequently, pictures of the only woman, other than momma, that truly loved me flashed in my mind: Tekia and all of the heartache that I inflicted so willingly. Why did life let me be so cruel? Why do all of the good girls fall hard for the bad guys? How could I have fallen a victim of my own game—deceit? I had danced with death a many of days but I’m not dancing anymore. The conqueror as with all conquerors eventually becomes the conquered, even if it’s just submitting one’s last breath. I lied, conned, manipulated, and used women, but Bullet, my nigga, manipulated, deceived, and used me. Is Silky the conquered my legacy? Is this how all of my ladies, Youngblood, Kenny, and the streets of Akron will remember me?
I treated a true friend like an enemy and an enemy like a true friend. Life has a way of putting his big foot in your ass. Chickens had come home to roost because the words that Tekia’s momma said were ever so true: The only man anyone can truly trust is God. Sadly, the words from the song playing on the jukebox at the Trop still played inside my head: the impossible task is to figure out which of the smiles is a mask, Smiling Faces tell lies. We often let our hearts lead us in places that our heads never will.
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The power of love can never be underestimated. Even a cold-blooded pimp needs love, needs to fit in, and needs to feel accepted. If we are not bound to loving people, we end up loving things, or the response that we get from having those things. Whores were the things that I treasured most. They were less than people, but more than prizes. Their bodies and their beauty were all at my fingertips, and just like that, it all slipped away. A proud man is a dangerous man for if he is filled with enough pride, he’ll kill to maintain and sustain that sense of false pride.
All of the plotting, planning, and smiling were just adhesives of sound deceit. Momma was so in love with the concept of pimping that she taught me what she thought was best. She tried her best to protect me. She didn’t want me to end up like C-Note. She had witnessed the destruction of a pimp if he were to let himself fall for a hoe. She raised me to be a heartless machine. She loved me, and just all like all hoes, she loved pimps.
Now, the many pieces come together. I understand why momma’s eyes used to water when she spoke of Retally8. He was her premier pimp. She loved him so much that she tried to resurrect him through me. She loved her lifestyle so much that she never once thought of giving up the destructive lifestyle, yet she chose to promote it. Why couldn’t I learn from her mistakes? Why didn’t I learn from her death? Didn’t I realize the short term destruction of pimps and prostitutes? Damn, momma why couldn’t you have showed me a different way? I guess that’s impossible when you truly believe that pimping is hoeing is the best thing going huh? I was under the impression that I was born to conquer the minds of women, born to pimp hard, but I now realize that I was born to die-hard. How could I have bought my own empty dreams? I had fooled myself to believe that I actually had foresight, insight, and wisdom, but now all I have in 20/20 hindsight and premature death, just like momma.
Sadly, people looking from the outside will never truly know what deep sadness and psychological destruction await us behind the iron gates of our ghettoes. I’ve learned a fatal lesson much too late in life, but for all of you aspiring pimps, hoes, hoodlums, and stick-up artist, what will you tell death when he sneaks up to knock on your door? Shouldn’t you put your trust in God? Why not treat others like we want to be treated? Why must man be so selfish and full of himself? An empty heart and handsome face has found an early resting place, on the dark side. As long as there is a heart that beats, there will be someone who markets deceit, and others who buy into it. Take it from me, or get a bloody first hand account on the non-discriminating streets. The streets don’t care how rich, how cute, how slick, or how tough you think you are; she is watching and waiting to swallow you whole. If you refuse to wake up wise, you may wake up—dead. Conquer the foolishness...
GET READY FOR THE DO-DIRT DIARIES VOLUME NO. 3
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HEAT ANTHONY PRESENTS
VOLUME NO.3
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RAGE OF THE WRETCHED RENEGADE
A Novel
By
Heat Anthony
Copyright @ 2015 by Do-Dirt Doctrine Publishing
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Visit The Do-Dirt Doctrine for updates and new releases
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Link here
Warning Vulgar Adult Content
This book contains language and content that some may find offensive.
This book is not appropriate for children.
PART ONE
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THE DO-DIRT DOCTRINE PRESENTS
DO-DIRT DIARIES No. 3
There are no great people, only ordinary people that conquer great obstacles.
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Warning Adult Content
PROLOGUE
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A salvo of shots were fired. The sound of each one carried the weight of my fears with them. My heart leaped as the love of my life ran so fast, pushed so hard. Go baby go! I thought to myself. I bit my fingernails hoping that he would make it out of this skirmish unharmed like he had cleverly done so many times before. More shots were fired. These shots whistled dangerously in his direction.
Adrenaline flooded my little heart. As a result, I clutched my purse and held my breath as he took a few more fantastic strides before his beautiful body abruptly collided into the unyielding sidewalk. He landed so hard that it seemed like his body almost bounced off of the concrete. My stomach burned and my knees buckled. Seeing the torrent of burning blood gush out of his back’s open wounds tore me in two. It was the most miserable moment of my life. My pretty face was now contorted with sorrow. Salty tears left tracks on my face as witnessed my man, Silky, get shot down like a worthless rabid animal.
Was he really gone? Watching him run by like some figment of my imagination amazed me. I wanted him to run, to escape. I wanted him to be free to comfort me and carry me away to some strange place that I had never heard of before like he had done in so many conversations previously. However, the man of both my nightmares and dreams had fallen before me just like any other ordinary human being, not the god that I had come accustomed to knowing him as. They hobbled my hero. Those brutal police fatally wounded him with their onslaught of shots. I wonder if they knew, or even cared, that they wounded me too. As Silky used to say, it’s street business and often, street business means blood business.
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—Blondie
ARE YOU SERIOUS?
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It’s been a few months since my perverted love, my hard-talking pimp, Silky, was slain and buried. It was a bone crushing experience and I still struggle to come to terms with it. It’s still hard to imagine life without him. I know it’s hard for some of you women to imagine how a woman, any woman, could fall in love with a no good pimp, but like life, and so many relationships, it’s complicated. It’s akin to a young female slave falling in love with an old master. Oppression expands the complexity of our hearts and perverts normalcy.
If you want to understand where I am coming from, you have to understand what situation I was in and what role Silky played in my life. Silky took my baby and me in when no one else would. He came into my life at my most vulnerable time. I was a young single mother in a strange city. Silky stepped in where another man had stepped out. He was the cure that I needed for that period of my life. Silky made me feel alive.
Yeah, he was crude, slick, loud, devious, and hard-hearted, but let’s be honest, how many of you females are bored to death with the nerdy or nice guys? Or find yourself simply turned off by average good guys? You know the nice boring guy with a good steady job or the guy that says good morning and holds the door open for you. I can’t speak for all women, but I reveled in a man’s abrasiveness, a man that offered me a challenge, a man that was defiant, and a rebel who looked at the world differently than everyone else. Silky was unadulterated excitement. He was one hostile handsome man; he was dynamic in everyway, unpredictable. And did I mention fine, oh my almighty God, Silky was one of the most physically remarkable men I’ve ever laid eyes on. The same qualities I feared about him, fascinated me. I even loved the things that I hated about him. He’s gone now and I must admit that my little ole’ life has not been the same without him.
I think back on how young and relatively innocent I was back then not so long ago, not to mention scared and alone. I was afraid, but even more frightened for my four month old baby, Devon. Silky was my dream, but now that my dream is gone what does it all mean? One minute you’re walking around with the love of your life and the next minute you’re burying him. Life loves us, leads us, and lets us down, but I gotta find a way out of this misery somehow. I have to find a way to be strong; I have to find a way to hold on.
As I stare at raindrops dancing across the windowpane, I vividly remember the moment he turned me out—a moment to never forget. It was a slow unforeseen cunning process that he pulled over my naïve eyes. Silky was a man that knew how to get what he wanted, especially from women. First he stole my heart when he bent down on one knee and sang Hey There Lonely Girl. His voice was like velvet, so smooth that my ear had an orgasm. Of course, his great looks instantly caught my eye. A bitch had to be death and dumb not to be stunned by him. For whatever reason, I liked him from the very start.
Secondly, he touched my heart and pulled me in by taking in my son, protecting both of us. My son adored him almost as much as I did. I was a young mother in a strange city, but Silky helped me make a way when I clearly didn’t have one. Although I was young and remarkably beautiful, he never came on to me or tried to sex me like most of the guys did, which peaked my interest even more.
However, Silky kept both of us safe; he made me laugh by the crazy shit he would say and funny faces he made when he said it. He slid in my head and weaved his wicked black magic deep into the frail fabrics my heart. Damn, Silky made me so happy that I genuinely felt obligated to make him happy, or try to anyway. Silky provided a falsehood of what life was like to be cared for, to feel special, and to be on an emotional high, a high higher than any drug could ever take you.
Before I knew it, he was standing over me with an unfamiliar evil strewn across his face as he asked me to depart with the beauty and body that God saw fit to bestow upon me. I was tender in emotion but full of confusion as my delusion of life crumbled before me. Here was a man that I adored both in body and in spirit asking me to part with my most intimate possession—for a small price. Morally I knew selling my flesh was wrong, but part of me, in fact most of me, felt unworthy of love, felt unworthy of his time and attention that he had spent so freely on little ole’ undeserving me.
Furthermore, I believed that I owed a great debt for his kindness to me and my son. What could I render to repay that debt? Above all of my confusion stood fear; fear had a way of breaking spirits and shifting morals unlike any vice I’ve ever known. I was afraid to be homeless again, afraid to be alone, afraid to be nothing, but weird as it sounds Silky gave me a gift of survival. Damn, his charisma made me dream, his charm made me cream, and his death left me in a stream of absolute misery.
How will I ever make it without him? I lived through his twisted dreams. A girl tends to do that when she doesn’t have dreams of her own. He did the things I was too terrified to do; he said the things I was too dim to think of. Silky was like an intravenous adrenaline drip. He was so charming and impossibly handsome; he was my world. He taught me the ropes of surviving i.e. hoeing and that’s all I know because that’s all I’ve ever done. My physical beauty was my worst curse. Men in one way or another always supported me; thus, I never developed any domestic skills once so ever. Due to my exceptional beauty and shapely booty, I never had to. Men were too busy preparing me for their bedroom to be concerned about what I could prepare in their kitchen. And the only dirty laundry they cared about was my panties or lack thereof.
Luckily, one of Silky’s former concubines, Tekia, loves my son. See after Silky got killed, my sister-whores teamed up against me, beat me, robbed me, and tossed me out of The Rip and Dip, which was his one-stop fuck, drug, and suck stop. However, Tekia loves Devon so much that she actually tolerates my existence in her home. At least until I’m able to get on my feet, which is the last thing a curb clinger wants to do because being on my feet, in a sense, means that I’m not making a dime. Of course, I could have some heavily hung trick slamming my back out doggy-style on occasion. But often, I find myself on my knees sucking on some sexually dysfunctional trick that gets off by seeing his impotent limpness disappear in my mouth more so than ‘cumming’ in it.
However, as a certified whore, I’m willing to get paid from any and every position. Hunger, hypothermia, desperation, and desire have a way of watering down hard-core morals and uppity attitudes. Most people can afford these so-called iron clad principles that they stand on. The environment that inherited me simply didn’t afford me these luxuries. So in spite of what many may think, I learned to honor what I do and take pride in every stroke, every sip of man meat that hits my lips—either set. I may not do many things well, but I can pamper some penis with this pussy, compliments of Silky.
Who is this Tekia? She’s not a sister-whore that worked the streets or The Rip and Dip with me. She is both my savior and tormentor, an ill-built and ill-tempered ogre. She actually hates me and she makes a point to throw her weight around—all of 350 lbs of it. I guess she never accepted the fact that Silky was an iron-hearted, pistol-grip pimp, and his sole purpose in life was to profit from women at any and all cost. Damn, my beloved Silky that showered me with temporary affection only to get what he wanted, but unfortunately for Tekia, being unattractive and overweight, he didn’t want much from her. He only wanted to use her apartment as a haven for his sister-whores until he was able to get enough money to start his Rip and Dip whore house. Taking no part in his majesty left her in pure agony and for that, she resented me.
Why she holds that shit against me, I’ll never know. But that’s what typical bitches do right? If a guy cheats, we want to fight the other chick instead of nigga with the dirty-dick. Why couldn’t Tekia see that we both were just two useless peas in his wicked pod? Didn’t she know every dream she had about being with Silky, escaped me too? Shit, I put my life and limb on the line to be with Silky. There were countless times that tricks offered to take me away, shower me with gifts, and take care of me, but I didn’t want a desperate attention-hungry trick. I only wanted Silky, period. Men like Silky don’t love; they only love control. He controlled my very thoughts. Didn’t Tekia realize that he was as out of reach for me as he was for her? Maybe not, but she knew how to hurt me, she knew how to inflict her enormous will on little ole’ me.
One chilly stormy Saturday night, I felt the wooden floor vibrating from her heavy footsteps. I looked up as she charged in the dining room then walked over and yanked my sleeping son, Devon, out of my arms. “Aren’t you a hoe?” she yelped.
Confounded I replied, “Yeah.”
“Then get out and go hoe—hoe. You flopped your funky flimsy ass out there for Silky. Now get out there so you can feed your son, nasty wench. You didn’t just sit around in The Rip and Dip and I’ll be damn if you’ll just sit around here and be lax as fuck." Tekia looked at me with so much contempt that it made me shrink inside.
I admit that I sold my body and did some detestable things with it, but couldn’t she see how much I loved my son? I didn’t want to lose him and have him end up in Children’s Protective Services. Didn’t she know how much I wanted to give him a normal life? I wanted him to have a loving home, an education, and stability. The type of life that I had been denied access to. I was disappointed that Tekia had disrupted Devon’s precious sleep and our bonding time. He just cried, cried, and cried. My heart simply bled.
“Tekia,” I pleaded as I handed Devon his pacifier. “You don’t have to disrespect me like this.”
Meanwhile, Devon cried even harder. I thought the vein in his forehead would burst open. She fired back, “I don’t have to let your little frail whorish ass live here either.” She patted Devon on the back to console him. “You’re a whore; you are designed to be disrespected. You disrespect your damn self every time you sell some of that trashy twat. You little, pretty, skinny bitches sicken me. You give all women a bad name.”
Didn’t she know that I would sell my soul for him? Devon was all that I had left in this entire world. With watery eyes, I walked out and slammed the door behind me. “Dear God, how can I make it with my baby?”
In a short period, times had changed, dancing disco songs had supplanted love ballads, drug abuse had sky rocketed, the presence of pimps had declined, and the police pressed streetwalkers like dry cleaners did shirts. Of course, women still worked as prostitutes; however, many were working to supply a drug habit rather than a pimp. In fact, these drug addicted bitches fucked the whore game up—prices for pussy plummeted because drug whores would damn near give away the pussy just so they could get high. I just wanted to take care of my son.
I walked in the cold wet rain even though my feet throbbed from the past few weeks of non-stop hooking in the trenches trying to snag some decent paying clients. Snagging a date became more challenging; even though I was still young, my face was no longer new in area. I had tricked with every regular local on this side of town, but there was always someone looking, someone searching for that quick fix to a bigger underlying problem. Of course, there was an occasional clash with my former sister-whores Terica, Buffy, and Vette so I walked alternative routes to avoid any unnecessary conflict.
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Every stinging step I took was a crushing reminder of the reality that I operated out of. Corns sprouted out of my toes as I switched up and down Howard Street in hopes of snagging a tag—a first time trick. I don’t know if I wanted to snag a play more for the money or to simply rest my sore feet. I had to employ the happy talent of being low-key and getting noticed at the same time. I wanted to be low-key so that vice wouldn’t arrest me but I wanted to get noticed by a trick willing to pay for my so-so soft services.
First, a little hatch-backed car pulled up, the driver rolled down his window. He casually asked, “Hey baby, what up?”
“Hopefully, your blood pressure and that dick,” I replied.
He smiled as he held his arm out of the car window with some money in is hands, “It is. Got a finder’s fee for you. Do you know where I can get some midget pussy at?”
“Midget pussy? Aint no midgets around here, but I got all the pussy you need up under this mini-skirt. What’s up?”
“Until you become a midget, not a goddamn thang. Now get your ordinary ass away from my door. Who wants some everyday whore pussy? I can’t believe the nerve of you ignorant bitches,” he yelled, then yanked his arm inside as he drove off completely pissed.
Then a driver in a station wagon pulled up and rolled down his window slowly. Leaning over he asked, “Need a ride ma’am?”
I leaned over and looked inside but something didn’t ring right. Before I could even respond, a voice from behind me called out. “Hey, that’s my ride.” This young teenager jogged passed me, slightly shoved me aside, opened up the door and hopped in.
I asserted, “Damn, watch yourself. You just gone run me over?”
The teenager popped her bubble gum, rolled her eyes, and replied, “Some of us actually have work to do.”
“Bitch, fuck you!” I stepped back and caught myself before I reached in his car to snatch the hair off this young whore.
As much as I hated to admit it, I did need to step my hustle up. There was no way she should have been able to hop her happy ass in front of me so fast. Silky would have served me good if he would have witnessed that shit.
It wasn’t a good five minutes before another vehicle stopped beside me. I leaned over winked at the respective tag, even let my cleavage be more prevalent. I asked softly, “Hey baby boy what’s your pleasure? I got that pink drip-drop for you.”
“Hummm, drip drop huh? So you’re bleeding?” he asked excitedly as he licked his lips and rubbed his hands together.
“Bleeding? Why would I be bleeding sweetie?”
“You know, you’re monthly cycle,” he continued to lick his lips.
“No, I’m not on the rag,” I continued. “So do you want some head or tail?”
Clearly annoyed, he barked, “I want some bloody pussy, period!”
“What! What’s wrong with you niggas tonight?” I implored.
“Aint nothing wrong bitch!” He shoved my forehead away from his car, “I’m gone pay for what I want, not what you want to give me. I can eat some everyday dry ass pussy anytime. I can stay home for that unremarkable shit. I want some of that once a month drip-drop shit to sip on.” He sped off into the night.
Wow, niggas were really tripping! I remember when a trick just wanted to bust a quick nutt and when you could even talk him into sucking his dick so that you wouldn’t have to go through all the trouble to give up some pussy. Now, ordinary fucking, ordinary sucking, ordinary tricking, ordinary pussy was outdated.
In fact, these twisted tricks didn’t seem to be overwhelmingly concerned about busting a nutt, but they wanted to get some twisted rocks off by degrading some nameless prostitute. They perceived whores as malleable objects and just passive actresses in their sick world of twisted fantasies. Many of these tricks were just seeking a stolen moment; others were merely acting impulsively. Sick as these men are, I can’t even give some ass away much less sell any of it.
I just wonder what it is like to live a normal life, to suck on one dirty dick a night rather than fifty raggedy dicks every other night, to sit at home on weeknights and watch TV, and have a home cooked meal. Hell, even have time to be bored from time to time instead of always worrying. My feet are aching so bad, if only I could rest these funky motherfuckas just for a minute. Maybe I should marry one of these trick motherfuckas? I’m not exactly in the best negotiation position.
Consequently, my interior monologue was eased when a mid-night blue Buick pulled beside me and the passenger door just fell open. Is there a God or what? I quickly jumped in, relished the warmth, closed the door, and without even making eye contact. I held my hand open and said, “Do you want some lips on your dick or your dick in some lips? Thirty dollars for one, fifty for both.”
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He simply drove off silently, which made me look over to notice his shadowy, wry, bitter expression. The silence left me a little unsettled, especially considering just how dangerous my occupation was. It was at that point that I realized, I was slipping, I didn’t even look in the backseat before I got in like I usually do. Desperation had blindsided me, at this point, I at least, kept my eyes on his hands, a whore should always know where a trick’s hand are at—a sudden move could mean sudden death.
After taking a quick glance of his face, I didn’t recognize him; he must be some weird tag. However, I had to be careful because a few girls had come up missing the past few weeks. And the only thing I wanted to see missing was some cash from this trick’s wallet.
“Are you fucking serious?” He hissed.
I quickly repositioned myself not knowing what the hell he was talking about. “Yeah, I’m serious. Forty is the best I can do shit. This aint no drug infested pussy. My shit clean. Good pussy aint cheap you know.” I was clearly annoyed by this point.
“Jackie—this me—Turk,” he rasped as his eyes converted into slits on his big blockhead.
Damn, I knew his voice sounded kind of familiar. My pulse paused as I examined the contours of the driver’s face in the shadows of the night as lightening flashed periodically. This can’t be; I began to cry. “Turk how could you?” I covered up my mouth, “How could you leave me and your son? How could you leave us homeless and out on the streets?"
“Bitch, how could you go fuck my best friend? How are you gonna have the nerve to ask me anything? How can you be out selling that nasty ass pussy?”
It seemed as if a beast was hiding behind the whites of his teeth. Then in lightning fashion he backhanded me, hard. I sat in a cloud of psychedelic haze and poker dots for several seconds.
“How can you be out here buying it?” I yelled, but before it left my lips good, he slapped the fuck out of me again. Half of my face was numb; the other half was stinging. “We have to eat and live,” I cried as blood gushed through my teeth. “Remember your son or does that even matter?”
His face was contorted with a distinct anger. “Where is he, while your nasty ass out here selling rotten pussy?”
“It aint too motherfuckin rotten, you used to love eating it bitch!” I yelled with heartfelt conviction as I leaned up in his face close enough for him to feel my breath while I was pointing my index finger in his face. If he hadn’t recognized me, he’d gladly pay to eat it again. What else could he be doing just picking hoes up off the corner? He certainly wasn’t doing a community service. At best, he was trying to service that old rusty ass dirty dick.
“What bitch?” he whipped his car to the right on the shoulder of the road. “I’m gone teach you about mouthing up bitch,” he slammed his ashy elbow into my nose; my head bounced off of his seat and back into his crusty elbow. My nose was bleeding; blood trickled down my throat.
“How the fuck I’m gone look,” his voice raised a few octaves. “When my boys find out that the mother of my baby is a whore, a piece of bum ass bitch out here hustling pussy? You tell me that! What am I going to look like?” he screamed, his eyes were watering and the vascular veins in his muscular neck were pulsating.
“If you were taking care of your child, you wouldn’t look like anything, but a man.” I lunged to slap him but he grabbed my arm. “If you men worried about taking care of your kids as much as what your buddies would think, some of us women wouldn’t have to hustle our pussy to feed your babies,” I screamed as blood and tears painted my ruddy face. I jerked my hand away from his grip.
Now staring at him with pure fire in my eyes, I yelled, “This is Akron, Ohio and I’m from Chicago, Illinois forgive me for surviving. What the fuck was I supposed to do when you left us in the middle of nowhere? You knew I didn’t have any money. You knew that I didn’t have anywhere to go. Where in the hell was I supposed to go? What in the hell was I supposed to do lay down on the ground and die?” I turned my head away from him and looked out of the window.
“Oh you still want to be smart huh?” He yanked his pistol from his belt line, slammed on the breaks, and then shoved cold pistol against my hot temple. “You two dollar whore. This is the thanks I get for bringing you from Chicago. I saved you from your uncle, so you could become a low-class whore?”
I simply ignored him.
He rammed my head into window with the tip of his pistol then snapped, “You get down here in Akron and think that you’re the shit just because niggas want to fuck you. And to top it off, you go fuck my nigga. You ungrateful, unremarkable, and unreasonable bitch, I ought to kill you,” he bit down on his lip. Something in his eyes said fuck it. Fear gripped my promiscuous heart and froze it. I sat there breathing silence for fear of inciting my own death. Why is he playing the victim here? He continued, “How do I know the bastard's mine any way? How do I know that it’s not my niggas baby?” He gritted his teeth.
After fucking with trigger happy Silky, I realized that if a guy is going to shoot, I would have been shot by now. Typically, when someone has a gun aimed at you, they are working on getting up the courage to use it, so I wanted to discourage that notion. “Turk, I was already pregnant by you before we messed around. I was only sixteen back then. I told you about us messing around because I felt so bad about it but when I lived in Chicago I swear to God, I never cheated on you. Never.” My lips and voice both quivered.
“Bitch it was less than a year ago, you act like it was ten years ago. Oh that’s right, you felt so bad about giving my nigga some of that dusty ass pussy that you fucked him several times while you were pregnant with my son. This nigga was nutting on my baby,” he foamed at the mouth and balled his hand into a fist. “You show me your love and gratitude by coming to Akron, fucking the shit out of my best friend and becoming a dick vending machine?”
Speechless, I simply batted my eyes at him.
Within seconds, he spit on me then clapped me with the pistol. Sharp pain dug down deep into my jawbone. Saline tears chiseled my cheekbones as I crumbled on to the dashboard of his vehicle. The stiff blow left me dazed and dizzy.
“I never stopped loving you,” I sobbed as I folded my face beneath the protection of my extended arms. Here I was confessing my love to this nigga beating the shit out of me, partly out of fear. However, I loved Turk for reasons that still elude me. He wasn’t a handsome or charming man like Silky. Quite the opposite, he was a big menacing dark-skinned man with a large bulbous key-loid on his left ear. He didn’t have the flash or the smooth walk, but somehow he had my heart.
Thunder rolled across the sky and lightening struck nearby. It rained even harder momentarily. I sat there and watched that same station wagon ride very slowly up the street. Something about that station wagon gave me the creeps, but I had more important things to worry about than that creepy station wagon—this pistol in my face.
Finally, something calmed his rage. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was seeing me crushed like a tin beer can on his dash board. Suddenly, he rubbed his gun aside his temple then put it away and began caressing my processed hair-do. His rough hands were gentle as he whispered in a broken voice, “Jackie, don’t you understand how much I love you. I brought you to Akron to save you, to help you. You’re the mother of my child; you can’t be a hoe.”
Oh now that he’s beat my ass, he wants to talk this love shit. Fuck that love shit. I know this nigga don’t think he getting any of this pussy. You should have thought about the pussy before you hit me nigga. You should have thought about the pussy before you abandoned your motherfucking son. Who in the fuck do you think you are ugly ass nigga?
I wasn’t a psychologist, but I could diagnose the depression carved in his face. I replied softly, “But I am, that’s what I do and that’s what I am. I’ve been hooking for over six months, and there is no way for me change the hands of time. It’s just fucking, everybody fucks. Some of us get paid to do it and some of us don’t. Is it so bad that I sell a little pussy to feed our little baby?”
“Fuck yeah, you’d be better off a begging bag bitch,” he replied then he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
“I’d be better off, but what about your son? Where did all the love and support that you promised slip away to? You were my best friend, my only friend Turk.” A single tear slid down my left cheek. I continued, “On the way to Akron, you promised that you would always be there for me, for our baby. When you weren’t, I panicked and I made a terrible mistake—forgive me.” My shoulders shook as tears tumbled down my face, “Please you gotta forgive me because I can never forgive myself. Look at what I become?” I held my arms out with both hands facing up.
“Jackie, damn, you hurt me,” Turk confessed as he took a drag of his cigarette. “Knowing that nigga fucked you while you were pregnant with my baby fucks with me. Just the thought of that nigga nuttin’ on my baby, still pisses me off. I aint on this soft shit but to keep it real, you shattered my fragile ego. I still want to at least see my son. It’s been months since I’ve seen him. I owe him that much.” He dropped his head, “I owe you that much.” He looked out of the window as a car drove by.
"He still looks just like you; only a smaller version,” I wiped the tears from my eyes.
A much cuter version if I must say so myself. Our silence captured so much and said things that we knew better than to say. It was weird because I wanted permission to be vulnerable, to be weak. A girl gets tired of having to be strong all the time. It’s difficult surviving in a world where it seems like no one cars. I’m tired of living in a world that if someone is not trying to fuck you—then it’s like fuck you! People just want to use you, bend you over, poke you, choke you, and treat you like their personal joy-toy. I just want to be understood, if only for one moment in time.
He disturbed my thoughts as he softly stroked my bruised cheek with his index finger. “Let me hit some of that, for the good times,” he suggested as he took one last drag then tossed his cigarette butt out of the car window.
“But what about my wicked occupation? What would your boys say if they knew you slept with a prostitute?”
He simply placed his index finger over my lips, smiled, and drove off, “Let me worry about that baby?”
His words were musical to my lonely heart and even my twat hummed a happy melody. Damn, these were feelings that I wasn’t supposed to have. How does it feel to be in the arms of man that once cared instead of being hammered under the great weight of some perverted stranger? My mind was fucking with me, but I’ve kept it together this long, no need to get sloppy and fall back now. I’ll just look the other way and be quiet; they say that there’s strength in silence.
––––––––
Turk drove down a side street and parked in a wooded area. Since it was one of those places that few people would know about, I couldn’t help but to wonder if this was where he brought all of his whores to trick with. Once he stopped, he slid over to my side of car. He looked me in my eyes and he knew that he had me.
Meanwhile, the raindrops beat against the window while thunder clapped loudly within the heavens. Simultaneously, his hot hands massaged my erect nipples and young firm breasts. His fingertips gently danced around the nipples in perfect circles. Each of his fondles shot electric pulses to my clit. Suddenly, he dived underneath my chin and began to sip softly on my damp neck. His kisses and body heat made so horny that I almost pissed myself. What could be better than a stiff fuck after a good ass whipping?
Outside of Silky, Turk was the only man that I actually gave some pussy to. Of course, I had my share of pussy taken too, especially by these rotten ass white cops. Trips me out, they can’t stand niggas but love some black pussy. I just shake my head as I think about it. Then there’s my uncle, who has had his share of sinful engagements with every orifice of my anatomy, but Turk had saved me from my uncle’s sinful touch by bringing my back to Akron and creating a fantasy for me at least until he left me out on the streets, left me to the likes of Silky. As my insides began to simmer, I couldn’t help but to wonder what life would have been like if Turk never left, if I never slept with his best friend. Thoughts like this tend to consume a girl from time to time.
––––––––
Meanwhile, Turk completely undressed me, and his eyes hugged my every curve. The fogged up windows gave me the illusion that we actually had some legitimate privacy. Here I was stark naked on his leather seats and the only thing I was ashamed of on my body was the layer of dirt on the bottom of my feet as he pulled my shoes and stockings off. My filthy feet didn’t faze him one bit; he nibbled on my innie-belly button, licked on my inner thigh, then seconds later, he nose-dived face first into my snappy-nappy pink palace. He buried his face in my thick curly bush, then took deep sniffs and relished its aroma as if it were a hot cup of fresh coffee.
I was so self-conscious about my sour damp feet so I joked albeit I was serious, “Sniff all the pussy you want, just don’t sniff my funky ass feet?”
He smiled, paused then put his nose right under the ridge of my funky ass toes, “Mmm corn-chips. Smells good to me.”
I laughed, “I forgot about your little creepy funk-fetish.”
––––––––
He grinned then he immediately sipped, kissed, and gently licked my clit meticulously in tiny circular licks until I couldn’t take it anymore. My pussy damn near squirted from the tension alone. Turk could suck a coochie like no other. Although, he was several years senior to me there wasn’t a young buck that could touch his tantalizing tongue talent.
“Ooh, dammit Turk, stop teasing me,” I groaned as I bit down on my bottom lip. My nipples were ripe and my temperature was rising—fast. Fucking had become so much of a chore that I didn’t realize I could even have active horniness anymore, but the deliberate joy that he brought my twat drove me wild; I had to have some that hot dick firsthand.
Turk hastily removed his jeans so that I could straddle his lap, slide down his long shaft, and squeeze his wide stiff erection inside of my taut twat. My pelvis thrusted back and forth with deliberate intentions then squeezed my sizzling, slippery, muscular pussy walls together as tightly as I could around his large shaft. Hearing the intoxicating soppy sounds only made my twat soppier. My wet womb had sprung a leak and boy was his pipe the perfect fit. The dick got so good that I dug my nails deep into the flesh of his shoulders. I yelped, “Get all of this fat, pink, pussy—give it to a hoe, make a bitch bleed.”
Suddenly, his erection faded and his hot hands grew cold as he gently pushed me off of him. “Jackie,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, I can‘t make love to a whore. You actually sell pussy.”
My pussy throbbed even harder while my heart stopped. “Why?” I asked.
“I never thought in a million years that my son’s mother would turn out to be a prostitute; I fuck hoes not love them,” he replied.
“What’s the difference? You purchase pussy— dusty, raggedy ass pussy at that,” I smiled at him. “And I sell it. It’s just another business if you ask me. Baby, I’m a hoe and I want to give you some pussy, don’t that stand for anything?”
Suddenly, a warm gushy sensation flooded my twat. I looked down to witness a warm creamy stream of cum hanging out the crease of my lips. “Oh you snuck a nutt in huh?” I shook my head then turned away. Niggas aint shit.
Here I was ashamed, and even embarrassed, down right defending myself to a trick, to man that abandoned both his child and me, but why am I the one on the ropes? Why am I the one stuck feeling guilty when this bastard left me? Sure I’ve made some mistakes but who hasn’t? I’m the one out here putting my life and limb on the line for our child, but maybe Turk’s in a position to make it better for us. For Devon’s sake, I certainly hope so. Devon is innocent and he didn’t ask to be the son of a part time father and full time floozy.
“Turk, I can’t change the past,” I placed my hand on his firm chest. “But with you by my side, we can change the future for our child. He deserves that much doesn’t he? Give me one more chance, let’s make it like it was; like it was back in Chicago. I still hunger for your love. Let’s be a family and give our child something neither of us had, stability and love. I surrender my life to you.” I rubbed his now soft sticky shaft.
“Jackie, I’m gone keep it real.” He slid my hand away from him then he slipped into his jeans. “I buy pussy for the rush, not so much for the actual pussy, but attempting to make a whore into a house wife, it’s like trying to unite niggas, it can’t be done.” He reached over and held my hand gently as he stared at me with his pink watery eyes. “I honestly didn’t believe it, I had heard rumors of you working at The Rip and Dip. But it is true, you hustle pussy. Everyone who is anyone in Akron will know that you were a prostitute. Is that not supposed to mean anything to me, anything to our son? What will he think when he’s old enough to know what you do for a living?”
No matter how often you hear it; the truth still hurts. I went into great detail explaining the harsh circumstances of my living arrangements. I explained how my jealous sister-whores set me up, robbed me, kicked me out, and how Tekia bullied me, took every dime I made so that I could never save up enough to get my own place. I needed Turk to pull me out of the deplorable condition that Devon and I lived in.
One thing Silky taught me well was how to sell a dream, so I poured it on thick; I had so much more to gain than to lose. I declared, “Turk, I never wanted to be a hoe, never. You were the only reason I had to live. You made me feel special and feel needed. You made me feel alive.” My eyes watered by default. “That’s why I told you about the horrible sexual assaults and that’s why I came to Akron with you because I believed in you and only you. I wanted us to have a better life. I didn’t know how to love myself... until you loved me.”
He tried to interrupt, “But...”
I softly placed my index finger across his lips to hush him. “Let’s move away and start anew, I don’t want to die like this. Don’t let me die a desperate hoe. This is what I do because this is all I know. Teach me how to learn and show me how to love again. Show me how to serve only you. Turk we can be happy like we were before.”
“I can’t Jackie,” He jerked his head away. “Look at you.”
My eyes clouded and my heart flooded with a million emotions that had been repressed. I’m still capable of loving and I so desperately need to be loved. I needed to know what it felt like to be seen in public as person and not some thing that grown men snuck into basements, back alleys, and backseats to play with.
He continued, “I have to think about this. This is crazy. Where do you and Devon live anyway?”
I told him the address then he drove me over Tekia’s. Once we pulled up in front of the grungy house, he frowned. “My baby lives in this piece of shit shack? Get our son out of there! You two can stay with me until I get my thoughts sorted out, just until I get my thoughts sorted out.”
––––––––
“Are you serious?” A smile wider than my pussy grew across my face.
I'll never forget how thrilled I felt as I scampered up those shoddy steps on my sore bunions to go get Devon. Change had come and dammit I was ready. How wonderful it would feel for Devon to have a dad, his actual dad? How would it feel to sit back and play wife? I rapidly rapped on the door; Tekia answered wearing bitterness on her spacious face as usual. She had Devon on her hip and her lips twisted to the side of her face. She said, “I can’t cash excuses. Pay up or stay out!”
I stood there completely silent for a moment just to fuck with her.
Subsequently, I grinned and calmly reached over to grab my son off of her flabby hip. “I’ll stay out—thank you very much, we’re going to stay with his father,” I hummed as I walked down her steps.
Now what fat bitch? You know the game big bitch. If you let a hoe turn one too many corners, she’ll get away from you. Well bitch, I got away didn’t I? This felt better than the dick that Turk had just dished to me. I finally had the uppers on Tekia for just once. No more of Tekia shaking me down soon as walk in the damn door, stealing money from my purse, and no more of her acting like it’s my fault that she’s built like a Sherman tank.
Tekia was furious and balked,” Bitch, I thought his daddy was a trick. He’ll just use your young dumb ass up and throw you away like the disposable piece of pussy that you are, but you are used to that anyway.”
“At least I’m small enough to get picked up,” I refuted, “don’t you wish your wide ass had that problem?”
She slammed the door just as a passerby walked by and tossed away his cigarette.
“Fuck that big fat bitch,” snapped Turk with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he opened up the car door for us.
Meanwhile, Tekia stood inside her apartment leaning up against the door—crying.
As we drove off, I felt whole. The rain had stopped, not only outside but in my heart. I was happier than a sumo at supper. We drove back to Turk’s place; it was more than beautiful. It was a nice quiet neighborhood in East Akron on Huber Street. Finally, I had made it from being a curb-hugging pincushion to a real woman, with a real family. Shit was moving real fast and I must admit it felt real good.
––––––––
At the front door, I removed my shoes and my sticky feet thanked the thick cream-colored carpet. My heart sputtered with joy like a boy playing with his favorite Tonka toy. This was a part of humanity that I thought would never exist for a rodent like me. For the first time, my eyes watered from joy instead of pain. Finally, I could raise my son and give him a sense of pride and protection. Devon would be better than me; he wouldn’t have to live and learn about these mean streets and the disgusting things that his momma had to do to survive them.
Subsequently, Turk walked up behind me, grabbed me by the waste, and I could smell the nicotine on his breath before he gently kissed me on the cheek. Man, that peck possessed so much magic, so much mystery, and so much hope. Meanwhile, I watched Devon’s drooling face study Turk’s face as if he were thinking ‘are you my daddy?’ He slobbered down my breast as his wide big brown eyes clung to every move Turk made. It was a pleasant, but odd, experience watching the two of them interact for the first time in a long time. I laid my face up against Devon’s soft curly hair and relished this unexplainable moment.
After some of the shock wore off, I looked closely at Turk and then studied Devon’s face; I was thunderstruck at how much they actually resembled each other, not just something people say. Devon had Turk’s nose and his lips, but my eyes. Of course Devon had inherited his dad’s dark complexion as well. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with sexy ass dark chocolate.
Turk took Devon and swung him up in the air over his head and made goo-goo noises and gah-gah faces. Devon laughed whole-heartedly exposing his little razor sharp teeth. Suddenly, a thick strand of slobber gushed out of Devon’s mouth down into Turk’s mouth. Turk scrunched up his face and handed Devon back, immediately. I laughed so hard that my sides ached; this family stuff was neat stuff. That one moment was filled with so much laughter and joy that I wanted to capture this moment and trap it forever. This was a Kodack moment for sure.
Afterwards, I hiked Devon on my hip and sauntered over to take a closer inspection of the marvelous marble fireplace. Damn, Turk must make some pretty good money. Turk had this place laid out to a Tee. The silk wallpaper and brass borders were beautiful and were enhanced by the matching chandelier. His plastic flowers were neatly color coordinated to match the egg white, ruddy brown, and beige marble.
Pet sized cupid angels accessorized the counter with such perfection. His designer curtains were the same color as the marble but also had a touch of brown silk embedded. Boy did he have a lot of color and detail in his house for a man. There wasn’t even a speck of dust on the countertop. I ran my hand across the smooth countertop as I observed an apparent family portrait above it.
––––––––
I picked up the portrait for closer inspection. I inspected the fuck out of this portrait. Were these Turk’s children? Children—as in plural. From studying the photo, I could tell that they were his right off. The girl looked like she was about four and the little boy maybe two years younger. It was only one problem; Turk told me he didn’t have any children. Devon was supposed to be his only Child. I was splendidly pissed but remained cool in demeanor. I asked, “Is this your ¬ex-wife and kids?”
He cleared his throat, “Uh...yeah, that’s my babies and my ex-bitch”
“How old are your kids?” I calmly asked. “They are beautiful.”
Ugly fuckers! How is he gone play me like I wasn’t shit but he had some motherfuckin kids? This ready made, just add a daddy family shit completely pissed me off. What the motherfuck! See niggas be on that bullshit and get pissed when women be on the exact same shit. Fuck this nigga.
“My daughter Natasha is five and my son Tevin is two.”
All at once, my glass heart shattered. In shock I said, “You lied, you told me when we met in Chicago three years ago that you didn’t have any children plus you conveniently forgot to mention that you were married. Is that why you would leave me at the motel room days at a time? I was locked in some musty room and you were here playing Leave it to Beaver with your family.”
Hum, but a bitch was dead wrong for fucking his friend, hell a bitch get lonely you know. What was I supposed to do? I guess I was supposed to sit around and wait for his ugly ass to get finished playing house with his key bitch then bring his raggedy left-over ass back to me. He had a pregnant wife waiting back in Akron and the nigga had the nerve to leave me! This ugly nigga is tripping! My nostrils flared as I laid Devon down so that I could grab something to hit this lying ass nigga with.
“Don’t get excited, my wife and I have been separated for years,” he walked over holding out his hands as if his heart were in it. “I just didn’t want you to pre-judge me and not give me a chance to get know you when we first met. My marriage was on the rocks and I didn’t want to come off as some typical married nigga. That’s why I moved to Chicago so that I could start all over, but when I fell in love with you, I wanted to be your knight in shining armor and take you away from your painful situation that’s why we be agreed to move back to Akron, remember?”
“Nigga, you pre-judged me, you left me because I fooled around with your so-called best friend. But niggas aint shit because even he didn’t tell me that you were married. Even though he was the one that told me about all of the different bitches you used to fool around with but to make matters worse, you already had a family! What are Devon and I? Replacements like a dirty doormat, which has been worn out from being walked over again and again.” Tears cruised along the side of my face and runny snot leaked onto the arch of my upper lip.
“Jackie you’re right, I was wrong and we both made some awful mistakes but please know that I’m trying desperately to make things right,” he placed his hand gently against my shoulder to comfort me.
Hurt and fear defined me, but I greatly needed to believe him. I had to believe him or get back used to pounding this good pussy and sore feet back up down the pavement to make a living. Get used to hooking for fast money that left my hands even faster than I could make it. Like they say, easy come, easy go and it seemed like even when I did make good money on the strip, it was never enough to keep me afloat.
Turk went and poured me a glass of stiff gin then pulled out a seat for me. I took a nice refreshing sip, which relaxed and warmed the back of my throat. The gin slowly coated me with a mellow lining of more than welcomed numbness. He turned on his house stereo; he played The Temptations. It was their Master Piece album but when he precisely placed the stylus on A Song for You something broke inside of me. “Jackie, I can’t sing but please pretend that it’s me singing these precious words only for you,” he urged.
The song was emotionally charged and the piano keys backed up by the base, colored my emotions in a way no other song have ever done. Dennis Edwards did the impossible with ordinary words—he gave them life. As I listened to the first verse, my heart froze in empathy. The part that really touched my inner cords was when he sang:
“I know your image of me, is what I hoped to be, I’ve treated you unkindly many times, baby can’t you see there’s no one more important to me- babay, babay, can’t you see through me... and we are alone yeah, and I’m singing a song for you...”
It was the most powerful song that my young heart had the pleasure of ever experiencing. The words severed my soul, chills surged up my spine, and wrung tears from my hardened heart. I needed to cry, but I had become so callous that I had forgot how to just feel, to just let my emotions flow freely. Fucking around with the likes of Silky had made me a mere machine.
Unexpectedly, there was a robust volley of knocks on the door. Turk gave me a strange look. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye as I noticed that Devon had fallen to sleep on the soft carpet. I guess the song did him in. Meanwhile, Turk scurried to answer the door. However, a heavier, angrier animated form of the woman from the family portrait stood aggressively before us. She poked her short stubby index finger in his chest as she yelled, “You big-black-ugly- bubbled-ear-bitch! Why haven’t you answered your phone?”
––––––––
I examined her very closely and she was at least fifty pounds heavier than she was in the picture, but every bit as ugly from years before. Suddenly, her evil slits beamed over at me. Now, I was the focus of her fire. “What the fuck is this young bitch doing in my house? Bitch you best be packing.” Then she spun back around to Turk. “Is this the reason that you been standing up your kids-your own flesh and blood? Over a loose piece of hood pussy?”
Turk looked confounded but his silence is what angered me.
Nigga speak up, I thought.
Hell, Devon is his child too not to mention her ranting woke him up. I was furious. I protested, “Well, for your info- this is his son, Devon, a product of this loose hood pussy. Just take a long hard look at him.”
If Turk wouldn’t speak up, damn it I would.
“What bitch!” she shouted as she stepped a step closer so she could look me up and down. “Is that your funky ass feet I smell?”
I looked down at my discolored feet and to be honest, I was totally embarrassed, but I wasn’t about to sit back and let this big-bitch get out on me. I screamed, “No bitch, it’s your fat, funky, ass, pissy pussy,” I leaped up out of the seat while Devon sat at my feet crying wanting to be picked up. Suddenly, this bull-built bitch was charging me like I was a Matador but to my surprise Turk interceded.
She hollered as she still tried to break free from his clasp. She yelled, “Little home-wrecking hooker, you had a baby by my husband—bitch I’m gone kill you!”
“Bitch, you might be overlooked, overbearing, and overweight but you bet not bring that flabby fat ass over here!” I swiftly grabbed the gin bottle by the neck off the table, “I got some fire for that fat ass.” Devon cried even more as he examined my anger. It always hurt me dearly to hear him cry.
Now, her fat face was flooded with tears, and her mascara ran everywhere. She cried, “Turk that is your motherfuckin’ baby aint it? The little nappy headed fucker even has your toes.”
“Bitch, don’t talk about my baby. Your pussy nappy,” I snapped.
“Don’t you mean nappy pussy hair?” she replied.
––––––––
“Shit, the hair on your head look ‘nappier’ than a motherfucka too,” I fired back. “In fact, I bet you don’t even have a pussy just a big fat ‘nappy’.”
Meanwhile, Turk remained silent with his jaw set ajar; I guess his big dumb ass pleaded the fifth. He just furloughed his lips and batted his eyes.
“You dark, desperate, deceitful bastard,” she smacked the plum fuck out of him. That was the only thing she did that we both agreed on. She stepped to the door and looked back over at me with stiff vengeance in her eyes. “I owe you.” Then she looked back at him and said, “Both.”
“If you want to play pussy,” I pointed back at her, “I’ll show you how to get fucked.”
“For your information, I know how to get fucked,” She fired back.
I walked over and grabbed her family portrait. “Psst, you know how to get fat.”
She slammed the door and stormed out.
Finally, I bent over to quiet my son. His little heart was beating very rapidly. Damn, I hated to hear him to cry; it tore me in two. A stream of hot tears sizzled down my entire face as I lay my face against his head and patted him on the back. I couldn’t begin to describe just how deeply hurt I was.
Turk walked over and whispered in my ear, “I’m so sorry.” Then he placed his sweaty palm against my tear bleeding cheek.
“It’s so simple for you isn’t it? Turk, you’re going to abandon us again. I just know you are,” I sobbed.
“Why would you say that?” He comforted as he cusped my face with both of his big strong hands.
“Because you should have the Olympic Gold Medal by the way that you run in women’s wombs and out of our lives.” I sneered as I cut my eye at him bitterly. He knelt down on one knee and clasped the ridge of my fingers inside of his fingertips then gently bussed the back of my hand. The gesture was so incredibly sweet that I felt as if I had a mouth full of cavities. “No one has ever kissed the back of my hands-maybe chivalry is not dead.” I smiled as the last lonely tear hung on to the tip on my nose.
––––––––
“I want to run to you, not from you. Jackie there’s no one more important to me than you. I never stopped loving you, but a man’s ego gets in the way of how he feels sometimes.” He pulled me close and hugged me tightly, “You are not an inconvenience to my life; you are my life."
He’s so full of shit but his terse words were riddled with so much emotion. And I needed to believe these words now just as I needed to believe Silky back then. Here I was in the midst of misery, hoping that heaven would take a moment to smile upon me, hoping that a mangy back alley vixen like myself could have a shot of happiness. Hoping that I could give Devon something I never had: stability and true love. But hope had a way of somehow hating on motherfuckas like me. Nonetheless, hope is all I had. Turk was all I heard.
“But for how long Turk? Until you get mad at me or I hurt your punk ass feelings?” I turned my head away. “Please don’t sell me dreams that you are not prepared to deliver.” Tears slowly slid out of my tear ducts. Until this moment, I never dreamed that I would have a chance to live a normal life, have a normal family and, most of all, be treated like a normal woman instead of a perpetual pincushion. After all I had suffered, wasn’t I entitled to just one point in time where love and life would be fair? Devon was still crying. He was hungry not to mention shitty. I dryly stated, “He needs some diapers and baby food.”
For a moment, he actually stopped crying as if he knew what I was saying. Damn, I love this little nigga. I glanced down at him and smiled, “Boy it’s time to potty train your spoiled butt.” He smiled hard some and mumbled, “mom-bee?” It just tickled me to death that he didn’t say mommy or ma-ma like all of the other ten month old babies. Devon this is my real man. I know in my heart that he will love me through the thick and thin, sleet and snow, both joy and sorrow. He will love me no matter how short I fall. Will Turk ever be able to do the same?
"Let’s go get him what he needs so that I can get back home and get some sleep. I have to work early in the morning,” Turk uttered as he leaned over to kiss Devon on the forehead.
Damn that little gesture of affection tugged at the strings in my heart. It was simply so precious to see a father show affection toward his son. Maybe Devon actually had a chance of having a father that would love him, that would be there to teach him how to be a man, show him how to treat a woman, and take on the big bad world. Experiencing these family festivities moved me. I wanted to cry, but not tears of pain, tears of joy, tears of a journey that I no longer had to travel alone.
Consequently, we skipped out to his old Buick and zipped down to the corner store. Turk gave me the money so that I could run inside and grab all of the necessary items. I decided to have a little fun and sit Devon on his daddy’s lap when I came back to the car Turk’s eyes were watering from the stiff whiff of the soiled diaper. Devon just stood up playfully as his heavy diaper dangled damn near to his knees.
“You have to change this little funky nigga,” Turk frowned.
––––––––
“That’s your little nigga, funky or not,” I smiled.
I looked at Turk’s contorted facial expression and it made me reflect on when we first met in downtown Chicago on this rainy Tuesday. It was fairly early in the morning and traffic was congested as usual as I walked quickly across the street attempting futilely to keep from getting wet. Turk rolled down his car window then handed me his umbrella and offered me a ride. I was drenched, cold, and simply not in a position not to accept it.
He told me that he was a truck driver and asked me how I liked Chicago because he was considering moving there. I told him that I liked the city but hated the situation that I was in. He casually replied, ‘I know how that can be.’ We just hit it right off. He seemed so unassuming and he didn’t come off with that everyday nigga-what’s-your-name shit. He gave me a ride to free me from the rain but he also relieved me of so much inner pain as well. We connected from the get go even though I wasn’t physically attracted to him at first. He was monstrous and unseemly but he was so different. I knew from the way he drove and talked that he really wasn’t from the Windy City.
Even if he were handsome at that time, I still wouldn’t have been attracted to him or any man for that fact. The rotten memories of my mother’s little brother taking me over to his house, sitting on his couch as he sat me on his lap to rub on this his thing down in his pants, still sours my stomach. As I got older, I realized what I was touching, but the touching and rubbing soon became more invasive.
My rubbing evolved into his rubbing and playing doctor feel good and I was his favorite patient. He bought me candy and said that it was our secret. If I didn’t want to hurt him or even worst, get mom hurt, I would keep it a secret. I knew in my heart that something was wrong, but I was too young to know what was wrong about it. How could my uncle treat me so good and so bad at the same time?
Since my childhood men had a way of manipulating and using me. Why did men have this problem with dick control? I mean there’s no boundary with many of them, they fuck whoever and whatever at any cost. Although I didn’t remember it personally, mom told me that she left dad for doing the same shit that she wasn’t aware her little brother was doing. Wow, how can a man look at his own flesh and blood in such a sinful fashion? What type of evil befalls a person’s soul that would make him want to possess his own seeds? I never knew my father, thank God, because I’d spit on him. Why didn’t he stand up and protect me? He wanted to use me just like any other no good nigga. How could he be willing to betray his daughter’s love, his daughter’s body?
––––––––
Turk’s heavy voice broke up my series of reflective thoughts. He said, “Girl, you got to change this little funky nigga.” I grabbed Devon, but the naked thoughts ebbed in my mind continuously. I had run away with no place to go and meeting Turk must have been destiny. Why else would I end up in little janky ass Akron, Ohio? I never even heard of Akron before I met Turk.
Just a week prior to our meeting, something utterly horrific took place. It was so terrible that I have to tell myself that it was a dream just to deal with the harsh reality. My aunt, from marriage, had came home early and opened up my bedroom door only to find me pent face down with her husband, my biological uncle, dead on top of me. Her face had frozen when she realized that he had come and gone at the same time. Death was the only thing that seemed to be able to stop him.
Death was too kind to him because I wanted my uncle to suffer, to be weak for once, to be butt fucked the way he fucked me but that never happened. I was too ashamed to tell mom, it would have killed her, just like it killed my uncle’s wife. I had prayed day and night that God would make him stop and He answered my silent prayers by stopping my uncle’s heart. I just wish He had stopped him before he penetrated me that day. I wish that my aunt didn’t have to bury his body and her dignity at the same time. My uncle’s assaults were more emotionally scarring than they were physically. My uncle may have been half the man that he used to be, but he was twice as endowed as any man I’ve been with to date. Why he wanted to wreck my childhood with his massive man-meat stills remains a mystery to me. Men, sick twisted motherfucking men.
“Jackie! Jackie!” yelled Turk as he shook me out of my deep thoughts. “What in the hell are you thinking about? I’ve been trying to get your attention since I pulled up in the driveway. You are zoned the fuck out."
I hadn’t realized that my mind had drifted way off into space for ten minutes or so. Shaking his head, Turk said, “Girl, you seem like your mind is on the other side of town.”
I snapped out of my haze of disgust and tried to avoid mentioning the sick pervert that infected my adolescent body with sodomy, which I believe was simply so he could avoid getting me pregnant. “I was just thinking back on when we first met. I thought that you were the best thing that ever happened to me—I still do,” I lied.
He grinned, “You did? You do? In that case, I’m gone do my very best to give you the world.”
“I don’t want the world; I just want us to be a family and you to be a permanent fixture in our son’s life and in my world. I already had someone offer me the world, but diamonds and pearls only decorate a girl. Only love and affection can comfort and complete the human heart,” I replied as I opened the pack of pampers.
“What? I thought you were only 18? But hell you sound like a philosopher or something,” he opened his door.
––––––––
“Well, you missed my birthday a few weeks ago—I’m 19 years now,” I boasted as if that one year difference meant that I was super-grown. Then I started changing Devon because his ass had to be stinging from sitting in shit. It actually felt foreign to be changing him because Tekia had been the primary care giver until his point. I turned my nose up as I bagged up his shitty disposable diaper.
“Everything you do is cute,” Turk laughed.
“Aint nothing cute about changing no shit!” I snapped.
We walked inside and prepared ourselves for bed. Before I knew it Turk and Devon were sound asleep, I thought about how our family had been recently united on the curb and couldn’t help but to ask myself, “Are you serious?” I smiled, laid Devon on my chest, covered up with the warm blanket then fell to sleep.
GONNA MAKE YOU PROUD MOMMA
Tekia picked up a raggedy paperback copy of All is Fair: The Emergence of a Menace with no cover on it. Damn, this book looked like it had been through more hell than she had been through. However, much as she loved Heat Anthony’s Do-Dirt Doctrine books, she just couldn’t motivate herself to read it for the hundredth time. After all, the antagonist C-Note would only remind her of her late reluctant lover, Silky. Tears filled her sunken eyes as she remembered the good-looking, outgoing, and charismatic Silky. Even though Silky was a hard-hearted motherfucka, it was still a tragedy to lose him so soon. Just looking at that raggedy Do-Dirt book, took her back in the past through the painful journey of when he throat slammed her.
Thinking back, maybe reading All is Fair had japped her up a bit. It’s amazing how ideas from a book can sometimes transform a person’s way of thinking. She smiled ruefully as she wondered how she could ever regale a handsome smooth talking, long-stroking, blue-eyed devil like Silky- to ever take a fat-slob like her seriously.
Nonetheless, silence was all over the place. There was no more Silky, no more Jackie, but worst of all, no more Devon. Devon was her fun loving sunshine. His laughter and his playful touch often had kept her company at this time of night when his mom would be out hooking. In addition, business had dropped drastically at the solon and loneliness was at an all time boom. Her heart was not only filled with loneliness but it was also replete with concern. How could Devon survive with a mom so immature and so whorish? What’s going to happen to him if she gets killed turning a trick?
There have been at least three working girls missing this month, just like that gone without a trace, but since their whores, black whores at that, no one really cares. Tekia took a moment to think about how sad that fact was. These women rather they were whores or not were still someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, and even someone’s mother. Even though these women were providing a service to perverted men and putting themselves in harm’s way, people demonized and criminalized the whore more than they did the tricks buying the services.
––––––––
Tekia knew that many of these girls were runaways or addicted to drugs, these women were victims themselves and the legal system only cared about arresting them, not saving them from the sick psychopaths that were out there exploiting and killing them. After that daunting thought, Tekia put her hands together and said a little prayer for Devon and Jackie. Tekia sat at the table with her face propped in her hands; pity couldn’t have thrown a better party. Out of the clear blue, the front door rattled violently. Her face lit up with a smile as if God had instantly answered her prayers. Hoping that it was Jackie and Devon, she rocked back and forth to build up the momentum so that she could up out of the chair.
Tekia cracked the door open and prepared her lips to part with, “I knew you’d be back bitch.” However, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. It was not Jackie and Devon as she had hoped, but to her surprise, it was a dark-skinned streetwalker. Tekia had never seen this particular hooker working in the area before. She asked the prostitute almost totally out of shock, “May I help you?”
“Girl, please let me in. I don’t want end up like those missing Clicks,” the prostitute insisted as she sniffled and nervously grabbed the strap on her purse.
Tires screeched and glass shattered in the background.
“Clicks?” Tekia asked as she looked to see where the source of noise was coming from.
“Yeah, do I have to spell out whore for you, with their high hills clicking as they walk up and down the street?” The whore looks back nervously. “Plus these crooked ass police are gonna beat me and probably rape me again. Please let a bitch in,” urged the harlot as she took her hand to wipe her dripping nose.
Tekia couldn’t quite decide if loneliness or compassion inspired her to let the whore in. Tekia looked out of the door both to her left and to her right to see if any police was watching. “Hurry, come in.”
The slender harlot dashed inside and sighed with sheer relief. She said, “Thank you and thank God!” The harlot sat down her purse and dusted off her bony knees, which looked like she lived on them.
Although Tekia didn’t have a high regard for whores, she welcomed the unexpected company. “Come on and sit down girl,” Tekia smiled. “Tonight must be your lucky night. Cause I usually don’t let strangers in. What’s your name?”
“I’m Roxy and yours miss thang,” she smiled.
“Tekia,” she replied as she grabbed her bag a chips and quickly took a seat on her sunken couch. “You don’t look familiar. You’re not from around here huh?”
“No baby girl, I’m from the big engine, Dee-troit. The motor city baby.” She snapped her fingers in a zig zag fashion. She continued, “I actually got stuck down here about a year ago when my girl Nicole got her head blown off for clipping this pervert.”
At this point, Tekia could see beyond the heavy layers of make-up. She started to notice some other oddities also. However, she kept the flow of conversation natural. Tekia asked as the harlot snapped her fingers. “Oh really? Didn’t that happen a little before this fine ass pimp named Silky was killed?”
“You mean the legendary Silky, the super-fine ass nigga with the long pony tail and bright blue eyes that the police shot to death up by the Trop? Shit he made me want to be Click,” Roxy sprang up in excitement by standing up to slap her narrow ass and tooting her lips out like Marylyn Monroe.
“Well at least legends outlive people,” sadly uttered Tekia.
Then Roxy did something rather strange; she yanked off her wig and sat it on the arm of the chair. Subsequently, she removed padded cups from her bra and sat them on her lap. Tekia soon noticed that the prostitute’s real hair was very short and very nappy, ultra-nappy. “You’re right about that,” Roxy answered in a one hundred percent male voice.
Tekia stood up half shocked, “Excuse me, but did you say your name was Roxy or Rocky?”
“Roxy. I’m one hundred percent woman,” he says as he gropes a hand full of his dick. “Tragically trapped inside of this man’s body and let me tell you—it’s a bitch baby,” he snapped his fingers twice. “Shit its hard selling pussy at a constant disadvantage.”
“What’s your disadvantage,” Tekia asked curiously.
“Shit, I got one bitch,” he laughed out loud.
“But I thought you said that those crooked cops were gonna rape you-again,” inquired Tekia suspiciously.
“Bitch, you act like men only take pussy. What you don’t think there’s a market for prison pussy?” he rolled his eyes at Tekia and smacked his greasy lips. “Officer O’Conner and Officer Walker are the lowest low-down dick sucking cops in the Akron Police Department.”
“I’ve heard some really bad things about both of them but...”
Roxy interrupted Tekia, “They are trying to get me to frame this lawyer because he's got some major dirt on them. I told them I’m a slut not a slim bag. Shit, I like getting my ass tore up, not tore out. ”
“I’m sorry but what does that have to do with them raping you? I mean what sense does that make?” Tekia crossed her arms suspiciously.
“They are pressing me so that I can set this lawyer up. Girl, they keep busting me for soliciting and I end up having to suck my way out of it. Now I love some ding-dong, but I aint gone choke on one of them big dry motherfuckas for free. I don’t walk them streets to provide charity you know,” He smiled and gave Tekia a high five.
“I overheard someone mention those cops on a few occasions at my solon, but you mean to tell me that the hardest cops on the planet are some faggots?” Tekia giggled.
“What’s so funny? Just because a man likes a little ass on the side don’t make him pussy just because he’s a punk. Just because I enjoy a nigga in me don’t mean that I won’t defend me,” he laughed.
“Oh I see what you saying, just because you like being fucked, don’t mean that you are into getting fucked over,” replied Tekia.
“Right, a many of motherfucka gets fucked up thinking that just because we like it in the ass, we can’t kick no ass. Since when does a preference of who you fuck make you weak or hard? See that’s the shit that pisses me off,” he ranted as he wiped his nose.
“Yeah, I never thought about it,” Tekia added. “But then again, I never thought about cops going surfing around to rape men.”
“Girl my ass is more like a ripple in a stream note an ocean,” he added and gave Tekia another high five then did a strange little bony ass wiggle in the middle of the floor. Afterwards, he wiped his nose with his arm. “So I wouldn’t exactly call it surfing. Shit, you act like a bitch’s butthole is a big ole’ basin.”
Tekia was really touched by this animated character and she really appreciated the laughter. She pointed towards the bathroom and said, “Roxy, get some tissue out of the bathroom to wipe your nose.”
Roxy walked over to grab some toilet tissue to wipe his ever-dripping nose.
Tekia continued, “My humble home isn’t much, but you’re than welcome to stay if you want. For some reason I feel as if I can trust you and I seldom trust a strange motherfucka, but I feel like I have known you forever.” In reality, she really needed the company.
“Thank you so much baby, I need somebody to trust me. Tell me all about Silky,” He batted his long fake eye brawls at her and rubbed his hands together. “I can tell by the way that you said his name that you know of him personally.” He chortled, “Don’t hold back, I’ll even tell you about some of my splinter adventures.”
“What’s to tell? He was a hardcore heartless pimp and I wasn’t even worthy of being pimped,” Tekia dropped her head in shame. “I judged a book by its cover and discovered a world of embarrassment and hostility, but I got what my fat ass deserved.”
Roxy appeared to be moved by Tekia. “Girl, no one deserves to be mistreated just because they are different.” He placed his rugged hand on her shoulder.
“I’m not different— just fat,” she lamented.
“Girl, you are particularly beautiful? Shit, who wants to be pimped anyway?” He curled his lip, “Did you really want a motherfucka tapping that ass and taking all of your money? Being pimped is not a choice like most pimps claim it is, it’s a consequence of someone manipulating someone that’s been heavily abused, not everyone can be a pimp and certainly not everyone can be a Click.”
Tekia’s eyes fell sadly on him as he continued. “Do you think that I don’t know how it feels to be mistreated, to be made fun of? Girl, I am a full-blown woman, but these big hands, this deep voice, and this coarse hair, on my head and chest, not to mention my dang-a-lang, gets in the way other people see it.”
Tekia looked up at Roxy’s heavily painted face and gave him a wry grin. She replied, “I’m just tired of being judged for what I look like on the outside and no one even gives me a chance to get know what’s on the inside.” She flops back in the couch and the couch slides noisily into the wall. “I know it sounds cliché but its true agony for me. Being fat is a social death sentence.”
“Girl, as blacks we all experience alienation just from our colored skin, but I can feel you baby; it just amazes me how phony society is,” he smacked his lips as he switches across the room. “I have had men literally jeer me in the day and solicit my services in the night, you know the big macho stand up type guys, but I’m true to what I am. I’d rather people hate me for who I am rather than love me for who I am not. I’m a quean and I can do what so-called real women can't,” he protested. “Only do it better because I always have to work harder at it.”
Tekia raised her eye brawl skeptically. “Do what better?”
“Miss Thang,” He stops in the center of the floor with hand on hip. “I can do more tricks with a dick than a magician can a magic stick. Hell, I can make some of them big ole dicks roll over and play dead. Not to mention, I swallow not spit. I’m just starting where most women quit because I love what I do and who I do it to—men.” He sat down and crossed his left leg over his right. “See, lots of these hags just want to be pleased and want to receive, but a bitch got to do some pleasing too. Bitch if you want a nigga to keep paying the bills, you got to be willing to provide some thrills,” he slapped his thighs wildly as he chuckled. “But I’m thankful for these lazy ass selfish bitches; they keep me in business with their unhappy boyfriends.”
“Roxy, you are something else,” Tekia replied.
“Well, speaking of something else,” Roxy opened his purse, dug through it a bit, then pulled out a joint. “Girl, come and help me blow this. Let’s blow our troubles away at least for the night anyway.”
Tekia wasn’t much of a smoker, but since she felt like slow simmered shit, what did she have to lose? Roxy lit it and took a long drag off of the glowing joint. Tekia watched closely as the intense glowing of joint every time Roxy inhaled. Roxy seemed to make unspoken love to each deep drag as he slowly released the smoke afterwards.
Finally, Roxy passed her the overstuffed joint. She mimicked Roxy and sucked hard, too hard and starting choking and coughing like crazy. She sounded like she would cough up a lung, maybe even a kidney or two. She was ashamed of her inexperience.
“Girl its puff, puff not huff and puff. Stop trying to be the big bad wolf. Are you okay?” he asked as he patted her on the back. “Don’t let your big ass pass out because aint enough of me to stop you from falling.”
Once Tekia caught her breath, she began to laugh. “You are definitely out spoken-too outspoken,” added Tekia as she handed Roxy the joint back, “But honest.”
Roxy took another long drag of the joint and let the thick smoke exhale out of his nostrils then passed it back. Of course, his nose dripped. Meanwhile, Tekia, still determined, tried an altered approach by taking a slow puff and gradually started to feel a pleasant buzz creep upon her. As she let her high sit in, she took another drag then stared at Roxy and began to laugh. He was a skinny funny looking motherfucka sitting around without his wig on and revealing his military grade of naps.
“Okay bitch let me know what’s so funny?” he snapped while he fumbled with his nose.
“You remind me of the time that big bad ass Silky dressed up in drag to go shit on this trick,” she giggled as ashes from the joint fell on the floor.
Roxy scrunched his eye brawls together, “What?” He takes the joint from her and put it out. He looks on the floor to make sure that the ashes aren’t still live. “It wasn’t a white john was it?”
“Yeah, at the time Silky had this young hoe named Jackie living here, but she wouldn’t or couldn’t shit on this perverted nerd,” Tekia started rubbing her big stomach. “Silky had the nerve to look over at my wide ass, I have a hard time bending over on a toilet let alone bending over a trick,” she laughed. “I aint bending over nothing but a bed.”
“Or a plate,” Quipped Roxy then he stood up and gave Tekia a high five.
Tekia shot him a dirty look but continued, “Since both of us outright refused plus the john was a big spender, Silky put on one of Jackie’s dresses then cock his narrow ass over that trick’s face and shit on him but peep this,” she scooted to the edge of the couch and leans toward Roxy. Tekia whispers, “After he shit on him, he disarmed the guy, beat the fuck out him and robbed him then kicked him right in the crack of his ass-literally.”
They both laughed hysterically. After Roxy stopped laughing, something grim dawned on him. “Remember, I told you about my girl Nicole from Detroit? She got mixed up with this hoe named Buffy that use to be on Willie Mack’s leash. Now that I think about it, Buffy told me why Nicole got shot and I believe it’s the exact same guy that Silky shit on—because Buffy was clipping the little freak while Nicole shitted on him. It’s a small town after all. See Akron too little for me.”
Suddenly, an eerie aura shot around the room. Tekia asked, “Roxy when you’re out there working aren’t you afraid of something going wrong, or afraid of being killed?”
He gave a wide toothy smile that exposed his gold-capped tooth. “No because we all have to die. I live each day like it’s my very last. I’m afraid of not living. I love my work; I love men.”
“But why not just get one man and settle down?” Tekia asked.
“Girl I said I love men! Plural baby! I’m what you would call a fast-track gay. I fuck as frequent as I can. I love men of different shapes, sizes, packages and surprises. Shit, what man do you know that aint wrinkled up or half dead that wants to settle down? Most men don’t settle down till they have to.” He folded his arms across his lap. “Plus I’m waiting to make that big dick lick to quit.”
“Big dick lick? What’s that?” asked Tekia.
“Girl, most men aint worth ten inches of limp dick,” He snapped as he fumbled with his knotted hair again.
“What’ wrong with ten inches of limp dick? That’s a good thing if it that’s long limp right?” Queried Tekia.
“Hell naw, what’s right with it? I’ll take six stiff inches any day over ten limp worthless inches. I don’t need a big ole dick just to look at, I need a big ole stiff bowel buster to bang the back out of this divine chocolate valley,” he stood up, turned around and simultaneously palmed both of his butt cheeks. “It’s not size, its stiffness that counts. The stiffer the better.”
As he was sitting down, Tekia busted out laughing and sputtered spit on his face. He angrily wiped off his makeup-caked face as he re-entered his seat. “Say it. Don’t spray it!” It didn’t bother Tekia though she was still cramped over in laughter. “You ole’ high heffa, I can think of better things being sprayed on my face.”
“Forgive me for being so silly, but I’m feeling sooooo good. And to think that I was sitting up in her feeling sorry for myself because Jackie and her son, Devon, moved out a few weeks ago. I love the little fella like he’s my own though.”
“So this Miss Jackie used to be on Silky’s leash huh?” asked Roxy.
“Shit, she was his first prize piece,” Tekia furrowed her lip.
“Is the baby Silky’s or just a son of a trick?”
“Damn, you sure are nosy bitch. Actually, I believe she went to stay with some nigga that’s supposed to be the biological father,” Tekia rolled her eyes.
“Definitely daddy’s maybe with a momma that’s shady,” Roxy quipped.
“Actually she had the baby before Silky turned her out.”
“I take it that you don’t like Miss Jackie,” inquired Roxy as he ran his left hand over the rugged landscape of his head.
“To be honest,” she paused. “I’m jealous.”
“Why?” he asked enthusiastically.
“It’s a long self-pity filled story. The night I met Silky—he knew I was drunk and his fine ass slapped some miracle-dick on me. I mean that dick was so good.”
“Roxy interjected, “Tell me more, tell all of your sins to sweet Jesus!”
“Girl, I was on cloud nine, here was one of the finest men—ever, sharing his sweet, sweet back and even sweeter words with me but he was just using me,” she lamented.
“Hum the ole woo-work thang, go on tell me more sweetheart,” Roxy asserted as he now chewed on his nails.
“He sold me a world full of fantasies and I foolishly bought everyone.”
“But what does that have to do,” he bites nail in between his sentence, “with you being jealous of Jackie?”
“He fucked her in my bed while I sat right here on the couch!” She childishly folds her arms, “Then he blatantly came out here and told me that he was gone put her out on the track. I’ll be painfully honest; Jackie’s really cute and has a figure to kill for.” Tekia rubs her flabby stomach again. “But after Silky turned her out, he was totally finished with me.”
“I see who you’re really mad at is Silky because he disrespected you but pimps by nature are selfish characters. You can’t have a soft side and be an effective pimp at least not where I come from,” Roxy was now fidgeting with his nose again.
“But I thought he really cared about me,” Tekia voice quivered as she rested both of her hands on her big belly.
Roxy went to the bathroom right quick and returned to continue their conversation. “Girl, pimps are always looking for the latest greatest piece of pussy to push out on the market. You made the mistake that every hoe makes—believing that a pimp really loves you, but a hardcore pimp like Silky, only loves his money never his hoes. Look at how quickly pussy depreciates on the same streets.” He caresses his thigh. “Unless you don’t mind, if they mine in the chocolate valley of Sodom where there is always a forbidden treasure to be found.”
“I know that shit has got to hurt,” Tekia rolled her eyes.
"Naw, it don't ever hurt when I shit," he grinned devilishly.
"You know what I mean, Roxy."
“Girl you bet it does, especially when it’s unoccupied,” he smiled as he seemed to drift into space. “It’s no different than when you first lost your virginity; the anus is a place full of elasticity also.”
“That shit seems disgusting, no offense!”
––––––––
“It’s only as nasty as the people involved, if you have a fishy, pissy, pussy then that’s nasty!” He snapped his fingers and crissed-crossed his ashy legs. “If a nigga got jungle rot at the crouch that’s nasty. Its good sex at best and slightly painful at worst. Bitch don’t act like you aint had no dick.”
“Well, yeah, but not in the backside, just ordinary regular face to face humping,” Tekia replied.
“Girl aint nothing like having a nigga look you directly in the face, right in the eye as he fuck the dog shit out of you,” Roxy curls his lips for emphasis. The glistening sweat only makes him look more ridiculous.
Tekia smirked as she observed his tugboats that doubled as feet. The mere thought of another man looking this funny looking character square in the face to fuck, made Tekia laugh hard inside. Her eyes were bloodshot from a combination of being high and sleepy. She smiled, “I can’t explain what makes me feel so safe around you but I’m about to take my wide ass to bed.”
“Let me e-xxx-plain, girl, you’re high as hell,” he chuckled and fidgeted with his nose. “Since you feel so safe why don’t yo’ big ass go in there and get something to eat? You’ve been out here playing with yo’ stomach for I don’t know how long. You got the munchies; handle that shit.”
Tekia just laughs and gets up. Then Roxy gets serious for a change, “You couldn’t be safer and I owe you big time for be so trusting and willing to help out an ole rusty quean like me. I come from a world where people learn to never trust, and it’s a most burdensome existence.”
Tekia came back in the room with a dingy blanket and slobber-stained pillow in one arm and a fist full of fried chicken in the other. Roxy got a thrill out of watching Tekia trying to balance the items, but he knew the blanket and pillow would bite the dust before a crumb of that chicken would. After he grabbed the blanket and pillow, she wobbled into her bedroom.
Roxy felt the vibration move through the floor as she flopped on her bed. “Damn,” he lip mimed. “Thank God I aint that bed.” Roxy laid down and tried to go to sleep but he was used to roaming the streets like a vampire, all night. He got up and walked into the bathroom to pack on some more make up. “Mirror, mirror tell me what is? Oh yes, I’m looking fizz, fizz, fizz,” he clapped his hands and licked his lips.
Secondly, he made sure that his revolver was loaded and fitted into his tailor-rigged purse so that he could slip his hand in the back of it without anyone being any wiser of it. By the time he came out of the bathroom, Tekia had the whole house rumbling with her snoring. Roxy knew the north side like the back of his hand, but he didn’t want to shit too close to where he ate so he decided to go east and explore that side of Akron. However, he made a quick stop at the notorious Trop where all of the-wanna and gonna be players parlay at.
Meanwhile, Officer O’Connor and Officer Walker pulled up beside an aging streetwalker and stopped. “Hey get your old ass over here,” yelled O’Connor, who was a chubby beer bellied Irishman.
“I’m not bothering no body,” she looks the officer up and down. “That don’t want to be bothered,” replied the streetwalker sarcastically.
“You better hope that maniac murderer don’t want to be bothered,” smirked O’Connor, “he likes easy targets just like you.”
Then Officer Walker, a tall lean dark-skinned cop, leaped out of the cruiser and whacked the whore behind the knee and sent her tumbling to the sidewalk. His face lit up from satisfaction, “I like targets like you too.”
“I thought you liked male targets. You ole’ Uncle Tom ass nigga,” she spat as she lay there spawned in pain.
“I’m gone give you a lesson on uncle,” he sneered as he dragged her behind dumpster that sat behind a decrepit apartment. He pulled her ponytail then busted her across the head with the not so-nice stick. She cried out vainly in pain. “We gone do this until you say uncle bitch,” he smiled.
Meanwhile, Officer O’Connor, his partner stood watch to make sure that the coast was clear. At this point and time, Walker had the old hooker bent over and her skirt up over her head as he brutally crammed his nightstick in her rectum. “Say uncle when you had enough bitch. Old bitch, you gone respect the law. You’ll think twice about calling anyone else Uncle Tom.”
“Uhhhh! Why don’t you just fuck me in the ass? Oh that’s right, I don’t have enough dick to peak your interest. You sick motherfucka,” she screamed in out in pain as her face was littered with tears. Hurt but not broken, she defiantly screamed, “I bet the night stick the only stiff thing you got. This makes you a man huh?”
“No this does,” he barked as he yanked the bloody shit stained night stick out of her rectum then rammed it into her mouth. “Um, um um good aint it. Now your mouth is as dirty as the rest of you old bitch.”
She looked in his eyes and they revealed how dark and perverted his soul was. Here was an officer of the law so cold and distant from humanity that even a lion would shake his head in disgust.
“Hey Walker, wrap it up,” warned O’Connor. “Here comes Maddox and Murray in an unmarked car.” Walker handcuffed the prostitute and said that if she said anything stupid, she wouldn’t live long enough to know better.
These officers operated out of pure terror and far outside of the law, but when you are victimizing victims without fame or fortune, without societal merit, who cares? Whores were perceived as mere litter on the streets. Meanwhile, Walker and O’Connor was an urban nightmare and if you were lucky enough you woke up.
Simultaneously, exactly two blocks away, a young runaway prostitute gets into a station wagon. She is very young and very attractive. She smiles, “Hi handsome. What can I do for you?”
He looks at her, not saying a single word. He leans his head from the left to the right as if he is sizing her up. He slowly gazes at her young thick thighs, but he doesn’t consume her sexually like a typical trick does. In fact, his facial expression is rather stoic. She is taken aback from his odd behavior, “Hey sweetie, time is money. What can I do for you? I got some nice tight-teenaged pussy for you unless you want a blow job?”
He instantly grabs her by her long blond hair and bashes her face into the dashboard repeatedly, she’s unconscious from the brute force, and her face is a bloody mess. He pulls off slowly into the night. The killer replies, “Fuck some head, I want your entire body.”
Meanwhile, back at the Trop, the parking lot was packed with fine automobiles and pimps that owned them. The bar was filled with smoke and hostile hoes. Some of the hoes came to rest their tired feet; others just wanted a drink, wanted to numb the feeling of their lowly existence. Top-notch and younger whores’ feet could barely touch the ground because tricks scooped them up as soon as they stepped out of the Trop. Of course, with a stone killer in the midst, every stroke a hoe took could very well be her last. Life and death were twin risks in a world that forced women into a substandard position, and cursed them for finding a way to survive it.
However, Roxy loved the thrill of the nightlife. Danger was an aphrodisiac. The thought of stroking and sucking on some strange love birthed thoughts of perverted joy. He was full of fire and had very little fear as he awaited a catch. Eventually, a tan Impala drove up beside him. Roxy spoke in his softest feminine voice, “Hey handsome, what’ your pleasure?” The big beer bellied scruffy bearded trick exposed a wide wicket picket fence smile.
“What can get for under ten dollars?” He asked.
“You can get the fuck on!” Roxy smacked his lips and stepped back from the car.
“But baby, that’s all I got,” he pleaded.
“Naw that aint all you got. You got a problem!”
The trick sighed and began to pull off until Roxy spoke up. “Okay, if you take me to 5th Ave on the east side, I’ll give you a ten dollar blow job.”
“Oh-Oh-Oh-kay, you got a deal,” he stammered. The trick sped Roxy to 5th Ave, another haven for hoes and hoodlums. Guess where the john pulled behind? None other than a sanctified church. Sinners truly were not picky. Roxy took the ten dollar bill and afterwards pulled out the john’s musty ding-dong and took exactly ten slurps and stopped completely. The tricks jaw dropped, “Tha-that- that’s all?”
“Tha-tha-that’s right porky, he stuttered mocking the john. Ten dollars worth. Remember the price of sin is high.” Roxy hopped out, sniffled a bit, and gazed up at the cross on the church. “Lord, forgive me,” he looked back. “And him too but a girl gotta do what a girl gotta do.”
Roxy was on fresh turf, where he needed to be. Part of what made street life enjoyable was the risk and unpredictable elements. He heard rumors of the fast and furious Arlington Street, but tonight he would find out if it were fact or fiction. Roxy was ready for the rush and more importantly the money.
It didn’t take long before this tag in a station wagon pulled up beside Roxy. However, soon as Roxy grabbed the door handle and the driver observed his biological gender, the driver immediately pulled off.
Roxy didn’t skip a beat. He switched fast and hard until he caught the attention of this high roller driving a white Mercedes with white custom deer leather interior and wood panel. Roxy smiled at this handsome driver as he hopped in the vehicle. This dude was dressed to impress: pimp material. He donned a maroon and gold double breasted silk suit with matching gator boots. What really caught Roxy’s attention was the huge chunk of ice, the diamond was so large it looked blue.
“I’m Roxy. Nice ring baby boy.”
––––––––
“Oh you mean this little old thing; it’s only five karats. They say it aint the size but the clarity that counts,” he smiled with his 14-karat smile. “I’m GQ by the way”
“Only five karats huh?” Roxy gently grabbed his wrist and took a closer look. “You go big daddy.”
“Roxy right?” he pulled off, gave Roxy a second look over. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Most men that pick me up do,” Roxy grinned and puckered out his lips.
GQ made a turn on Baird Street then parked in this unknown dark driveway. “Do you want to make some real slave paper?”
“Do you wanna make some sense? Hell yeah-bring it,” snapped Roxy.
“Good, here’s five hundred dollars. My rules are very simple—keep your mouth shut unless it got some dick in it,” ordered GQ. “This is how this works, you start off at five hundred a night for the first month, and if you prove to be a good investment, it doubles after thirty days, cool?”
Roxy readily accepted the down payment. “I’m game but what’s the catch?” Roxy was very street smart and knew that nothing plus nothing always equals nothing, "The only thing free in this world is trouble. And I couldn’t help but to notice your term slave paper as well."
“No catch at all. Why do we pay you up front and so much, simple we don’t want you out on the streets getting hot, or mingling with low-life trick traffic. Plus we have some high-class clients and they never discuss business with the guess, all you have to do is suck and fuck. I have a very affluent boss with a very twisted sense of entertainment. Keep in mind, we all have to slave for this paper. If you aren’t born rich, you are hustling, any hustle is a form of slavery; it’s a perverted mindset that hustlers must have to keep plowing in the field, keep us slaving for some paper. Basically I run high-class afterhours that never closes, the party never stops. There’s plenty of liquor, plenty of gambling.” He smiled, "and plenty of prostitution. That's where you come in. I keep the party shit up and you keep dicks down. It’s a drag queans dream.”
“A drag queans dream?” Roxy contorted his face in disbelief.
“Yeah, lots of dicks and big spending tricks. You don’t have to negotiate prices because you are paid a flat fee up front. That’s the catch, you get paid the same price rather you fuck five or fifty tricks. Some nights are slow and you may only turn a few tricks.”
GQ leans over and continues, “But where else can a hoe make this kind of money with no questions and no worry of being badgered by the police? You are sheltered from the rain, sleet, and snow. Sheltered from low-level thugs trying to muscle you out of a few crumbs. Remember my rules,” he sneered and pointed his index finger aggressively just centimeters away from Roxy’s face. “The moment you took my money, you are under my jurisdiction to take my orders. Fuck who I tell you to, period. Come on in.”
As Roxy got out of the fine automobile, he paid close attention to his surroundings. He noticed the fancy Jaguars, Lincolns, and Limos lining both sides of the street. It was truly unbelievable. Roxy even noticed two parked cruisers, which made him very uneasy. What’s going on? What I have I got into? Roxy thought.
GQ wasn’t touchy for no reason. Once Roxy stepped into the joint, one question answered itself. The clientele was not only distinguished and prestigious but they were blatant homosexuals. It was a massive male orgy. Homo-heaven? Roxy was mystified with this homosexual underworld that he never heard about in little ass Akron. It was a modern Sodom and Gomorrah, but usually when things seem too good to be true, they usually are.
Roxy eyes searched desperately for any real women: there wasn’t a single ovary in the entire set. “Are these men as important as they look? This somewhat of an oddity.” he contemplated as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
Pink, portly, pale, white men courted drag queans on each arm. Even the most unattractive man was treated like a king. This fantasy world was engineered to exploit the privileged and their vice—homosexuality. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, as drags did impressions of Labelle and the Supremes on a little prop stage. This place was so elegant that it gave Roxy the creeps.
There were well over sixty clients and several dozen drags. Shot callers played pity pat for several grand a hand, and that’s a sharp difference from the five to ten dollar hands that Roxy was accustomed to seeing. The average bottle of wine was at least three hundred a bottle. Some of the wine was more than 40 years old. Roxy's eyes and sharp mind just hugged on to every detail.
Lastly, Roxy noticed a door slightly cracked open with some beat red-faced john getting the snot beat out of him. He was screaming like a little baby but it must have been a welcome occasion because no one seemed to be concerned. Roxy couldn’t seem to shake the one question in the back of his mind, “What lies beneath the meaning of this unique gentleman’s club?”
In a flash, Roxy zoomed in on this red skinned muscular Chicano with a huge tattoo on his chest. It was a picture of a gorgeous Latino girl with huge breast coiled within a huge snake. This red skinned muscular Chicano was one mean looking motherfucka and mean to Roxy was a turn on. He loved to dance with danger.
However, these two nosy ass drag queans seemed to stand guard for this handsome character as if he was exceptionally important. He had some type of rank but he certainly didn’t fit into any of the other affluent gentlemen’s persona. He had this street streak in him and he was a natural born leader. The Chicano took a drag from his George Burn cigar and looked over at Roxy with a sour grimace on his face. Roxy lusted over his sculptured body that was draped with a gold necklace. He walked over and blew smoke into Roxy face. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Roxy....”
The Chicano seems kind of suspicious of Roxy. “See something you want?”
Roxy politely removed the cigar from this Mexican stranger’s mouth. “Yeah, two things, one for you not to blow smoke up my ass and two for you to put some of your erect fire in it.”
Subsequently, GQ walked up and introduced Roxy as a new employee. “Roxy, this is Lino.”
Lino backhanded Roxy; the two queans stepped up immediately in the event that Roxy reacted. Lino snapped, “You slimy sodomite, ever put them dick beaters in my face again and put a chain saw to them. Don’t confuse the emperor with the guess. GQ are you getting lax on the screening?”
Roxy’s lip was busted; he slowly stood back up with a Bustback look in his eye. Before Roxy could say anything, Lino protested, “I know you want to say something that’s gonna get you fucked up but don’t.”
GQ threw up his hands and stepped back; Roxy folded his arms.
A few seconds later, a tall tan guess stepped up to Roxy and pulled out his alert penis. “What are you working with?”
Roxy rubbed his numb face with one hand then grabbed the guess’ hand, “You—big boy. Let’s go somewhere in private.” Roxy locked eyes with Lino but he knew better than to test this killer.
The trick grabbed a fist full of mints out of the candy jar before he took Roxy into this private room. Roxy sucked him off like a world wind. When they were finished the guess began to pull up his pants, before Roxy countered with, “Are you forgetting something?”
The guess looks baffled placed two more mints in his mouth, scratches his head and replies, “Oh yeah, thanks.” Roxy wipes his mouth off, smacks his lips, and holds open his hand, but the Trick becomes furious. He clutches Roxy by the throat. “Are you trying hustle me you piece of man-meat? You know the rules, no negotiations that’s why you’re pre-paid, let’s see what Lino has to say about this.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Roxy gasped for air, wiped his nose, and hopped off the edge of the bed. “Forgive me, I have to get this street shit out of my head, please don’t tell Lino.”
“You have to pay to do business here, not me, this is my shit.”
“It is?” Roxy had fucked up.
Suddenly, GQ’s conversation bandied in his head.
“Let me slide, I’ll never try to slick you or no one here again,” pleaded Roxy.
The distinguished gentleman replied, “I hope not. Mistakes made here are fatal.”
Meanwhile, GQ took it upon himself to leave. This must have been business and not pleasure at all for GQ. In fact, GQ seemed a little uncomfortable around so many homosexuals. After Roxy was done calming down the stallion, he sighed in relief. He just admired handsome fiery men.
Although the distinguished gentleman displayed authority, he didn’t posses the grit of Lino. Lino was very masculine, not the type of guy that most people would suspect of being a homosexual. Then again, contrary to popular belief, there is no stereotypical “type” of homosexual. Roxy wondered if Lino was in the closet or did Lino simply not get down with men. Usually Roxy could read could so-called straight men but Lino had him puzzled.
Roxy returned to the lounge and grabbed some mints from the candy dish since he just sucked on some dick. But Roxy grimaced, these mints tasted strange. Lino had cleared the air. He said, “So how do you like our mint flavored antibiotics?”
Roxy nodded, “Oh that’s why they taste like this.”
Lino replied, “Yeah, I have to protect my interests and prevent these dirty dicks from spreading STDs. Diseases are bad for business.” Lino’s expression was the face of a ruthless dictator, and his two she-male bodyguards shared his rigidity. Hostility was carved deeply into their faces. This was big business and where there is big underground business, there are big risk of ending up underground with it.
Consequently, one of the tricks was getting plenty out of hand with a quean hooker. He seemed drunk as he was slapping the drag all over like a wind-storm does tree leaves. He was really causing an enormous disturbance. Lino didn’t seem to be pleased a bit. Lino ran through surrounding mob, shoved the drunkard’s forehead into the wall, and stiffly suckered punched the trick in the ear; the trick plummeted over a client's table. “Pardon me,” Lino said calmly to the couple as he continued to tear off in the disrespectful john’s ass.
Afterwards, Lino grabbed a wine bottle off of the table then bashed the trick in the head. The bottle shattered and showered bloody glass everywhere but Lino didn’t stop there. He pulled the trick up by his tie and choked him until he was an eye popping bluish purple fool. “When there’s a problem, “Lino slapped him with his free hand, “bring it to me!” He let the john fall back down to the ground.
Lastly, Lino pulled out his brass knuckles and busted the client’s skull for good measure. “I say this and say this one time only, when you disrespect Gentlemen’s Association, you disrespect me. Either this will be a classy joint or a deadly one.” After his display of violence, he grabbed the chubby unconscious guy and dragged him to the back. Roxy loved a man’s man and Lino fit that definition.
Roxy enjoyed the brief rumble and he decided to take a drink from a drag waitresses. As he sipped on his gin and juice, he suddenly felt morally naked and deeply ashamed. He looked at another bowl of antibiotics on the bar and asked himself, “What kind of animals are we? Do we think that we can live recklessly with little or no consequences forever?”
Subsequently, his mind drifted off into thought of his elder sister and his precious mom. His mother was a very religious woman and she never openly accepted his alternative lifestyle. She use to say, “God hates the sin but loves the sinner and so do I.” Her words were soft-spoken but very powerful. However, his mom was sickly and their difference in lifestyles had pushed both of them their separate ways. She never spoke harsh to Roxy but her eyes always looked so sad when came around, especially when he was dressed in drag.
Roxy had left home years ago but still pined for her unconditional love. Although he was ashamed that he couldn’t’ be the son she always wanted him to be, a straight man, he still wanted to make her proud. This personal issue bothered him deeply and divided his soul. Roxy was raised in the church where he was taught that union between man and man was a sin and the wages of such sin was death, eternal damnation. Roxy always wondered why people made such a big deal about same sex relations when few people made a big deal about fornication and adultery, which were also sins, just different types of sins. Why was homosexuality the ultimate sin to so many people?
Taking another sip on gin, he reflected on his sister, Rhonda. She was two years senior to him and their relationship was strained also. Every since she found out that he used to sneak and wear her clothes, she hated him. She was embarrassed that her little brother was a little sissy. She never understood why a handsome man would want to dress up in his big sister's clothes but she never understood the comfort that women's clothing brought him.
Roxy couldn’t help how good a woman’s clothes made him feel. Why did he feel so good dressed in drag? Why couldn’t anyone accept him for what he was? Why didn't those people closest to him understand? Doesn't the bible say love everybody? He was a misunderstood woman in his point of view. After having two more drinks, Roxy was still dreaming of living a normal lifestyle, but how can an emasculated spirit ever regain his manhood? Once you’ve become the ‘fuckee’, you never go back to being the fucker. It’s a boundary that a man can never re-cross just like a woman can that can never be a virgin again, the same can be said of a man who has been dominated and penetrated anally.
Seconds later, he found himself numbly going to the backroom to turn a date. This particular black guy seemed to be really unsettled and quite nervous; it made Roxy somewhat suspicious. After all, Roxy figured why come into this establishment if you are so damn nervous. Roxy asked as he leaned over to pull down his pants, "Can I make you a little more comfortable?" The john put his hand up as if to gesture that he was fine. It wasn't until Roxy saw his badge that he related to the nervousness. "If it makes you feel better, you certainly aren't the only cop in need of my services. I can see that you’re quite nervous."
"Its not that I'm so much nervous,” he replied as he looked up underneath the bed and felt around the room for any type of recording devices. “It just that if someone was to happen so see this. It could prevent me from getting my promotion."
"Well, am I at least good enough to get some professional courtesy? What's your name?" asked Roxy.
"I'm Parks but I won't be making a habit of coming here. I just heard so much about the Gentlemen’s Association that I had to see it for myself. Akron’s biggest little dark secret," he fasten his holster up. “Here’s a piece of advice. Be real careful around here. It’s some big time gangsters that run it. They’re getting sloppy and don’t screen as well as they used to."
Roxy shook his head and just took the comment as a nervous closet cop worried about getting caught being a back-alley-boy, a closet homosexual. The boys in blue wouldn't find that too honorable would they? Meanwhile, Roxy prepped himself and grabbed a couple of the mint antibiotics; he noticed a memo on the wall. It read: “Workers are welcome to stay in guess room as long as you remember that you are working! Never turn a client away.” Hum, you can take a little nap here as long as you mind being awakened out of a deep slumber for a quickie huh?
The sturdy built cop got his rocks off quickly then handed Roxy a hundred and a fifty-dollar tip. “Just between me and you, I know the rules," whispered Parks.
However, this anxious officer seemed to make another inspection before leaving the room. He looked behind the curtains, under the beds, and checked to see if the mirrors were double mirrors by leaning against them to see if he could see through them. Meanwhile, Roxy cleaned himself up but was woozy from the drinks and lack of sleep so he decided to nap. However, it wasn’t long before he was awakened by Lino.
“Roxy, I hear that you have some good head on your shoulders; feel free to stay a couple more days. There’s a walk-in closet in my master room where you can change into some clean clothes. ” Lino said, shortly after, he and that same sturdy built cop whispered back and forth briefly. Lino nodded his head as he listened intently.
Roxy was so fond of Lino that he couldn’t entertain saying no, but what about Tekia? How would he get in touch with her? He hopped up to prance through the master room. It looked like a dressing room for Hollywood stars rather than hard-legged hookers. The dressing mirrors were huge and the vanity table was just as big. Queans were in there styling, polishing nails, curling their hair, shaving their bodies, and tying their dicks against their thighs. The wardrobe was extensive: there were glittery mini-skirts, silk body dresses, jean hip-huggers, and tie-dye halter-tops. This was a homo-fashion haven. There was absolutely nothing left to chance.
Roxy loved the arrangements so well at this gentlemen’s club that before he knew it he had been slaving at this non-stop sex shop for four days. He was proud of his 2,000 dollars that he made, but his psuedo-feminine competition wasn't so happy. There were two in particular: Dana and Brown Sugar, Lino’s hired protection. Brown Sugar was a stout unattractive quean with this thick uni-browl hogging up his forehead, but the long lean quean named Dana stepped up to him. "You better watch yourself miss thing; it’s lonely on the top," he pouted and batted his long fake eyelashes.
"No bitch! It’s lonely at the bottom of pine box. Do you want me to tear this nice club up with your raggedy ass?" Snapped Roxy as he slammed Dana into the door then quickly placed a straight blade to his throat.
"I'm sorry Roxy,” Dana pleaded half-heartedly. He was surprised at how fast Roxy moved. “Lino will kill us both if we take it there."
"No, he'll kill me because you’ll already be dead," quipped Roxy.
Dana eased back and silently followed behind the direction of Officer Parks.
However, Roxy grew suspicious of this secret society; it was perfect. It was too easy and from where Roxy comes from if it is this easy to get, it usually cost dearly. Why would anyone let queans make this kind of money all for themselves? There must be a hidden agenda,” he thought. “These are greedy gangsters, not honest business men. Clearly, these men could careless about charity.”
Suddenly, he became infected with paranoia. Every body's eyes seemed to be trained on him. Everyone seemed suspect. Dana still gave out hostile stares. Roxy gut shook; something was deeply dangerous and wildly wrong but he knew it was heavy, deadly heavy. He nervously turned one last trick. It was time to get back over to Tekia’s on the North Side.
Once he arrived back on the North Side, Tekia was ecstatic to see him and reached for Roxy with open arms, but full hands. “Roxy, I was scared too death. I thought you ran into them cops or something. Where on earth have you been? I don’t have phone that’s the only reason I didn’t give my number.”
“Out making me some money and boy does my ass hurt,” he joked as he pulled out four hundred dollars to give her.
“Roxy, you don’t pull no punches do you?” Tekia quickly ate a donut to free her hand.
“No but I’ve been pulling on plenty of dicks,” he caresses his forearm. “Bitch's wrists are tired too.”
Tekia counted the unexpected money, “Thanks but what is this for? You haven’t even stayed her an entire night.” She happily put the money in her deep cleavage and hurried back to her box of donuts.
“Rent. I hope that you would be kind enough to let me cop a copy of the house key because I’m a creature of the night,” he removed his hot wig and wiped of his sweaty forehead.
“Roxy, you aren’t in trouble are you?” asked Tekia as she sucked down a series of donuts without breathing.
“Not if you let me live with you for about a month to get back on my feet,” he replied.
“Roxy, you know what I’ve been through so please don’t fuck me around. Long as you are straight up with me, I don’t have a problem with it.”
“No problem. I’m in the business of keeping things straight up,” he joked. After she left to go in her bedroom, Roxy searched for a good hiding spot to stash his cash. Then he found a puckle under the carpet behind the couch. He had finally made up his mind; he was going to make his momma proud. If only for one day, she would be proud.
LOVE IS GREAT
I couldn’t believe that two and half months had already passed by. Even a Hollywood hooker couldn’t have been happier. I couldn’t believe it; Devon took his first step. I was so excited, too bad Turk wasn’t there to see it. Everyday Devon looked more and more like his daddy. The insurmountable joy to be able to sit and watch him grow instead of working the streets made me so delighted. Just looking at him made me realize that time waited for no one and how precious it was just being there to experience him evolve from a baby into a little person.
Only a mother can understand the bond of bone and blood between her and her child. When I looked in Devon’s soft happy brown eyes, I wanted to give him refuge that was safe and warm. I never wanted to see him hurt like I hurt; I never wanted to hurt him like my family hurt me. When he put his little bitty arms around my neck, I wanted to be everything that he wanted me to be. Lord, did I love this little fella. It felt great to be loved and to be treated like a real woman instead of an item.
After bleaching Turk’s work clothes and burning some grits, Turk slowly taught me how to cook, clean, and iron not to mention how to keep his huge house in order. I caught on quick because I wanted to make my family complete; I wanted to do my part in perfect fashion. As a little girl, I had dreamed of having my own loving family. Now, I was a mother, a housekeeper, but when would I become a wife? Even if I didn’t bring anything to the table, I would prepare it once he brought it.
Turk worked a swing shift that consisted of all type weird hours; however, he was an excellent provider. I made sure that he had a hot dinner, hot bath water and some really hot pussy whenever he got home. However, every once in a while, I would starve him out on the pussy tip just so that he wouldn't get tired of a bitch. There were but a few benefits of being a street bitch; I learned that a frequent client seldom stayed around long before they were seeking some fresh sexual pursuits. Guys grow tired of the same old pussy so a woman has to blend a balance of giving him enough without drowning him with too much access. To me pussy was pussy, it was all pink and if unwashed, it all got funky. However, most men had this intrinsic fascination with new pussy.
––––––––
Often I could look into their eyes and see that the thrust alone of penetrating a foreign product meant more than the sexual act itself. One week I would be the hottest commodity on the block, by the next week if I didn’t relocate, I’d suffer the aftershock of being considered old, outdated, washed up, and unwanted pussy. At this point, I couldn’t afford to be that piece of unwanted pussy.
Nonetheless, Turk made me want to spend the rest of my life with him, but to be totally honest the notion to hook occasionally crossed my mind. I guess it was just something about the actually act of turning a date. Seeing the facial expressions and listening to the twisted expectations of the tricks never bored me. In fact, Silky still crosses my mind every now and then even though he’s dead and gone. I guess as humans we fight to hold on to the past—good or bad.
See, I was trapped underneath the weight of his invincible institution of pimping. My mind was pressed in constant conflict against my heart, but I was dumb. I needed Silky’s protection, his superior guidance. Silky provided a lifestyle of full of fantasy, fear, and fascination but with Turk it’s about reality, romance, and totality. Turk didn’t want to exploit my body because he wanted to posses all of me, something Silky could care less about.
Turk is also good with Devon and Devon lights up bearing a toothy smile every time his daddy comes home. It's like a miracle and I pray that it never ends. Turk massages and kisses my imperfect feet and even does his raspy rendition of this little piggy with them little funky fuckers. He takes his thick calloused finger tips through my soft hair before he cradles and rocks me to sleep. Some of the times, he doesn’t even try to fuck me. No man has ever just held me without selfish ambitions. Love is great and not being subject to objectification is even better. Finally, I had life by the balls. I had made it safely out of the clutches of prostitution.
PART TWO
FEELING INCREDIBLY EMPTY
Roxy returned to Gentlemen’s Association on several occasions, and he was surprised at the turnover. The tricks were pretty much the same but most of queans were brand-new and the previous drags were gone. The only familiar drags were Lino’s bodyguards. Then again, easy come, easy go. He knew how youth felt entitled to waste quick money, and search for even faster cash options. After all, there were just as many dumb motherfuckas in the streets as there were smart ones.
However, Roxy was tired of being alone in the crowd, tired of being in the world alone, and tired of out-surviving his peers either due to death or incarceration. Furthermore, Roxy had really grown fond of Tekia and over a short period of time, they both learned to lean on each other. They were both misfits in their own way and this factor helped to make them closer. Roxy and Tekia had become first-class friends. For one, he helped build up her self-esteem. They were both outside of the social norm and having that in common cemented a rock solid bond.
Within thirty days, Roxy had refurnished Tekia’s entire house plus stashed over twenty thousand dollars. Tekia was happy about the new furniture and all, but when he had the delivery truck bring a quarter cow and half of a pig, Tekia could find no bigger joy than she could in her kitchen: a mother’s love for her first born didn’t even come close to expressing Tekia’ joy with calorie consumption.
Nevertheless, the money accumulated so incredibly fast that it was addictive. Roxy swore that he would stop at the first ten grand but how could he when even his slow weeks profited him at least 2, 500 dollars? Normally, Roxy would have blew his money on fancy clothes, designers drugs, and high-dining, but he was working on turning his life around. In addition, he truly wanted to go see his sick mother, and what could make her happier than if he was standing on his own two feet like a man? Nevertheless, Tekia worried about Roxy because she could see the weariness on his heart, but it was a moment of infamy. It was the first time that either of them were debt free. Finally, her house felt like a home, but for how long?
––––––––
Another weekend arrived, a super busy time for Roxy. Roxy promised him self that this weekend would be his last hurrah at the Gentlemen’s Association even though he was now making a thousand dollars a night. He knew that all good things come to end usually sooner than later, but he had to make it count while he could because a hooker’s employability was subject to plummet over night for any given number of factors. Nonetheless, Roxy wanted to go out with a bang so he dressed to kill in his hot pink leather mini-skirt with his matching trigger rigged purse. Hell, even Roxy’s expensive human haired wig was the top of its time.
He switched in his high heels rapidly around to Howard Street and caught a ride to the spot as usual. Due to his newfound wealth, he felt somewhat weird about hitching rides. Although Roxy knew that a flashy ride would make him hot in a little town like Akron, he couldn’t afford to be hot because at any given time there was always a bounty on his head and several contempt of court charges awaiting him for theft or solicitation. The first thing that the man does is run your license plates, but car hopping prevented that. Of course, catching a cab could never be as fun as hitching a ride from god knows who. The element of stranger danger still appealed to his sense of adventure.
This weekend started off on a good foot. The husky Officer Parks, now a regular client, picked him up and utilized his illicit services. Parks was a man a few words. Roxy could tell that Parks was a man used to wielding authority. Parks did his business and went about his business of enforcing the law.
Afterwards, Roxy headed for Hoe Central: the Gentlemen’s Association. The still nervous Policeman dropped him off down Arlington Street leaving Roxy to do some strutting. When he finally made it around there, for some odd reason, it was jumping even more than usual. He rejoiced by throwing his hands up to the heavens as if this den of debauchery somehow pleased a god of his. The strobe lights flickered and glittered brighter than usual, the loud music polluted the air, the money flooded the quean’s pockets, cocaine lined nasal linings, and the alcohol inebriated the affluent guest. Roxy walked in with such a wide smile that everyone couldn’t help but to notice his golden open face tooth and unrestrained joy.
Lino marched over to speak to Roxy, “Hey hoe.”
Roxy smiled back at this handsome creature. “What’s up, someone you need me to put down,” flirted Roxy.
“Not tonight, I have it put aside for my play wife and real kids,” he stated. “but if I need you to do-dirt for me, I’ll nab ya’."
Roxy instantly gained more respect for him because in his mind, Lino was a real man, so confident and sure of himself. Lino was everything he was not. However, Lino was heavily reputed and no one ever fucked with him. The same things that attracted Roxy to Lino created a gap that keeps them from ever being anything but business associates.
“Too bad,” Roxy sniffled and cleared his throat. “I catch you on your gansta rotation later.”
Lino drank his last shot then turned around to leave. GQ, Lino and some other unidentified gentlemen held a brief conversation. Whoever the unidentified gentlemen was held a very intense conversation at the front door with them. Roxy was very curious at who this shadowy figure may have been. Roxy made it his business to pay close attention to everything and everybody. For the life of him, he just couldn't make out who the third party was clearly. It was annoying him. What were these niggas up to?
Then Roxy was abruptly tapped on the shoulder. “So this is where you been hiding out,” smugly replied Officer O’Connor. His partner Walker sat beside him with a grimace on his face.
Roxy’s eyes widened. Unspoken tension was present between the three of them. “I must not be hiding too well,” joked Roxy as he shot them a wide phony smile.
“We’re just trying to have a good time,” replied Officer Walker. “Let’s have a drink.”
“If you’re buying,” Roxy smiled suspiciously.
“Of course, by the way Roxy, I hear quite a few of your kind have been turning up missing. Do you ever see the boss here?” asked O’Connor.
“I don’t know nothing. They have strict policy here,” Roxy bucked his eyes.
“Don’t open your mouth unless you’re about to put a dick in it.” Roxy became ultra-nervous and started tapping his fingers against his purse.
They looked at each other and laughed.
“We’re trying to be nice,” sneered Walker as he grabbed Roxy hard by the arm. “Get the drift!”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” protested Roxy.
––––––––
O’Connor leaned over and whispered in Roxy’s ear. “Dead faggots tend to know even less. Now smile to play shit off—follow me.”
Roxy placed a phony smile on his face while he adjusted his trigger play finger in his purse. He wasn’t going to die without killing something first. They walked him to an unoccupied corner. “Be more careful. We’ll be watching you; we watch everybody and know everything!” whispered Officer Walker.
When they finally walked away, Roxy felt this strange sensation: relief. However, moments later he grew spectacularly paranoid. He knew that wherever Walker and O’Connor were trouble would soon follow. Roxy was very worried. He refused to turn anymore dates and talked to one prospective john to drop him off at home. Although he didn’t want mess around at the Gentlemen’s Association, he didn’t want to go home broke either so he resorted to the bottom feeders at the Trop first.
Soon as he stepped foot in the bar, some pimps and thugs taunted him as usual. “Why don’t you get your queer ass the fuck out of here!” snapped a local pimp named Ron. “Aint no real man interested in no- he-pussy!” It was no secret that once drags frequented an area, they pushed the female whores and straight tricks away, since straight men didn’t want to seen catering to a homosexual district.
A second nameless pimp jeered, “Somebody ought to put that manhole you call an asshole to good use by shoving a shotgun up your nasty punk ass and pulling the trigger. Punk ass faggot.”
Roxy just kept his hand wedge surreptitiously in his purse with his finger fixed on the trigger because tongue shit is cheap, then again so are bullets. The Trop was filled with homophobes, not to mention the larger sect, hypocritical closet ass packers and salad tossers. This was not a lucrative environment for a quean. Roxy had gotten spoiled; too many pimps had bitches on long leashes. Every corner, both bathrooms, and most tables had a ready john teamed with an anxious ovary-having harlot. Roxy's spirit was defeated as he left the Trop. It was dark moments like this that he really entertained turning his life around. “But how can I be a man after I’ve been a woman for so long?” He wondered.
From nowhere this jet black 1974 Jaguar convertible pulled beside him. He paid close attention to the driver because not just anyone can afford to drive a luxury European car these days. Roxy smiled and got in and managed to create an insincere conflicted smile. “You provide the paper and I’ll provide the pleasure,” he said.
This cool voice replied, “Don’t I know you?”
Roxy looked over at the respective client.
“Have we met over on the east side?”
Roxy’s guess was just as good as the strangers after turning so many tricks; they all began to look alike.
“Correct, I never forget a face or a good blow job,” chuckled the driver.
“Unfortunately I do,” Roxy grinned ruefully. “What’s your name?”
“Just call me Max. Do you have somewhere close, quiet, and discreet to go?” he looks around cautiously.
“Sure, make a right down this street," replied Roxy. He took him to Tekia’s and serviced him in the back yard against the house. Roxy always admired a low-key professional trick. They make sure that they have job security and some money plus long as these types of johns were in business then so was he.
Contrarily, Roxy was haunted with this divided obsession that played tug of war with his heart and his inner desires. He was filled with half satisfaction and half humiliation. How could he could he leave this dark homosexual life behind? How could he stop this misery that made him feel rotten to the core? Roxy just wanted to feel normal in a world that blatantly told him he wasn’t. The trick drove off and Roxy retired for the night.
Meanwhile, in the not-so quiet little neighborhood, a thick, big butt sista strutted up and down the street clicking and clacking to her own beat until a tag drove up to solicit her services. She was a wonderful sight for a sex-seeker with all of the bodacious curves that a man could afford: big round greasy legs, thick overdeveloped oily lips, wide wonderful hips, bountiful bouncy titties, and feet prettier than most women’s face. However, she was a renegade so she had to be careful because she was all the protection that she had. She leaned in the car window and said, “What’s up honey? Want a date?”
The driver nodded his head ‘yes’ but he didn’t say a word.
She hesitated, but thought, “How harmful can he be in this old station wagon?” She hopped in and began to rub on his dick. “Yeah, baby we are gonna have big fun with this.”
The driver pulled off. He replied, “Really?”
“Oh yeah, I like big dicks baby,” she unpacked her oversized titties then unzipped his pants, “whores want a good fuck every now and then too.”
“You’re gonna love this then,” he smirked.
––––––––
“Not as much as that fifty dollars I need up front,” she smiled as she held her hand open, “Yeah, baby I can’t wait to get fucked.”
“Good,” he rammed his forearm into the side of her face then shoved a 7’ inch butcher knife in her stomach, “Never been fucked like this huh?”
She bled profusely as he repeatedly stabbed her over and over. Killing this girl really got his goat going. His erection became painful as he watched her lay there lifeless. He masturbated as he groped a handful of her massive breast. After he climaxed, he wiped his semen across her thick lips. So much joy, derived from creating so much pain. He had successfully got his rocks off for the night. It was just another death, another missing whore, and another ordinary unnoticed night of ghetto life.
The next morning, Roxy woke up with a bad taste in his mouth and it wasn’t just his bad breath. It was a peculiar sensation that haunted him. It was a gut get-up go feeling. Although the fast life was profitable, he felt incredibly empty. He felt a void large enough to swallow him whole. Something unearthly nudged him to go home to Detroit, but he struggled internally with that notion.
However, he wasn't quite ready to face his mother yet. He knew that he had to change, not only for his mother but for himself so that he could slaughter this monster that haunted his soul. He was running from much more than his past in Detroit. A tragedy separated him from his hometown Detroit.
Suddenly, Tekia shook the room as she walked in chewing on something. “Roxy are you okay?” she mumbled in between bites. “You look like you just seen ghost.”
“No Tekia but it’s time that I see the light...I can’t seem to feel accepted or for that matter accept myself.” He had this blank facial expression. Tekia put her stubby hand on his shoulder. “I know Roxy, me too...me too.”
WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD
One stormy Saturday evening Turk returned from work, he wasn’t his fun- loving self. He must have had a bad day truck driving. His lips were silent but his bitter actions spoke loud. All I could think was: My God what happened? I rubbed his tense shoulders and asked softly, “What’s wrong baby?”
“You!” he stood up, knocked over a chair, walked over and slammed his fist into the wall. "You’re a fucking whore!”
“Turk tomorrow will never take away yesterday. Why bring up my dark past?” I paused. “I’ve been totally faithful to you—you make me so happy," I walked closer. "Please, don’t do this...”
“Don’t do what? Tell the fucking truth!" He picked up a candleholder and logged it across the room and shattered his family photo. "You’ll please anything with a dick! A dog, a duck, even a donkey.”
My eyes watered. Where was all of this hostility coming from? What triggered this off? Have I been slipping? Not knowing what else to do, I flopped down on the king size couch and cried my curious heart out. Devon supporting himself with the couch, wobbled over and reached his little hands up for me, “Ton’t tie mom-bee.”
I smiled at him ruefully as hot tears dripped ever so slowly off the tip of my nose. I gazed into his heart warming goo-goo eyes and I could no longer resist scooping him safely in my arms. Although my baby could barely walk, he managed to come over and console me. I loved this little nigga to death.
Meanwhile, Turk walked over and poked me hard in the temple. “Don’t cry now slut. You weren’t crying when you were hoeing on Howard Hill.” He folded his arms and locked his jawbones. “My buddy that drives at my truck company saw us at K-Mart the other day. He pulled me aside and asked what on earth I was doing with a prostitute.”
“But Turk,” I uttered as he ranted on.
“Imagine how I feel knowing that my co-worker knows everyone in Akron have or can purchase a piece of that cheap pussy from my woman. I can’t believe that I actually have a pay to poke whore for a woman!” he growled as he clinched his fist.
I stood up and said defensively, “Would you feel better if I just gave them some pussy?” I poked him back in his chest while holding Devon in my opposite arm. “That was then and this is now. Fuck what they think. They’re tricks. How the fuck a trick gone be mad at hoe? How in the hell would your buddy know that I was a prostitute anyway unless he was a trick? Aint no everyday motherfuckas walking around keeping journals of prostitutes unless they are enlisting the services from them bitches.”
I must have really struck a sour cord. He paused then drew his fist back like Thor. I shielded Devon and winched as I waited for a star spangle moment of punishment.
“You’re right...I’m no better than you, but I act as if I’m special because I’m discreet,” he dropped his head and turned away, “Just promise me that you’ll never hook again. Never.” His statement caught me off guard.
If it comes down to starving or hooking, I’ll be doing the latter.
“Never again Turk, never again,” I agreed reluctantly. “We are family.”
“Family?” he held his hands open. “I haven’t seen them in two months.” He picked up the pieces of the portrait, “My ex-wife won’t let me see my kids because of you.”
What could I say? He just stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door.
“Taddy, Tad at you Mom-bee?” Devon asked with his slobber drenched white t-shirt. Turk's silence had a sharp cutting affect on me and I felt smaller than beetle balls. It seemed like the only thing I have is my horrible past and my wonderful son. Devon continued to slobber on me in effort to cheer mommy up. If only I had his determination to be so happy, oh what a wonderful world it would be. I cried hard as I rocked Devon to sleep.
I looked at his little adorable face; his tiny nose and his chubby cheeks that only made me love Turk that much more. Devon and I both need Turk, but isn't Turk entitled to be a father to the rest of his children as well?
Suddenly, I thought about how I grew up fatherless; it was awful with no one around to provide for and protect us. Mom was enormously lonely and profoundly unhappy. My mom caught unmolested hell, now I miss her unconditional love so amazingly. I used to blame her for the horrible things that my uncle did to me. It was his fault not hers. Why did she have to go so soon? Why did God call her home and leave me at the mercy of a monster like my uncle? I loved Devon and dammit, I would never abandon him, never forsake him.
I laid Devon down then sat in a corner of the couch with a pillow thrown across my lap. I twisted a bit and leaned over the back of the couch to look through the window out into the blackness of the night and wished upon one of those bright stars that hovered above us. Who would think that I’d grow up to sell my body? Tell me Lord, must I live like a mindless mammal wandering about the wilderness? Will my help ever come or will I continue to be plagued with internal darkness? There has to be a deeper meaning to life.
Subsequently, the bedroom door slowly opened up with a loud squeak, light from the TV peeked out into the darkness. Turk stood erect in the doorway with his hand clasped crossed his chin. He didn’t say a word, just stood there. Teary eyed, I looked over at him.
“Jackie, I’m sorry. I need to grow up and accept life as it is, not how I want it to be.”
He’s sorry? He’s making up with me, a no good dirty whore? Suddenly, my heart halted. “I’d change the tilt of time for you, if I could...just to show you that I love you and only you.” I confessed.
“I’ll be sweeter from this point; I'll resurrect our love,” he walked over and put his strong hands around me. His strong arms made me feel so safe. Then he caressed my hand and my heart sizzled. I stood up to hug him and I could almost feel our hearts beat as one. When he softly kissed my lips, my head went to spinning and my toes tingled. He sat me on the couch, kissed me hard and sloppy, sipped on my nipples then nosed dived into my snug sweaty twat face-first. He applied the most perfect circular application to my clit.
My nipples were so hard that they stung and my ovaries did ballet on a table top. I exhaled as ecstasy flooded my blood vessels. My joints in my big toes cracked as I balled them tightly. As I grew more aroused, I grinded robustly against the bridge of his hot face and steaming secretions cruised down the crease of my hot ass crack. The muscles in the small of back locked up as my legs shook violently. I came, came, and came. What a wonderful world!
TAKING FLIGHT
––––––––
Roxy decided to pull one more shift before he returned to Detroit. He at least wanted to say good-bye to Lino and even thank GQ for having faith in a total stranger. He would certainly miss this one stop shop for sex, drugs, alcohol, and gambling. Plus fast money is easy to miss. When Roxy arrived at the Gentlemen’s Association things were much different this time. There was no fan fair, no loud music, no fancy cars, nothing but two big semi-trucks parked on the street. It was completely dead. Roxy being curious knocked on the door; GQ bitterly answered, “We’re closed for renovation.”
Closed? Renovation? Roxy was confounded. “You guys never close GQ. I need to see Lino.”
“Just leave now dammit!” he barked and reached for his belt line. “Don’t make me say it again he-bitch.”
Roxy turned around and walked slowly down the steps, but curiosity climbed up the back of his mind. “What are they up to?” he contemplated. “Fuck that, I didn’t come all the way over here for nothing. I have to at least see what’s going on.”
Consequently, Roxy acted like he walked away then circled back and crept around to the side of the house. He kneeled down to take a peep through one of the windows. He peaked through a side window but seen nothing so he tipped-toed to the back of the house to peek through this dusty, murky basement window. A skimpy curtain attempted to cover the window, but a gaping space still remained. Although the view wasn’t crystal clear, he was able to one of the characters down there: Lino. Lino was standing bare backed and covered in solid sweat. “Oh my goodness,” Roxy thought sinfully.
Someone else stood to the side, but Roxy could only see the shoulder of the other party-accompanying Lino. This other person didn’t’ appear to be GQ either; whoever this guy was considerably shorter and broader than GQ. That seemed to intrigue Roxy more than the fact that Lino was brandishing a shotgun. Roxy observed Lino yelling something. He leaned in and adjusted his eyes by squinting so that he could make a further analysis of the other parties. Lino was looking down at someone. Lino meant business, bad business.
––––––––
After further inspection, Roxy identified the back of two heads; both were gagged and their hand were tied behind them on chairs. Now more curious than ever, Roxy squinted his eyes again, so that he could get a better look. Suddenly, Lino slapped one of the captives across the head and the seat fell over and after a moment or so he slapped the next. As Lino sat one of the chairs back up, Roxy examined the enormous terror etched on their faces, and it was only then that he realized that the two men were none other than—Walker and O’Connor.
As O’Connor lay helplessly on the floor still tied to the chair, Lino shoved the barrel of his shotgun beneath O’Connor’s pink portly chin. Lino yelled, “You got the nerves to blackmail me. Honkey you play pussy with me, you get fucked good.” O’Connor begged with the whites of his eyes for mercy. This was bittersweet for Roxy because he hated them dirty ass cops anyway, but he wanted to understand exactly what was going on.
“Not only were you two going to blackmail me”, Lino scowled. “But you were gonna send me to prison so your bitch ass could get a promotion after all the money I paid both of corrupt bitches. How the fuck is a crook gonna lock up another crook?” Lino then spins around and flogs Officer Walker across the forehead with the heel of his boot. “You bitch ass house nigga. Didn’t I pay you good? All I asked for was a simple favor, but you couldn’t be my eyes and ears. You had to be nosy; you had to ask questions. You had to cross me. You team up with your punk ass partner, go behind my back to my silent partner, and then try to cut me out,” he pointed over at the unidentified man that was out of Roxy’s sight before he raised the barrel. “Fool. Now, I have to take it to you.”
The unidentified man says, “It was O’Connor’s idea to black mail you.”
Lino kicked O’Connor, “Do you how difficult it has been to export truck loads of kidnapped underage he-bitches from Ohio up to Illinois, Detroit, and New York, to drug and drag them into perpetual prostitution slavery in undercover dungeons? Why do you think we paid old rusty drag queans that type of money? Because they provided a good smoke screen and we knew that a gay whore-house would be low priority on the law enforcement’s radar, but sex trafficking of children is another story. I paid a bunch of he-bitches five hundred per night but these elite perverts would pay as much as five thousand per trick with these young boys, the younger the boys were, the more profitable. But you grimy motherfuckers had to put your noses where they weren’t wanted. The only thing worse than a he-bitch is a snitch. The price of snitching is death.”
“Oh fuck, that’s it!” Roxy’s pulse raced in pure anticipation as he fell back. “They’ve been kidnapping kids for sex slaves. Now, the term slave paper makes complete sense,” Roxy mumbled to himself. He could imagine exactly what O’Connor and Walker were trying to blackmail Lino about. They probably wanted a larger cut of his kid sex-slave market once they figured out that children were involved. O’Connor and Walker were greedy and dishonorable. Perhaps they finally found the lesson they’ve been waiting for.
––––––––
The mystery man down in the basement with Lino must have forewarned Lino about O’Connor’s and Walker’s nose poking, but who was this mystery man? An urge beckons Roxy to flee, but he is too curious so he leans back up to the window so he could see what’s about to happen. As Roxy positions himself so that he can hear better, Lino brutally shoves his shotgun against Walker’s temple and squeezed the trigger. Boom! Roxy flinches. Brains and bright blood sprayed across O’Connor’s perspiring face. Roxy’s heartbeat painfully accelerates as he witnesses Walker’s gooey brains ooze onto the basement floor. Roxy is simply numb. Roxy thought, “It never fails, the nigga always have to be the first to go.”
Meanwhile, O’Connor’s face reveals spectacular proportions of justified fear. By this time, Lino stepped over to O’Connor and canted his head back with the tip of the hot barrel; O’Connor’s eyes repented. Nonetheless, the bloody barrel against his neck exploded and O’Connor’s neck busted open into a flesh stew. Fragments of bloody flesh glowed around the opening of the hollow larynx. Roxy gasped and falls backwards. Roxy was completely thunderstruck until his attention was pierced behind his ear with an icy tip of a switchblade.
“Now, you’re good as buzzard bait, hard-headed he-bitch!”
Roxy tried to swallow the lump in his throat and keep his eyes from falling out of the sockets. “GQ, pleeeeeeese. Don’t hurt me please,” he pleaded as he searched for his pistol inside of his rigged purse with his index finger. “I’ll leave town, I won’t say anything. Just don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me.”
“I’m not gone hurt you,” snapped GQ. “I’m gone kill you.”
That was Roxy’s cue, do or die. He was in no rush to keep O’Connor and Walker company so he surreptitiously fitted his finger on the trigger, dropped his body weight, and rolled onto his back then fired off three live rounds. Two totally missed, but the last one grazed GQ’s arm, not bad for a rolling shot. Roxy finished rolling onto his knees then got up and dashed down the driveway. This he-bitch was moving.
However, he heard footsteps not far behind him. Roxy’s wig blew in every direction and his big hoop earrings slapped against his face as he galloped to get away. GQ wasn’t far behind so Roxy ran faster but momentarily slipped on his heels and eventually ran right out of his shoes. Within seconds, Roxy gained a heftier lead as he dashed up toward Arlington Street and spun around a fire hydrant. A bullet ricocheted off of the hydrant. In milliseconds, Roxy darted across the street, rolled over an oncoming car, noticed a pick-up truck, with a mismatched door on the driver’s side, coming to a halt. Without delay, Roxy leaped into the back of the pick-up truck. The truck driver looked bemused.
Soon as Roxy hit the bed of the truck, a bullet hit the edge of the bumper. GQ’s bullets quickly motivated the oblivious driver to haul ass as he screeched around the corner with blinding speed. Several more shots were fired but to no avail. GQ watched helplessly as the pick-up and Roxy sped off free into the night. GQ ruefully returned back to the house to share his bad news with Lino. However, GQ left out the fact that the witness was Roxy, one of his recruits.
“Two dead police and one living witness,” Lino picked up a chair and broke it over O’Connor’s dead body. “Something's wrong with that tune man?”
“I chase the drag but whoever it was hopped into an old green pick-up truck with white passenger’s side door,” explained GQ. “We have to ship them he-bitches out tonight before they come out of their stupors so we have to raise up out of here anyway Lino.”
“We’ve worked too hard to build this elite national clientele. This is the biggest shit since the nigger slave trade. We have hundreds of top-notch elite perverted tricks in several cities: doctors, lawyers, judges, corporate spokesmen, and hell even some of the governors drop through,” Lino wipes the sweat off of his forehead and continues. “This shit aint easy keeping fresh kid he-bitches for these perverted fucks and I have to operate it almost like a cult by inviting young runaway boys, who are estranged from their families, and the most vulnerable.”
In deep thought, he admits, “Hell, we drug their drinks, give them group beatings, threaten to kill their families, and put them through my process of total submission to enforce compliance on these worthless lost little boys. I hate these rich faggot motherfuckas and I finally found a way to profit from it. Unfortunately, I had to kill these two blackmailing fuckers to protect our ring of kidnapped he-whores and now, of all things, some drag quean is the only thing standing between us and our freedom!”
“This shit is huge, we’ll could end up in prison forever,” retorted GQ. “We can’t afford to let no cock-sucking quean to spoil our plans.”
“I know. We have to find him—and kill him.” Lino rubs his chin. “Who is this rusty quean and why isn’t he getting shipped out with the rest of the he-bitches tonight?” asked Lino.
GQ realizes that he has to come clean sooner or later, “I think it was Roxy, but I didn’t get a solid look at him.”
––––––––
“Nigga you don’t think, you know it’s him cause you fucked up,” Lino locks and load his shotgun. “We have to find him, right now. We only have one pig on our payroll now and that’s not enough to keep us out of the federal penitentiary.”
GQ responds, “But with the photos we have from these two police fools, we can blackmail these rich bastards for a cool ten grand a piece, with the exception of my man here that hipped us to Walker’s and O’Connor’s scam. We can act like Walker and O’Connor are blackmailing them. They don’t know about them being dead yet.”
“Nah, fuck that blackmail shit; you see what happen to Walker and O’Connor plus it leaves too many living bitter witnesses. Don’t you realize who we are up against? Nigga these are powerful and influential politicians, not these stupid he-bitches that no one cares about. Let’s hurry and dispose of these bodies,” Lino turns to the third party. “Don’t worry we will silence that nosy dick-loving-bitch, permanently.”
The mystery man responds coldly, “I’m not nearly as worried as you should be. If any of those photos have got out, people will start talking and when they talk the Feds are gonna listen about this kiddy-sexual slave trafficking. These are not the kind of headlines any of us wants.” The mystery man leaves and the hunt is on and popping for Roxy.
Meanwhile, the old pick-up truck driver is freaking out, “What the hell happened back there?”
“They were shooting shit,” shouted Roxy still in the back of the pickup.
“I never would have guessed that—remember I have a bullet in my bumper,” the driver replied sarcastically.
“Do you want to put your bullet in my bumper to make it up to you?”
The lone driver looked astonished, “What?”
“I mean you saved a bitch’s life and I owe you something for getting shot at, but I don’t have no money, so the best I can offer is a hot shot of ass.”
“No thanks Miss man, your bumper services aren’t warranted or welcome,” he replied. The older driver was not inspired to indulge in such indecencies. “I didn’t help you because of my will. It was His will that made me stop and pick you up.”
“His will? You mean his bullets,” quipped Roxy.
“I just do as He tells me. Where are you going Miss man?”
––––––––
“My name is Roxy. Can you drop me off on the Northside,” he answered. Then the old man just smiled and drove off. He practically took Roxy directly to the house with very little of Roxy’s input.
As the elder gentleman drove down Tekia’s street, he nodded and said, “God bless you. Be careful.” Roxy felt a sense of déjà vu as a chill ran through him as he turned the key and entered the house.
Roxy’s arrival was ill timed. Some Mandingo character was giving it to Tekia’s big ass. Mandingo slipped and slapped long strokes of his twenty-inch dick back and forth inside and out of Tekia. His black bluish tenuous stature bounced up and down off of her energetically. This jungle-like nigga could hit some pussy; his enormous rod even pounded through the layers of Tekia’s massive overdeveloped belly and excessively plump thighs. Tekia was so thrust-struck that she didn’t even hear Roxy enter the front door. She closed her eyes and was completely lost in her Mandingo moment of lust. Tekia was screaming and sweating like a fifty-year-old virgin.
Roxy took another glance at Mandingo’s ram-rod and quickly understood Tekia’s tunnel vision. Mandingo looked over at Roxy and gave a wide mouthed smile but didn’t lose the rhythm of his long stroke. In the interim, Roxy casually tipped around the couch and walked into Tekia’s bedroom then he lay across the bed.
Tonight was a night to remember. His heart drummed thankfully against the mattress for he had escaped his demise. He thought of what the old man said and then he even thought of returning to Detroit. As crazy as it sounded, little ass Akron was getting quite dangerous. All he had to do was wait for Tekia to get done fucking so that he could get his stash from under the soon-to-be-broken couch. He mumbled, “Just maybe, I can transform long enough to visit momma as a man. She’d be so over-joyed, so proud. That’s it. Tonight I take flight.”
PART THREE
THE RISE OF RAGE
THE TRANSFORMATION
––––––––
True love feels this good? Within the past three weeks, Turk took me to fancy five star hotels, mighty musicals, and the hottest Motown concerts at the Akron Civics. I really loved them Tempting Temptations and when Dennis Edwards sang lead on A Song for You. I felt like that song was just for me. Every time I heard that song it brought tears to my eyes. It was so sweet and so full of promise, sincerity, and even regret. Turk, Devon, and I were now one big happy family. I looked forward to Devon turning one year old next week and to Turk coming home every night. Turk was the most desirable man that I could think of no matter how unattractive he was. Being well kept is mad sexy.
Friday night, on payday, Turk came home happy as usual and kissed me softly on the lips. I had done the honors and had hot dinner waiting on the table. He took a quick shower then ate dinner. Afterwards, he watched TV with me and played with Devon. It was a wonderful laid back evening, until— the phone rang unexpectedly.
He answered, “Hold on.” Subsequently, he slipped off into the bedroom and closed the door. That was very unusual, but I didn’t want to jump the gun. I didn’t want to ruin this lovely evening. Nevertheless, he returned with his less than handsome smile that still managed to make me moist. He scooted over by me and gave me another hot devilish kiss.
“Turk, what do you have up your sleeves?” Devon played peacefully in the middle of the floor with some wooden ABC blocks. Turk started sucking on my neck and I thought that my little pink pussy would collapse. “Baby, not in front of Devon. Let’s go to the bedroom,” I urged.
“Uh, uh-let’s do it right here,” he whispered.
“But the baby’s woke,” I giggled like an immature teenager. Like that mattered to me.
“Awe Jackie, it don’t matter. He don’t know what’s going on.”
I was feeling a bit playful so I got up and ran into the bedroom. Turk followed as I expected any pussy-loving-bandit to do. He closed the door then instantly began to chastise my pussy. Meanwhile, Devon had crawled in front of the door and cried his little heart out: a symptom of being spoiled. My heart threatened to stop having sex, but my active little pussy begged to differ. Damn, I felt good and guilty at the same time.
After we were finished, twenty minutes later, I pulled down my nightgown and ran over to the door to open it. There was Devon fast asleep on the carpet. “Awe Turk, he cried himself to sleep,” I kneeled over to rub his curly hair. Shame on my naughty twat and me.
Turk tapped me softly on the shoulder and when I turned around he swept me off of my feet. He kissed me then asked, “Do you want to get married?”
“Of course! Is this what you had up your sleeves?” I yelped with a face wide tooth-bearing smile. I hugged him enthusiastically, but for some reason he was a total stranger of my enthusiasm. In fact, he just dropped me flat on the floor.
“That’s too bad Jackie,” he sneered. “I made a choice today.”
My ears must be deceiving me. “A choice?”
“Yeah, it was either my ex-wife or an ex-whore...go figure,” he sighed.
Tears threatened to cloud my eyes. “Go figure what?” I got up off of the floor and got in his face, “That you fuck the dog shit out of me; ask me to marry you but it’s over now? What kind of sick game is this?” I cried a steady stream of sizzling tears. “You black- bastard!”
You like it, in fact you love it,” he gave a cold smirk. “I’d be a damn fool to choose some raggedy hoe over my wife and kids. I’ve been seeing her on the side for the past month and she agreed to let me see my kids, only, if I get rid of one problem. Well two, Devon and you.”
“Devon’s your son too. What about him?” I retorted.
“What the fuck about him? I have a real family,” he laughed as he lit up a cigarette.
“Didn’t I tell you that you could stay until I got things sorted out? It’s sorted now.”
His cold demeanor was mind-boggling. Out of nowhere, fuck the both us and this time just because he could. This was pimp shit, and he damn sure wasn’t a pimp. “You cold hearted bastard.”
––––––––
“My wife and kids will be here with in an hour. Need money for a cab,” he uttered as he blew smoke in my face.
Anger poked me right in the face so I slapped him in his, knocking his cigarette loose. “Me and my son don’t need some part time daddy, some part time nigga! You full time fool.” Then he quickly punched me with an Ike Turner deluxe that folded me up like a newspaper. I rolled on the floor holding my stomach. “If I’m pregnant, that’s the best thing you can do for any of my children is stomp your worthless seed right out me,” I screamed.
“Bitch you know the game, after I fuck you, fuck you! Get up and get out! Both you and this little bastard. Go sell some of that raggedy ass pussy. Go stay with my friend that you fucked so freely.”
“If you want to know the truth, I fucked him for a five dollar outfit! Dick was good too.” I picked my son and myself up as he ran over to open the front door. Lastly, I grabbed my purse, walked to the threshold of the door, looked him directly in his yellowish eyes and said, “I’m gone tell the Almighty God how you mistreated our baby.”
He started to say something, but instead just dropped his head and softly shut the door behind me. I walked down Kelly Ave with Devon propped him up on my hip. My life was destroyed and why? Did I deserve this? How can he cut on and off his emotions like a water faucet?
My arms quickly fatigued and Devon was so motherfuckin spoiled. He didn’t want to walk but I made him any way. I looked down at this little miniature Turk with these short chubby legs rubbing together and wondered how a parent could not love his own child. Why do so many men deny their own flesh and blood? Whores are good enough for them to fuck, but not have kids by huh? What sense does that make? At this point, my shins stung and my clothes were getting sticky from sweating. In fact, I could smell my unwashed tart pussy that Turk had just recently tampered with.
How are we going to make it? Why is he so bitter towards me? Most of all, how could he be so cold to his own flesh and blood? Devon is totally innocent. Devon didn’t fuck me or ask to be here. He’s just an innocent little baby that I love with all my heart and soul. Why can’t Turk cherish our son as much as I do?
As I walked part of me wanted to die, but I had to be strong for Devon. It didn’t take long for me to fatigue walking and carrying Devon. My agony must have been apparent because this guy in a station wagon stopped and asked if I needed a ride but I was too angry to accept a ride, plus something didn’t seem right about him. So I continued to walk and feel totally fucked over.
––––––––
Doubt and depression kept me entertained as well as my sore bunions. Suddenly, I wondered if turning down that ride was the wise thing to do. Hindsight is always 20/20, but like so many opportunities, that one was gone. I would just have to keep pushing, even if I had pass out first. Then out of the heavens, came a rusty, rotten, and raggedy ass pick–up truck. “Do ya need a ride,” asked this elderly dark skinned gentleman with a strong southern draw.
Of course I did but where to?
“Sure...” my throbbing feet needed the ride more than I did. I got in and sat Devon’s big head on my little firm breast and looked down into his big brown sad eyes. For the first time in my life, I wondered if he knew what great pain his mom-bee was in. “Thank you so much sir.”
“Where are you going Miss?” asked the old guy. Good question. My mind went blank and the only person I could think of on this entire planet was fat ass Tekia. Damn. Damn. Damn. Looks like I’m gonna have to kiss her fat ass a lot sooner than I ever intended to.
“On Howard Street,” I sighed.
“Around the corner from the Trop right?” smiled this old fella with white whiskers decorating his pitch-black chin.
“Yeah, how you know?” I marveled.
“The Lord works in very mysterious ways young one,” he drove off. “I’m just glad to be able to do His will.”
Old folk and this God stuff always seemed to baffle me.
On the other hand, I was very disappointed to say the least. And that was a grave understatement. I had to pray that Tekia would be kind enough to let me back in. I couldn’t believe that chances would come around so soon. Even if she would just keep Devon, I could make it. He’s all I’m worried about, if it were not for him, I could die tonight and careless. Within ten minutes, I was on the North Side, the land of milk and honey for a whore like myself. “I really appreciate it, but I honestly don’t have a dime to give you.” Or no funky ass to give up.
“No problem Miss just take care of that baby and you’ll be blessed.”
As he pulled up in the drive to turn around, I noticed his mismatching door on this struggle of a buggy. I thanked him once more; he was such a nice man, a rare breed.
The proud side of me wanted say fuck Tekia, but my wiser side knew I had no alternative. Besides Turk, the only people I knew here in Akron bought pussy from me, nothing more and nothing less. A cloud of gloom shadowed over me as I reluctantly walked up the squeaky steps and knocked on the door. Life is wild; first you are telling someone to kiss pink parts of your black ass then the next moment you are prying your pink lips off of theirs. To my surprise a black fag answered her door. Don’t tell me Tekia moved?
“Can I help you?” he asked in a supposed womanly voice.
“Is Tekia here,” I asked confoundedly. He looked down at Devon and smiled immediately.
“You must be Jackie, girl come on in,” he snapped his fingers and batted his long fake eyelashes. My throat was dry and my palms itched as I stepped in and observed this fancy new furniture. It wasn’t hard to tell which seat was Tekia’s favorite. You know the one that’s buckled down to the floor with the seat sunk damn near through the floor.
Tekia stepped into the room with her face tight and flabby arms crossed, “I knew you’re dumb ass be back...now was I right?”
I choked on my pride. Well, what pride? “Yes, you were. Can we please stay with you?”
Devon’s face lit up as he reached for her. “Tee-ah,” he drooled as he excitedly showed his bright whites. His warm gesture quickly melted her heart. I sat him down so he could walk over to Tekia.
She walked over grabbed him and said, “Just long enough for you to get on your feet.” She lifted him up in the air and rubbed her nose against his. Lucky for me, she missed him. She smiled, “Boy, you are getting so big.”
Subsequently, a tall athletic jet-black man came from the bathroom. “Hey baby, bring your big sexy butt in here and watch TV with me.” He smiled at Devon. “Who’s the little fella?”
I looked at him in the face and his eyes asked: Mmmm, who’s his momma? If only I could get niggas to want to love me instead of just fucking me.
I couldn’t help but to notice that this African fella had damn near two feet a dick dangling loosely in his jogging pants. I was so jealous, even fat mean ass Tekia had someone special someone who apparently wanted her for who she was on the inside. I guess that I couldn’t be so lucky after all I'm just rental property, a place to park paying penises.
Before I knew it, Tekia and her new boyfriend disappeared into her bedroom with Devon. Although I was quite jealous, I felt relieved to have shelter for the time being. I sighed and sat silently on the couch. Here I am taking another setback, from yet another man. Back to square one again.
However, the drag quean broke the uncomfortable silence. “I’m Roxy. I heard a lot about you Jackie.”
“What all have you heard about me?” I asked curiously.
“Well, I heard that you and Tekia experienced some of Silky’s creativity,” he smiled.
“And your name has come up from time to time.”
I pictured Silky in drag then placed my hand over my face and chuckled. “Well, I take it you know my trade huh?”
Roxy pouted fashionably then gave up a zig-zag snap, “Sure do, the oldest profession in the world. Boy meets girl. Boy wants girl. Boy pays girl.”
My laughter waned as I smelled the sting of Turk’s dick on my fingertips. This sorry nigga didn’t even let me wash my ass before he put me out. “I just had my tin heart dented, snatched out, and played soccer with.”
“Baby everybody plays the fool sometime,” he replied.
“Is that so?” A hot tear slid out of my eye; Turk’s scent had reminded of what happened earlier and why I’m back here in the same motherfuckin place.
Roxy examined me and he knew that my heart was heavy. I could see the compassion twinkle in his eyes. “I wish that I had of met you sooner because I’m leaving this dangerous motherfucka tonight,” he asserted.
“What Tekia’s house?” I asked.
“No. I’m talking about Akron,” snapped Roxy. “Too much crazy shit going on here.”
“I wish that I had some money to go because I promise that I would go with you. I’d go any where just to get away from this pain,” I sobbed.
“Girl, tears will get you sympathy, but bullets will get results. Don’t sit back, Bustback! If a motherfucka do you wrong, do some dirt and get it on,” he pulled out his pistol from his trigger-rigged purse. “Fuck being in pain, create some.”
“Roxy, I don’t want to burden you, but I have not one single friend. I cooked, cleaned, sucked and fucked, but nothing that I did was good enough. I’m just good for nothing. Even when a nigga aint fucking me, he’s fucking me,” I pouted.
“You talking to the wrong bitch for pity—bitch got major problems of her own.” He stood up and wiped his gun off. “Girl, be proud of what you are. Shit, I envy you.”
“Why would you envy me?” I asked wide-eyed.
“Simple, because you were born with what I don’t have—a pussy, a real live pussy. What I wouldn’t give to own one,” he confessed. “Shit when they start selling them motherfuckas I’m gonna be the first in line for that pink gold mine.”
“But that’s all men want from me and no one loves me,” I added.
“That’s a motherfuckin lie!” he loaded his gun. “I saw the tinkle in your son’s eyes. He loves you unconditionally, not even my mother accepts my lifestyle, but if you teach him and tell him that you did the very best you could to support him, he’ll love you and respect you for being honest, for being real.” He put away his gun and continued, “Do you know what I would give to have one person love me like that?” He tossed his purse on his shoulder then placed his fist on his so-called hip.
The truth hit me like a brick. How many times had I taken Devon’s embrace for granted? “You are right,” I concurred. “I never looked at it from that point of view.”
“Jackie, I like something about you, something inside you and even though I don’t know you, I’ll help you. If you want it?” he asked.
“I need all the help I can get,” I pleaded.
“First piece of advice, never trust a hungry bitch, a broke bitch, or a horny bitch, period.” he walked over and touched my hair. “Now secondly pretty one, I’m gone give you a new look.” Roxy was animated with his hands going all over the place. I listened carefully and watched him closely. How the fuck does he remain so happy? He walked me into the bathroom and sat me on top of the closed toilet lid. He opened up the cabinet and started pulling out all these different bottles of stuff. “See Jackie, a bitch like me keep a fresh new look and change up frequently...cause aint no booty like the beauty of new booty,” he giggled.
I looked around Tekia’s bathroom and he had wigs everywhere: big jet-black wigs, seductive blond wigs, spiked russet wigs, and curly cinnamon wigs. He was serious about a new look alright. He performed various renditions of popular Supremes songs while he did a series of things to my hair: washing, dying, and blow-drying. I was enthralled as he pepped and popped around, not missing a beat while he worked his little heart away. Finally, my hair ended up in this fancy beehive bun style and he even put on some make up for me. I sure felt better.
––––––––
“Ooh child, you are gor-geous! Your complexion is perfect for this blond blend.”
“Blond?” I stood up with my hand on my cheek. “You dyed my hair blond?”
“That baby smooth skin and that hairdo,” he raised both of his hands over his head as if I were a prize from the Price is Right game show. “Girl when I handle my bizz, fizz, fizz, fizz it is.” I never imagined myself with blond hair.
However, he did the honors and turned me towards the bathroom mirror. I took a look then stepped closer and examined both sides; I was pleasantly surprised. Wow! He did it. He had reinvented me somehow. While I stood in front of the mirror admiring my new look, he went and fetched me a tiny mini-skirt and matching halter top. He had tugboats for feet so I couldn’t wear his shoes but from the ankle up. I don’t know how to be humble about this, but I was the shit. I felt like a Greek goddess. Imagine a woman with a perfectly tiny waist, cute well-proportioned face, and an hourglass figure plus the shapeliest legs since Tina Turner. If you can picture that, I’ve done a great job of describing myself.
“Girl, I hope that big ass don’t bust the seams of my shit,” he laughed as he tugged at skirt I was squeezing in. He still stood over my shoulder behind me in the mirror. “Hum, hum, if I was that kind of man, I’d fuck you myself. Now all you need is a street name.”
“A street name?” I frowned. “So I’m gone be named after a street?”
“No silly, something to make you stand out. Like a lead singer,” he chuckled.
“How about Jay G?” I offered proudly.
“How about quit it,” Roxy huffed and puffed then snapped his fingers. “High step or don’t step. You remind me of Florence Ballard with that smooth fair skin and curvaceous body. You look like a...hummm...Blondie.”
“Blondie,” I gasped as I looked in the mirror once more. “Yeah, I love it.”
“Eat your heart out Flo’. They’ll love you too,” he did his little gay dance again.
I continued to admire myself in the mirror.
“You don’t even know anything about Motown huh? Blondie is Florence Ballard’s nick name. She's a Supreme. I see that I have to school you on everything.” He adjusted my hair once over. “You’ll be the apple of every pimp’s eye around here,” he placed his rugged face next to mine like sisters taking a portrait together would. “And I’m gone show you that you don’t need no pimp—no man for that matter. You have to be fast, furious, and cunning to be a renegade hoe.”
––––––––
“What’s a renegade whore?” I asked.
“For renegade hoes, having a pimp is a no-no. If you have to rob, suck, steal, and fuck then you should get paid, not the pimp. It’s time for your retribution Blondie. Time for your wretched ass rise in ranks of these streets. Time to elevate.” He bends over and demonstrates a blowjob by moving his head up and down and his tongue against his cheek to make it resemble the real thing, "Pimp aint sucked nan dick or turned nan trick. Pimps primary purpose was for protection, hell we got pistols now."
“I see...independent and self employed,” I replied with a smile.
“That’s right and self enjoyed, when dicks go in between your hips, then the slave paper should stay in between your fingertips,” he asserted as he dug into his purse.
“Roxy, you are a God sent. Why do you have to leave?” I queried.
“Girl, I wouldn’t say all that,” He pulled out a little bag. “I want to stay and play, but I have to leave tonight. It’s a weird life-threatening story,” he stated almost zombie like.
“Come on Roxy, hang out with me just a few hours.”
“Girl, if I stay here I may end up dead in a few hours,” warned Roxy as he emptied out some powder cocaine on the table and started scraping lines.
“Roxy, you just told me all that stick up for yourself shit so that you can run out on me? What a few hours to you?” I had been around cocaine before but I never messed with it so I just watched and tried to act like everything was normal.
“A life time girl, you don’t understand,” he checks his gun to make sure it’s loaded then he snorts a line. He stands back and his facial expression is indescribable.
“Make me understand,” I put my hand on my hip.
“Let’s make it an half of hour,” he puts his purse over his shoulder. “I got to go baby. I got to.” He took a little of the powder and put it under his nail. “Try some of this white fire baby girl.”
He placed his nail up to my nose and curiosity killed the cat or should I say my nostrils. I snorted it and fell back. At first it burned, then it numbed and this wonderful rush took over me. My entire body felt terrific. My nipples got all hard and shit. “Damn, Roxy that is some white fire. I’ve never felt so good before.”
He just smiled and put the rest of it up.
I tapped on Tekia’s bedroom door so that I could tell her that Roxy and I were going to work around the corner. However, Tekia’s personal ape answered the door and his eyes were magnetized to my new look. I had to look down at that submarine of dick to see if it approved, from the immediate growth, I’d say it did. I told him, “Please tell Tekia that I have to go to work.” I didn’t want any trouble but if Tekia had seen him and his dick look at me the way that they did, there would have been plenty of it.
“Blondie let me stack your deck. There are men out there that hate us for no reason at all and if they smell weakness, they will take advantage of a bitch. So since we aren’t stronger, we have to be smarter.”
We? I know we high but Roxy you are motherfuckin man! I thought.
He showed me how his trigger-rigged purse operated. Neat, I just loved the ideal of it. That was some real slick shit. Roxy was training me to be an ultra-self reliant-renegade. It was my time to rise out this bitch—with or without a nigga.
“Roxy thanks so much, but why are you being so kind to me?”
He paused then he fitted on his jet-black wig. “For one reason, someone saved my life today and if they weren’t kind to me there’s no telling where I would be. Plus, there is a part of me that’s inside of you, the hurt and the pain, but most of all it is the confusion bottled up inside of us that connects us."
We started walking around to the Trop. He said, “You and I both know this is dangerous game that we play, but it’s the price we must pay to be totally independent. We don’t have to worry about no nigga on the streets or no white boss in the office.” He places his heavy hand on my shoulder. “Believe it or not Blondie, I want to stop living the life. I want to be straight but I don’t know how to be.” Perhaps as an afterthought, he pulled out his little mirror and put on some make up attempting to cover his five o’clock shadow. “I know they say that homosexuality isn’t right, but it’s all I’ve known since I was a little boy.”
“I feel the same way about hoeing,” I confessed. “Well not since I was a little boy, I mean girl, but...you know what I mean.”
“Trust me I know, that’s why I’m giving you a 101 crash course on being a renegade. It’s not just about hoeing out here; it’s about survival,” He quipped.
Eventually we arrived at the Trop. I couldn’t wait to see how the public would respond to the new improved Jackie. Roxy and I navigated up and down Howard Street, but I noticed that Roxy was a bit on edge. Nervous or not, that did not stop us from catching plays left and right. The tricks loved the way I looked. To see that fire in these male costumers’ eyes and jealously on the whores’ faces made me feel alive again. Blondie is here bitches like it or leave it.
––––––––
Speaking of bitches, as I approached the bar stool, I noticed some little bitch had her wide funky ass up on the counter. Little bitch was boogying too. Was I the only one that took offense to this little chunky chick shaking her stank ass up by the glasses that we drink out of? I guess so. Cause the crowd rooted for her as this little midget-bitch squatted down in her six-inch heels and literally grabbed a shot glass in between her meaty ass cheeks. Niggas was yelping like some fantastic football play had just happened. To see their expressions exploding with joy as their eyes got wide and they happily balled up their fist to press it against their mouths and uncontrollable laughter.
One of the no one good tricks begged, “Come on, Bridget “the bubble butt” midget, please let me un-ass that glass with my mouth. Hope you missed a few spots when you wiped.”
Bridget rubbed his chin with her disgusting little chubby fingers, “Sure, it’s gone cost to un-ass this glass though.” Then she scooted her ample ass closer to his face.
“Sorry, but I always wipe good baby,” she replied.
Seemingly insulted, he fired back, “Well, if that’s the case, if I pay for anything, it’s gone be for some of the tinny-Winnie pussy.”
She sat the glass back down without spilling any of the drink, “Nigga, don’t let this three foot nine inch frame fool you. You need mounds of pushing for all this cushion. You know big things come in small packages. Long as you are willing to pay, I’m willing to play big daddy.” Then she lifted her hands above her head, got in her freak stance, bounced to make her ass clap, not the cheeks against each other, but up and down off of her back and thighs. Damn near every nigga in the bar lost his damn mind. Tricks started digging deep into their pockets and shoving money into Bridget’s G-string.
Suddenly, I thought about the night one of the tricks wanted an exotic midget whore, not a normal one. I laughed, and for the first time in my entire life I knew how Tekia felt because I was living in a livid moment of jealousy. How can this mini- bitch steal my shine? All this grade-A pussy and they digging this miniature bite size piece of pussy. Seconds later, I had to check myself, who in the fuck are these losers to be pressed over? And so what if this midget had an ass big enough to pack a piano in. She just a compact, pocket size, piece of pussy.
Finally, a trick pulled up and whispered in my ear. I nodded at Roxy then slipped out to the parking lot so I could give him a blow job in his backseat. Before I went down on him I said, “Don’t mess up my hairdo.”
––––––––
He smiled and replied, “Long as you swallow, you don’t have to worry about your hair.” I did my business and made that quick fifty dollars, which I needed badly.
I had just stepped out of a trick’s car when I notice Vette and Buffy, two of Silky’s former hoes, enter the Trop. Every since he got killed, they seemed to keep their distance from me as if I were contaminated, and till this day bad blood remains among us. As a matter of fact, both of them britches jumped me and that why I ended back Tekia’s place instead of staying at The Rip and Dip. Well, I’m a renegade now so I don’t have to worry about pleasing them or no one else. It’s all about me handling my business and making my money, period. Fuck these funky ‘sometimey’ whores and these judgmental trick niggas.
However, Roxy must have known them because they held a lengthy conversation with him. As I looked in my pocket mirror to make sure that every hair was in place, a chubby black bitch bumped into me and turned to me then yelled, “Excuse you!” without saying one word, I slapped the bitch in the face with my mirror. He face began to bleed as she attempted to staunch the bleeding.
I responded, “Do you want to continue to this conversation outside bitch?”
The chubby clearly had enough, nodded her head no and darted towards the nearest exit. I had so much rage and fire built up inside me. I wanted to go over and get some get-back on them bitches Vette and Buffy. I got my satisfaction out of shooting them a mean ass look and watching them cower one at a time as they talked to Roxy. I waded through the crowd and worked my way to the parking lot.
While they were still talking, this pimp named Ron approached me in the parking lot; actually his huge process pompadour approached me first. I could see it coming around the corner before I even seen his jive ass. This nigga was played out, niggas was wearing these hairdos damn near ten years ago during the age of doo-wop, but now disco music is on the rise and a more psychedelic look is acceptable. This nigga didn’t have nothing for me, period.
“I got it and you can get it; you make it and I’ll take it. You sack ‘em while I mack ‘em. Come to me for both inspection and protection. I’ll make your pink product exotic and I know how to make a bitch rich.” He spat mechanically as if he had rehearsed it a million times.
I looked at his fancy sharkskin suit and watched him flash his large wads of cash and almost fell in love with the large sums of gold he wore. Men knew that wads of money made most women weak, but I could see through his jive ass like crystal glass. In fact, I got annoyed just thinking about the fact that he had all of this money and hadn’t sold a drip of pussy, hadn’t sucked nan-dick, hadn’t caught nan-disease, hadn’t taken nan-ass-whipping. All he had done was just manhandled some dumb whores for their hard-humped cash. He stood there patting his foot and counting his money out loud slowly, which would have got my attention not so long ago.
––––––––
“No thanks, you tired ass nigga with them tired ass lines! You think you are going to get my new money with that old shit? Nigga, please. I’m a renegade so I make and keep my own dough,” I spun around and gave him a good long look at my marketable merchandise. “A man, nigga, pimp or whatever got to come out pocket to knock this. Pay up or push on, period. If you want a million dollar bitch, you got to do million dollar shit.”
Hum, I catch on quick huh?
Unexpectedly, there was a gash in my halter-top. This jive, jealous, bitch- built nigga tried to cut me, but I happened to take a step back just in time. As he raised his hand to take another swing, Roxy dived from out of the left field and clapped him behind his duck tail gelled hair line with a revolver. The pimp and his patent leather looking hairdo plummeted face first. It was a bloody mess. Roxy had this madness in his eyes as he looked around to see if anyone was looking before he quickly snatched Ron’s gold and relieved him of his knot of cash, not to mention dignity.
Roxy was a fucking crime machine. It seemed so natural for him to do what he did. I wondered if I would ever have the heart to be so brazen. As Roxy rolled him over, I noticed a .22 revolver stuck off in his belt line on instinct I grabbed it. I knew we couldn’t afford to leave him armed especially after he recovers and realize that some renegades have taken him. After taking the pistol, adrenaline got the best of me and I kicked him hard in the face. “Pimp this bitch!” He rolled around in pain; we fled the set.
GOTTA DO SOMETHING
After Roxy robbed Ron, the so-called pimp, we hurried back towards Tekia’s house. My heart was fluttering as I noticed the old man that gave me the ride. “That’s the guy that gave me ride earlier,” we said in chorus. Then I turned and looked at Roxy like he was retarded. “Is that a coincidence or what?” We also said that simultaneously too. This is weird as fuck. Freaked me out!
“I don’t believe in coincidences. Did that old guy in that truck with the mismatching white door drop you off at the house?” I asked.
“Sure did,” he answered as he looked back at me in disbelief.
“That’s some strange shit,” I added. “Something just not right.”
Then from nowhere a trick pulled up beside us. He rolled his window down and said, “Hey, what’s up with some head?” I looked at him and he was fine as fuck. Shit, I’d suck his dick for free but since I get paid to do it, even better. I quickly answered, “Shit, forty for your fine ass.”
He looked at me as if I had totally insulted him. He replied, “No you. I want her.”
I placed my hand on my hip and responded, “You mean him.”
“Don’t worry about it bitch! Just know that I don’t want your raggedy ass pussy,” he spat as his nostrils flared.
Roxy snapped his fingers again as if something had just clicked in his uncultivated mind. By this time, all of this finger snapping was getting on my damn nerves. Roxy waved off the handsome trick. “I’m closed for night baby. I’ll be around tomorrow.”
“Damn Roxy,” he sighed. “I’ll give you two hundred.”
Never one to miss an opportunity to put a motherfucker down, I chimed in. “Desperate nigga bet this raggedy ass pussy sound pretty good now huh?”
“Actually, it doesn’t,” he gave me a middle finger then drove off.
“We got to get back to the house,” warned Roxy.
“Why?” I stood there half pissed and half dumbfounded.
“That truck is a sign,” he grabbed my arm. “In fact, it’s a warning. Bitch, you got the pussy where is your woman’s intuition?”
His eyes widened as he frantically stuffed the stolen cash into his purse. Roxy did not have confidence plastered on his face as usual and that sent perfect panic to my heart. He pulled me by the arm and took flight.
“What's going on?” I asked but Roxy was too tense to answer.
We dashed up the street and around the corner as fast as our legs would carry us. No one was chasing us, so why was he running so damn fast? I was so confused that it scared me. Roxy was too busy running to tell me anything. Fear rippled my nipples.
Just as we arrived a few feet away form Tekia’s house, several loud blasts blared. Oh my God, Devon is in there. The front door flew open hard and bounced off doorframe. What the fuck? Milliseconds later, Tekia’s pitch-black boyfriend darted out running like his life depended on it. Another shot exploded—it did. His long black back arched fatally. Unfortunately, the winner was—not him. Although he fell face down, his dick was still stretched across damn near the entire sidewalk. Of course, it took Roxy to speak on it, “Damn, what a waste of some perfectly big dick.”
We ducked beside a shrub of a neighboring house across the street, still fearfully observing. Subsequently, I witnessed this Chicano and this other well dressed black guy take Tekia hostage at gunpoint. Dear God, my son. “I gotta do something,” teary-eyed, I whispered. I started to get up.
“Yeah,” Roxy snatched me back and said, “Live.”
My heart sank as the muscular Chicano kicked Tekia’s boyfriend to make sure he was good and dead. To my dismay, Roxy was right. What could I possibly do against two brazen armed killers? I was no good to my son dead and being that they killed Tekia’s boyfriend, they didn’t leave any doubt in my mind.
I was frozen in fear as Tekia and my son was shoved into this gray car; it could have been an Impala, but I wasn’t for certain. I did know that it was some type of Chevy. That car sped off with my son in it. I simply fell into pieces: pieces not even the over-the-top Roxy could catch. All I could think about was my baby. Dear God my baby! Helplessness is the last thing that a mother wants to feel about her child while her child is being abducted, but helpless is what I was.
Roxy forced me sit still while he ran across the street and went inside the house. I sat in the middle of an emotional tug of war. Should I have screamed or something? A few minutes later, he returned sweating. “Blondie that was Lino and QG. I don’t know how they found me but our lives are in grave danger.”
“It will be flooded with police in no time,” I suggested. All I could do was panic. “I’ll tell the police what we seen.”
“Jackie— are you crazy?” He stuffed a roll of cash down into his purse. “You don’t understand how big this is. Plus, did you forget that we just robbed a nigga around the corner; what if they are responding to that shit we did at the Trop and Ron is waiting somewhere to finger you?”
“I have to say something; my son is in that car! If the police act now, they can catch them and get him,” I cried.
“Jackie, do you really think that the police give a fuck about you or your son? You got a gun and I have a gun. Do you think the police are gonna be interested in helping out some whores, come on stop being naïve. They are gonna have us fill a bunch of paperwork, probably try to get some pussy, and tell us that they are right on it. Then walk their fat asses around to Crispy Crème and eat some donuts. You can put your faith in these flat-footed motherfuckas but I’m not.”
“I have to take that chance, I have to,” I sighed.
“Blondie, you have Ron’s gun that we definitely need now, and I have an illegal weapon in this purse. They gone lock us the fuck up, not help us. Bitch, your nose is running from being high. We some black wretched renegade bitches, not some innocent white blue eyed blonds.” Roxy’s nervously tapped his heels against the pavement, pulled out his little bag of dope, poured it on the back of his hand, and then snorted it.
After the buzz kicked in, he chewed on his nails. “Blondie, I witnessed two dirty cops get killed tonight by the same two guys that took Tekia and your son. I’m sorry I should have told you sooner. Plus, them killers got police on their payroll, what happens if we speak to some cops on their payroll? We gone be up shit creak. Not to mention, shit is really gonna hit the fan when them cops bodies show up. With my luck, they will try to pin that shit on me. That’s why I have to leave Akron. Told you shit was crazy here.”
“Leave? What about my baby?” I cried and placed my hand over my mouth to try to quiet my self down. “I’m not leaving without my fucking baby.”
“I can’t act like I understand,” he paused. “I don’t have any children, give me the gun and wait for the police but I’m sure they will take you in for questioning because remember there’s a dead motherfucka laying in the front yard also. I guess you have no other choice. But I can’t afford to trust the system or these corrupt police.”
“I can’t help my son, if they take me to jail,” I cried my heart out. My head was throbbing.
“That’s what I have been saying, but I gotta to get the fuck out of here. Lino and QG are connected with some powerful people. I don’t know if you noticed but people are dying Jackie and those motherfuckas are the ones killing them.”
“I’m lost Roxy, I don’t know what to do,” I rubbed my temples.
“Your baby is bullet bait and I don’t know what to tell you, but I’m leaving Akron alive. Blondie, we have to leave RFN.”
What’s that?" I asked.
"Right -fucking-now! I hear sirens,” he urged. We kicked off our shoes and fled through some dark backyards. Sharp pain ran up down the bottom of my tender feet as I hurdled over gravel, but Roxy seemed to handle it like a champ. We ran hard and fast. Roxy was being logical, but I found it difficult to be anywhere near logical. I stumbled over a tree stump, hurt the fuck out of my foot, and began to cry, “God, I can’t do it. I can’t make it. I can’t leave without my son.”
“Girl, snap out it. The only way we’ll ever get your son back is if you stay live and remain free. Black people aren’t the most prized people in America, so got to hold it together sista. We didn’t make it this far by being weak because we can scarcely afford to be weak.” He helped me up on my feet and we moved out on busted bunions and all.
All of sudden, a cruiser was driving up street and an officer was holding his flashlight as he crept by. I kneeled down and held my sore foot. Roxy sat with his index finger against his lips in a shush fashion. My stomach was queasy. Seconds later, to our dismay, the cruiser stopped and the officer got out. We were leaning against a house. He was walking unknowingly closer to us. Damn, I hadn’t been this scared since my uncle’s visits back in Chicago.
Subsequently, another cruiser pulled behind him and the cop driving that car asked, “Do you see anyone?”
“I thought I did,” he replied. “Get out and help me. I’d love to kick some coon ass tonight.”
––––––––
My eyes locked with Roxy’s eyes; the cops were only about six feet away. Only the cover of darkness kept us hid. My heart was about to explode.
Out of nowhere, a female voice rocked the night silence. “Officer help, help! Both officers diverted their attention to the woman. The officer standing close by us suddenly retreated to see what she was screaming about. He asked, “Lady, what’s wrong, what are you screaming about?”
“He’s back,” she huffed. “I didn’t know it was him.”
“Lady slow down,” calmed the officer. “Who’s back?”
“Butt boy,” she cries and leans on the officer. “He gets really pissed if he can’t lick the shit out of our assholes. Get him, he killed my friend Nicole.”
The other officer laughs loud, “These niggers are sicker than I thought.”
“He’s not black, he’s some wealthy white guy,” the whore confessed, then as she turns around she notices him. “There he goes in that station wagon.”
“Sick fuck, let’s get him for making us white men look like a bunch of ass lickers,” said the first cop as he ran to hop in his vehicle. Both cops sped off; Roxy and I sighed in relief.
As we got up to run, I noticed that the hooker was Buffy, but I certainly didn’t have time to hate or conversate. We continued to leap fences, dive under tree branches, and dart behind yards. My heart was beating harder than it ever had. I was sweating like never before. Finally, Roxy flagged down this shiny black car. I didn’t know what make and model it was but it was nice as hell. We quickly hopped in. I held my foot as if it would stop it from hurting. The driver spoke to Roxy. “I thought that was you,” he smiled.
“Let’s get out of here. We’ll make small talk later,” Roxy looked around to see if the coast was clear. The john took a few detours and avoided the flashing police lights ahead. Roxy then took a moment to look over the driver. “We have to stop meeting like this,” Roxy added.
“You seemed troubled. Can I be of any help?” The driver looked down at Roxy’s dirty bare feet.
“Hell yeah, drop us bitches off at the bus station on the South side,” snapped Roxy.
––––––––
The distinguished gentleman glanced in his rear view mirror. “The Grey Hound Station, no problem.” He looked over at Roxy. “Have you heard about the Gentlemen’s Association?” Roxy quickly nodded his head no, but the gentleman continued talking.” O’Connor and Walker are blackmailing all of the clients the Gentlemen’s Association. I don’t know how they found out, but I have to pay up because I have too much to lose.”
“Really?” Roxy replied nervously. “Blackmailing everyone huh?”
Gentlemen’s Association? Black mail? All of this stuff was foreign to me. All I could think about was Devon and the possibility of never seeing him again. It was killing me. I wanted to just jump out of this car and go find him.
For the moment, Roxy and this driver continued their conversation.
“Really, I received some copies at my office of some illicit photos of me as well as my partners from the law firm. If I didn’t have a great job, a wife of ten years and a son, I wouldn’t be in the hot seat.”
Roxy knew not to say shit about what he seen. Silence is golden. “I swear I don’t know nothing about no blackmail shit, and I swear that I didn’t have shit to do with it either. I’m just a hustling whore trying to make money, not trouble. ”
“I’m sure that the workers weren’t privy to the scheme, but Lino on the other hand, may be quite capable of pulling off such a sophisticated plot after all its his place right? He would certainly know when and where to place the hidden cameras,” he suggested.
Lino huh? I wonder if that’s the same Lino that got my son. It was really hard not to just lean forward and asked the driver where is the hell is the Lino, but I had to keep my cool.
“I-I-I guess,” Roxy stammered. “I don’t know shit but to keep m-my mouth shut and m-my ass open.”
“I brought this shit on myself. I have everything but it seems like I’m determined to end up with nothing,” the distinguished guy confessed as he pulled into the Grey Hound Parking lot. “Where are you guys going?”
“I’m going home to see mom in Washington D.C,” responded Roxy. I just sat silently not knowing what to do or say. It saddened me to see that even highly educated men crept around with faggots on their wife. Even these so-called upper class people had a dark-side just like the poor blacks they consider rodents. It made me think about Turk’s black ass out buying pussy and just saying to hell with his son. Does anyone have family values anymore? Are there any good men left?
“These cats are pulling the easiest million dollar scam, a piece, in the history of Akron, Ohio,” sighed the driver as he parked. “It’s brilliant, make a safe haven for powerful men and provide all the sweet, tender, gay runaway male-meat they want and—take photos of it all. Now the bright lights, loud music, free dope, free liquor and madness all make sense. It was a set up to catch our hands in the cookie jar and our pants down.”
“Million dollar scam?” scowled Roxy. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Simple, there’s over two hundred clients being black mailed for ten thousand dollars. I just feel so stupid to be caught up in such a disgraceful faction,” he lamented as he dug into his expensive dress jacket. “Here if you ever need my assistance; take this card-call me anytime.” He even turned around and gave me a card too. He looked me over again; I guess he had just realized, to his disappointment, that I was an ovary-bearing woman.
“You gals be safe,” he smiled.
We thanked him and walked into the bus station both bare foot as hell. Not many people were there, I guess that was a good thing. Roxy went up to the information desk and grabbed us some tickets. We had lucked up big time; the next bus left for Michigan in one hour. However, fear wouldn’t let us wait comfortably.
PART FOUR
DAMN ROXY
During our bus ride to Detroit, I was visibly disturbed and mentally exhausted. I had saggy shopping bags beneath my eyes and my eyes were bloodshot too. I was a nervous wreck and my stomach was so queasy. My head ached and my foot was swollen nearly twice its normal size. Roxy just sat up and said, “Damn Blondie, I’m ready for a change.”
“What a hairdo change?” I asked.
“Naw bitch, a lifestyle change. Learn to live like a man.”
After he said that, one of two strange looking black women looked over and turned her face up at us.
“You mean a straight man like wife and children?” I inquired.
“No just a straight man that can make his mom proud; I want my mom to see in a three piece sharkskin suit at least one time so that she can squeeze me tight and say 'boy, I’m so proud of you'.” His eyes watered. This meant a lot to him. This talk about change startled me; change is scary.
“Blondie when we reach Detroit, will you help me pick out some highly fashionable clothes, for men?’
“Sure Roxy,” I bucked my eyes. He was dead serious. “Shit, we have to get some shoes too.” I looked down at my dirty beat up feet and immediately became ashamed that I was on a public bus like this. It was certainly time for change.
Roxy continued, “I’ve never been understood, even as a child when I played with paper dolls and put on my sister’s dresses no one understood why. I mean who gets up and says, hey I’m gonna be gay so the whole damn nation can hate me? Everyone just made fun of me, they laughed at me and that made me want to show them that I was serious about how I felt...I want to show my mom how serious I am about changing. Hell, I may even land up in momma’s church one day. Imagine that.”
––––––––
“I know what you mean Roxy,” I admitted.
“I know we have to find your son and I will do everything I can to help you. But I have a major favor to ask of you in the meantime. Will you come meet my mom with me,” he asked like a two year old. “As my girl friend, just once?”
I knew at that point that he really wanted to give a shot at this heterosexuality stuff. He laid his hand on top of mine and said, “I’m praying that Tekia and your son are alive and well and that all of you are reunited soon.”
“Me too,” I replied watery eyed with a heart burdened with guilt. “The only alternative we had was death, right?" Hot saline tears poured down my face, but he comforted me with a warm hug. I felt like we were in this neck deep together. And though he was dressed like a woman, he smelled very much like a man: a musty ass man!
Once I recovered from the funk, my worries started to get the best of me. “Why am I running to Detroit with you Roxy? My son is missing, if I don’t find him, I’ll die. Why didn’t I make them take me, shoot me or something?” I whispered.
“They don’t want your son or Tekia; they want me because of what I saw. Maybe you are better off going back. It could be even more dangerous hanging with me. I know that my life is in danger. For all I know, someone could following us on this very bus,” he responded in a low voice to avoid the nosy black women from hearing us in particular as well as anyone else.
“What will the police think if I don’t call and report my son missing?”
“I really don’t know, but I do know they would want to know who shot Tekia’s boyfriend, and that would have you in just as much as danger as me because those guys that ran the Gentlemen’s Association were connected with cops, judges, lawyers, and politicians,” he explained.
“Oh yeah, like your friend that dropped us off at the bus stop.”
“Exactly, the only thing that I can suggest we do is go up here where we are safe for the time being and at least let that swollen foot of yours heal. Plus, we can put together an organized lie so that you won’t put yourself in harm’s way. Only we know what we seen, not the cops or the kidnappers. That is all we have to our advantage. I know they are gangstas but I honestly don’t believe that they would hurt your son. How would it benefit them? He can’t talk and he didn’t see anything?”
“I guess you’re right. All I can do is pray,” I sighed. His reasoning gave me some comfort because Devon is just a little soldier, who would want to hurt him? In this day and age, reason doesn’t always bode well. I don’t know the reason Turk turned his back on his son but I’m gonna find Devon if it kills me.
Suddenly, I felt that funny looking black bitch staring at me again with her long uni-brawl. I wanted to rise up on that bitch but we had enough to worry about. Something about them bitches wasn’t right. I could feel it.
Eventually, I drifted off to sleep and when I woke up we were in the big, busy, crime infested Motor City: Detroit. And Roxy said little ole Akron was dangerous? I was consumed with the huge buildings and homeless people that decorated the side walk. However, it had the similar noise and confusion of Chicago. Thinking about Chicago took me back a deep dark place in my life. Damn, years of pain and agony that never faded away.
Roxy bought The Michigan Chronicle newspaper, “Girl check this out.” He managed to hand me the newspaper in spite of windy weather.
I asked, “What’s going on?”
“Read it girl,” He fought against the wind and pointed at a picture of the beautiful young lady who happened to resemble me quite a bit, he then refolded the unmanaged paper before giving it to me. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
It was eerie looking at a picture of this apparently dead woman, but I didn’t want seem aloof and not pay him any attention so I quickly tamed the paper and acted as if I was reading it.
“Girl what are you doing?” he smiled.
“Reading the paper, why?”
“Because you are super talented, if you can read upside down,” he took the paper and rearranged it the correct way. I turned away and my face was beet red.
He put his hand on my shoulder, “It’s okay Blondie, I’ll help you.”
“I’m so ashamed,” I leaned my head against his chest. “That’s the main reason I can’t stop hooking. How can I get any other type of job and I can’t even read Roxy? I can’t change what I do for a living. I’m a grown ass woman with a baby and I can’t even read,” I slammed my little fist against a phone booth. “The last time I seen my son playing, he was playing with ABC blocks, and I couldn’t even tell the B from the C. All I can do is sell my body until I have nothing worth selling left.”
“Blondie, you are smart,” he tilted my chin up. “You can learn. Pull yourself together, we gotta put our heads together and figure out what to do.”
––––––––
That was an understatement. My son was gone and I had left him. Nonetheless, I was sitting here feeling sorry for my illiterate ass when I needed to be worrying about only Devon’s safety. Roxy tried his best to comfort me, nothing but finding Devon could that. Soon as this foot healed, I had to hop my ass back to Akron.
Shortly after, we caught a cab, stopped by a vender, and bought some cheap shoes then we head off to this mangy ass hotel on John R Street. Roxy called it the dirty-dick-district and we were in plenty of company far as streetwalkers were concerned. Some of these girls were just babies, early teens tops. Others were so worn down from drugs that they looked like they could be great grandmothers. Streetwalking was a most merciless occupation. No one cared about you and the competition was fierce. As whores, we never knew which trick might very well be our last.
Finally, we settled in our lackluster room where the wires hung from the ceiling and roaches played soccer with paint chips in the corners. After that, Roxy hopped his musty ass into the shower: Thank God! However, I illustrated difficulty trying to get comfortable in the dingy room, with worn-out carpet and new wallpaper that attempted to hide the rotten plaster behind it. When he came out with no make-up and no wig, I was impressed. He was a handsome man. I certainly enjoyed the change in him much more than I did this room.
He put on this navy blue butterfly collar shirt and some blue jeans that buttoned down both sides, but still switched harder than I did as he walked. Old habits die-hard. Roxy walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, “We need to talk.”
“About what Roxy?” I propped my swollen foot up on two pillows.
“How did you hide your illiteracy from everyone? I know lots of niggas can’t read well, but not being able to read at all troubles me. Why didn’t you go to school?”
“It’s crazy. My mom suffered sever depression when my dad got killed; she was in and out of mental institutions and my home simply wasn’t stable enough for her to put me in school. I was never even registered in a school. She died when I was five then my uncle took custody of me. He didn’t put me in school either; he was too busy putting me on his lap for him to be concerned about me getting an education. The only education he wanted me to get was an education of misery. He succeeded,” my body ached with numbness as I recalled each chilling moment. However, I had to worry about Devon, not myself.
“After we find your son, I’ll personally help you learn to read baby,” he patted my thigh. I hopped to the shower and to get my thoughts in perspective. I had to make a plan fast because not having access to my son was killing me.
Later on that evening, we hopped on a crowded bus back into town, where Roxy gave me a little tour of the big city. “See, this is West Grand Boulevard—that used to be Hitsville,” he said as he pointed across this to this shabby building. “Home and birth of the Supremes, the Temptations, the Marvelettes, and the Miracles. Girl that Smokey Robinson is so fine,” asserted Roxy.
“What’s up with Dennis Edwards that’s the one I love,” I responded.
“I don’t know much about him now Eddie Kendricks that’s another story,” Roxy looked at me and batted his eyes. “Let’s not forget my mission girl,” he sighed. We hopped off and ate at this fancy upscale club down town next to the 20 Grand, Detroit’s hottest nightclub.
However, something seemed to trouble Roxy. “Do you find something strange about that?” he pointed across the street.
“What those two semi-trucks?” It did look kind of odd for some reason, but hell I don’t know anything about trucking except truck stops that attract lot lizards like myself. Then I couldn’t help but to noticed that uni-browled black bitch again. I asked, “Or them lot lizards that just got in the semi-trucks?”
“Maybe its nothing,” he sighed. “But it seems like we keeping bumping into them same bitches. I’m so tired and my eyes are aching. I’ve been so dizzy lately. Maybe, I’m just paranoid as fuck.”
He later took me by the Saints Stephen Community Center where the Primes and Primettes once receive an encore before they evolved into the Supremes and Temptations. “I still remember that scank ass Diana Ross. She was mad because I had a little of Eddie, but she’s had half of Motown,” claimed Roxy. “That ole’ Mo-hoe.”
With Roxy, I didn’t know what to believe. Maybe he did have a fling with whoever this Eddie character is or maybe it’s just Roxy’s overactive imagination. However, we went shopping afterwards. He bought a silk suit and some pointed leather shoes. He was very easy on the eyes and much easier on the nose too. “Shit you look good enough to get some free pussy,” I joked.
He blushed, “girl, you make me sick.” Then he gave me the same ole gay high five. He decided to buy me a conservative outfit so that I could look like what society calls a lady. And when we were finished shopping, believe it or not, we actually looked like a real couple. He looked me in the eyes and confessed, “You don’t know how much this means to me. Mom is gonna scream.” He seemed all masculine until he started jumping up and down like a cheerleader. “Girl, let me get a hold of myself.”
I walked over and put my hand behind his back. "You better get a hold of me like your use to it."
"Will do,” He smiled, “let me stop and get momma some flowers. I can't wait to see her and I hope that my sister is happy to see me,” his eyes told a sad story as he completed his sentence.
"I hope she's happy to see you too," I wondered if my momma was up there somewhere in sky watching over me.
As we walked in the florist shop, this older guy with salt and peppered hair smiled at us. After he sold us a dozen of fresh roses, he said, "You guys sure make a cute couple." Now it was the big moment of truth and I had butterflies all in my stomach. I hoped that I wouldn't mess up and that he could make his mom happy. I wish that my mom were still here to make happy. Deep down inside all children want to make their mom happy.
Finally, we traveled through the infamous Brewster Projects and we walked through six fourteen story subsidized buildings. The raggedy brick wall wore vulgar spray paintings and gang symbols, trash littered the sidewalks, and there were more rats than there were people. Nevertheless, happiness glistened in Roxy's brown eyes. “Do you know what four famous girls come from these projects?”
I nodded my head no. “Well, for one the original Blondie that’s right Diana Ross and company, Mary Wilson and Betty Mc something,” he laughed. “That’s the girl I was reading about in the news paper. Miss thang let that girl die on welfare.”
“Oh Betty, that’s the chick that was in the paper earlier huh?” I really did look like Blondie.
“No, that was Florence Ballard. I told you looked like her don’t you? She was a pretty feisty thang just like you too,” He laughed.
I couldn't help but to envy it because my mind was back in Akron wondering where on earth my son was. I had to do something and do something soon. I couldn’t just sit around wait. Mentally I was about to explode, but I had to hold it together just a little longer.
Meanwhile, we approached his mom’s apartment and he poked out his little chest and rapped on her door. Suddenly, the security screen door opened. His chubby sister, Rhonda, stood before with her hair unkempt. Her mean grimace waned into a slight smile seconds before her crusty eyes clouded over. "Where in world have you been?"
Roxy rubbed his hand over his head. "I've been making some major changes as you can see." We stepped inside. "Where's momma?" Although his sister was chubby and tacky, she was rather tall and had a beautiful face. "Sis, take a whiff of these flowers."
––––––––
His sister picked out a rose and relished its freshness then she dropped her head. "If only she could be here to enjoy it." Tears matured in her eyes. Anticipation burned my mind of her reasoning for displaying such a heartfelt outpour. Where's his momma?
Roxy's face froze. "Rhonda, what are you saying?"
"Momma died of a heart attack last week and got buried yesterday," she sobbed.
A day late but a lifetime short. Roxy fell down to the floor and hollered, "Mom-maa!" His shrieks were sincere, loud and harsh. "No-oh-oh!" His big tear drops made huge splashes on the dusty wooden floor. What could I say? I laid my hand on his shoulder.
“We looked everywhere for you. We called the County jails, Sheriff’s Departments, and emergency at the hospital," uttered his sister. Roxy stood up and scurried out of the door. Rhonda eyes and mine interlocked.
"Wait Roxy," I panicked not wanting him to leave me behind. It wasn't till after I yelled his name that I realized I blew his ‘hetero’ cover. He sister looked at me funny but I still told her our motel address before I ran after him as fast as my shapely legs would carry me. I couldn't tell if I was running out of breath or if breath was running out of me. Finally, he stopped and turned towards me with pain in his eyes, but fire on his tongue.
"What bitch!" he scoffed.
"Roxy, I'm sorry...” I pleaded.
"You should be. Your mother didn't die!" he yelped.
"My mother been dead since I was five years old, I didn’t have my mom nearly as long as you had yours around and to make matters worse, last night my only child got abducted. Roxy, you can't fall apart now. I need you—fuck giving up." I huffed half out of breath and reached over to grab my aching foot.
“She's gone Blondie. Momma gone forever...what else can I do?" his contorted face made me want to cry but an electronic jolt bolted through me.
"Live. Just like you told me. You have to stop acting like a little snotty nose bitch and stand up like you should: you’re a man. You got me this far and dammit I can't make it any further without you so you have no choice but to make it."
The sky instantly blackened, gray clouds swelled and thunder cracked whips. Flashes of lightening crackled inside the mouth of the sky before it sneezed a windfall of rain on us. Roxy walked over and leaned on me; he cried hard like a little baby. I did too. “Blondie, why wasn't I there for her final moments? I should have been there all the time," he continued. "I took her for granted and there's no one to blame but myself."
"Let’s get out of this rain," I suggested. We went back to the rat infested room. It was difficult for Roxy to come to terms of reality.
Roxy reached into his bra and pulled out another bag. He started putting it on the table. Damn, how much dope do you got, I thought. Roxy snorted several lines and I could tell he was fucked up. He looked over at me. “Get some of this white fire girl. It’s all I got left.”
It was difficult for me get comfortable knowing rodents were running inside the walls. I figured a snort of white fire would help take my mind off of things. I bent over and took a hoot. Although it did make me feel good, I didn’t get as high as I did the first time around.
Roxy confessed, “I’m addicted to this dope. I can’t break free. I know it’s bad for me, but I love this shit.”
“Damn, that’s the way I used to feel about Silky,” I confessed. “Until now, I didn’t realized that I was addicted to him just like you are addicted to dope.”
Afterwards, we sat and sadly watched TV silently. What else could I say? I worried about little Devon: my world. Could those strangers be cruel enough to kill an innocent baby? Remarkably, this peaceful celestial sensation hovered over me and whispered, 'he's okay.' Was it sheer hope or extreme desperation? I can't rest until I'm reunited with my baby. Migraines were met with little resistance from my uneasy mind. Finally, I worried myself to sleep. However, hours later, I was started to feel these warm rugged hands strumming my hips and a lustful whisper fell upon my ear.
"I want to know how it feels to be a man, show me," he whispered.
I rolled halfway over with my back up against his bare chest. "Duh, you are a man..."
"But I've never been a man in pussy. I've always been the he-pussy, never ever been with a woman. Shit, that white fire got my dick hard as hell. Will you be my first?"
“Roxy, this is not what you need,” I replied. In truth, the white fire had me in a strange mood too. However, I know he was hurting and confused. Furthermore, I didn't know if I should be insulted or intrigued, but I suppose as a friend he was entitled to some bonus pussy. After all, I certainly have had sex for less redeeming reasons. "Are you sure this is what you want? I mean what will the fellas think of you afterwards?" I joked.
"I'm scared Blondie, I don't know what to do with my life, and I sure don’t know what to do with a pussy," he confessed.
A series of feminine grunts and bumps against our neighbors’ walls offset the award moment. Apparently, the nighttime was the right time to fuck.
Why not fuck him? Maybe this would take my mind off things. Maybe this pussy can make a man of him? I rolled over and widely parted my legs. My beaver enjoyed the gentle breeze that teased it. "Don't worry, Blondie will show a dozen ways to pave a pussy."
His eager lips locked neatly against mine. This felt really weird. Suddenly, I began to wonder which one of us had sucked more dicks. However, holding him felt pure. It was a cross experience of being with a woman and a man at the same time. It gave me a twisted sense of feeling needed as a person, but being desired like a woman as well. We were both sluts searching for 'love.'
"Come on and eat this creamy pink pussy," I moaned. He slowly put his head down there but quickly came up wearing a frown.
“Oh mother of mercy, this is so nasty. Men buy this? Did someone water-pack your dripping pussy? And is it supposed to be this wet?" He frowned as he wiped secretions from his lips.
"Roxy, there's a difference from piss and pussy juice. Wet pussy is the very best, now dig in. Enjoy," he raised me back into a missionary position and I grabbed his male organ and rubbed it up and down my wet coochie crease until his little shaft got firmer and firmer. And when it was totally hard, it fitted right into this juicy joy maker and produced circular blissful rotations.
"Oooh! Woo, Ooooh, Awe shit!, Oooooh! Uh mmmmm my god, it...feel sooo," moans muffled throughout the room. “Oooh, OooOooh good god.”
"Roxy shut up! So I can hear myself moan!"
His feminine moans had turned me off and back on at the same time. I placed my hands beneath my ass and pulled my wet wide cheeks apart so that he could really dig deep in it. My soppy twat squirted creamy juices all in between my fingers. My coochie was so remarkably milky and hot that I put one of my fingers to the taste test. My fingers tasted better than Chinese sweet and sour sauce. I was so unforgivably horny that I moaned loud and hard.
"Oooh, Oh, Oh Ooooooh shit, Oh, I’m cumin, I’m cumin," he squawked.
Filled with unmatched lust, I ordered, “Now pull it out and blow a big one in my mouth." He pulled out just in time to explode his heavy hot load inside the back of my throat. I blew his shaft like a harmonica. Meanwhile, he acted like a damn fool. He moaned, screamed, yelled and grinded hard against my face while pulling my hair. He shook like crazy and panted heavily. I fingered him in his loose-fitting butt hole and he didn't stop cumming for what seemed to be ten minutes. When he calmed down, I had to ask him, "So how was it?"
He smiled, wiped the sweat beads off of his forehead then he looked at me directly in the eye and calmly said, "It was okay."
"Okay? Hum that’s exactly what I was thinking," I lied. It was great-gay fucker.
"But that finger of yours is a bad motherfucka," he laughed and gave me a big hot hug.
Aint that about a bitch, I suck on his dick for damn near an hour but he's happier getting fingered in the ass for three minutes. “We’ll at least you are talking now,” I said. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know, I can’t go back to Akron and I most definitely can’t stay here,” he sighed.
“Why can’t you stay here? Too much pain?” I sat up in bed.
“Because I don’t get along with my fat ass sister for one. What you witnessed was a straight front. See, back in the day she fell in love with this nigga but I tried to tell her he was no good because I use to...”
A loud thud busted open the door, I pulled the sheet over myself as dust and debris sprinkled all through the air but gradually landed in various places around the room. Right at that moment a huge rat dashed over me; I jumped up and screamed. Meanwhile, Roxy leaped out of the bed and dipped through the window but law enforcement awaited him on the other side.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I settled down. I could see through the shattered window that they had Roxy hand cuffed butt naked.
––––––––
“Don’t move ma’am, we don’t want to hurt anyone that we don’t have to,” uttered a short stout wide necked deputy. “Please get dressed; we just need to ask you a few questions.”
“Questions? What is going on?” I slipped on a t-shirt. It wasn’t like I was bashful about my body or anything but the deputy wasn’t bashful about staring at my big 'tamper me' titties either. I demanded, “Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Ma’am, do you know the name of the gentleman you’re with?” he asked.
Like a smart ass I fired back. “No, I just make a habit of screwing total strangers," Actually, I do. I replied, "Of course I know who he is but why are you arresting him?”
“Then, I guess I‘ll have to arrest you for aiding and abetting a dangerous felon,” He asserted as he pulled out his handcuffs.
I have to find my son, I can’t go to jail. “Hold up, wait a dynamic minute dammit, I’m from Akron, Ohio. I just came up here to visit his mom with him so that he could act like he was straight to make her proud. I don’t know nothing about Roxy being in no trouble,” I explained. The two deputies just took a whiff of the sex in the air.
"She'd be proud," laughed one and the other shook his head like yeah right.
“Who is Roxy?” snapped the first deputy on the scene. Then the other deputy whispered something in his ear. The officer asked, “Are you the young lady that told his sister what motel you guys were at?”
Totally surprised, I shook my head yes.
“Then your just fine, in fact, you may be entitled to a reward. Richard Blocker's sister Rhonda said that some girl told her where he would be. I guess that girl was you, good job. You helped us catch a killer. We’re going to need you to write a written statement,” he patted me on the shoulder.
“That’s going to be a bit of a problem,” I replied.
“Why is that?” he asked.
“Because I can’t even read much less write,” I answered shamefully.
“Are you serious?” he asked.
I noticed the other officer giggling. I quipped, “As sure as your partner has a chubby from staring at my half-naked ass.” That took the smile right off of his face.
The cool officer told me that he would just write down my statement for me.
Roxy a murderer? Damn Roxy. His sister called the police on him? Oh my god, this is all my fault. Before I could even get outside, the cruisers were taking him away like a runaway slave. Shit, what to do now? Damn, I have to find my son and my only source of support is gone. I have to put some plans into action. First things first, I have to pay his sister a visit. What you don’t know can kill you!
IT’S ALL HERE
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Meanwhile, back in Akron, Lino and GQ waited by the VFW for one of their blackmailed sex slave traffickers to drop off their payment. Tekia and Devon sat in the front seat but GQ had his pistol trained on Tekia. “So biggem, tell us where that drag quean bitch is at,” Snapped Lino.
“I don’t know. I only knew him for a month or so but I swear I don’t know about his business. He just rented a room from me,” Tekia pleaded as she paid close attention to her surroundings. “All I know is that he left with Jackie and went out to work.”
“Who the fuck is Jackie, some other drag quean?” barked GQ.
“No but she a whore, well a female hooker. This is her son. That is all she told my boyfriend," she cried. “That you killed. Why did you kill him? He didn’t know anything. I swear to God that’s all I know.”
Lino interjected, “Because he ran after I told him to be still and I need you to know that I mean business when I speak.”
Subsequently, GQ continued talking to Tekia. “Oh so this trick baby belongs to the hoe that is with Roxy. Great, call our little police friend and let him know to notify us if any one calls in for a missing black baby boy."
Lino looked down at Devon and said, "real black.” Then he pulled out his gun, “Thanks for your help." However, just as he aimed it at Tekia, this shadowy figure came up to the car with suitcase.
“Its all here, count it,” said the stranger. He wore a hat and kept his head down so that no one could positively identify him. He wore a long black trench coat and he also tried to modify his voice. “The shipment was delivered safely. Where are the negatives and photos of the clients?”
Tekia sat on the edge of her wide bloomers with fear detonating inside of her heart. Whoever this stranger was had been a lifesaver or had he? Lino pulled the bag inside and began to unzip it. Suddenly, the rearview window shattered and fragments of glass that flew everywhere. Then another powerful blast emerged form the darkness. The weapons must have been equipped with silencers. When the two powerful shots were finished, the back window was gone and so were Lino and GQ. Lino had a clear entrance and exit wound through his head. Massive blood oozed from his head onto the carpet on the driver’s side.
On the other hand, the high powerful ammunition had passed through the right dorsal part of GQ’s neck and exited through his chin, but the powerful bullet didn’t stop there; it passed through and stopped in Tekia’s back as she sat helpless in the front passenger’s seat. The stranger grabbed the bag, looked inside at the negatives and photos, step away but suddenly turned back around. He heard a crying baby. Rather than panic he grabbed the baby and quietly fled the scene.
FRONT PAGE
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Although I’m not great with directions, I had every intention on finding that no good bitch Rhonda. Not being able to read, taught me how to pay attention to detail outside of written aspects so I was pretty good at remembering the location of landmarks and symbols. How in the hell is that hoe gone call the police on her damn brother? For murder at that! That’s some real, hateful, ignorant, dumb-ass nigga shit.
As I packed up the items I did have, I thought about something. What was Roxy about to tell me? At that point and time, I reached up under the bed and grabbed his purse to get his gun. However, to my precious surprise, I stumbled over a large sum of money: a little over twenty grand. I didn’t know how to read but dammit I knew how to count. Did Roxy kill and rob someone? This is a lot of fucking money, enough for a hood whore to kill for. Was Roxy lying about seeing those cops get shot to cover up what he had really done? Why would he return here if he was running from murder charges? Would he risk all of this just to see his mom?
I decided to toss my purse aside and keep Roxy’s because of its triggered rigged compartment—it might come in handy in the future. I just loved this Foxy Brown type shit, but truth be told, I don’t think Pam Grier has shit on me. I was ready to buck up on a bitch so I decided to catch a cab. You know that I gladly spent some of the money to rent me a room in a nicer part of town first. How dare Roxy hold out on me with all this money he had tucked away? After stashing the cash away best I could in my new room, I got back in the cab and ask for directions to the apartment where Rhonda lived at in the Brewster Buildings. The foreign cab driver gladly took me there. “Hey cabbie keep the meter rolling, I’ll be right back.”
He looked at me like I was rabid out of my mind. He spoke broken English, “Miss, I need pay first. I can no wait around here. I not be safe.”
“Then pull back up here in exactly ten minutes,” then I revealed a small stash of cash and tossed him a twenty. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
His eyes glowed. “No problem. I be here ten minute sharp,” he replied.
I stepped up those creaky steps and knocked on the door hard. Rhonda answered the door with her hair done up all nice. “I see you didn’t waist anytime spending your reward money,” I snapped.
“Yeah by the way thanks,” she smirked devilishly. “Come on in.”
I stepped in with trigger finger ready. “Why did you set your brother up like that?” Fire burned in my heart.
“Do you really want to know?” she lit her wooden match on the wall then lit her cigarette. “I fell in love with a man, but my punk ass brother made it his business to fuck him. Guess where?” She blew some smoke in my direction. “Right here in my apartment.”
“Why would you want a man that would fuck your brother?”
“That’s not the point,” she took another drag of the cigarette.
“The point is, your brother is wanted for murder, that’s a family affair, two wrongs don’t make it right,” I pleaded. I tried to put myself in her shoes and that was fucked up if it was true.
“Well, it shouldn’t have been any type of affair! He murdered my fiancé,” she blew smoke directly in face this time. “For your information, he claimed that my fiancé used to turn dates with him and that I shouldn’t marry him but when I didn’t believe him, he made it his business to fuck my man in my home!” She stepped over by the front door. “Well, he made me a believer as much as I hated it. I’m a big girl and I don’t have a ton of men lined up to be with me. Forgive me for wanting to be happy-you know?”
I just stared at her blankly.
Who would want to believe that about their future husband? Thoughts of Turk danced around my mind. I thought about how he must have felt picking me up off of the corner like a common piece of mangy merchandise.
“Yeah, he made a mistake- a big mistake. Can’t you see that he was trying to help you? How else could he make you see the awful truth? That nigga you were fucking with was a fucking faggot.” She turned her back to me as I fanned the smoke from my face. “But Rhonda, I wanted you to know that he asked me to act like his girl friend so that he could make your momma proud. He really wants to change but it takes time for anyone to change. Maybe you’ve never did anything that your ashamed of or sorry for, but putting him in prison isn’t gonna bring your ex back, do you think that’s gonna help him? Is that what your mom would have wanted for him? Enjoy your money and I hope that you’re proud of yourself. I hope you’re happy now.”
“Bitch, who died and made you important, get out of my house before I toss your narrow ass out,” then she blew more spoke directly in my face for the last time.
"Your momma," I replied defiantly.
Anger registered across her fat face. Instantly she shoved me with her shoulder into her door. I shoved back. She bounced off of the wall and pictures fell off of the wall. In retaliation, she pulled my hair. She jerked me down to the ground and punched me on top of my head, one, two, unanswered times. I was down but not out. I grabbed the big bitch by the back of her knees and she folded to the ground. Afterwards, I sprang on top of her to fire off a punch that really got her attention.
She grabbed her bloody nose and cried, “Okay, I know that I was wrong. Don’t kill me. I was just jealous that’s why I called the police on him. I saw how cute you two looked together and I sat here and brooded all day then I thought of how I lost my ex. That’s when I called the police on him,” she cried. She lay on the floor holding her bloody face.
“How much did you get to sell out your brother?”
“Three hundred dollars, I’m sorry please don’t hurt me. I can look in your eyes and see that you’re one mean bitch,” she cried.
“You can see in this fist, I’m one serious bitch,” I kicked the bitch in the stomach and demanded. “I need Roxy’s full name so that I can get him an attorney.”
“His full name is Rockmin Bennitt,” she confessed,” I know a few good lawyers.”
“No thanks, you’ve already helped enough in his defense. If I need you, I know where to find you,” I dipped out, jogged down the steps, and the cab was waiting there just as he said he would be. “Take me back to my room.” He drove me back to the room and I asked him, “Do you know any good criminal attorneys. My best friend has been arrested for murder?”
"Sure I do. Some blacks are hostile to us Arabs in many communities here. My brother killed a man trying to rob him in self-defense a few years ago. He has a great attorney but he’s very costly ma’am. He’s Herbert Steelcrest-the best criminal attorney in Michigan,” the driver wrote down his phone number.
“Thank you.” I tipped him well then walked in and counted the cash and took the initiative to call Herbert Steelcrest.” His secretary said that he was busy. “Tell him that I have five thousand cash for his new client right now and I’m dead serious.” Several seconds later he got on the phone; I wasn’t surprised.
“This is Attorney Steelcrest how can I help you?”
“My friend Roxy, I’m mean Rockmin Benitt was arrested for murder. To be honest I don’t know all of the details but I want you to come pick up this retainer. I’m from Akron, Ohio and I don’t feel comfortable carrying this much cash to your office.”
“Oh the rubber capitol of the world, my retainer is five grand, that’s just to get the ball rolling and file a motion of discovery and so forth. Is that a problem?”
“Not a problem at all, in fact I’ll even throw in a little pussy too?” I joked.
“Excuse me?” he said sternly. “I’m a professional miss...”
“So am I, I’m Blondie. Please come pick this up as soon as possible. I have to get back to Akron to find my son that was abducted, please hurry.” I urged.
"Ma’am, that's against our company policy could you just stop by my office and drop it off with my secretary?"
"I can stop and drop it off with the competition," I shot back. Suddenly, he adjusted the company policy, took my address, and told me that he was on his way and hung up. Within thirty-five minutes, he was at my door. I opened up the door and this man was dressed to kill and smelled good enough to eat. From the way he looked at me, I’d say that he was thinking something similar.
“How do you do Miss Blondie? I need you to sign this paper saying that you paid me to be this gentleman’s attorney,” He opened up his briefcase. “I’m familiar with the case so I hope to get your friend off or at least the lightest charges possible.”
“Here,” I gave him ten thousand up front. “I’m gone be honest with you, I can’t write; I got this rare condition that limits my motor skills so you sign and date that I gave you ten grand on behalf of Rockman Bennitt. I’m not dumb either so don’t fuck him over. I had a friend say that you were a damn good attorney and that you got his brother of a murder for self-defense. I want your business card so that I can call and get up dated on the details. This man means a lot to me. Promise me that you’ll do your best?” I asked.
“I will Miss Blondie, I will,” he replied as he handed me one of his business cards. “You are one hell of a woman. Are you still going to throw in what you mentioned over the phone?” He smiled.
I laid on the bed and spread my legs eagle, “You mean some of this.”
“I’m just joking, Miss Blondie,” He wore a big smile on his face as he counted the cash and didn’t as much ask where it came from. I hope that he helps Roxy get out; I don’t know what else to do.
“Good bye Blondie and I wish you luck with finding your son,” he shook my hand long and firm.
“When I call to check on him, you better get your ass on the phone,” I said as I patted on my twat “Don’t make me have to put Miss Pinky on you. She has a really hot temper.”
“Don’t worry you won’t have to recruit the talents of Miss Pinky to get me to do my job,’ he answered. “But I will let you know if you need to bring some more Mr. Green.” Then he left and got back into his big Jaguar and drove off.
Suddenly, I thought what if he wasn’t even an attorney and he just drove off like that with ten grand of into the sunset. Although he gave me his business card, I can’t even read the motherfucka. Maybe I’m just over-thinking shit, it’s not like the cab driver knew for a fact that I was going to call this attorney in the first place. I just hope that I did the right thing for Roxy. “May God be with you Roxy, I have to go back home and find my son.”
I went and caught a train back to Akron because it was quicker and much more comfortable than that snug Grey Hound Bus. I kept Roxy’s purse as a keepsake plus protection. I kept the .22 tied to my thigh because now nothing but death could keep me from my child. Dead or alive, I’m going to find him.
Meanwhile, Tekia is rushed from the crime scene to the Akron City Hospital. "Her fifth lumbar vertebrae have been shattered by the remainder of the powerful impact of the high caliber bullet. Her blood pressure has dropped severely due to the loss of blood. She’s in critical condition,” said Dr. Mercer.
"Will the only living witness of this survive?” asked Detective Maddox of the homicide division. “Whoever took these shots was an excellent marks man.”
Murray took his gloved hand and picked up a little toddler shoe that was imbued in blood. “Maybe, she wasn’t the only witness to survive.” He turned and handed the shoe to his partner, Detective Maddox
“What do you propose?” asked Murray.
“Someone killed them to take the baby or someone didn’t have the heart to kill the baby,” asserted Maddox. “Hopefully, that young lady pulls through not only for her sake but for the baby's sake as well.”
“I’ll get on ballistics to see what type of gun was used, most likely a high powered rifle looking at the angle and impact of wounds, I’m guessing,” added Murray.
“Smells like some corruption,” scowled Detective Maddox.
The next day, I got off of the train and noticed this elderly lady reading the Akron Beacon Journal. I recognized that cops were on the front page, so I asked her what happened to the cops.
On the front page was the headline saying: TWO AKRON POLICE MURDERED IN 'ALLEDGED' FAST-TRACK GAY BROTHEL. Her eyes read hungrily as she slowly fed me the information and as she got to the last paragraph it said, other shootings where two reputed criminals were found murdered also believed to be related to this criminal enterprise.
As I examined the other photos in the obituaries, it happened to be photos of the very two guys that abducted my son and Tekia. My head spun. If they are dead, where is my son, and Tekia? I double checked the obituaries to make sure that I didn’t see any pictures of Devon or Tekia. The old lady looked at me, and knew something was wrong as she continued to read out loud, she read, “The internal affairs believe that it is not a conspiracy, but an isolated incident.”
“Hell, if it aint,” I sighed. “Did you read anything about an eleven month old baby and a heavy-set black girl, anything?”
“No darling,” she looked up at me. “Nothing in today’s paper.”
I replied, “Thank you so much miss.”
I remembered Roxy told me that he had witnessed who killed two police. Those two guys also killed Tekia’s boyfriend and ran off with my baby. If they were the perpetrators, they're dead now. Where on earth is my baby then? The paper didn't mention anything about a baby, my baby.
Maybe no news was good news. I was hungry, tired and worried. I could eat to stop the hunger and sleep to get rested but the only thing I could do about worrying was worry more. I still had nine thousand dollars of Roxy’s and I planned to put back any money that I had to spend. However, not wanting to call the police and incriminate myself for strong-armed robbery, I decided to call the lawyer that handed us his business card before we left to go Detroit. I prayed that I remembered his name as I stopped at a payphone to call him because I sure in the hell couldn’t read this business card. He answered the phone to my surprise because I thought some secretary would answer his phone just as the lawyer did up in Detroit. “Hello Attorney Maxwell speaking,” he said.
“Mr. Maxwell, this is Blondie. You dropped us off at the Grey hound a few days ago.”
“Yeah, I remember you and Roxy were going to D.C. How can I help you?” He inquired.
D.C? Oh that's right Roxy must have lied as usual to his client. “Roxy, has been arrested for murder before we left town. It’s a long complicated story. My son was kidnapped but I’m afraid to call the cops because some of them are dirty and I don’t who they are. I need to talk to you in person right here, right now. I don’t have anyone that I trust.”
“Okay, does anybody know that you’re back in Akron?”
“No, absolutely no one, not even Roxy because he’s in jail up state,” I cried.
“Tell me your location and I’ll be to pick you right up,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone where you are at, okay? If there’s dirty cops involved, we must be extra cautious. We will sort this out.”
I told him and he came to pick me up immediately. He drove down Main Street by The Imperial Factory so that we could have some privacy. “Now, be calm and tell me what you know so I can help you find your baby?”
"I really don’t know anything but Roxy is an acquaintance of mine. Two guys kidnapped my son and his babysitter; the same guys that Roxy said he witnessed kill two police officers. However, in the newspaper,” I pointed at the newspaper he had laid across his seat. “It says that, they are dead also. Somebody still has my baby!”
“Did Roxy say anything else outside of the fact that he saw the two cops killed? Since the two parties are dead, did he mention any third or forth parties?” He asked sincerely.
“No—but if the guys that took my baby are dead, where in the hell is my baby?” I cried. “The paper didn’t say nothing about my little baby.”
He hugged me. “Try not to worry; we’ll figure something out. How old is your son?”
“He’ll be one in a few days,” I cried. “He’s all I got.”
“Now, where is Roxy being detained?”
“In Detroit on murder charges,” I replied.
“Detroit? I thought you guys were going to D.C....”
––––––––
“I didn’t know where we were going until we got there but I got him a lawyer before I left. I didn’t know what else to do. I hate to trouble you but I don’t know who else to call. I’m scared and I miss my baby,” I snotted.
“So you haven’t heard anything about the Baird Street blackmails at the Gentlemen’s Association?” he asked.
“No,” I furrowed my eyes. “Not at all.”
I’m going to take you somewhere safe but I need you stay there until I tell you its okay to leave okay?” he suggested. “I have a few friends that I trust on the force. Do you have any pictures of your son?”
I had a picture of Devon and Tekia from about five months ago. I dug it out and handed it to him. “Here’s the only picture I got.” He looked at it and his eyes widened.
“What is there something wrong?”
“No not at all... it just that...she looks very familiar,” he replied. “Your babysitter is a BIG girl.”
“Yeah, she is,” I laughed ruefully. He drove me down to Summit Lake and dropped me off at this dim shabby house.
“This place is safe. Here’s the keys,” he handed them to me. “Make sure that you stay put. Please don’t call and let no one know your whereabouts. We’ll find your son but there is some real fishy things going on okay? Stay put. I’ll help you find your son,” he promised.
“Thank you,” I replied. I gave him a hug then grabbed my purse and headed up the steps to enter this nightmare of a house. I was happy to have someone to call on. I stepped inside and the place was a wreck. There was soiled syringes lying around, used condoms, and dirty tampons scattered everywhere. The house reeked. It smelled like cat-pisk-m ussie: cat piss and musty pussy. This must have been some old dope-den but how would a high-powered attorney have access to a low-down roach infested pigpen like this? Maybe this place belongs to one of his old clients?
Something struck me, something’s not right. My gut grew a knot in it the size of grapefruit. I pulled out my gun and leaned back against the wall. My breathing became rapid and shallow. Paranoia flooded my senses, as smack would an addict's veins. Then a crystal clear moment hit me. How could I have missed this major clue? If this clue was a snake, I would have been bitten already. How did that lawyer know that Tekia was my son’s babysitter? I never said that my son’s babysitter was big or described her in any kind of way. Shit! He’s setting me up! I quickly ran out of the back door and darted through the heavily wooded area.
I thought that I had it made in the shade but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I happen to hear movement behind me. When I looked back to see what the noise was, two hooded parties draped in black were giving me serious chase. I ran as fast as I could before I toppled over this stone and twisted my ankle, re-injured the same foot. As I lay there in pain, I could hear the enemy getting closer and closer. I didn’t want to die like this; I wasn’t going die like this! Was I?
All I could think about was my precious little son holding me, drooling on me and smiling at me with them razor sharp teeth of his. Then as I looked blindly up into the night, the hooded men were standing up over me. Both of them were armed with Machetes, simultaneously they raised their blades with both arms. My eyes felt like they would fall down my throat and I locked ass tight enough to turn coal into instant diamonds.
Then faster than a teenager’s desire to fuck, I just squeezed the trigger in the purse not once, not twice but emptied it. The first assailant fell and the second limped away in the best running effort that he possibly could. The lifeless figure laid before me. Damn, here was a dead motherfucka right next to me. I had to know what this guy looked like that was going take my life. I hesitantly pulled off his hood. It was—that same funny looking black bitch with a thick uni-browl from the Grey Hound Bus. Actually it wasn’t a woman, it was a damn drag quean, no wonder she looked funny. He was still breathing, barely.
“Why were you following me? Who sent you to kill me!” I reached into my thigh highs and pulled out my .22 and shoved it under his chin.
“It don’t matter; he’ll kill me if your not dead anyway,” panted the wounded assailant. “I just needed my medicine, I’m so sick. It burns-it burns.” He groped his arms desperately.
Sympathy shit didn’t work with me. I stood up and kicked him with my good foot. “Bitch, you tried to kill me; it should burn.” As I looked down at my foot, I realized how easy it was for them to follow us on the Grey Hound because we were the only two barefooted bitches on the entire bus. So we were easy marks.
Now, it was time for the hunter to be hunted. If he knows Lino, he knows where my son is. I ran back towards the abandoned apartment in hopes of finding Mr. Maxwell awaiting his news about my death. But why would he want me dead? All I want to do is just find my son.
However, once I arrived back at the apartment, the only thing I saw was a bloody trail. It stopped in the street and I assumed that Mr. Maxwell must have been waiting for both of them so that he could assure I was dead. Did he want to make sure that I didn't know anything and if I did, I'd die with it?
Or did he want to know if Roxy was in the Wayne County Jail as a witness instead of a defendant? Whatever crime was being covered up was so much bigger than Roxy and I. Surely, whatever he was covering up was some front page type of news. He knew something or he wouldn’t have had us followed in the first place.
FIGHTING FOR LIFE
Two weeks later, Detective Murray read off the ballistic report to his partner Maddox. “It’s a .308 Winchester rifle used to kill the two thugs. This is a Swat issued riffle.” He read on. “Awe shit, look here. Officer O’Connor and Walker were found within a two block radius of the two dead felons. Are these murders connected or are these two entirely different incidents?”
“So Lino Ruiz and Gerald Philips A.K.A GQ got killed just two blocks away from where the officer’s corpses were found in the alley huh?” asked Maddox as he rubbed his chin.
“Correct,” Murray scratched his head.
“Smells like a connection to me,” added Maddox.
“What do you think about these missing prostitutes both male and female do you think this in somehow tied with these murders?” asked Murray.
“This is little ole safe Akron not Harlem or Chicago,” replied Maddox, “I can’t imagine crime on that scale here but somebody’s causing these prostitutes to come up missing. There could be a connection, I can’t say for certain. Let’s bring in anybody slightly suspicious. Our own has been murdered and I’m determined to find out why,” he scowled. They got into their unmarked cars and headed towards 5th Avenue, the crime scene.
Meanwhile, Tekia had miraculously survived her third surgery to reduce the swelling on her spinal column, but the outcome looked grim. She was still unconscious and not responding to stimuli. She was a fighter holding on to a very thin string of life. She had no family and very few associates from her old solon. However, not a single soul had come to see how she was doing. The road to recovery is often traveled alone. Doctor Mercer read her chart and sadly looked over at the charge nurse, Maxine. “Does she have any family or a living will?” he sighed.
––––––––
“Not that we are aware of ...not a soul has been up here to even see the pour girl,” confirmed Maxine.
“I wondered if the cops contacted the family,” Dr. Mercer said. “Because Detective Maddox said she’s a witness of two murders and this is why they omitted her being in critical condition from the newspaper just in case someone wanted to finish her off. Just maybe no one knows she’s here.”
“I didn’t know that,” replied Maxine. “I hope someone comes to see her.”
“There’s a slim change that Medicaid will cover the expenses much longer if she doesn’t show any signs of improvement,” he responded grimly.
“I’ll keep a close eye on her Doc,” sighed the nurse.
Meanwhile, I was getting my ass in gear. It was time to stop fucking around and find my motherfucking son. Maxwell recognized Tekia for a reason—did he have her killed? Even though I can’t read, I checked the obituaries and her face haven’t appeared in any of the recent papers. The first thing for me to rule out is the hospitals; we only have four in Akron: Akron City Hospital, General Hospital, St. Thomas Hospital, and Children’s Hospital. Children Hospital is for children and Tekia’s not a child so I’m gonna rule that one out.
I decided just to bluff my way and acted as if Tekia was admitted. If she was in the hospital chances are she was hurt, most likely shot, but who knows maybe she even leaped out of a moving car. Whatever the case, she would be a trauma victim, I guess. I knew that I was wishing on a star and my chances were slim, but what else did I have to wish on. I had not a soul to trust out this bitch.
I went to St. Thomas first and went to the information station and if there was a patient named Tekia Singles admitted. The receptionist was friendly but nothing came up when she typed her name in the system. I was disappointed but I couldn’t give up hope. Then I thought about it, Lino and GQ had been shot over on the East side. If she was in a hospital, she was probably at Akron City Hospital.
I caught a cab over to Akron City Hospital; I walked up to the nurse's station and asked, “Can you tell me what room Tekia Singles is in?” The nurse smiled and nodded her head. “Right around here. I love that hairdo...you are?”
“I’m her best friend; she babysits my son,” I asserted.
“She needs to hear from someone that cares,” said the nurse. “Even if she doesn’t respond, you feel free to talk right on. Most Doctors think I’m crazy when I tell my visitors to talk to their unconscious loved ones but I know that these people have a pulse for one reason and one reason only...their fighting for their lives.” She smiled and patted me on the back then let me be alone with Tekia.
Damn, I couldn’t believe it, I found Tekia. I had to admit, I felt pretty damn smart. I took a long silent look at Tekia. It was heart-wrenching moment riddled with questions of why. Why all this pain? Why all this murder? Why do I miss Turk? Why do I love him still? Why did Turk throw his son and I out like yesterday’s garbage? Why can’t I find my son? Why can’t Tekia tell me, now? Why? Why? Why?
Suddenly, I realized how lucky I was not to be on that bed fighting for my life. Tekia had lost at least seventy pounds. Her complexion was altered and her skin was droopy. Her face was free from the harshness it once harbored. I walked over and selfishly began to cry as I talked to her. “Tekia, I’m so sorry that this happened to you. I’m so sorry that we never got to see eye to eye.” I rubbed her hand as I trembled with a face full of tears. “I never thought that I’d miss you like I do, miss you calling me stank hoes, public pussy, and the whole nine... I’m going crazy not knowing if Devon is alive or not. People are trying to kill me. God only knows why, I'm just a little ole helpless hoe that's all.”
Then the funny looking monitors started making weird beeping noises and Tekia moved her hand ever so slightly. The nurse came running in to adjust it. “Her vitals just raised dramatically,” happily uttered the nurse.
“She grabbed my hand, she squeezed my hand,” I yelped. A tear of joy slid down my eye.
The nurse bent over and said, “I knew you were a fighter-keep on fighting.” She gently rubbed Tekia’s forehead then she left the room.
I stepped over and took off my sun glasses and whispered, “Tekia, I need you alive. I know that you are my only hope of finding him. I won’t stop till I find him. You hang in there—with your mean ass. You got to fight through this.”
Then I left the floor and found a public restroom downstairs. I wasn’t about to leave this hospital looking the same way that I came looking. I wondered if someone was monitoring Tekia’s visitors; I couldn’t be too careful.
Once on the first floor, I stepped into the restroom. Luckily Roxy, kept an additional wig in his purse so I switched wigs. While I was re-arranging my wig, a sharp young lady walked in wearing this lovely dress. She was about my size. I pulled out a hundred dollars and asked to buy her dress. She didn’t even blink, before I knew it, she was disrobing and putting on my old raggedy dress. I had to disguise myself because I was fighting for my life. I put on my sunglasses and stepped out of the room then headed straight for the exit in a calm smooth manner. I found Tekia and I definitely intend to find my son.
OUR SON?
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Although from looking at me on the outside, I looked like I had it all together but on the inside that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I was a nervous wreck and I'd barley ate. Maybe starving myself would help to alter my appearance. I need my baby and I know my baby needs me. Dear Lord help me find my baby. (I can’t believe that I’ve missed his birthday today) It has been a little over two weeks so I decided that I needed to give Attorney Steelcrest a call and find out the deal on Roxy. Roxy was so right when he said that it’s more than just hoeing, it’s about surviving and I was barely doing that. I got a fist full of change and made that long distance call to contact Mr. Steelcrest. His secretary answered the phone. “Miss, I need to talk to Steelcrest this is a long distant call...this is Blondie.”
“Well, Blondie he’s in court right now but he did leave a message for you. Do you have an ink pen?”
“Yeah I got one in my purse, but hell I don’t know how to write; I had to think of something fast. “No, I don’t. What’s the message?”
“Here’s Roxy’s address,” she read it off and I did my best to remember it by repeating it over and over in my head. “He said that he’s trying to get Roxy to take a plea for manslaughter because they have the gun with Roxy’s finger prints on it and a witness. There’s no way that Roxy can beat the case but he said that he wants you to write Roxy and try to talk some sense into Roxy. If not the case goes to go to trial, which will be costly and cost much more money,” she replied.
“Miss what is your name?” I asked.
“Sally, is there a problem?”
“No but Sally, I’m really not good at writing and part of your job is to write, right? Sally, I know you are not making the money that you deserve. If you write Roxy a letter explaining what you explained to me with some heart felt shit on it, I’ll pay you fifty dollars under the table. I really need him to get that message and to know that I’m the reason he’s getting that letter. He’ll understand. This would mean a lot to me.”
––––––––
“That’s very touching,” she paused. “I’ll write it but you can’t say anything to anyone. What’s you’re address so that he can write you back?”
I gave her Tekia’s address, “345 Howard Street.”
“Don’t worry about the fifty dollars, you are going through enough.”
“Thank you so much, I’ll call back later,” I felt sorry for Roxy but I was too busy thinking about my son and my own life.
Afterwards, I made my silent journey to the Morning Motel downtown. I rented a room under a fictitious name and I went to lie down and figure out what to do next. However, as I opened up my door this stranger approached me. “Hey Jackie, don’t act like you don’t see me?”
I turned around to see—guess who? Out of all people on the planet, I said, “Turk, you look terrible! What on earth happened?” It was a mixed feeling. It felt good to see someone that I knew but it was the lowest being in the world. I hate to admit that it also felt great to see him looking raggedy and bummed out. “What the fuck happened to you and your lovely wife and kids?” I asked sarcastically as I opened my door.
“Can we step in and talk there?” He humbly asked.
“Talk about what nigga?” It felt good to have this low-down dirty nigga craw and beg.
“My son has been kidnapped by the way, not that you give four minute fuck!” I walked in and left the door open so that he could beg his way in like David Ruffin.
However, to my surprise, for a moment he just stood at the door wide-eyed and sad-faced before he ran over and tackled me onto the bed.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” I screamed and started swinging wildly at him then milliseconds later a bullet whistled by my ear. “Oh shit, that’s what’s wrong with you.” I looked up barely seeing this hooded assailant firing off shots at us in the dim motel room. I could vaguely see him because he was draped in black and the room was poorly lit but I didn’t have a problem recognizing where those live shots were coming from as the sparks flickered like spark plugs in the darkness. Turk and I hastily scrambled to the floor trying to get the fuck out of harm’s way. I tried to feel for my double action pistol but it must have somehow fell out of my purse.
After a few seconds of silence, we heard a double-click: an apparent indication that the shooter’s gun was empty, I saw a blur dash by me and then I heard a clash between the mirrors and the enemy. Turk got up and tackled the assailant. I got up and turned on the light then I saw my gun spawned across the bed. I dived for it but Turk got tossed into me and the assailant darted out of the door. Turk ran after him. I picked up my gun and fired off a couple of hot rounds into the darkness of the night. We both gave chase but to no avail. My left ankle was killing me and the gunman got away.
Turk was bent over and out of breath. “Summa-bitch-got-a- way.”
I pointed my gun at him. “But you didn’t, you think that I’m that same stupid dumb ass bitch that I used to be. You staged this shit and I’m gone kill your sorry ass. It’s time for retribution,” I pulled back the hammer of the .38. “My son will be better off without you anyway.”
“Jackie-don’t- do –this. What kind of set-up involves me getting shot?” he pleaded. I looked at his blood soddened hand holding his side. “I didn’t even know you stayed here; I just happen to see you.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked suspiciously. “What’s here for you Mr. Big Shot? Some get-quick, rancid, unwashed, prostitute-pussy?”
“Why are you asking this?” he snapped.
“Because I want to know bitch!” I stepped back and put both hands on the gun.
“Getting high,” he sighed regretfully. “Out here free basing, my wife filed for a divorce all along. Once she got me to put you out and she got back in the house, she lied on me, then had the police put me out. I can’t even go back to my own house.”
“Awe that’s too bad. It couldn’t have happen to a more deserving motherfucka. How did she get you put out of your own house?”
“Simple, she called children services and said that I beat her and molested both of my children and the bitch even planted dope in my car and said that I was dangerous and on drugs,” he looked at his bloody hand, then placed it back on his injured side.
“But you just said that you are getting high,” I asserted.
“Yeah, I get high but I’m not dangerous. You know I wouldn’t hurt my kids Jackie,” he explained.
“I don’t know shit. I know you used to beat the fuck out of me. I seen how you hurt my son by repeatedly abandoning us,” I added.
––––––––
“I didn’t hurt our son Jackie,” he replied.
“Our son?” I raised the gun and stepped closer. “My son wouldn’t be missing if you had been a man, but you are too busy being a bitch-hen-pecked junkie. You hurt your son by mistreating his momma nigga.”
“You’re right Jackie, I lost my family, my house, my car and even my job. My freedom is the only thing I got left to loose,” he sighed.
“Try dignity—oh that’s right, you didn’t have that to begin with,” I sneered. “Well, what comes around goes the fuck around huh? She put you out of your house, bet she giving that fat pile of pork pussy to the postman!”
“Actually she’s giving it to Boe, the gas man,” his eyes watered. “The same so-called friend of mine that fucked you.”
“Did you backhand him?” I paused for affect. “The way he’s at home backhanding your wife’s pussy?” I boasted, “It serves your sorry ass good and good luck hopping your bitch ass to the hospital. Get to limping! I hope your wife enjoy his dick as much as I did.”
He fell down on both knees and cried, “Don’t you leave me this way. Don’t you dare leave me. Jackie you’re bigger than this.”
“Fuck you, you wouldn’t even let me wash my funky pussy before you put me out of your house part-time gangsta, being weak is choice and I aint got time for no weak bitch-built niggas,” I stormed off in the other direction.
“Jackie, I’ll help you find our son, you can’t do it on your own,” he said. “Help me and I’ll help you.”
I stopped in my footsteps. He did just save my life and although he’s beneath me, I still love his sorry ass. He is the father of our son. I could definitely use some help. In fact, I could use some dick. He’s at least worth that much, right? “Come on, we got to get moving before the Johnny Law gets here.” I walked over and looked down at Turk’s pitiful expression. His eyes sang A Song for You. Then I bent down and looked at his wound, it was pretty deep but the bullet had gone in and came out. That’s a good thing from what I gathered instead of the bullet in their ricocheting off of his bones. I took his shirt and tied a real tight knot like us ghetto hoes do with the handmade halter-tops. “What are you doing?” he winched as sweat poured down his face.
“Trying to slow down the bleeding. I seen this on The Fugitive once, hopefully the shit works,” I explained.
––––––––
We went out through the alley where all of night creatures wonder about. He walked slowly behind me but I didn’t how much longer I could hold up through all of this madness. I watched in horror as I saw people shooting each other up with heroin syringes. Others were using foil to smoke rock cocaine. Some of them were barely teenagers; others looked as if they had spent their entire lives in this alley.
Turk grabbed on to me as he clinched on to his bleeding side. He was heavy and hot, so I knew he was really hurt. I was surprised how no one seemed to even care that he was injured, no one even slightly attempted to see if we needed help. They were too busy banging their veins with smack, shoving the joy of cocaine up their nose and misery into their souls, and drowning their failures with illicit pharmaceuticals. Then suddenly the drug-infested alley went up in to a dust cloud as junkies fled strait, left and right. The orgy of activity blinded my mind’s eye.
Flashing lights were coming at us and then I turned around to see flashing police headlights behind us. We were surrounded on both ends. I thought about how Silky must have felt when pigs at the Trop surrounded him. I quickly removed my purse from my shoulder and tossed it into a corner. I didn’t have any of my identification in it and I surely didn’t need a carrying a concealed weapons charge. I have to remain calm. “Be cool Turk, they’ll get you some help; don’t tell them shit,” I ordered as I got down on my knees with my hands up. Part of me felt, now I finally could rest; now I’m safe. However, the rigid faced officers ran over and slammed me onto the ground and man-handled a bitch until this Officer came over and said, “Just cuff her and let her lay there.”
“Are you sure Officer Parks,” replied the cop. I never even got to see Officer Park’s face since I was face down in the dark alley.
“Get him out of here.” The cops fetched Turk.
“I didn’t do shit but get shot! All I did was get shot,” Screamed Turk. I heard Turk attempt to struggle with them. “Get off me motherfuckas,” his voice slowly drifted off into the distance then I heard the doors on the cruiser shut one by one and the police car pulled off.
“I have her under control gentlemen,” Parks instructed. “Go make sure that the parameters are safe and ask the motel clerk which room was occupied by these miscreants and see if we can find and incriminating evidence in the suspect’s room.” The officers scurried off into the night. He stood me up to my feet by pulling me up with by the handcuffs as he stood behind me. “Ouch, you’re hurting me,” I screamed. He shoved me over towards his cruiser. It must have been just for me because the door was already hanging open in the back. “I didn’t do anything, dammit!” I screamed and tried to wiggle my way loose, and then finally I cocked one of my legs up on the car to prevent further movement. “Where are you taking me?”
––––––––
“To interrogation,” he chuckled as he jerked me back to move my leg then tossed me on the floor of the backseat face down. I kicked wild but nothing I did seemed to matter. I was helpless, hand-cuffed face down, and what could I do? Not a motherfuckin thang. I wondered where he was taking me as I heard his engine humming along the road. “Well, if he’s gonna kill me, it will all be over soon.” He took a few more tortuous streets then his engine stopped and silence was anything but golden. I heard him get out and his feet tapped off of the pavement. I waited in the queasiest form of anticipation. Every minute was its own eternity.
CHANGE THE WAY YOU FEEL ABOUT IT
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Meanwhile, at Akron City Hospital things were slowly picking up for Tekia. She had come through, but her memory was hazy. Unfortunately, the doctors told her that she was paralyzed from the waist down and would never walk again. Physical therapists were scheduled to work with her for her long road to recovery. “Somehow I made it out of two murderers’ car alive, but I wish that I was dead. How can I live in a wheelchair? I go from being fat and not wanting to move to not being able to move,” Tekia lamented to the nurse, Maxine.
“It’s going to be a very hard adjustment but you‘re a fighter. The girl you babysat for came here to see you and I knew from that moment that you would make it through. I know that somehow you’ll find the courage to make it through this. Life is anything but fair but you have the ability to turn stumbling blocks into stepping stones,” she advised.
“I won’t be stepping on shit!” Tekia pouted. “I’m a fucking fat ass cripple. Tell me what’s worst than being fat and crippled?” she shouted and turned her head away as tears flooded her pudgy face.
“Being dead, being a newborn baby born with half a brain, being paralyzed from the neck down in the middle of a hot humid room infested with flies. The list goes on. You are alive and you can resent it or love it. My advice if you can’t change the situation, change the way you feel about it. My four year son has terminal brain cancer and he’s the happiest person I know,” Maxine wiped her face and walked out of the room.
On the other hand, Roxy was sitting in jail hoeing as usual to make some slave paper, “I can’t believe that he’s trying to plea so I can go do seven years. That aint no plea bargain!” He came out of shower with one of his tricks then went to go sit on his bunk. “I hope Blondie got my message. I pray that she’s still alive. After all, it is my fault; I should have told her that I was wanted in Detroit. I should have told her and Tekia what I had seen. If I had, maybe things would be so much different and if I had changed like mamma told me to years ago, I never would have been there to see it in the first place. Momma always said the price of sin is high.” Knowing that there’s was nothing he could do to change things at this point; all he could do is accept them. He climbed in his bed and cried himself to sleep.
BAD BUSINESS
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As I lay stuck face down in the backseat, I heard chattering voices but I couldn’t make sense of them. Pain shot up my wrist plus my ankle and the small of my back really ached. However, I couldn’t even turn over on my side so I was stuck lying face down with part of my face on this funky ass car seat. Just as my elbow became numb, the moment of truth arose, and someone opened the door. It was one of the few moments in my life that I happily waited for someone to snatch me up.
“Do you got that for me?” I heard Officer Parks ask.
“I sure do,” the unknown party answered. “Let me see the hooker.”
He yanked me up by my wig and it came off then he took a handful of my real hair. He pulled it so hard that I thought my shit would come out of the roots. I shouted, “That shit hurts fucker!” I wanted to look this Officer Parks bastard in the face and cuss him out but he was holding me from the back by my head and I couldn’t see his fucking face. Nonetheless, my eyes popped like a bullfrog when I saw none other than attorney Maxwell limping towards me—with Devon in his arms.
“My baaaaby!!!”
“Shut up you little meddlesome mutt of a bitch,” shouted Maxwell as he slapped me with his pistol; the robust blow rendered me unconscious and I collapsed. He sat Devon in his backseat and looked over at me, “That’s for shooting me back at the Motel.”
“She’s the least of our problems now Maxwell,” suggested Parks. He looked down at Jackie and she was out for the count. “We did it, the million dollar come up.”
“Put her in the car with the baby. I’ll get rid of them,” Maxwell lifted up Jackie’s feet and Officer Parks grabbed her upper body; they sat her beside Devon in the backseat of the Jaguar. Devon lies there quietly with his little eyes and heart unaware of what danger awaits him and his mother.
––––––––
Maxwell took off his gloves, put them in his pocket but remains armed, “I don’t care what happens to the baby, he’s harmless, but I know Roxy was lying when he fled. He said that he never heard of Gentlemen’s Association so I know he told this bitch that he saw me in that basement when Lino killed Officer O’Connor and Officer Walker. And even if he didn’t tell her, she’s just a disposable wretched whore fuck it. No one will care and no one will raise a huge fuss about her missing so I can take that chance. We throw away whores all the time. Once she tells me where Roxy is, I’m gonna kill them both. I have to do my own dirty work sense the sorry he-bitches I sent up there behind Roxy failed me.”
Parks said, “I brought the whore and I’ve done my dirt.”
“Well, I’ve been reconsidering some things. When Walker and O’Connor tried to double cross Lino and GQ by taking secret photographs of our clients tricking with little boys, I helped Lino and GQ kill your two dirty cops, who were trying to cut you out of the equation by the way. In addition, it was my idea to eliminate them so I think that entitles me to a little more than half of the cut, don’t you think?”
“Maxwell, we’ve been friends a long time. We planned every inch of this together. Why are you trying to double-cross me now?” ask Parks. “I killed two motherfuckas; my hands got blood on them too. Not to mention, I brought you the whore just now, which was a favor to you, she has nothing on me. What’s up with the honor here? This is bad business.”
Maxwell snortled, “It’s a doggy dog world; how can I trust you? You suggested that we kill O’Connor and Walker, you’re brothers in arms, so I made it a point to keep a few intimate photos of you and Roxy just in case you decide to get promoted by someday getting rid of Summit County's kiddy sex traffickers like myself. Plus, I’m sure your wife would love to see how your share your softer side with other men.”
Officer Parks said, “Man, there’s plenty for both of us. You don’t have to do this.”
“Here’s your two hundred thousand, take it and get your closet faggot ass out of here before I change my mind,” Maxwell laughed.
“You’ve already changed your mind,” gasped Officer Parks. “This was my idea. I brought you in on the score so that you could orchestrate things smoothly, and cover any legal issues plus we could both get a larger even cut of the cash. But my friend, you've overlooked a minor detail.”
Then slow footsteps sounded off of the pavement behind Maxwell; he turned around quickly. “Oh it’s you my sweets,” Maxwell gave a phony smile and held out one of his arms for a warm half a hug. It was the drag quean: Dana. Maxwell stood there with his arm extended and studied Dana’s nervous face then looked down at Dana’s nervous hands, which were armed with a leather brief case and two manila folders. “What are you doing here sweets? What are you doing with those folders?” Maxwell snapped, “Give those here now! Those are my photos.”
“Getting granted immunity,” laughed Officer Parks as Maxwell’s shock surfaced. “This is an uncover sting operation.” He pulled out a gun from his back, “How do you like that mister smart ass?” Once Maxwell turned facing him, Parks callously blasted Maxwell in the chest twice. Redness exploded across his shirt. Maxwell fell down helplessly to the cold ground; gun still limply in his hand. Parks stood over him and fired two more shots in his chest. “No honor among thieves.”
Afterwards, Dana ran over and hugged Officer Parks and they kissed like two horny teenagers. Dana said, “I did it. I did it for you daddy. I have all the pictures and all the negatives even his back up stash. All the money is here too. I knew that he was too selfish to ever be trusted. See how he called us sorry he-bitches. He didn’t even care when Brown Sugar got killed doing him a favor, but I’m going to have some fun doing this little bitch. She’s responsible for shooting my partner in crime.” He looked over at unconscious Blondie lying on the backseat of the Jaguar.
“Dana, did you put the rifle and the shotgun where I told you to?”
“Of course daddy,” he smiled and handed Parks the bag. “I put everything where you told me to. I’m a good girl. I don’t have divided loyalties,” grinned Dana.
“Now all we have to do is get rid of them,” Parks nodded his head over towards Blondie and the baby as he looked in the bag to make sure all was in order.
“You’re not going to kill that precious baby are you?” asked Dana.
“No, I’m gonna let you kill them— both,” he simpered. “I killed Maxwell, my hands are dirty and so you have to get your hands dirty too. This will definitely confirm your loyalty.” Parks wiped his prints off of the gun then handed it to Dana. “Do it. It’s the only way we’ll be able to run away together with all this money. Remember that little bitch killed your best friend, Brown Sugar, so what if she was defending herself.”
Dana sat there full with mixed emotions. Parks observing her hesitation, takes the gun, fits it tightly in Dana’s hand then fires twice into the air using her hand, “See how easy that is? Now just point it at them and kill them.” Dana is still numb.
Parks smirked then he grabbed the brief case and took out 10, 000 dollars and sat it between Devon and Blondie. Afterwards, he took the brief case and the manila folders, made sure that all of incriminating evidence was there then he set the evidence on fire and quickly stashed the cash underneath some wooden steps behind a condemned warehouse. While coming around of the building, he slipped and fell plus busted his head on the edge of the brick wall. He looked as if he had been in World War II once he stood up to return over by his cruiser.
Dana stood there with his shaky pistol aimed at Devon in the back seat with tears in his eyes. He couldn’t make himself kill the little fella’s mother right before his eyes. The gun simply shook in his grip. However, two unmarked cars spun around the corner leaving a trail blaze of dust behind it. One of the cars had a police siren on top of it. Dana turned for a hundredth of a second to look at the oncoming cars but Officer Parks pulled out his police issued .38 then he called Dana’s name. Dana turned toward Parks and Parks shot Dana several times. Parks ran over Dana and placed on last shot in his throat. What a terrible web we weave, when our mission is to deceive?
Detective Maddox and Detective Murray leaped out of their cars with the pistols drawn. “Freeze!” They yelled as they ran over.
“I’m on the job. I’m on the job. These two tried to kill me,” Parks dropped the gun. “I saw him setting a fire, I asked what was going on but I got tackled from behind then over powered by the both of them. I think they were trying to double-cross each other for ransom and she, ah ah well it shot him.” Parks pointed at Dana first then Maxwell to clear up the confusion.
“I heard a couple of gun shots and I responded to see what was going on. I arrived and noticed that fire burning and asked him what was going on (he pointed at Maxwell), but I got tackled by her from behind, hit my head and was out for the count. When I came through, I saw this guy dead on the ground and that drag quean aiming the gun at the baby and the lady in the backseat; I immediately fired to save the baby. I knew that perpetrator would kill them both if I didn’t shoot her.”
“Hum that’s odd because we got a call from an informant who said that he knew about a crooked cop meeting back here on South Main at some warehouse to kill an eye witness,” refuted Maddox.
“Parks did you get your ass kicked by a fag,” teased Murray.
“Guys, the proof is in the evidence,” said Parks. “Look and see how many bullets were fired from her gun plus observe the large sum of money on the seat.” He pointed on the seat. “They must have had a dispute because they both were armed. As I recovered, I saw her about shoot them. Perhaps this young lady may have been paying ransom to get her child. I can only speculate about that. Check ballistics and you’ll see that Maxwell was killed with that very gun that she’s holding.” Parks realized that anonymous call was from Maxwell. Neither of them trusted each other for obvious reasons.
However, Parks sweated nervously not knowing if Blondie would regain conscious or not and completely destroy his lie. “Maddox, we’ve worked together for years trust me. My head is killing me, “Parks rubbed forehead for emphasis.
Murray searched the black 1974 Jaguar and Maddox searched the rest of the crime scene surrounding it.
“Look here Maddox,” uttered Murray.
Parks’ heart pulsated painfully as he wondered what was discovered. “It was a pad with Maddox’s phone number written on a piece of paper sitting on the front seat plus a black ski-mask and suit with a bloody bandage on it. Murray held up the pants and seen where a bullet hole had penetrated it then he stepped over Dana first and sized him up then walked over to Maxwell and laid the pants beside him to see if the bullet wholes matched up. He also checked the waist sizes and they matched up also. Murray concluded, “This is our so-called informant. This explains why he was out of breathe; he was trying to set up an honest policeman.”
“I’ll call the paramedics, not that we’ll need them. These bums are dead, fucking kidnappers,” Maddox rubbed his chin.
“Parks write us a written statement and you’re free to go. We apologize for the misunderstanding but you know it’s just procedure,” suggested Murray.
“Now don’t go fucking up a perfectly good apology with an excuse,” Parks joked as he shook Maddox hands and smiled at Murray.
“Good job-you’ll hear from us later,” replied Maddox. Parks got into his car and drove off and didn’t even as much look at that warehouse. Even if the detectives found the money, which he truly hoped they didn’t, they couldn’t connect it to him. Things were almost perfect, with the exception of the little whore. Parks wasn’t a hundred percent sure what or if she knew anything.
Luckily, Parks had outsmarted the no-good attorney Maxwell. Maxwell had plotted to set him up anyway. This is why Maxwell gave Parks 200, 000 grand, because he was going to kill the baby and the hooker, and have the police arrive shortly after, which would leave Parks to explain the dead hooker, kid, and large sum of money. Parks conscious was clear, but had he pulled off the perfect crime?
By this time, Devon was pulling on my nose and slobbering in my face. “Mom-bee, mom-bee,” he whined. I finally came through with a blinding headache. “Mom-bee!” he jumped up and down as he seen my eyes open. I lethargically rubbed my head before I realized what miracle had taken place. “My baby!!!” I sat up and grabbed him so tight. Tears of victory and joy sprinkled my face.
Murray stood over me with furrowed eyes. He said, “He acts as if you arose from the dead.” Not being totally conscious, I just gave him a fuck off look then stood up but I was still too off balance to hold my baby. “Mommy loves you.” A sharp pain shot down my ankle.
“Don’t be so insensitive, she’s an eye witness to all of this madness right?” sinfully smiled Maddox.
“Eye witness? Can’t you see this lump on the side of my head,” I rubbed it. “I’ve been knocked the fuck out.”
“Ma;am, we are sorry,” Maddox stepped over. “We are just trying to find out what happened.”
“I got knocked the fuck out and dragged here, I don’t know and aint seen shit,” I continued to rub the bulbous knot on the side of my head, took two steps, then my legs buckled from beneath me.
Murray and Maddox both looked disgusted because they knew that I was not going to cooperate. I didn’t know what they did or did not know but I didn’t know who to trust so I just kept my lips sealed, and that’s something whores seldom do.
“Are you okay?” A firm set of hands grabbed my arm.
“Yeah, please take you’re filthy hands off of me. I don’t need no cops sucking up so I can be a witness for shit. I didn’t see shit, I just want take care of my son and be left alone.”
“It’s me Raphael, I just want to do His work and help you find somewhere safe.” I looked and it was the old guy with the mismatching door on his truck. “It’s okay now?” he replied.
Maddox came and handed me one of his business cards, he said, “If you need anything or decide you have something to share, please call me.” He turned around and walked to his car and wrote some notes down. Murray walked around the car and got in on the passenger’s side.
Meanwhile, all I could think about was ‘Who is this Raphael guy?’ His southern draw was so comforting and I hopped up, put Devon tightly in my arms then limped to the truck. I never ever wanted to let him go again. He is my world.
“Mom-bee who be him?” asked Devon.
“He’s a blessing,” I replied.
RAGE OF RENEGADE
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When they searched Maxwell’s office, Maddox did find the murder weapons used on Walker and O’Connor as well as the two vicious gangsters: a shotgun and a Winchester rifle. Although the guns were free of fingerprints, Maxwell did have a plague for excellent marksmanship on his wall beside his license to study law in the state of Ohio. He had a picture of his beautiful wife and he even had pictures of Officer Parks’ wife and daughter.
Maddox wondered, “Look, this is a picture of Officer Parks on his wall and Parks acted like he didn’t even know him. Remember when he pointed at him on the ground? What was the true story between them two?” His partner Murray hunched his shoulders. They knew that there was a piece missing to this puzzle but seldom do dead men tell stories.
Maddox and Murray had almost brought down the crime of the century but with no living or willing witnesses and next to no physical evidence, they reluctantly capitulated and backed off of investigating Officer Parks. No one but the participants and victims would know of Akron’s huge underground kiddy slave trafficking and long list of dead prostitutes.
After months of probing and trying to piece together the weird series of events authorities became frustrated particularly with me because of my lack enthusiasm to work with them. It seemed as if someone had some political strings being pulled by the administration to back off.
I knew that Officer Parks was a slime bag but quite honestly I didn’t witness him shoot anyone although, he did take me to that unusual location where my son was at. How did he fit into all of this? I don't know and now that I have my son, I don't care. I just want this craziness to be over.
Meanwhile, Officer Parks stood in the mirror with a wide crooked smile. He counted out bundles and bundles of money. He decided to celebrate his promotion and not less than perfect crime by going up to Detroit and gamble with some of his hard earned money. However, he only managed to buy some mangy pussy and lose fifty grand, but oh what the hell—it tax free money and it only cost him a greedy lawyer, a couple drag queens, and two stupid thug-cops. Does it matter when it’s someone else’s blood and sweat that he’s blowing? Who cares about what dead men can no longer say? Who says crime doesn’t pay?
The motel room that I had rented with the money stashed in it had been rented and cleaned a dozen times by the time I got back to it. Roxy’s purse with the gun and phone numbers were gone so I decided to call the phone directory to get his attorneys number. Roxy’s court date was tomorrow. Ultimately, my main concern was Devon. I was completely broke now and had to hoe for a living again.
Secondly, Tekia had made a considerable amount of progress. She was still bitter at life but made an honest effort to be happy. She was thrilled to see Devon running around getting into everything and tearing stuff up. We put our differences aside and caught the Grey Hound to see Roxy in court.
Roxy came out wearing his county blues and this big smile with his hair in a ponytail. He was thrilled to see us. Somehow Roxy managed to sell enough hot asshole in jail to keep his high priced attorney on his payroll. Roxy simply pleaded the fifth and let the attorney do all of the talking.
However, his attorney was persuasive but not persuasive enough for the jury. It came back in twenty- two minutes with a plea of guilty of second-degree murder. Roxy was issued 15 years to life and to see him cry like a little baby reminded of the day he found out that his mother was dead. Although, I had never met her, I felt like a part of me died that day with Roxy. I wanted to see him make her happy. What child doesn’t dream of making momma happy? Nevertheless, Roxy was still Roxy.
“You cock-sucking-pussy-loving motherfuckas. No yawl didn’t put a bitch in the pen for fifth teen years!” he screamed. “My asshole will be big enough to build a football stadium in it.” He quickly lobbed his attorney's pen at the judge and leaped over the defendant table to give chase to the judge. The bulky bailiff and two deputies came to restrain him. However, not even those three men could prevent Roxy from knocking over the podium. “You ole butt-hurting bitch!” he vituperated at the judge.
“I will not have this kind of behavior in my court!” shouted the judge.
“Bend over bitch and I’ll put this behavior in your ass!” Roxy screamed before they managed to carry him away.
My heart was heavy; I dropped my head. All the money in world couldn’t save Roxy. What a waste of such an animated being.
“What’s the matter girl?” Tekia asked.
“Roxy was so cool. I hate that he’s stuck in prison for such a long time,” I sighed.
“Look at it like this, I’m fat as fuck and I’m stuck in a wheel chair.
He’s gay and he’s stuck in prison. Now who got over?” she smiled and reached up to hug me.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I smiled ruefully. “He’ll sing songs sweeter than the birds ever sing.” We went to dinner and headed back for the Grey Hound Station then caught the bus back to the rubber capitol of the world, Akron, Ohio.
However, once I arrived back in Akron, I had the unique pleasure of running into Turk again. He was with his hefty ex-wife and ugly ass kids at the bus station. She rolled her eyes at me and hiked over to announce, “Hum, I told you I was gone show your little young ass how to fuck. Didn’t I? By the way, I’m pregnant now bitch.”
“Don’t show me, show that sorry ass nigga you call a man how to fuck by the way, I thought you were busy showing Boe how to fuck,” I laughed. Her droopie jowls dropped and she turned around scolded Turk. He stood there looking like the poster boy of pity. Then I instigated, “Did you tell her all of juicy details of how you got shot in my motel room? Niggas are willing to get shot to get to get a shot of this young pussy,” I scoffed, turned around and rolled Tekia the other direction in her wheelchair.
“Bitch, it aint over! I’m gone get you,” she yelled. “You aint no better me. You aint shit. It aint over. ”
“I aint better, just look better. It's over fat-bitch! Get to singing,” I yelled back. “While you’re at it,” I slapped my ass. “Enjoy the view, don’t you wish you had a shape like this too?”
You already got me; you got that man that I love and that I always will love. No matter how sorry, how worthless, how inconsistent Turk is, I’ll always love him. Turk and I made a most beautiful child together. Every time I look at this little nigga, I can’t help but to love him. I had so much pain, so much rage in my heart. I wanted to hurt Turk because I knew his absence would hurt my son. You got the family and the father of my son. I got fucked. You won.
I couldn't let him or her know that their presence affected me so I laughed hard and acted as if I were victorious. In many ways, I had pure love—from Devon. He would always be true to 'me'. I pressed hard not to let the tears fall as I pushed Tekia's wheelchair, but I lost that fight as hot tears soiled my face, as I realized that my son would be deprived of a father because of the poor choices that I made, and no fault of his own.
Our faithful ride awaited us outside the bus station. Raphael was god sent and he took us back to Tekia’s assistant living apartment complex. He wished us well. I handed Devon to Tekia so that I could push her up the ramp. As I rolled Tekia up the ramp of her apartment, I noticed a strange guy watching us, firmly holding his steering wheel, tapping on it, and just sitting in his old ugly ass station wagon. Wonder what’s up with him? Probably just another tag wanting to bag a beautiful bitch huh? That’s just comes with the territory of being a sexy ass renegade. This is my life and who would believe it? Life is bittersweet so I have to learn to enjoy the slightly sweet lemonade. After all, somebody’s little baby didn’t come home last night; somebody’s not coming home tonight. Thank God for another day while we still can.
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A year later, The Gentlemen’s Association burnt completely down; the cause remains unknown. If you were to ask anyone about it today, most people would say that it never existed or it’s just an urban legend, a total myth. Who wants to admit that Akron, Ohio, once the rubber capitol of the world, possessed a perverted secret society where the upper classmen slipped into the heart of the inner city to mingle with under-aged streetwalkers, queans, and hoodlums to literally get shafted for a sizable fee?
Love, failure, and courage altered my life. Who knew that Roxy, a slick Detroit drag quean, would help convert little ole laid back-fun-loving-shy-timid Jackie into fire-flinging , fast-acting Blondie: the wretched renegade hoe. I used to walk the streets and hope for good luck, now I simply create it one sexy step at a time. Hell, I don’t have to pay a nigga shit, he’s lucky if I even pay him attention! Rest in peace Silky. I’m all good baby! Finally, I found the fire and the resolve to not merely survive but to thrive in this cold world.
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THE END
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Enjoy what you just read? Please share with a few friends. Support the mission of economic independence and self-sufficiency. Thank you for making The Do-Dirt Doctrine possible.
What is The Do-Dirt Doctrine?
The Do-Dirt Doctrine is an informal secular religion. Practitioners of this doctrine range in how strictly they stick to it. The Do-Dirt Doctrine is based on two major assumptions: 1) Most people are interested in preserving and serving their own interests. 2) Most people in our society adhere to materialist principles. Many decisions that people make are often driven with material pursuit and realities in mind. It also assumed that the sense of self-preservation is center to enjoying materialistic gains.
Some actions are taken to maintain while other actions are taken in order to gain monetary traction. Some will pursue professional or law degrees while others will use various degrees of theft and violence. In some cases, both avenues are pursued. Of course desperate circumstances arouse desperate decisions. These material pursuits are often major factors that shape lifestyles. These are some of the principles of the Do-Dirt Doctrine. Keep in mind, these are ever-evolving ideologies in an ever changing material oriented-capitalistic society where, often, people will ‘Do-Dirt’ to get what they want out of life.
1.Never forget to wear your ‘do-dirts’ (cotton gloves) when doing dirt.
2.Never forget YOUR bottom line. Anything that deters this should be avoided.
3.Always cover your own ass. Never depend on someone else to do this.
4.Always operate alone when possible. Everyone is loyal when there’s nothing at stake. Few are loyal when everything is at stake.
5.Assess your risk. If you cannot endure the punishment, don’t take the risk.
6.Always make necessary allies; never make unnecessary enemies.
7.Remember part-time allies are potential full-time enemies. It’s better to have clear cut enemies than part-time allies. One knows what to expect from enemies.
8.Revenge is best served old and cold. A victor will often forget his win long before a brooding victim will forget his lost.
9.Always get more than revenge. Revenge should be profitable when possible.
10.Let your enemy’s hot head lead to his own undoing.
11.Never completely trust anyone who can profit from your demise—physically, financially, or politically.
12.Never do-dirt in the heart of where you live, too many people know too much sensitive information about you and your allies.
13.Never let your mate know the details of the dirt you do, especially if you have children together. An angered or fearful mate can become an emotional enemy willing to alarm law enforcement of your activities in order to get even or to preserve the welfare of their children.
14.Never try to impress untested associates or women by showcasing your personal stash, connections, or hideouts.
15.Never share secrets that you are entrusted with unless it can be used strategically to outmaneuver your enemy without creating new enemies.
16.Avoid gossip. It stirs-up distraction and invites confrontation. Neither are profitable.
17.Avoid public displays of rage—it gives your enemies ammunition.
18.Play possum—appear weak in order to outwit your enemies. Make a mighty bluff when you’re penned in a corner.
19.Never let anyone know how truly smart or informed you are. Being the brains of an organization makes you a timeless target for law enforcement and envious colleagues.
20.If your enemy holds your life in the palm of his hands, die like a man without pleading. He may take your life; let no one take your dignity.
21.Never blindly follow any doctrine. Use your head, there’s always an exception to the rule.
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Any similarities are merely coincidental. This is
the adventurously artistic craft of Heat Anthony’s The Do-Dirt Doctrine creator.
None of this material may be copied without written permission from executive producer and author: J.P. Watkins.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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Heat Anthony is currently lives in Ohio and is currently working on another installment of the Do-Dirt Diaries. He is also working on a trilogy about a modern pimp weathering the current conditions of our racial strife in light of the deaths exacted on Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant, and Sandra Bland. Here are a few words from the author.
