could sense that I was up to something. I was trying to shake fear
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like tiny raindrops off of my Black skin. This was some gangsta
shit with an adrenaline rush so high I could feel the blood r unning
through my veins like ice cold water.
Nina and the Regulator were still posted up like watch dogs as
I approached.
“Dude in the BMW been back yet?” I asked.
“No but Stevey D and his boys back. They driving around like
they looking for somebody. I think they’re looking for the BMW,”
Nina said fidgeting. I did not know if she was ner vous or needed
a hit. Probably both.
I looked to see the black BMW easing up the street, Tupac’s
song was blaring from the system, “I Get Around.” I felt the six
ounces of Dreams in my underwear in a bag and the gun right
next to it, in case I needed to get to it fast.
The car came to a halt right in front of us.
“Yo, my man, you straight?” the driver asked. I thought I
detected some urgency in his voice, like when you drive from state
to state looking for dope and can’t find none.
I went right into my act.
“My nigga, check this out!” I peeked into the car, like I was
suspicious or something, at the same time I was flaunting the big
chain on my neck with the iced out crucifix on it.
“It’s too many niggas in this car. It’s been some cats from out
of town going through here robbing muthafuckas,” I said, with
my eyebrows knotted up like they was the niggas. I was making
them look like the crooks trying to scheme me. I took a step back.
“Nina go get my shit!” I was talking about a gun. Nina walked
off with a purpose.
“Noo, noo, it ain’t like that,” the driver said, throwing up his
hands in frustration at seeing a sure deal suddenly go bad.
“Get out!” I heard him demand to his passengers. He also said
something about he’d meet them up the street at a gas station.
I sat in the car, passed him the six ounces and tried to start up
a conversation about the police busting cats from out of state. I
talked fast and watched as he examined the dope. Six of the pret-
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tiest ounces of Dreams you’ve ever seen. He took one out and
looked at it closely, too close. Think fast! I had to rely on my
mouth and cunning wits.
“Give me $5,500 for all of it.”
“Whaaaat!” He snorted, turned from looking at the dope and
looked at me. “You said five G’s at first for all six of them.”
“It’s a shortage of dope, I thought we had more,” I said and
watched as he took the dope out the bag. I held my breath. A
police car cruised by and we both saw it. It passed us. He contin-
ued looking at it, wearing my patience thin.
“Man, this shit ain’t right!” he screeched. I felt for my gun. “I’ll
give you $5,300.”
I sighed a sigh of relief and looked around and reminded him
that the police was hot. I told him to give me the money; said it
like he was taking advantage of me.
He went underneath his shirt and I noticed he wore a money
belt. I hadn’t seen one of those things in my life except in the
movies. He counted the money and weighed one of the ounces. I
peeped the chrome plated Beretta in his waist when he was taking
money out of the belt.
He passed me the money and I put it into my pocket. The
only thing I was concerned with was getting out of that car as fast
as possible.
“You didn’t even count the money,” dude said, looking at me
suspiciously like maybe a light was going on in his head.
“I trust ya,” I said, about to get out of the car.
“Hold up a minute,” he said and reached out and touched me
on the shoulder. From then on everything moved in super slow
surrealistic motion. Like the world slowed to a small pace. I
watched as he went into the bag, broke off a big piece of what was
supposed to be dope, bite off a big piece, spit candle wax and flour
onto the windshield.
“Gimme back my muthafuckin money nigga!” The scowl on
his face was menacing like he wanted to inflict so much pain on
me. I wish that I could have stopped him. I listened to that cow-
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ard voice in my head that said,
I told you not to do it
. I shot him.
Again … and again … and again. He was not trying to give up his
grip. Finally, he stopped moving. There was a gray cloud of gun
smoke in the car shimmering. I took his Rolex, money belt and
gun. His blood was on my hands, it smoldered in my brain like
the stale odor of death in my nostrils. God, I was moving on
instincts. The silent rules that were handed down to me in the
ghetto, kill or be killed, rang loud in my head. There was no
halfway mark. I exited the car in a brisk pace, trying not to draw
attention to myself. As I walked across the street, I was nearly hit
by a car. I saw an old lady looking out of her window like she
knew what I had done. Nina and the Regulator looked at me like
I was the Devil himself, cut loose in Frenchtown. I ran across a
vacant lot.
The two dudes that were with the cat that I had just robbed
were standing in front of the store. They watched me with dread
on their faces. I had blood on my shir t and hands. “Yo, your
homeboy said he’s ready to go. They took off running in his direc-
tion. I jumped in the cab. That’s when I noticed the police car
parked behind the dumpster, the same one that Nina Brown said
was a crooked cop. I could have sworn he nodded his head and
smiled.
The cab drove through Frenchtown. It was eerie. The old lady
that saw me was now standing outside her apartment watching as
people tried to revive the body. Nina Brown was the only one who
saw me as the cab passed. Our eyes locked. She mouthed silently,
“You owe me.”
On the way back to the hotel, I had the cab driver stop at a
local Radio Shack. I bought a boom box with a cassette player. I
got back to the hotel with a feeling of triumph that only a hustler
can describe. I counted out my cash, including my stash. I had a
little over nineteen grand. I was elated. I had to get mines from the
muscle. Lived off the fat of the land, coming up from the dirt.
Every day in the news, you hear about barons, rich white men
stealing billions from corporate America, people’s life savings and
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almost never went to prison. I took mines, but it only added up
to thousands. I knew if I ever got caught, they would try to take
my life. But still, I shared one thing in common with those white
men, the elation of greed. To us, a crime wasn’t a crime until you
got caught.
With the money spread out on the bed, I smiled to myself and
walked over and turned on the television. There was footage of a
high-speed chase, a car driving recklessly with abandon. It was
being
shown from a police helicopter. I watched, fascinated. It was
me, driving like a madman. The newscaster was asking for any
information that could help lead to my arrest. For me, that was
good news. It meant so far they did not know who I was. Maybe
Dre’ did keep his mouth shut and the bust was really meant for Lil
Cal. My heart dropped in my chest as the camera showed a snowy
picture of Hope and I exiting the mall. The picture had come
from a surveillance camera captured from a bank that we passed.
It wasn’t a good one, but I could see Hope’s face. Luckily I put on
a hat. Shit! I turned off the television just as the station was talk-
ing about a shooting in Frenchtown.
I took a shower and fell asleep listing to the radio. I had not
slept in the last twenty-four hours. I dreamed about Hope. She
was right there in bed with me.
Someone was knocking at the door. Soft raps like a bird peck-
ing. I awoke with a start, my mind adjusting to my new environ-
ment. I got up, staggered over to the dresser and got my gun. I
peeked through the peephole, it was Hope. I flung open the door,
half hoping she would jump into my arms. To my surprise, it was-
n’t Hope, it was her friend Trina. I guess she could tell by the
expression on my face that I was not expecting her. She wore a
black minidress that clung to her voluptuous figure like the skin
on a potato. She was stacked like a brick house and knew it.
“May I come in?” she asked, smiling seductively, displaying
perfectly even white teeth.
I peeked my head out of the door, looking both ways. Bitches
were notorious for setting niggas up from out of town. I touched
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too many niggas that way on the jack tip like that, wasn’t about to
let it happen to me.
“I’m harmless, wanna frisk me?” she cajoled making a mock
show of searching herself as her hands manipulated her flesh push-
ing up her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her soft cotton dress
with its thin lace shoulder straps and low cut neckline revealed just
enough to capture any man’s imagination. Quarter-sized nipples
pointed at me.
“Come in,” I said reluctantly, grilling her with my eyes like she
was in violation of something. She pranced in, her plump ass
bouncing to a rhythm of its own, straining against the soft fabric
of thin material. I could not remember seeing a woman as fine in
my entire life. She sat in the chair next to the bed and crossed her
long legs, one over the other. Her cur vaceous thighs spread for me
like an hourglass, accentuated by a small waist. I tried not to stare
but couldn’t help it. Her cat eyes dared me. If I had to guess, I
would say she was wearing red panties. I saw the tattoo on her
right breast. It read, “ Thug Misses” in purple and red letters.
“Wuz up?” I said and walked over and peeked out of the win-
dow into the darkness. If she saw the gun in my hand, she paid it
no attention.
Ice Cube once said, “Never trust a bitch with a fat ass and a
sexy smile.” That was a song that now held meaning to my life.
“I thought maybe I could be of some ser vice to you.” The tim-
bre of her voice was melodious like a song.
“Ser vice?” I quipped, thinking about how much I would pay
her to let me cut. Sex that is. With sure sophistication, I watched
as she went inside her purse and removed a Black & Mild and
freaked it on the nightstand. I continued to occasionally look out
the window and at her round thighs.
“Papi, you pop up in town with that square-ass bitch, Hope. I
saw the date on that car tag, I also saw how she looks at you. I got
enough sense to recognize a playa. Hope is on some conscious,
intellectual bullshit, besides, she got a man,” Trina said as she
freaked the Black & Mild, talking to me like she trying to save my
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life. She continued, “You came here r unning from something. You
want to open up shop. Bleed this town for all you can get and then
get the hell out.”
She completely caught me off guard. I was now looking at her
from a totally different perspective. Her voice was laced with some
kind of accent, maybe Spanish. It dawned on me that it matched
her hypnotizing cat eyes and enchanting beauty. After she finished
with the Black & Mild she removed a blunt from her purse, bust-
ed it open with a long manicured fingernail. She placed the weed
in the blunt. Licked it while looking at me with a face that said,
“this is how I would love to do it to you.”
“You know that’s bad for your health,” I said for the sake of
conversation.
“So is this town to niggas that come in here shooting people
up and selling fake dope,” she retorted, causing my mind to stag-
ger on the red alert. She had me on my toes against the ropes. My
mind racing,
how in the fuck did she know that?
She fired up the blunt with a gold lighter. I could sense that
she was amused with our cat and mouse game. She inhaled deeply
on the potent weed. It was hard to believe I was looking at a col-
“I’m that bitch, Papi. Ride or die bitch.” She uncrossed her
legs and leaned back in the chair, like hot pussy on a platter. I
looked out the window again, but this time I was checking for my
own composure, trying to restrain myself. I placed the gun in my
pocket, grabbed the Hennessy off the table and drank out of the
bottle. It burned like the suspicion I had for her. I set my buttocks
on the edge of the table, ogled her luscious body as smoke curled
from pure lips making a halo around her head, giving her an
angelic appearance or perhaps a devilish one. In the fog of smoke
she said, “Nina Brown told me about your little caper.” She
smirked knowingly. I almost choked on my drink, but I should
have figured that. Talk about a small town. She had my attention.
“You can get twenty for a brick and a grand for an ounce as
you already know.” I took another swig from the bottle, nodded
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for her to keep on talking, since she seemed to be enjoying herself.
“My last lover is in the feds. He made over a million dollars,
mostly due to my connections. I never got credit for it.” She
stopped and took a long drag off the blunt. “I can get a brick for
ten thousand, cook it, break it down to dime rocks and make over
a hundred thousand dollars.” I whistled out loud at that. Either
she was lying, or was a bad bitch for real. She was starting to look
like a sexy dollar sign. All real hustlers recognize the potential for
making money, and in a new town, a female is always the first real
option.
She kicked off her heels, wiggled her pedicured toes in the car-
pet and yawned like a feline. I watched the swell of her breasts as
her nipples pointed skyward and her thighs spread across the chair.
Her perfect body alluring.
I was fighting this urge.
She looked at the ashes on the blunt as if contemplating a
thought. And then she spoke, her cat eyes narrowing as if she
couldn’t put enough emphasis on what she was really trying to
relate to me.
“Papi, I want to do the Bonnie and Clyde thing … you and I.
Stake some chips, get rich, leave this town. You know what I
mean?” Her voice was sultry, eyes dreamy. That black dress eased
up her thighs. I could see red lace panties, red like I imagined her
venom was. If she was poison, I was about to OD on her. No real
playa is really immune to the whims of a woman. You just go on
guts and instincts. She padded over to the radio. I watched her ass
bounce for me. She turned the radio to the college station and I
heard Hope’s voice. I got the feeling she was doing this to read me.
Just to see how much I cared for Hope. They debated, I listened,
and Trina watched me the way a woman does when she is trying
to read a man. Finally, music came on and Trina snapped out of
her reverie.
Slowly, sensuously, her body came to life. Her lower torso
grinded back and forth in a dance as if she were making love with-
out me. She eased right up close to me. Her perfume, mingled
with the weed, was like an aphrodisiac to my loins. Trina was com-
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ing on strong, strong like a woman that was sure of herself. A nim-
ble finger walked down my thigh. I could feel the heat from her
body. Trina was bold. I liked that in a woman, but under these cir-
cumstances, I was not too sure of her motives. The only thing that
I was certain of was that she set me on fire, and her passion stroked
the flames that went on to the furnace of my body. I stuck my
hand under her dress and palmed her plump ass. She was soft and
firm. I used the other hand to squeeze and spread her cheeks. I was
rewarded with a soft moan that could have passed for a purr.
“Hey Shouty, I really ain’t into the bump and grind. Just put
a price on the damn thang and lemme hit it.”
She pulled away from me. “Why buy the cow when you can
get the milk for free, Papi?”
She then unzipped my pants, stuck her hand down my leg and