All Hail the Queen (13 page)

“Cecil,” she said, after taking the call off mute.

“Yeah, Lovely. What it do?” he said.

“Well, like I was saying bumps on your dick is not a good look—”

“What?” he exclaimed.

“You sent me a dick pic and it was bad enough your shit is . . .
limited
and shit but fucking bumps and shit? Nah, I'll pass.”

“Yo, what the fuck is going on?”

“Your dick dirty. I don't like dirty dick,” she said before smacking her tongue as she drove out of the small parking lot to carefully merge with the New York traffic headed down the FDR Drive to get to Brooklyn.

“Fuck you.”

“Didn't you just hear me say no?” she asked. “Lose my number, Dirty Dick. Deuces.”

Naeema carelessly dropped the phone in the cup holder. It instantly rang and vibrated. She ignored it as she maneuvered through the traffic. New York was cool but she was ready to get her ass back within the Jersey limits permanently. New York traffic was just disrespectful.

Naeema was glad when she finally exited the FDR and continued on to Club Vixen. She had been to the club before. She parked down the street from it to get in the back and change out of the T-shirt, leggings, and kicks she had on for the dress, heels, and wig she left on the backseat yesterday. She turned on the overhead light long enough to lightly beat her face with makeup. “I gotta go home tomorrow and
get some clothes,” she said to her reflection in the camera on her phone.

She would have preferred to stroll up to the club with one of her 'fits from her personal collection but the dress and super-duper cheap heels would have to do. She drove closer to the club but still had to make her way up the street alone to get in the short line outside it. She had nothing but her ID, her cell phone, and a hundred-dollar bill in her hand when she would have preferred to have some firepower.
Just in case.

As the line moved forward at a snail's pace, Naeema kept brushing the bangs from her eyes with the tips of her nails. The steady bass of the music was sounding off outside the club and she gave a small smile to a group of ladies dancing to the music as they waited in line.

It reminded her of the days she hung out with Sasha and Roz. When she first hooked up with Tank she had let the friendship fall by the wayside. Their friendship symbolized fun times. Wild-ass times. She just couldn't see keeping them and Tank. For her a choice had to be made.

“The one in the black jumpsuit . . . and the one in the red shorts.”

Naeema looked up from cleaning behind her rhinestone-covered nails to see a beefy dude wearing a
SECURITY
T-shirt pulling girls from the line as someone called out orders from inside one of the new Hummers.

She frowned.
What prostitution stroll kinda shit is this?

“For sure the one in the green dress,” the voice said. “And the chick in the white jeans.”

Naeema looked on as the Hummer pulled away up the street.

“Right this way, sweetheart.”

Naeema looked at the security guard as he unhooked the velvet rope keeping them corralled in line like animals.
Fucking sheep.

“What's this about?” she asked him as she stepped out of the line.

“The talent for the night asked that you ladies be let in the club. You in or out?”

Naeema nodded as she followed him up the street and into the club. She pulled the long sleeves down on her arm to make sure her tattoo sleeve was covered. She just hoped the “talent”—whom she assumed was Fevah—didn't recognize her from the night of the shooting.

The club was packed and she could see why the line was so long to get in. The dirty version of Bobby Shmurda's song was playing and even Naeema couldn't stop from pausing long enough to catch a few smooth-ass steps of the Shmoney Dance along with almost everybody else in the club.

The security guard glanced back and Naeema reluctantly followed behind him until they reached the area right in front of the stage. Everyone was busy partying but she knew as soon as the show started the crowd would swarm around the stage.

As the musicians took the stage, Naeema fought back a yawn and checked her phone to make sure the loud music hadn't kept her from hearing it ring. It was just after midnight and she was beat. She just wanted to figure out a way to get close to Fevah's cokehead ass.

The music started to play and Naeema turned from looking around the dimly lit club to eye the stage. Sure enough the surge of bodies brought the heat around her like a winter coat would in the desert. Everyone around her applauded and yelled for Fevah at the top of their lungs.
Damn, what they gon' do when she actually step onstage?

Naeema felt someone palm her ass. Not a rub. Not accidental. She turned but not a soul did a damn thing to reveal they just felt her up.

“I'm the hottest chick in the game . . .”

The lights on the stage dimmed and the crowd went crazy. Fevah truly was on the rise to superstardom and the hometown crowd was acting blessed to be in her presence.

“I'm the hottest chick in the game . . .”

One by one a spotlight lit up her DJ on the turntables, her hype man E-Double, and then her two dancers on opposite sides of the small stage. Then after a drum roll that increased in intensity one final pink-tinted spotlight flashed on the middle of the stage revealing Fevah. She was dressed in a sequined crop top and matching pants. The tips of her thirty inches of jet-black exotic weave were bright fuchsia.

“Ladies,” she called out, before holding her rhinestone-covered mic toward the audience.

The women all yelled back.

“Fellas,” she called, repeating the mic move.

The fellas stomped, shouted, and barked like dogs.

Fevah laughed and flung back her head before the music played loudly and she was performing her first hit, “Fire.”

Naeema, like damn near everyone else in the club, rapped along to the radio hit that pushed Fevah's first release to go platinum. Naeema couldn't
deny it was still a banger but she wasn't that gone in the music that she didn't notice there were a dozen or more dudes standing just offstage. She wondered if they were with Fevah or not. Security? Entourage? Groupies? Or just club workers?

It fucking mattered to her plan to get close to her.

“Now before we get started I want to give one of these four ladies an opportunity to get turnt up with me in the VIP,” Fevah said, motioning offstage.

Moments later the same beefy security guard from earlier came to escort them through the crowd and up onstage. She eyed the three other women up there with her. Like her they were all hips, ass, and thighs with clothes to show it off. It was the reverse of Day-Day's line from
Friday After Next
because it definitely was their booty and not their beauty.

Fevah walked over to the turntables covered with a cloth with a sequined-covered caricature of her face to take a sip from a bottle of water.

“Best dancer wins. Y'all get to vote but the winner is up to Fevah. Let me hear some noise!” E-Double said.

“I'm the hottest chick in the game . . .”

Fevah started rapping the words to her newest song and the crowd joined in as Naeema and the three women started to dance. Naeema thought it was odd as hell that Fevah didn't pick men to show out for her and when she raised her hands high above her head as she slowly circled her hips she caught the rapper eyeing the way the hem of her dress rose on her thighs before she quickly looked away like she got caught cheating on a test.

Humph.

While the other women focused their attention on the calls and whistles of the dudes in the
club, Naeema turned her back to the crowd and made sure to catch Fevah's eyes on and off as she pulled out some stunt that she knew sent the crowd and Fevah wild. Not even when one of the women dropped on the floor in a split, did a flip, and dropped in another split that sent the crowd crazy did Naeema care.

This chick ain't hunting up no dancer.

Naeema twerked her ass as she caught Fevah's eyes again from across the stage and sucked the tip of her finger before she bit her lip with a bold look down at Fevah's pussy pressed against the front of her sequined pants.

“I'm the-the-the hottest chick in the game . . .”

Naeema smiled and turned back toward the crowd when the rapper stumbled over her own verse.
Shook
.
Ha-haaaa.

“Aight y'all. Let's get to the winner,” E-Double said, walking up to the woman on the opposite end of the stage who did the splits. “Give it up for—”

“Ursula,” she said into the mic when he held it in front of her mouth.

The crowd roared loudly.

“Invette,” said the next.

“Georgia.”

“Naeema,” she said giving another look back at Fevah.

There was no doubt that the crowd was all about Ursula and those splits.

Humph.

E-Double spoke briefly with Fevah and then took three gift bags someone handed him to give one to Invette. Then Georgia. And then Ursula . . . who was shocked.

My gut never lies to me.

“Sometimes less is more, ladies,” Fevah said before the
music came up and she began rapping her upcoming single, “Fuck Tears.”

The ladies were released back into the crowd and Naeema followed the security guard backstage. Naeema frowned a little. “I thought I was headed to VIP?” she asked.

He shrugged and opened a door with a card with the words “Fevah's Dancers” taped on it. “Last minute she said bring you back here.”

After he closed the door, Naeema walked around the room and opened one of the bottles of Fiji water. The loud thumping of the music could still be heard and she used the time to try the doors in the room while Fevah and her crew were making money onstage. One led into a bathroom. The other led into a bigger room where everything was plush as hell. Fevah's dressing room.

The door was yanked from her hand and Naeema tilted her head back to look up at a tall white dude with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I was looking for the bathroom,” she lied, stepping back and pretending to be afraid of him.

He glared and pointed one long finger at the door on the opposite wall.

Naeema turned and headed back across the room. Before she made it four steps she heard the door close and the lock turn.
Shit.
He completely fucked up her plan to rummage through all Fevah's shit for any hints on who wanted the fiery rapper dead.

She didn't even bother going to the bathroom and instead tossed the water bottle in the trash and leaned her back against the wall, feeling the bass of the music beat
against her body. She stayed there until the music stopped and the crowd's applause echoed.

Her heart pounded from the lack of control she felt as she waited. She was by no means a lesbian, but if dancing for a crowd and turning Fevah on meant she got at least a few minutes to pick the bitch for info then it was worth it to get to the bottom of who hurt Tank.

The door opened and Fevah came in, locking the door behind her. Two locked doors kicked Naeema's adrenaline into overdrive. “I love your new song,” Naeema said, making her voice low and husky.

“Thanks,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the black pleather sofa and looking over at Naeema.

“I was so sad to see you almost got hurt the other night,” Naeema said.

“I don't want to talk about that,” she said.

“Is it safe back here?” Naeema asked.

Fevah stood up and came over to stand in front of Naeema. They were the same height and their eyes were lined up. Their mouths lined up.

When Fevah's hands came up to ease between Naeema's warm thighs she pressed them close, trapping them.
Enough of the bullshit
.

Fevah smiled. That shit was knowing. Too knowing. “It's safer back here than it was the last time we saw each other,” she said, easing her hand from between Naeema's thighs to lightly roll her nipple between her fingers.

“So you know who I am?” Naeema said, moving from being sandwiched between the wall and Fevah's closeness.

“It's going to take more than a wig and some cheap makeup to make me forget that body,”
Fevah said, raising her hands to twist her weave into a topknot. “And since y'all keep trying so hard to get at me I decided to get this shit over with so you and your crew can leave me the fuck alone.”

Naeema gladly took off the synthetic wig and let her scalp breathe. “I apologize if we're coming at you but finding out who shot my husband benefits you too and I just want some leads.”

“Just like I told the police already, I don't have any enemies. No crazy exes. Nobody I pissed off,” Fevah said, sounding annoyed.

“No crazy stalkers?” Naeema asked, crossing her arms over her chest with the wig still balled up in her hand.

“No, nothing crazy,” she said.

Naeema walked over to the table laden with snacks and drinks. She grabbed a notepad and pencil she saw there earlier and scribbled down the number to her new burner phone. “If you think of anything else please call me,” she said, walking over to hand the rapper the paper.

“I can think of
lots
of reasons to call you,” Fevah said, reaching out quickly to stroke one of Naeema's soft, exposed thighs.

“Just info. Thanks.”

“You ever got your pussy ate by a woman?” Fevah asked, reaching out to touch her again.

Naeema stepped back out of her reach.
Damn, she pressing like a dude.

“Once when I was high off of—shit, I don't even remember,” she admitted.

Fevah licked her lips. “And?” she asked.

Naeema shrugged. “It wasn't for me.”

Fevah laughed and then pulled a vial of coke from inside her top. “She wasn't for you. I am. Trust me.”