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Authors: Eric Pete

BOOK: Crushed Ice
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Chapter 5
It was a rainy night in Houston, but the bowels of the Toyota Center erupted with light and energy from the show being put on at its core. Not one to ever trust the man I was to meet, I walked past the concertgoers, only stopping to point to the occasional restroom for the impaired or to read someone's ticket to guide them to their seat assignments.
“All these fuckin' kids. They gonna make me pull out what little hair I have left,” the middle-aged woman, adorned like me in red and black, muttered. She guarded the access to the Toyota Center suite level with as much enthusiasm as Fox News covering the President.
“Yeah, they like roaches,” I mumbled with a dose of Fifth Ward swagger I'd picked up that she didn't question when I shuffled by.
He'd left a ticket for me at will call, but I preferred doing things my way. Coming upon his suite, I walked past his guards, entering like I'd done the previous three, as if to check on accommodations for the tenants.
The well-stocked suite overflowed with curvaceous women of all shades, along with a few of his newest music projects, evidenced by the expensive chains around their necks. All of them seemed more interested in networking than in the concert going on. Made it easy for me to slip past.
I found him seated in the box beyond the confines of the suite, watching the concert as the
U.S. Icon
winner and runners-up performed on their nationwide tour. The most talented of them, hailing from H-town, was celebrating a homecoming of sorts before her fans. The girl broke into a remake of an old Stevie Nicks song, “Edge of Seventeen,” putting a more urban spin on the timeless rock classic.
Stroking his salt-and-pepper goatee, the older man in the sport coat eyed her as if she were prey. Odd, considering all on the stage below were already signed to others.
“You had me come all the way for this?” I asked, walking down the five short steps to meet him.
He looked at my attire, smiling as if amused. He couldn't like my sneaking up on him though.
“Hey!” he yelled into the suite above. “Everyone give us a moment.”
The multiple conversations, from silicone versus saline to the best party at which to be seen, halted. Everyone shut up, wondering what record mogul Jason North would want with a Toyota Center employee.
“Now!” he screamed for emphasis, in case they refused to understand his first command. As everyone filed out into the hallway, his guards ran in to see what the fuss was about. One of them recognized me, infuriated that I'd walked in right under their very noses.
“Too late for running in here now,” he rebuked them. “It's okay. Wait outside the door.” We watched the three black-clad monsters exit. Knowing Jason, he'd probably have them fired and replaced by morning.
“Have a seat.”
“I'd rather not. What's up?”
“You used to be a member of our family back in New Orleans. Now you just want to sulk and scowl? What kind of life is that anyway?”
“You know how it goes. You need something, you call me.”
“Know that singer down there?”
“Duh,” I replied. “Natalia. She won that
U.S. Icon
shit. She's not signed to you, so . . .”
“Don't presume to know what I want or what I need.”
“Whatever.”
“Do you really think that lowly of me? And what I do? You aren't one to talk, Truth.”
“That's where you're wrong. I know what I've done and what I continue to do, so I really am one to talk. What do you need?”
“Information on Natalia. For future use.”
“Real or created?”
“I'll leave it to you. Natalia has a friend that auditioned for me years ago. I like to prepare for future eventualities.”
“And you think dirt on Natalia will make her help you with this friend? A basic blackmail play?”
“You're good. Hell, you're the best. You are a true artiste. That's why I tolerate your freelancing . . . and costumes like this.”
“You tolerate my freelancing because you have no choice. I'm not your property, Jason. Remember that. The secrets I know include yours.”
He glared, reflecting on events in pre-Katrina times, when someone else really ran things. Most in the On-Phire Records family suspected what I knew for a fact. If not for our unique relationship, Jason would probably have paid to put me down.
“Secrets are rarely a one-way street.”
“Fuck you.”
“Such disrespect. After all I did for you and your eccentric mother . . .”
“Don't talk about her. You have no right.”
“But I do. She is my sister. And you won't even give me the respect I'm due, nephew?”
“If I thought you were due respect, like the rest of these fools, I would give it to you. Look, I didn't come here for a fucking family reunion. Are you going to let me do my job?”
“Of course,” he relinquished. As he spoke, the audience erupted in applause. The beautiful and talented recipient of their adoration had gained my attention. Unfortunate for her.
“No one dies?”
“No. I know how squeamish you are from that prior mishap. Just get some dirt that I might be able to parlay into something more.”
“And my money?”
“Double. I'd like it done quickly.”
“What's next on her schedule?”
“Las Vegas. At least for the next couple of weeks. One of those music awards shows. Nice town for whatever vices someone may have.”
“Viva Las Vegas.”
Chapter 6
I wanted dearly to make that drive back up I-45 to Dallas and hit my bed, but I stuck around a little longer. Figured I'd get a head start on my latest job. A few well-placed calls and I found myself at the Gibraltar Lounge on Louisiana Street in Midtown. Right where I needed to be.
“Five hundred?” he asked, not sure he'd heard me correctly. Perhaps over the DJ's music he thought he'd misunderstood.
He hadn't.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Just to get her attention?” He was still surveying the business card I'd handed him by the soft, intimate light of our surroundings.
“That's what I said.”
“Is this some kind of reality show?”
“Exactly. You weren't supposed to know,” I answered, deciding to go along with the idiot.
“Where are the cameras?”
“Everywhere. Even back at the hotel. If you're able to get her there.”
“And if I get her back to the hotel with me, I get a thousand dollars?”
“You got it.”
“How much do I get for tapping that ass?”
“Nothing from me. That's your bonus . . . if you're capable of it. But if you're going to spend all night talking to me instead of being on your game, then maybe I should find another contestant.” I cringed at how my prodding manipulations sometimes reminded me of Jason. Although my own man, my time with him had rubbed off in nefarious ways.
“Nah, nah! I got this,” Anthony, the part-time model and college student from TSU, boasted. Models were always useful tools. They were actors-in-waiting who stuck to the script, hungry for a taste of something better.
“Here's your five then. Don't forget: cameras are rolling, but we need you to act normal. Just do what you do and get the girl.”
The boy took a deep breath, channeling his inner Clooney mixed with a dash of LL, before sauntering to the other side of the bar, where Natalia and her crew were celebrating the night's concert.
Didn't watch much of
U.S. Icon
during her season, but Natalia had grown before the whole country, from the childish country girl with the church voice into this chanteuse wrapped in a flowing gold gown. A massive brother impressive enough to be her bodyguard worked the fuck out of his touchscreen BlackBerry, oblivious to Anthony as he walked up, drink in hand. The tall, thin girl with wave after wave of curly black hair was the center of attention, so he was just another moth attracted to the light as far as they were concerned. His appearance made him look as if he belonged anyway—the reason I picked him for the mission.
One of Natalia's female friends didn't waste any time in stepping to him. Fine as fuck, I think she was a backup dancer, but not on his menu tonight. At least on my dollar. He looked at me, his pleading face wanting to know if this one would be acceptable for my fake scenario. I shook my head in the negative. It had to be Natalia.
Having more moves than I had given him credit for, he worked her friend into giving introductions. Natalia was cheery enough, welcoming him into their fold. But that was as far as it looked to be going.
“Whiskey sour,” I ordered as I took mental notes about Natalia for later use. Anthony needed to try harder though. Another glance my way and I nodded, putting my own mad thoughts to the complex human equation as Anthony stayed in the good graces of his new friend, while working harder than a mofo to gain the attention of Natalia. Interesting that the other men in the group didn't indicate the slightest bit of competitiveness with the addition of another rooster in the henhouse. Some could be gay, but not all of them.
Anthony got Natalia's attention again, this time lacking subtlety. I couldn't make out what line he was feeding her, but it appeared to be compliments of some sort. Now Natalia's girlfriend was irked. She gave the rest of the group one of those
No, this nigga didn't just walk up in here and play me while trying to push up on my girl looks
. Only out of respect for the hierarchy did she sheathe her claws. Lucky for Anthony because his back was turned. When his hand slid against the small of her back, Natalia twirled out of his grasp. She'd either tired of his game, or noticed the disrespect being shown to her girl.
But my boy wanted that grand bad.
The cool, laid back vibe of the place was disrupted with the arrival of another entourage, greater in size than Natalia's. This group consisted only of men, filled with much swagger. Their leader wore a white wave cap atop his head, with a sleeveless blue hoodie and black warmup pants. I overheard one of the stragglers, recognizing the strong Haitian accent dipped in the syrup of south Florida. This wasn't their habitat. These dudes were grimy, street hungry. Pork 'n Beans Projects hungry.
“Anthony, meet Antnee,” I muttered over my drink, sensing the ironic humor of the moment. On my iPhone, I did a quick Google search for info on the rapper, who had been seen recently in Natalia's company. Penny Antnee, the Miami rapper whose debut album,
Ain't No Small Change,
posted decent first week sales, was allegedly working on a duet for Natalia's album. Turns out he was a bit of a hothead who'd been in trouble with the law on more than one occasion. What rapper hadn't these days, when felony and misdemeanor could mean a difference of a hundred thousand units sold?
Bare arms weren't the code, for men at least, but Penny Antnee didn't care. He proudly displayed the tat on his toned right arm, pennies from heaven raining down from shoulder to wrist. On his album cover, those same pennies turned to dollars in his clenched fist. Cheesy, but none of my business. Poor Anthony was unaware of the bad neighborhood he was now in, until he was surrounded.
When “Penny” tapped him on the shoulder, he shrug-ged it off. When he did it again, Anthony told him to step off, as he was busy. In some crazy kind of way, the boy probably thought this was part of his challenge.
“Hell nah!” Penny yelled. I guess he and Natalia were working on more than a duet. His boys sprang into action, wrapping up Anthony before he could even string together a sentence. Natalia yelled for them to stop, but she didn't control them. They knew only one master and friend, and when he said to fuck Anthony up, that's what they proceeded to do.
The staff quickly intervened. Knowing they were outnumbered and not wanting their place destroyed, they urged Penny and his boys to settle any beef they had discreetly and off their premises.
As suddenly as they'd pounced, they just as quickly picked up Anthony and removed him for more of a talking outside. Fighting desperately to free himself every step of the way, he yelled to me for help. I ignored him, thinking ahead to how this might end. This wasn't Miami, so I figured throwing Anthony on his ass but sparing his life would win out. This was more about respect for Penny. It wasn't like Anthony had groped Natalia—just yet.
When most of his boys returned, they reported back to Penny. He was busy apologizing to Natalia and her people about their rudeness. The one I knew to be Haitian gave him a business card. Penny glanced at it then looked toward the bar where I was seated. Anthony's ability to talk that fast hadn't occurred to me. I think it was the lack of sleep on my part.
Oh well.
I surveyed what was going on around me, all the while bracing myself for the rapidly approaching storm. I glanced at the woman seated to my left, then at the bartender.
“This you?” Penny asked, the cascade of pennies down his arm ending at the fake business card I'd presented to Anthony. He dropped it on the bar beside my drink glass.
“Excuse me?
“This your card? Bitch-ass nigga said you gave this to him. Paid him money to disrespect Natalia. That true, boy?” His boys wanted it to be so true. It was my job to ruin the smiles on their faces.
“Sir, I don't even know who you are,” I answered, choosing a disarming voice, but leaving enough bass to let them know I was a man nonetheless. The eyeglasses I wore didn't hurt either. “And I certainly don't have money to waste on games. Now, whose business card is this supposed to be?”
The Haitian stepped up. “You pay that man? You play games?” he asked.
“I'm trying to have a nice evening out with my fiancée here. I don't know what that man told you, but that's not my card. He'd been drinking a lot before you came in. Now, I do know that much.”
I locked eyes with Penny Antnee a little longer than I preferred. My way was never to fix in someone's memory, but to exist on the periphery. But part of me said “Fuck it” this time. Like I said, I was tired.
“She your fiancée?” he asked for confirmation.
“Yes,” I answered, grabbing the woman's hand as it rested on the bar beside me. I prayed that she wouldn't flinch when I did so. “I don't want any part of your mess. Can you just leave us alone?”
“Yeah. Sorry about disturbing y'all,” Penny said, not wanting a PR nightmare with the “civilians” plastered on the front page of the papers. The thug was transitioning to a businessman.
He and his boys backed off to gather up Natalia and her people. Other parties awaited.
“Excuse me,” I called out.
“What?”
“Are you one of those rappers?”
He rolled his eyes before humoring me with a smirk and a nod of his head.
“Could I have your autograph? For my niece?”
After a few choice curse words, they walked away. No autograph for me.
“You are insane,” whispered the raven-haired Latina whose hand I still held.
“You may be right.”
I stayed around Gibraltar for another hour, making sure no surprises awaited me when I left. With the coast clear, I escorted my new friend to her car. The rain had stopped, but the parking lot was still slick. She clicked her remote, illuminating the interior of the ebony Corvette. Long, black, powerful, American. I knew of something else that matched her tastes.
“I think I owe this to you,” I said as I fished her payment from my pocket. When I first arrived at Gibraltar, I'd offered her some money just to sit there looking cute and to go along with whatever I said. If I didn't need her, she'd still get the money.
“You don't have to pay me anything. I don't need the money. This was more excitement than I've had all year,” the attractive middle-aged woman gushed. “And I just came out to escape my kids. Whooo! Wasn't expecting this.” I didn't know her name and she didn't know mine. Kept things uncomplicated—and me safe.
“But that's how it works. I can't just expose you to that risk without giving you something. Now, please take the money.”
“Maybe we can come up with something else to set-tle this. You're supposed to be my fiancé, right?” she teased.
I took a deep breath. “Married?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, revealing the dazzling ring.
“Happily?”
“He's a developer,” she answered. Her eyes cut with disdain above her high cheekbones that I was noticing for the first time. “Spends more time staring at vacant land and blueprints than he does me.”
“He's crazy. You're worth more than that,” I said, the temptation evident as the danger from earlier subsided.
“Thank you. But a new shopping center in Pearland or The Woodlands is what gives him a hard-on.”
“Maybe his shit doesn't work like it used to.”
“Does yours?”
“Most definitely,” I answered like the young stud she needed me to be. Wanted to taste her moist caverns, run my mouth across her golden hills, erect my own tower atop her plains, and drill to unknown depths until I hit a gusher.
“Then why are we talking about him when we should be fucking?”
“You don't even know my name.”
“You would probably tell me a lie anyway.”
“True,” I said, discarding the fake eyeglasses I'd been wearing.
 
 
“Sí, sí, sí,” she chanted, her ass dancing wildly as I rode her doggy-style. On her knees, she engulfed my dick as if her pussy were insatiable. Be it inches or centimeters, she took it all, metric or conventional be damned, for neither could measure the depths of her hunger.
Hotel Derek is what I'd suggested, having a room already set aside for Anthony's challenge. Instead, she took me to a home in The Heights. Not her home though. One of their extra properties they had on the market. Fully furnished. Too nice a bed to be stared at by potential buyers.
The ceiling fan overhead clipped the streetlight cutting through the blinds, granting us an eerie audience of shadows on the walls. Her black dress and sandals lay in a hastily formed heap in the doorway.
“Um . . . harder,” she begged. “Shit, you're making me cum.”

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