Dollar Bill (15 page)

“For the rest of those saps, who knows? But you know you the number one gem around here. Everybody after Dollar Bill.” Redd laughed. “I should just get you a desk set up in here.”

“Yeah,” Kera concurred. “Everybody's after Dollar Bill.”

Before a moment of uncomfortable silence and awkwardness could set in, Dollar quickly spoke, “Well, I'm gonna head out and shoot the breeze with some of these cats and wait on some work,” Dollar said as he turned to the exit. “And, Kera, you're gonna have to let me know how that book turns out.”

“I'll give you a blow by blow,” Kera said, rounding her lips at Dollar, then looking to make sure her father was none the wiser of her innuendo.

“A'ight then, little mama.” Dollar smiled at Kera and exited the office. When he got outside, Mr. Owens had pulled up in his Lincoln Navigator that all the cats admired. They admired his whip and his habit of paying cash to Redd for the men's services, who, in turn, then paid the men in cash. Seeing cash switch hands for their services made some of the men feel like hoes being pimped, but what the fuck? Half of them bastards didn't have a bank to cash no check at and the others desperately needed that twenty dollar check cashing fee the check cashing place would rape them of.

Mr. Owens only needed three men that day and had picked them already when Dollar came out of the building. One of the three men knew he was about to get the boot and be replaced with Dollar just as soon as Mr. Owens noticed him. Dollar was a strong, hard worker. He managed to do the work of two men.

Just as suspected, when Mr. Owens spotted Dollar, he gave the third guy, who was fixin' to hop into the Navigator, a “beat it” stare. The guy mean-mugged Dollar as he walked back over with the other unchosen.

“Nigga, what?” Dollar said. “You got something to say then say that shit.”

The man twisted his lips up at Dollar and sucked his teeth as he proceeded to walk on. “Man, I ain't even on that bullshit you screamin',” the guy threw over his shoulder.

“You don't want none of this,” Dollar said, getting in the last word before closing the door.

Where was all this cockiness coming from? Dollar had only envisioned his master plan. He hadn't put shit into play and already he was starting to act like the muthafuckin' man. As far as Dollar was concerned, he had a win-win bulletproof plan. He was going to make sure everything was airtight this time around. As they rode off, Dollar thought about the long hours and hard work he was about to put in and this only motivated him more.

“I gotta stop off at my house first, fellas,” Mr. Owens said. “I left my keys to the property we gotta work on.”

Dollar nodded in the affirmative as if he was giving Mr. Owens permission to make a detour. He then continued deep in thought.

Dollar thought about how once he, Tommy, and Ral successfully completed their first hit for that paper, Dollar's pockets would be cool enough to show up at Redd's every other day or so. Once they really put in work, he was only gonna fuck with Redd on the weekends. But for now, he had to pay homage to one of his strongest traits of which spending time in the joint forced upon him: patience.

Dollar had nothing but time. Haste makes waste. This was his second opportunity, his golden opportunity, to redeem himself to the streets by proving that he wasn't some young thug who couldn't even pull off a simple stickup. No, this time he would do everything by the book. When all was said and done the streets would belong to him.

Dollar thought as he rolled down the window,
the streets are already mine.

Dollar always wanted to know what the inside of the Chocolate Factory looked like. As a kid, he'd heard stories about what went on up in that spot. He witnessed a lot of men's clothing flying out of apartment windows because of those stories. Their wives must have heard them too.

The Chocolate Factory was a pretty cool-looking joint. From the outside, it looked like just another hole in the wall, like one of those raggedy titty bars on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. But on the inside, it looked like some Vegas-type shit was jumping off. Disco globes hung about the ceiling that whirled around and around, giving a hypnotic effect. There was a live DJ instead of some jukebox. He spun the beats the dancers shook their asses to from a sky box. Some smoke still filled the air where you could assume the last dancer must have wriggled her body through. Dollar was sure things had changed since back in the day, but if this was the type of entertainment the old playas fell victim to, he could almost see why them niggaz left home and never came back.

“These bitches is tizight,” Dollar said to himself, grinning from ear to ear. He copped a seat at the stage and looked around for a barmaid. Fine women were in every corner of the room talking shit to niggaz. Dollar felt like he was a wishing well filled with dimes. That's exactly what the broads up in that piece were, dimes: perfect asses, perfect breasts, stomachs, and teeth. They didn't have any stretch marks, their weaves looked believable, and their cosmetics were flawless. Whoever hired these hoes must have worked at Baskin-Robbins at one point because every flavor was represented.

While Dollar was turned to his left signaling the barmaid, on his right a dancer sat down next to him. With skin the tone of a vanilla wafer, her Alicia Keys braids flowed down her back like a waterfall. Her Janet Jackson baby hair gave her a look of innocence, while her Aaliyah smile had already earned her three fifty dollar drinks that night. This black mixed with Indian looking young miss was on point.

Dollar looked her up and down. She looked like she had just stepped out of a Frederick's of Hollywood catalog. Peeking through her long hot pink sheer cover up was a hot pink little two-piece liquid leather number. Her five-inch ice pick heels were the narrator to the story her body would soon tell.

Dollar tried to find a flaw on her, but it was an uphill battle. She was perfect, right down to her edible toes that hung slightly over her shoes, in a sexy way, for them foot fetish muthafuckas. She was whole thangin' it, no doubt.

“Sup, poppa?” She smiled.

“You, ma,” Dollar said as the barmaid approached him.
This broad think she got perfect timing,
Dollar thought, referring to the barmaid.

“What can I get you?” the barmaid asked Dollar.

“I'll take a shot of Hennessy, straight, no ice,” Dollar requested.

“And for the lady,” the barmaid said, looking dead at Dollar. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the dancer giving the barmaid a “good lookin' out” wink.

“Ah huh huh huh,” Dollar laughed. “Get ma a twenty dollar spot of whatever she's drinking.”

“Thank you. I'll have my regular,” the dancer said as the barmaid nodded and walked away.

“No problem,” Dollar said, gazing into the dancer's eyes. “Don't I know you from somewhere?”

The dancer laughed at Dollar's use of the most abused and corny-ass line in the book. “I ain't never seen you before so I know you ain't never seen me. Although I could be that girl you been dreaming about all of your life.”

“That's cute,” Dollar said.

“So are you.” The dancer smiled.

“What's your name?” Dollar asked. “Wait a minute, let me guess. Is it Lexus? Is it Mercedes, or is it Delicious?

“Storm,” she replied.

“So, why they call you that, Storm?”

“I come across soft, like a light rain or a summer's mist,” Storm explained, as she put her hand on Dollar's knee. “But I cum like a storm, a drowning rain or a roaring wave on a Cancun beach.”

Just as Storm's hand began to make its way up Dollar's leg, the barmaid's arm cut between them as she proceeded to place their drinks in front of them. Dollar paid for the cost of the drinks plus a three dollar tip for the barmaid. He took a sip of his drink as the DJ introduced the next dancer.

“Like her name, she's intoxicating,” the DJ said. “Fellas, fuck dem dolla bills. Y'all better pull out them tens and twenties because our next dancer, repin' the chicks in da club, is the one, and only, Wine.”

As the stage went black, a figure could be seen taking its place on the stage. The dancer strutted like she was modeling for the new Victoria's Secret line. As the theme song to her act began to play, the fellas in the club got hype and drew all their attention to the main act.

“‘Hoes in da club show love . . .'” the male patrons sang along.

As the lights pulled up slowly, the crowd was in awe. Before them stood a bad-ass bitch in spiked red thigh-high boots. Her red hot pants covered only the top portion of her ass, allowing for her chestnut ass cheeks to hang out. The matching bandeau squeezed her pretty brown browns tightly. As she stretched her arms high to grab the pole on each side of her, the fellas were hoping them coconuts would pop out. But she had so much grace it was as if she was rising from the ground like magic. Once she reached the ceiling with poles in hand, the lights came completely up. She swung her legs up so that both her ankles grasped one pole and saw to it that both her hands secured the other. Slowly she slid down, piercing Dollar with her eyes the entire way down.

“Son of a bitch,” Dollar said once he realized the dancer was Tommy. He couldn't believe his eyes. For one minute, he imagined the trick on the pole sliding right down onto his dick. Come to find it was Tommy, someone who was like one of the boys as far as he was concerned. On that note, Dollar gulped down his drink and raised his glass to the barmaid for another.

Dollar couldn't wait for Tommy to dance her two songs and get off the stage. Shit only got worse though. On the second song, the hot pants came off and all of Tommy's ass was revealed, compliments of the matching G-string.

As “It Seems Like You're Ready” by R. Kelly played, Tommy maneuvered her body in unimaginable positions. Niggaz was filling those boots and G-string with bills. They swarmed the stage like vultures. The hoes was even showing Tommy love with all the “work it, girl” and “do that shit” shout outs. Tommy was putting her heart into that little show. She was working it like she had never worked it before.

Dollar tried to occupy his time by slamming down shots of Hennessy. Thanks to Tommy's rump-shaking ass, he had spent sixty dollars on Storm's drinks.

“You know her or something?” Storm asked Dollar. “Is she who you want? You wanna buy her drinks? You wanna fuck her?” Clearly Storm was jealous of Dollar's reaction to Tommy.

“Slow down, baby,” Dollar said. “You my girl or something? Bitch, I bought you a drink, not a fucking wedding ring,” Dollar said with attitude.

“I'm sorry, poppa,” Storm said, realizing Dollar wasn't the kind to get off on the jealous-type acting girls. She quickly changed her role. “It's just that I get so jealous. I mean, you so fine and all. But I'm over it. I'm good. You make me better.”

“You got game, ma.” Dollar laughed. “It's cool. You do your thang. I respect that.”

“So we cool?” Storm said, running her hand down the back of Dollar's neck.

“We cool,” Dollar replied.

“Let me dance for you,” Storm said, getting out of her seat and pressing her pussy up against Dollar's knee.

As Dollar licked his lips he couldn't help but be slightly turned on. “The game is crazy,” Dollar said. “You wanna dance for me, love?”

“Oooh, I do,” Storm said as she closed her eyes and allowed Dollar to finger her pussy through her costume bottoms.

“Cool,” Dollar said.

Dollar finished off his drink and followed Storm into the Champagne Room. He handed the one hundred dollar bill to the bouncer who was guarding the entryway and proceeded to get his sweet bud satisfied.

“Oooh oooh oooh ahh ahh ahh yeah yeah yeah what what what” were the words that crooned out of the ceiling speakers of the passionate room that was lit with one lamp that had a purple light bulb in it. The room was about the size of Dollar's old jail cell, but it was plush. It looked like something from out of the seventies. The lamp sat on a glass end table with a black metal frame next to a big, velvet-like couch with purple satin pillows to match the lighting. The walls were painted a shiny black and the floor was covered with black furry rugs. Across from the couch was a mirrored bar with a black pleather ice bucket sitting on it. Inside the ice bucket was a bottle of Asti.

Storm headed straight over to the bar and grabbed two of the champagne glasses that were lined up on the bar. She filled them to the top and then walked over to the couch where Dollar had sat down and made himself comfortable.

“Cheers,” Storm said as she handed Dollar a glass of champagne. “Drink up, baby, but allow me to intoxicate you.”

“Go on and talk that shit.” Dollar winked as he spread his legs, sat an elbow on each one, with the hand free of champagne cupping his chin.

Storm began to roll her hips and allow her tongue to stroll across her top lip. All Dollar could imagine was her tongue strolling across the tip of his dick.

“‘I'm just an R&B thug babe,'” Dollar lip-synched to the song. It must be a crime not to have R. Kelly's songs playing in a strip club. It surely wasn't the place for Luther. R's shit made a nigga wanna stop whatever he was doing and fuck. Damn that making love and making babies shit Luther specializes in. Gangsta niggaz wanna fuck. And for another Benji, that's exactly what Storm offered Dollar.

Dollar never thought in a million years he would trick, pay for some muthafuckin' pussy while there were hoes giving the shit away for free. But he had been locked up for eight years and the pussy was in his face. No nigga in their right mind, in his situation, could have turned it away. No nigga in their right mind.

Dollar went in his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. He peeled a one hundred dollar bill from the wad and placed it in Storm's hand. Then he pulled out his dick. It was hard from just thinking about getting ready to run up in some pussy. He had even pre-ejaculated in his drawers.

After properly placing a Magnum-style condom on his penis, Dollar watched as Storm's pussy sucked in all ten inches of his dick. Dollar felt like he was watching a magic show the way Storm made that shit disappear.

Storm put on a brief rodeo show for Dollar. She wrapped both legs around Dollars neck and bounced it out. Dollar watched as his dick went in and out of her, pussy juice flowing, dripping down his nut sack. Then Storm flipped it on him backward so that her ass smacked down on Dollar's six pack. That's when Dollar exploded. She rolled them hips like an ocean, and Dollar couldn't hold back the tidal wave.

Storm could feel Dollar's muscle flexing inside of her, so she proceeded to make the appropriate moans and groans to enhance his climax. Her pussy was working Dollar's dick like it was an old Atari 2600 joystick and she was playing
Centipede.
Once she knew Dollar had shot out all the juices he could, she then rested back on his chest and wrapped his arms around her body.

It didn't last as long as Dollar would have liked it to, but it had been awhile since he busted one up inside some pussy. There was no way to prolong it. It was quick, easy, and greasy, but it was pleasing.

“Did you like that, baby?” Storm asked as she sucked on Dollar's middle finger. “Did you, poppa? Did it feel good to you?”

“You know that shit was on point,” Dollar moaned while kissing Storm's neck.

“Stop it. That tickles.” Storm giggled, putting her head down and getting off of Dollar.

“Oh, now you wanna play the shy role.”

Storm blushed. “So when you gonna come back and see me?” she asked as she began gathering her costume, which was Dollar's hint that it was time to keep it moving.

“I ain't really into trickin', ma. This was just a one-time thang, but I'll hook you up with a drink or two the next time I roll through. Is that all right? Is that all right with you?” Dollar said, zipping up his pants.

“Yeah, that's what they all say,” Storm said. “But you'll be back. Trust me; you'll be back.”

Storm vanished through a doorway leading into the changing room and Dollar let himself out of the Champagne Room. The first thing he saw was Tommy hugged up with some gold-tooth grill dude. Dude was all up in Tommy's face, playing in her hair.

Dollar took a seat back at the stage and made eye contact with Tommy. He widened his eyes and nodded his head as a sign to let her know that he was waiting to talk with her.

Five minutes went by and Dollar was becoming impatient. Eventually Tommy stood up and headed Dollar's way, but the dude who had been hawking her was right behind her. Tommy looked at Dollar and held up her index finger telling him to wait a minute. It didn't take Dollar long to figure out that she was headed to the Champagne Room.

Just then everything started going in slow motion. Dollar pictured ol' dude doing to Tommy what he had just done to Storm. That shit wasn't about to go down with him up in the spot. Dollar got up from his chair and approached Tommy as she was just about to head inside the Champagne Room.

“Yo, T,” Dollar said. “I need to holla at you for a minute.”