Life Without Hope (15 page)

up the dead, and then she reached another climax, one that made

her shudder into uncontrollable convulsions. Her eyes rolled in

the back of her head like she was possessed with something. As her

head bumped against the headboard and long legs wrapped

around my waist, I took one of her legs and placed it on my shoul-

der. Her eyes showed a hint of fear, for she knew what was next,

and in one long thrust, for the first time, I drove all the way into

her and she screamed as her talon fingernails raked my back. Our

breathing was heavy and sweat cascaded from our intertwined

bodies. Her cat eyes exerted robust energy as she looked up at me

and squinted. She bit down on her lower lip in a painful show of

a woman’s determination. Her voice screeched like chalk on black-

board and she lamented, “I have not been with a man in almost a

year … you’re … trying to hurt, meeee … with that thing.” Her

seductress Spanish was thick. “Pa…pi…let me suck iiiiit!” In mid

stroke, I stopped, and burst out laughing.

“
What’s so funny?” she pouted. Her eyes smiled up at me.

Even with her hair half matted to her face, with sweat and the

painful wrinkles in her eyes, she was still one of the most beauti-

ful women I had ever seen. I took what I could get and then some.

After ward, I rolled off of her and lay there satisfied, depleted. She

looked over at me with a knowing grin, the kind lovers share when

they have both been satisfied by the other, only I kept seeing

something else. I closed my eyes because the game can make a

nigga paranoid. For some reason the faces of Dre’, and the nigga

that set me up, popped into my mind. I cringed like I had just

been shot. Shot by the reality of my own stupid blunder. Dre’ was

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looking for Lil Cal. Lil Cal was from Miami, a spot called Opa

Locka. It was infamous as a dope hole for young thugs, better

known as the “ Triangle,” where you could walk in and never come

out. I would never go in there without Lil Cal with me. Shit! All

this time I forgot to warn my nigga Cal about what Dre’ was up

to. I leaped from the bed and startled Trina. So much had been

going on in the past two days. I paced the floor thinking. Dre’ had

family in Tallahassee, or was it Jacksonville? Orlando? I forgot and

we used to hustle together. My mind was really congested. I paced

the floor naked while Trina looked at me with the covers pulled up

to her chin. I picked up the phone, dialed 305 area code. The

phone wouldn’t let me call out long distance. I slammed it down,

cursed Dre’ out and paced some more, rubbing the waves in my

head absent-mindedly.

“
Pass me my purse,” Trina said, reading my mind. I grabbed

her purse, rummaged inside and found a phone and a tiny two

shot derringer .38 pistol, powerful enough to put any man down.

Livid, she sprung up in bed and screamed at me, “Gimme my

damn purse!”

I did what playas do, I ignored her, dialed the number and

watched as she stormed toward me. She snatched the purse out of

my hands and came close to getting her first ass whoopin too.

Someone answered the phone on the third ring. It was

Blazack. Before I could tell him what happened, he told me that

the Feds got Lil Cal as soon as Dre’ walked out of the house. Cal

sold him a brick. Heavy hearted, I sat down in the middle of the

floor. Blazack went on to say that he felt like my boy Dre’ had

something to do with the bust. Blazack was one of the most dan-

gerous men that I had ever known. It was like he had been born

in the wrong era. He was a cold-blooded murderer, who went at

life like it was his mission to die. He was the only man I knew that

beat three murder raps. He really didn’t have to sell dope. If he

walked up to you and asked for something, like an ounce or two,

it was best to give it to him or risk getting shot, or have a loved

one come up missing. Every real crew had to have a Blazack, he

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was the enforcer, the man that went into the trenches and did the

dirty work. He didn’t aspire to be rich, just enjoyed staying true to

the game. Reluctantly, I told him what happened. I could hear his

breathing on the phone, a silent threat to wreak havoc on

whomever he felt was responsible for setting up Lil Cal. This

included me. I felt my heart racing in my chest after I’d finished

telling him what happened.

“
What took you so fucking long to warn us?” he yelled on the

phone.

“
Man, I’ve been caught up in all kinds of bull –”

“
Fuck that nigga!” he yelled. He wasn’t even tryin’ to hear

about the shit I had been going through. “I know where yo old

man live at with that big-ass church down there in Sarasota, if you

tryin some funny shit –”

“
Hold up!” I interrupted. “Don’t go there, don’t go there.” I

was tryin to calm him, at the same time, let him know I ain’t noth-

ing nice either when it comes to gunplay.

“
Man I’ve been in all kinds of dumb shit. Peep CNN, that’s

me r unning from the police. I would never set ya’ll up.”

“
Nigga where you at?” Blazack asked. I didn’t like the tone of

his voice. It took a few seconds to answer, I’m sure he noticed.

Trina made a face at me as I answered, “I’m in Tallahassee. It’s

sweet. I’ve already hit a lick for some grands.”

“
Fuck that nigga, you was the one that introduced us to that

hot-ass nigga.” Blazack was on some serious death before dishon-

or shit. That was cool unless the wrath of his anger was directed at

you. Trying to stop him was like trying to stop a suicide terrorist.

He simply did not care.

“
Dre’s grandfather lives in Sarasota,” I blurted out.

“
Let’s kidnap that fool!” Blazack said coldly. I didn’t answer,

Blazack was crazy like that. One thing was for sure, someone’s

family would be receiving an unwanted visit from him.

“
Look man, the spot is hot as hell here. Let me come down

there until shit cool down and together we can look for that nigga

Dre’. You know what they say, three can keep a secret, if two are

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dead,” Blazack said.

I pondered over his riddle, the math did not come out right,

but I owed an allegiance to my nigga Cal. Blazack was his own

man, which by code would make him my man, too. At least help

him get out of this mess, that I felt responsible for getting him in.

We made plans. I was to Western Union him the money to come

to Tallahassee. One of the biggest mistakes I ever made in my life.

I walked back to the bed with the feeling a man has when he

knows he has just fucked up by not following his first mind.

Trina sat up in bed and the covers fell to her waist. Suddenly,

I had an urge to beat in her guts again. She fired up the roach and

took two pulls which almost choked her. “Smoke this, it will make

you feel better.” I took it, and watched as she padded to the bath-

room. Her ass looked like Serena Williams’, only finer. She closed

the door, at least I thought she did. I counted out my stash and

hid it under the carpet.

She returned smelling like soap and something else sweet. We

had an idle conversation as she made the bed, until I suddenly

remembered about Dre’, and the likelihood that he had family in

Tallahassee, which meant that he could have possibly been hus-

tling there, too.

“
You know a nigga named Dre’. Drives a sky blue caddy on

dubs?”

She stopped making the bed momentarily as if to think. I

admired the gap between her legs as she bent over. She shrugged

her shoulders no, but I kind of got the feeling she was lying. We

got back in bed. It was a quarter after four in the morning.

After we got cozy, she snuggled up close against me and whis-

pered in my ear like she was still hot and horny.

“
Have you ever tried a sixty nine position?” she asked mis-

chievously. Her hand went under the covers on a mission. I resis-

ted the urge to laugh. Trina was trying to beat me for my head.

Oral sex that is.

“
I don’t eat pussy.” I lied. I felt her body stiffen and then relax.

“
You want me to do you again?” She said it like a dare. She held

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the hard response to her question in her hands. Then she closed

her eyes and went into that utopia where women go when they’re

being sexy and sweet and it’s as natural for them as breathing.

With her eyes closed, she took me on a trek down memory lane.

“
I was born in New York. I’m the youngest, and only girl. My

father has been dead now for about eight years. When he died, my

world came crashing down. My mom is African American, and

dad Cuban. Word is bond, he taught me so much.” Her eyes

popped open, she looked at me as if she were pleading. She con-

tinued, “I can cook dope, cut, weigh and sell it. That’s where Nina

Brown came in at.” She removed a lock of hair from her forehead,

adjusted her pillow and leaned toward me. I had to strain my ears

to hear her. While talking, her mind was distant, giving me a piece

of her past.

“
My father left a trust fund for me after he died. It’s over a

quarter of a million dollars. I receive the money annually, but only

if I’m in school. My daddy was smart like that. He said, life’s edu-

cation didn’t guarantee a thing. He wanted me to be street smart,

too. He died from AIDS.” She said this somberly as the timbre of

her voice changed. “Now my oldest brother has it, and to think we

just finished playing Russian Roulette with a loaded dick.” I felt

like I had been hit with a low blow. Moments passed and the

silence was uncomfortable. As she looked at me, something about

her moved me. And now, caught up in the liaison of raw sex, fer-

vid passion and the intimacy of pillow talking, I found myself

looking at her the way a man does a woman. I was feeling her like

she had just jumped on my chest with spiked heels.

She huffed, “I’m tired of these fake-ass hoes too. Fronting like

they down with me just to be seen in my whip.” Just that quick,

her mood changed. Her eyes sparkled.

“
Once you’ve been exposed to the game, money and power,

nothing else will do! My daddy taught me a lot. He also said ain’t

no drug dealer got no business in the game over a year. Ain’t no

future in fronting. People that sell get hooked just like the people

that buy.” She stopped talking to catch her breath. I was admiring

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her brain like she just submitted a verbal application to me,

“
Gangsta Bitch For Hire.” She bragged, resting her head on my

chest. “Papi, I’m claiming you.” Her head went under the covers

and she took me into her mouth. Trina could suck a dick. As her

tongue worked its magic on my body, I wondered,