The following night, Biscuit, Greasy, and I were having drinks while mingling with the bitches in the Shack. I had a small bundle on me and was treating these bitches to whatever drink they wanted. It was a good fucking thing while waiting for a call to get business started. I hated waiting on someone, especially some muthafucka I knew nothing about. I thought about what Falco said to me earlier, about rushing life and fucking up. I’ve been hustling since I was ten. I was a specialist at moving weight and making that paper.
I downed the Rum and Coke and eyed a piece of eye candy at the other end of the bar. She was talking to someone, but that wasn’t going to slow me down. I wanted to go holla. I needed to get my mind off this phone call.
“Why you keep staring at me like that?” I asked her, ignoring the nigga.
“Excuse me…?” she answered.
She was looking good, hazel eyes, smooth brown skin, and dark black hair with blond highlights.
“You don’t see me standing here?” the nigga she was with exclaimed.
“Step off, nigga.”
“Nigga, fuck you!” he shouted.
“What?” I retorted.
“Fuck you, nigga!” he shouted, stepping to me like a threat.
Before I could react, Biscuit smashed a Heineken bottle over his head, and then Greasy ran up and began punching him in his face repeatedly. The guy dropped, and tried to protect himself from the blows bestowed on his dumb ass. He curled up in the fetal position when my Timberlands came across his face. I used the bar for support and crashed the heel of my boot down on his face.
“Talk shit now, nigga!” I yelled. “Huh? Talk that shit, nigga.”
We fucked this nigga up for a moment, while everyone just stood around and watched. He was covered in his own blood, and whimpering like a bitch.
Biscuit pulled out his .380, ready to murder this nigga. I had to call him off.
“Nah nigga, chill. Not here. Too many people.”
Biscuit’s face was twisted with rage. He stuffed the gat back into his waistband. The nigga was unconscious and badly beaten.
“Yo, Omega, why you gotta disrespect my place like that?” The bartender asked.
“Shut da fuck up!” I yelled at his bitch-ass.
He didn’t mumble another fuckin’ word and went back to his business. I was heated, but it felt good to fuck a nigga up like that. I haven’t done that in a long while.
I looked at honey and asked, “You wit’ this nigga?”
“No not really, we just met,” she said with uncertainty in her voice.
“Yo, let me holla at you for a minute in private,” I said.
I led her to a back room, leaving Biscuit and Greasy to clean up the mess. I stared at her long legs and smiled. I took her into a backroom office, closing the door behind me. I couldn’t even really call it an office. It was small with enough space for a few chairs, a table and some cases of beers and
liquor stacked up in the corner.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” I asked, staring into her pretty eyes.
“Jazmin,” she answered coyly.
“I make you nervous Jazmin?” I asked, eyeing every inch of her figure.
“You sure, cause I ain’t gonna hurt you. You just caught my attention,” I said calmly.
“I’m sorry you had to see that back there, but I hate when niggas get muthafuckin’ disrespectful. You know who I am, beautiful?”
“I think,” she replied.
“What you mean you think? They call me Mega. I run things in Queens, ya hear me? I saw you checking me out from the corner of your eyes. I know that clown ass nigga wasn’t really sayin’ shit to you. So I had to step to you. You like them bad boys, right? Don’t lie?”
She smiled. I knew from the get-go, the bitch was gullible and I already had her in my pocket.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Damn that’s good,” I laughed, staring at her figure once again. “And you got a man?”
“What you need, boo…? I got you. Ya heard? I’m feelin’ you, ya feel me? I’m definitely liking what I see right now,” I smiled, taking a seat on the cluttered table. “So what you like in a man?”
“You know, swagger, style, and his paper gotta be right,” she laughed.
“So, you like what you see right now?” I asked.
“Huh, huh, most definitely,” she smiled batting her long lashes.
“That’s what’s up,” I said wanting only to fuck this bitch. “You ain’t busy right now, right? I wanna chill wit’ you for a minute.”
“Come over here, you ain’t gotta be so far from a nigga. I need to get to know you a little better, you feel me?”
She walked up to me and I gently pulled at her shirt, and gripped her in my arms. She felt oh so soft. Her sweet scent brushed against my nostrils and my dick jumped.
“What you wanna talk about?” she asked in a gentle whisper, with my arms still wrapped around her.
“Some things, you know what I’m saying,” I replied and moved my hands down to her ass and squeezed her phatty.
She continued to smile and asked, “How bout’ you, do you got a girl?”
“Nah, I’m good right now,” I replied.
“I don’t know that, niggas be lying sometimes,” she said with a sly smile.
“I don’t need to lie,” I returned, and then slowly began pulling up her denim skirt, and cupped her smooth butt-cheeks in my hands. “Damn, you’re soft boo.”
She chuckled, smiling at me, our faces barely inches apart. Her breath was fresh like scented gum and roses. I began moving my hand in between her soft thighs and brushed it against her pussy.
She was wet. I parted her panties to the side with my fingers and slowly pushed two of my fingers into her. She moaned, and said, “You gonna take care of me?”
“I got you, boo. Like I told you before, I’m definitely feelin’ your style,” I whispered in her ear.
My dick was hard like rocks and I was ready to fuck. She began unbuckling my pants and whipped out nine inches of black and hard.
“I see why they call you Mega,” she smiled, and began stroking me gracefully.
I was in no mood for foreplay. I positioned myself behind her, bending her over the desk doggy-style. Hiking her skirt, I ripped off her panties from her moist thighs.
I quickly dropped my jeans and boxers. My dick was at attention, standing ready for the deed. I was tempted but wasn’t stupid, I wasn’t about
to fuck this bitch raw. The manager always kept a pack of condoms in his drawer. He was always fuckin’ his female employees. I pulled out a pack of Trojans. I rolled that tight condom back on my thick shit, then gripped Jazmin by her ass cheeks, spreading them and thrust inside her.
She groaned as I slid in and out of her roughly and then smacked her ass cheeks red just for the thrill. She gripped the table firmly throwing her ass back. I pulled her hair, and continued to slap her on her ass, feeling that tight ass pussy marinating all over my dick.
“Ooh, ooh oh shit… Oh shit. Ooh, ooh, fuck me!” she cried through clenched teeth.
Her legs were spread wide apart and her ass shaking fast. I was in a fucking trance, enjoying all of Jazmin’s sweet pussy until I started to hear my cell phone ringing.
“Shit!” I roared and gripped Jazmin’s ass check firmly.
My rhythm was going in that pussy and the phone was on the table in front of me. Quickly without missing a beat, I grabbed it.
“Who this?” I asked, with the phone pressed to my ear, while clutching that ass, still thrusting my dick in and out of Jazmin.
“You need to holla at me, right,” I heard someone say, not knowing the voice.
“Rodriquez,” he said.
“Oh, yeah, yeah. What up?”
“You sound busy,” he said.
“I’m into a lil’ sump’n, but what’s good?” I asked.
“Meet me tomorrow evening, top floor of the parking garage on Archer Avenue at six sharp. We’ll talk then,”
“Ahight,” I said but he had already hung up.
I tossed my phone back on the table and continued with my sexual onslaught. Tearing into that pussy from the back like a beast, fifteen minutes later, I was coming like a nut.
After the episode, we got decent again and strutted back out into the club. The blood was cleaned up and dude was nowhere around. It looked like the incident never happened. I saw Greasy by the bar and informed him of our
meeting with Rodriquez tomorrow evening. He nodded. Jazmin remained by my side the entire night, and I was without a doubt feeling her company to some degree. Shit that same night, I took her to a motel and we fucked again. I blew that bitch back out again. I needed round two with her to release the stress that I was carrying.
The next evening, Greasy and I drove up to the top deck of the parking garage on Archer Avenue, between Guy R. Brewer and 165th street. The day was overcast and the top deck was sparse with a few parked cars.
Only Greasy and myself met with Rodriquez. We pulled up next to this pearl colored Benz sitting on 20” inch chromed rims with tinted windows.
“Nice,” Greasy uttered, eyeing the ride.
A dark-skinned man with braids and clad in a dark suit stepped out. He didn’t look Mexican. I exited my truck followed by Greasy.
“You sure this him?” I asked Greasy.
“I ain’t never met dude before,” Greasy replied.
“You Rodriquez?” I asked him.
He made eye contact with me before saying anything. He walked up to Greasy and me and said, “From now on, you only deal with me and only me.”
“What happened to Falco?” I asked.
“He only wanted to meet the face of the man he’s doing business with. After that, there’s no more direct contact with him. I’m his right hand in N.Y, so anything you need you get at me,” he informed.
“Not a problem,” I said.
“Our first shipment for you will arrive next week Thursday. Four batches of crank for fifteen cents a piece,” he said. “Now, I’m gonna teach your peoples how to properly produce and market the goods. Once you know the right chemicals to use, you’ll be in business. This shit is addictive like a toddler on his mama’s tit.”
He passed me a card with only a phone number on it, and then handed me a cell-phone.
“It’s pre-paid, and we’re the only ones with the number to that phone. When it rings, and you see a 410 exchange, don’t answer it, just meet us at this location and remember it,” he explained to us, and then handed me a small piece of paper with a Brooklyn address.
“Remember the location and then burn that shit,” he continued. “And another thing, we only deal with the two of you. From this day on, any new faces and we shut you down.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Any questions?” he asked.
I looked at Greasy and he looked at me, and then I looked at Rodriquez.
“Nah, we good for now.”
“Y’all fellas have a nice day,” he said, making his way to his ride and drove off.
“They tight wit’ their shit, Mega,” Greasy said.
“I know, a nigga could understand that,” I said.
I stared at the Brooklyn address and started to remember that shit quickly.
“Yo Mega, let’s get sump’n to eat, a nigga is hungry like a muthafucka,” Greasy said.
We got back into the truck and made our way out the garage. A new day was dawning for me. I was about to experiment with a new drug, but I also knew I’d be haunted by my past. A few niggas had to be made ghosts.
Only two places you should fine peace.
The grave and in your home…
Early Sunday morning, and the scintillating rays of the sun beamed colorfully through the luxuriant white clouds. I stared out my bedroom window still in my underwear and holding my belly gently. The morning looked so peaceful and calm. I wanted to get ready for church in Brooklyn where I’ve been attending on a regular basis. Getting involved in the church helped me deal with the stress during Omar’s incarceration.