Philadelphia (2 page)

Twenty years later . . .

“Guilty.” The judge slammed the gavel down.

Billie Powell's star was steadily rising as an assistant district attorney, and this victory was another step up the ladder.

She stood and watched as the perp was handcuffed and escorted out of the courtroom. Billie's face showed no emotion. It never did in the courtroom. The minute she started a case she was all business. She took every case personally, and her drive and determination were earning her a reputation as a “pit bull” attorney. When other lawyers saw they were going up against Billie Powell, they knew it was going to be a nasty fight. She was determined to prosecute every criminal to the fullest extent, and she almost never offered a plea deal to the accused criminals. The few times she had, she was a young attorney just starting out, and even then it was only because of pressure from her bosses. If it had been up to her, no one would ever get a deal. As time went on and Billie established herself in the office, her bosses were starting to give her more leeway. As long as she was winning, they stayed out of her way.

The courtroom was full of action. The observers were all talking to each other, giving their opinions about the verdict; the judge was clearing his desk; and the reporters were all talking into their voice recorders, replaying the events of the trial for the award-winning stories they were planning to write. Billie remained silent as she packed her briefcase and walked out of the courtroom.

Kevin, one of her colleagues, called out to her, “Come have a beer with us.”

“I think I'll pass,” Billie responded.

He made his pitch. “Come on. Celebrate our win. You never come out with us.”

Billie had always sensed that Kevin was attracted to her. He was a nice enough guy and good at his job, but Billie didn't want to date anyone in her office. It was a rule she had for herself. Her life was complicated enough without the drama of fucking someone she worked with every day. Not to mention she just wasn't that into white guys.

“I'm good. Maybe next time. I've got some business to take care of.”

Kevin shook his head as he looked at Billie's perfect body in her charcoal gray Prada pencil skirt with matching suit jacket. She dressed like a true professional but had the body of a video vixen. “You've always got an excuse. You need to not work so much. Enjoy yourself every now and then.”

“Thanks for the advice. I'll be sure to tell the families affected by crime that I can't work on their case because you said I need to enjoy myself.” Billie walked away.

Kevin had nothing to say in response as he watched her leave the building. He felt sorry for Billie because she couldn't relax for even one afternoon.

Even though she had just won another case she wasn't satisfied. No matter how much time a criminal got she always thought they deserved more. This case was no different. If Billie had her way every criminal she prosecuted would get a life sentence. Billie wanted to go scorched-earth on the entire criminal world.

Billie headed straight back to her office. There was more work to be done, more criminals to punish. There was always someone else who needed to pay for crimes committed.

She flung her briefcase onto her desk with more force than needed and flopped down into her chair. What was her next move? What would satisfy her? She stared at her blank computer screen. She thought about how empty she felt after all of her cases lately. The excitement she would feel after a win when she first started out was gone. Slowly over time that energy began to disappear. She had started out her law career for one purpose: to punish as many criminals as she could. It was Billie's way of honoring her father. After every win she knew that she was making a difference. Now she wasn't so sure she was making a difference. She needed more; she needed something else to give her that satisfaction she used to get when she used the law to punish a criminal. After a few moments, she turned on the computer to begin searching for the one thing that would satisfy her.

“Here you are. You'll do nicely,” she said to herself after a half hour of reading files. She clicked the print button. She snatched the paper from the printer, eased back in her chair, and reread the file.

“Why aren't you out celebrating another victory, Powell?”

Billie jumped a little in her seat. Stanley Lewis, the district attorney, had materialized in her doorway from out of nowhere. Billie swore sometimes that this guy was a ghost.

“No reason to celebrate, sir.” As she responded to him, she discreetly reached for her mouse and closed the file on her computer.

“Nonsense. You should always celebrate a victory.”

“These drug dealers, thieves, and murderers deserve worse than a few years behind bars.”

“Well, I agree, but the laws say we can only do so much.”

“And I prosecute them to the max, but it still isn't satisfying to know that they will most likely be released at some point.”

“You can't dwell on that.” The DA changed the subject. “Anyway, nice job, Powell. You keep racking up these wins and you'll be in line for my job. I better watch my back.” He smiled wickedly.

“I don't think you have to worry about that, sir,” Billie replied politely, but she was thinking,
You damn right I should have your job.
Even though personally they never had any problems, Billie thought that Stanley Lewis was too soft on criminals. She always thought if she had his position she would start cracking the whip and demanding more from the ADAs.

“Go home, Powell. You deserve the rest of the day off.”

“You're right. I think I will take some personal time.” Billie pushed her chair back from her desk.

“Good.” DA Lewis winked and walked away.

Billie couldn't figure her boss out. He was definitely happy that she kept winning her cases, but she felt that maybe he really was getting nervous she would take his job. Billie figured that his job was important to him because he spent so much time rubbing shoulders with politicians to get in their good graces. She always saw him kissing up to someone in the city government. Billie wouldn't put it past him to be paranoid that someone would be gunning for his job. Although she never had to be careful before, she made a mental note to keep her guard up with her boss. Billie's motto: never trust people with two first names.

She stuffed the single sheet of paper into her briefcase, shut down her computer, and was out the door.

While driving home, she began planning out her evening. The more she thought about it, the more she became filled with excitement and anticipation: the same feelings she would get the night before she knew she was going to win a case.

She was planning on a late night and probably wouldn't be eating later, so when she got home, she cooked herself a quick bite to eat. As she sat at her kitchen table eating her meal, she studied the paper she had printed from her computer. Billie had a wicked grin on her face as she read the file.

“Time to party.” She wiped her mouth, rose from the table, and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

Billie showered and got fresh for her night out. She applied more makeup than she usually wore. Some heavy purple eye shadow with extra eyeliner complemented the dark cherry lipstick on her succulent lips. The blush she applied accented her high cheekbones to perfection.

She opened her closet and flipped through the hanging clothes. She found a nice, slightly sheer black top so that in the right light you could see she wore no bra. She matched the top with some skin-tight Gucci jeans. The Louboutin heels she wore elongated her muscular legs.

She stood in front of her full-length mirror and admired herself. Along with her long, muscular legs, she was stacked in all the right places—booty that wouldn't quit, small waist, and nice, firm breasts.

It excited Billie to get dressed in her “going out” clothes. When she changed into these clothes, she was a different person. It meant that she was going out to blow off some steam and satisfy her needs.

Happy with her outfit choice, Billie jumped in her car and drove from her West Oak Lane neighborhood to the Fairhill section of Philadelphia. She parked her car on North Front Street and pulled out the paper she had printed earlier. Billie double-checked the address, picture, and name of the man she was about to meet.

“It's on.” She was ready for action.

Billie got out of her car and walked down the block. North Front Street was dark and deserted. The lone streetlight on the block had been shot out, and the little sliver of moon was not illuminating anything. She passed a beauty salon, two Spanish restaurants, a Laundromat, and an auto supply store. All of their smells blended together: the chemicals of the beauty salon, the spicy Spanish food, laundry detergent, and car oil. All had their iron gates pulled down to keep the thieves out for the night. She was disgusted that honest business owners had to fear their own neighborhood. As anxious as she was about being here, she almost dared the city to put her face to face with a scumbag who might feel like breaking into one of these establishments.

Billie stopped in front of the dilapidated two-story building and took a deep breath to calm herself. She walked up the three small, broken concrete steps to the front door and knocked. There was some rustling on the other side of the door, and her heart began to speed up with anticipation.

The door opened slightly; the chain lock stopped it from opening wider.

“Hello?” a man said through the small opening.

“Hey, I'm Crystal. Your man sent me over. Said you just been released and needed a good time.”

Billie watched through the crack in the door as the man looked to her left and right then behind her. Convinced that no one was waiting to jump him, he finally took the time to check out the fine woman standing at his door.

Billie could see the smile spread on the man's face.

“Hell yeah,” he said. He closed the door and unlatched the chain to let Billie in.

Billie stepped through the door and entered a mostly empty living room. To Billie's right there was one recliner with a TV tray next to it. Sitting in front of that was a small television atop a milk crate, and that was it; no more furniture, nothing on the walls except a layer of dirt. She focused on the recliner. It was vinyl, with rips and tears revealing whatever stuffing was left inside. Her father used to have a recliner, she remembered. They would cuddle there together sometimes in its warm fabric.

“I like what you've done with the place,” Billie said sarcastically.

“The fuck you expect, bitch? I just got out the pen two days ago.” The man snarled with irritation.

She turned to him. “I know, baby. I'm just playin'.” She stroked his cheek softly. This calmed him down immediately.

She continued, “You're Ramon, right?”

“Yeah, baby. That's right.”

“Well, Ramon, since there is no place to sit in this room, why don't you show me to the bedroom.”

“I like the way you thinkin', girl.” He led her toward the back of the house. “Yo, who you say sent you? Phareed?”

“Don't worry about who sent me. Just know you've earned my visit.”

“Hell yeah, it's Phareed. That nigga is payin' me back for not snitchin'. You know I had to dead a nigga for Phareed? Well, I deaded more than that, but I only got caught for one. I coulda snitched that nigga out and saved my ass, but I ain't like that. I'm a loyal nigga. Did a fifteen-year bid off that shit—well, I only did seven of those fifteen.”

“Don't worry, honey. I know all about you,” Billie purred.

Ramon smiled. “Yeah, I'm pro'ly kinda famous up in the hood.”

“Something like that.”

The bedroom was just as barren as the living room. The only thing in the room was a dirty-ass twin bed and a nightstand with an alarm clock sitting on it.

“I know my place don't look nice now, but I'ma get back on my feet. I'ma call Phareed, tell him it's time start working for him again. Yo, believe me, you work for him, you make mad duckets.”

“Don't you worry 'bout all that right now. You just need to make sure this kitty is going to purr.” She seductively slid her hand between her thighs.

“I'm gonna tear that shit up.”

“Then sit down and let this bitch do her thang.” She pushed Ramon softly in the chest, guiding him back toward the bed.

He plopped down on the edge of the bed and quickly started unbuckling his belt. Billie got on her knees, set her purse on the floor next to her, and helped Ramon out of his pants. She pulled his jeans down to his knees, exposing his erect, thick penis.

“Mmmm. You got more than enough for me to break off a little somethin'. Lie back, daddy.” Again, she softly pushed his chest. He obeyed. She grabbed hold of his dick with her left hand and began to stroke it slowly. With her right hand she reached into her purse.

Ramon heard her open the purse and looked up from his prone position. “What you doing?”

“I'm looking for a condom, daddy. Lie back and close those eyes.”

Again, Ramon obeyed. He liked the way this bitch was taking charge. He hadn't fucked a woman or gotten his dick sucked in a minute, and he wasn't about to fuck that shit up. First some head, and then he was planning on tearing that pussy to pieces.

“Do your thang, girl.” He closed his eyes.

Billie found what she was looking for. With her left hand she grabbed on to the head of Ramon's dick; with her right she grabbed a pair of pruning shears. With one swift motion, she pulled the shears from her purse and cut Ramon's dick off at the base.