Authors: Treasure Hernandez

Resurrection (11 page)

BOOK: Resurrection

13.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

All of the veins in Malek's head began to bulge, and fire was ready to shoot out of him. He took hold of his cell phone and called Mitch.

“Yo,” Mitch said, answering his phone.

“Yo, Mitch, swing by the crib. I just wanna talk about this rehab shit, so all our bases is covered and nothing comes back to bite us in the ass.”

“You want me to come right now?” Mitch asked.

“Yeah, yeah, and come solo. I ain't trusting nobody right now.”

“Okay, no doubt. I'll be there in about a half-hour,” Mitch said and then hung up the phone. He immediately got on the horn with Sweets. “It's time to roll on this nigga,” he said to Sweets.

“A'ight, no doubt,” Sweets said without hesitation. “Say no more. Swing by the crib. I'll line niggas up, and we'll get the ratchets and go tighten that ass up!”

Halleigh was slipping in and out of consciousness as she rode in the back of the ambulance. Scratch was right there by her side, tears in his eyes. “Come on, Li'l Rina, you'll be all right,” he kept saying, hoping that she could stay conscious.

“She's lost a lot of blood!” one of the paramedics said as he tried to apply pressure to her wound.

Halleigh tried to whisper something, but Scratch couldn't make it out clearly. “What's that, baby girl?” Scratch asked, stroking her hair and placing his ear next to her lips.

Halleigh whispered, “My-my baby, my baby,” just before losing consciousness. Those were the last words that she uttered, and she slipped into total darkness.

THE END

But the saga continues in
Flint 5

Coming Soon in 2009

A Pimp's Life

By Treasure Hernandez

Prologue

M
y moms died today. The monster finally devoured her spirit and life. Sick the whole time through, she lived HIV-positive for fifteen years before finally succumbing to full-blown AIDS.

Drugs fucked up her whole shit up years ago. Fucked my whole shit up too. I watched her get high every day. It used to make me cry to see her after she hit that pipe. She'd be so lost in space. It was like her soul wasn't there, but her body was always there for anyone that could keep her high. I guess she finally reached that mountaintop she'd been climbing for so long.

What sense did it make though, when all she did was fall off? Maybe my father could've given her a helping hand. If she knew who that was. She'd had a child with a man from Virginia three years before I was born. She never knew what it was, and didn't want to know, putting up the baby for adoption the instant it was born.

I may as well have been adopted too because I didn't like the idea of admitting that my moms was a crackhead ho. She didn't love me. All she ever loved was that pipe. You know how that shit makes me feel? It don't make me feel like nothing. Because if you ain't never known love, then you ain't going to miss love.

Chapter One

MACK

I
shielded my eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun as I walked out of Queens Courthouse. It had been a long night. I'd just spent it serving nine hours behind bars, thanks to the brave and dedicated hard work of New York City's Finest. I walked down the long row of cement steps and stood at the curb. The traffic lights were out, and cars headed east and west uncompromisingly whizzed by with no regard for pedestrians trying to make a dash for the island that divided the flow of traffic. I stood under the Don't Walk sign and pressed the button to no avail.

“Fuck it,” I said, running into the street as soon as I saw a momentary clearing. I jumped on top of the divider and looked to my immediate right. Cars raced up the street as if this was the “Ghetto 500.” My heart pounded through my chest from running, and my adrenaline rushed like Russell's when he was up in that elevator catching the full force of a J.B. beat-down.

Soon as I hit the sidewalk my cell rang. “Yo,” I said, panting heavily, searching for air.

“You get out yet, jailbird?” Sade laughed.

Sade was my woman. We lived together in a house in Queens Village. She wasn't the best-looking woman I'd dealt with, but she had a good heart. Sade was 5-6, and was dark-skinned with full lips like Fantasia. Originally from Virginia, she'd moved to New York three years ago after her stepfather, Glen, tried to rape her. When she brought the issue to her mom's attention, her mom flipped the script by accusing her of lying and trying to cause a rift in her stable relationship.

When Sade's moms finally did confront Glen with the charges, he denied it, swearing up and down every crack of ass he'd ever licked that Sade came on to him. Deep in her heart, she knew she was wrong, so she let her daughter go and moved right along. She knew Sade was telling the truth and that he'd always had his eyes on her. I mean, why not? Here you had this young woman physically blossoming right before your eyes versus a sickly, one-tittie lady, slowly but surely withering away.

Afraid of spending the latter years of her life home alone, she chose his side, with her head down to the floor. That still bothered Sade to this day. She didn't understand how you could love somebody your entire life then just turn your back on them. None of the men her mother dated had good intentions.

Sade's moms was dying of breast cancer and had a huge life insurance policy. Every eligible bachelor in Richmond knew that she was worth four hundred thousand dollars after her ass expired. All she wanted to do was never die alone.

Sade would call her every now and again, but Glen always answered the phone and hung up when he heard her voice. Eventually he had the number changed, and Sade lost contact with her and refused to go visit her as long he was still living there.

“Yeah. I'm free. About to grab me some New York Fried Chicken from the Habeebs.” I walked inside the restaurant. “Call Anton and tell him I said to come and get me. It's his fault I was in there in the first place,” I said, sitting down. “Yo, Ahmed, let me get two thighs, small fries, and a lemon Mystic Iced Tea, man,” I said to the owner. “Yeah, so, baby, did you miss me?”

“You know I did.”

“Uh-huh. You better had.”

“Whatever, Mack. I'm about to see the Dominicans. My hair needs to be washed and wrapped.”

“Don't be out there spending up a whole lot of money, Sade. You heard?”

“Love you,” she said, disconnecting the call.

I walked inside my Queens Village home and flopped down on the blue leather couch. I had been up the entire night madder than a muthafucka, sitting up in jail on some bullshit marijuana charge. I don't even smoke. My dude Anton was blowing one of them thangs down while we was inside Cambria Heights Park with these two bitches. I don't know which was faster, the detectives that rolled up in the park in the black Expedition with tinted windows, or Anton's warrant-having ass hopping over the five-foot gate at the end of the park. He dropped the cigar shit right in front of me. So guess who it belonged to, according to the law? They let the girls off with a warning and let me ride in back of the truck with them.

The doorbell rang just as I'd reached my comfort zone level. I ignored it at first, but the person continued to pound the fucking bell out. I looked through the peephole. “Ay, yo, who the fuck is it?”

Anton's big-ass head was all up in my view. I'm looking out the hole, his silly, non-complex ass is trying to look in.

“Open the door, man. You know I got warrants.” He looked around before quickly rushing inside. Then he held out his hand. “Hey, man, apologies for last night.”

“You's an ill dude, yo. I ain't fucking with you no more outside. I don't like being locked up. You just bounced without saying a word.”

“If there was time to say anything, I would of. Look, I can't afford to get caught by these pigs, yo. They'll kill me. That's what they do when you shoot one of theirs.”

I walked to the refrigerator, pulled two Heinekens from the top shelf, and popped the caps. “Whatever, man. Did you ever speak to them girls in Brooklyn . . . Kim's people?”

“Aw, man, I was caught up in some next shit, son. But I'm-a get up with her tonight and shit. Matter of fact, you should come too. She keep asking about you.”

“Naw. I'm chilling at home with Sade. I didn't get to give her no âdaddy good loving' last night because of your ass.” I pointed at him.

Anton took a long swig of the beer. “Gordy was asking about you too.”

“Yeah? I don't hear my phone ringing off the hook. He ain't looking for me. He looking for something about me.”

“Well, whatever the fuck”âHe held out his handâ“ I'm about to be out. Just came to check in on you and make sure you wasn't violated in the shower.” Anton laughed.

“Fuck you!” I laughed. “Get the hell out my house,” I said, pushing him out and closing the door.

Chapter Two

MACK

“I
'm thinking about taking a trip to see my mother.” Sade sat up in the bed. She leaned her back against the headboard and touched my chest. “You heard me, baby?”

“Naw. What's up?” I said, my eyes still closed.

“I said I want to see my mother. What do you think about that?”

“Sade,” I said, sitting up, “if you want to see your mother, I'll roll with you down there. It's nothing.”

“No, I need to do this by myself. I'll be all right.”

“What about ol' boy?”

“I'll worry about that when I get there.”

“You sure?”

“I'm a big girl, baby. I'll be cool.”

“A'ight. I know you can handle yourself. So when you leaving?”

“I'm driving down there next Friday. I'll be gone for about three days.”

I kissed her cheek.

“What was that for?”

“For being a real thorough bitch. That's the shit right there that made me fall in love with you.”

Sade reached her hand under the covers and placed it on my hardening dick, massaging the head with her thumb. “And that's the shit that made me fall in love with you,” she said, removing the covers from over me. She pulled my boxers off and slowly slid her mouth around the head of my dick and sucked it like a swollen thumb, licking around the rim and poking at the eye with the tip of her tongue.

I lay on my back looking at her, as she widened her mouth and long-throated the nine inches of “bless you with my loving.” She gagged once, she gagged twice, but maintained the sexual discipline required to control tossing it up. When my body shivered, she sucked even harder.

“A W W W W SHIIIIT,” I yelled out. “SADE. Oh my damn,” I cried out as she continued milking the cow.

“What's the matter, boo? You can't take it?” she asked, my love fluids leaking from the corners of her mouth. “Where the freak at, daddy?” She rolled her tongue around at me then stuck it down my throat.

I lifted off her shirt and sucked on her hard, erect nipples, my mouth cruising around, on, and between her firm titties. I licked from her neck down to her navel and spoke to it in tongues. I melted down in between her legs and sniffed my pussy. And craved my pussy. I watched it as it throbbed and leaked in anticipation of a forthcoming tsunami.

“Come on, daddy, I wanna see lakes running down these sheets,” she said, rubbing them with one hand while the other was snug behind my head.

I made her butterfly wings flap and her cat sing for tender victuals. I eloquently ran my tongue around the edges of each wing then quickly slid it further down. I pushed it up into her ass, and she sighed loudly. I razzled her and dazzled her with tonguenastic flips and twists, and turns and churns.

And then she farted in my fucking face. I was done.

“What happened, daddy?” Sade rubbed between her legs.

“Come on, man, how many times you going to fart in my face?”

She laughed. “Did it stink?”

“Oh, you think that shit is funny now, huh?” I playfully grabbed her by the shoulders and lay back down. “Come on, ma, get on top.” I was standing strong as ever.

Wetter than a Mexican being rescued by the Coast Guard, Sade sat on it, and it slid straight up inside of her, the soft walls collapsing around me then constricting. As I lay still for a moment and let it burn, my body ushered in an even harder erection.

She planted her palms on my chest and slowly began to gyrate her hips a lil' something. She heard my black snake moan and matched it with a pleasurable meow. She leaned forward and grabbed my shoulders then began popping that thing up and down like hydraulics.

As we stared and growled at each other with the ferocity of a tiger and tigress, I grabbed her around the hips to secure her in place.

Sade threw her free hand in the air and slapped her own ass then froze, dragging her nails across my chest. “Baby, I'm about to cum.” She grabbed my wrists. “Baby, I'm about to c-c-cum,” she said, bracing herself this time. “HERE IT CUUMMSS,” she yelled, happily rolling off me then laying absolutely still.

“Now that shit right there, baby”âI kissed her lipsâ“that shit right there was the best sex we ever had.”

“Y-y-yeah,” she responded, still a little shaken. “Maybe you need to spend the night in jail a little more often,” she joked.

“That ain't funny,” I said in all seriousness.

“Oh, you just need to stop it, Mack.” Sade kissed my deflating showstopper. “Oh, what's going on here?” She lifted up ol' flappy. “Why you look so down?” She smiled at it. “You want mommy to make you happy again?”

I shook its head yes, and she went on ahead and made that fallen soldier a master sergeant.

Chapter Three

MACK

I
was filling my gas-guzzling black Suburban up with some super unleaded at a Gulf gas station in Elmont, Long Island, and Anton was in my passenger seat, smoking a Philly and bopping his head to one of R. Kelly's cheaters-only anthems.

“I should take this shit to the carwash.” I ran my finger across the door. “Every time it rains, I gotta get this shit washed.” A horn beeped from behind my truck. I paid no attention to it, until it beeped again.

Anton looked out his window toward the back of the truck. “Be easy,” he yelled out. “We almost done.”

The horn beeped again, and I walked over to the green Infiniti, ready to knock somebody out. Pineapple-scented fresheners inside the car released a fragrance that clawed at the air when the window rolled down.

I'm a, I'm a, I'm a flirt
Soon as I see her walk up in the club, I'm a flirt

It had Virginia license plates and a decent-sounding stereo. The woman behind the woodgrain looked so good, I almost forgot why I walked over there in the first place. She was brown-skinned with chinky eyes and high cheekbones. Her lips were thin and coated with earth-toned gloss. She wore her hair cut short but straight, a couple of spikes toward the side of her head.

She turned her music down. “Well, what you want, playa?”

Winkin' eyes at me when I roll up on them dubs I'm a flirt
Sometimes when I'm with my chick on the low, I'm a flirt

“Why you keep beeping that horn behind us? You see how big that truck is? It takes a minute to fill up, you know.”

“I got an appointment to get to. Traffic is going to be straight bananas on the Cross Island.” She looked over at the traffic under the crosswalk.

“You'll make it. My shit should just about be filled.”

I walked to the pump and pulled the hose out my gas tank. “You could've said the shit was finished,” I said, looking at Anton as I activated the auto-start. I pulled over some then walked back to her after she got out to pump her gas. “Hey, I'm sorry about that earlier.” I extended my hand. “I thought you was some dick trying to be a smart ass. My name's Mack.”

“No, it was just li'l ol' me.” She smiled and bent over to pick up the gas card she'd dropped.

And when she's wit' her man looking at me, damn right, I'm a flirt

So, homie, don't bring your girl to me to meet, 'cause I'm a flirt

And, baby, don't bring your girlfriend to eat, 'cause I'm a flirt

Looking at her in the car, it was hard tell to that her legs were so thick, but she was firm and muscular, like really stacking, mayne. “So what's your name, love?” I looked down at my watch. I'd almost forgotten that we had somewhere to be too.

“Joi,” she said, keeping an eye on the price of the gas tank. She placed the nozzle back in the holder and stood in front of me, her arms folded.

“Anyway, I do promotions at Club Phenomenon, down Rockaway Boulevard. I thought maybe one day you and some of your girlfriends could come through and show some love. We could always use a new face up in there, a fresh, fine face such as yours. First few drinks on me.”

She looked at me and laughed. She put the hand down on the hood of her car to support herself from falling over. “You is mad corny, yo. Is that your best line?”

“Naw. My best lines come in li'l baggies about this size.” I demonstrated with my fingers.

“Yeah? Well, I'm good on that. What you tryin'-a holla for anyway? You all cute in the face and whatnot, I know you got wifey at home biting her nails down to the cuticle.”

“Not even. I won't front though. I do have a lot of friends.”

“Friends, huh? So I guess you just want me to be one of your new friends? Homie, lover, friend, fuck buddy?”

Please believe it unless your game is tight and you trust her
Then don't bring her 'round me 'cause I'm a flirt

“Yo, that's not even how I'm coming at you. Them other niggaz got your mind wrong. I just saw a pretty lady and took a chance. Besides, you never know when you may need a friend like me.”

“Oh really? Let me ask you something? Do it look like I might be needing a friend's help anytime soon?” Joi chuckled. “Oh, you thought because I'm from VA your New York accent was going to give you some sort of leeway into some drawers? I don't have time for this. I'm out.” She opened her car door.

I totally ignored the bullshit Joi was spitting. “You got a man, Joi?”

“Something like that.”

“A'ight. So let's cut the small talk. Here goes a flyer and my card. Come on down and have a good time, baby. Promise, you won't regret it.” I smiled.

Joi looked at me over her shades for a second then reached down into the cup holder inside her car. “You can call me after seven p.m. during the week. That's when my minutes start.” She laughed.

“I hear ya, baby. So that's what's up. I'm-a holla at you real soon.”

She stepped inside her car, beeping as she pulled off toward the Cross Island Parkway. Getting inside the truck, I said to Anton, “Now that's how you recruit, boy.”

“Anybody could've done that. All you did was give the bitch a flyer. So what that mean? You keep talking about this pimping shit, but I ain't seen shit yet. You be fucking the strippers for free and all, but you not pimping.”

“You'll see. Look at me, I am a gorgeous muthafucka, and women love that. Don't ever let no bitch tell you that looks don't matter. This is where it's at.” I stroked my goatee. “This fly shit right here.” I smiled, looking in my rearview, and pushed back my bushy eyebrows. “Personality is for psychologists,” I said as I headed down Linden Boulevard.

A white-and-blue Q4 bus stopped at a red light in front of us and released a cloud of smog. “Close the windows,” I said, turning on the vent. “This is why I hate coming down this block. I'm taking the back street.” I turned left on 227th.

“So what you and Cocaine was talking about?”

“I'll let you know. Don't be opening your mouth about it either when we get to his house. You know how that nigga be getting when dudes start asking about shit he didn't bring up to them himself.”

“I ain't worried about his ass. He might've put OPT together, but I'm the cat that be putting in all the work.”

Cocaine, founder of OPT, On Point Killers, had more schemes, scams, and smarts than any man I ever knew. OPT was a team of thorough wolves based solely in New York City, known for getting that paper, and stomping in a head or two, if it came down to it. Non-believers became victims of the human pool table effect, eight balls in the corner pockets of our younger shorties-in-training hugging the block as if it were a surrogate father.

Cocaine was forty-six and straight out of an old school called “hard knock life.” He was sentenced to ten years in prison when he was sixteen for killing Watty, his mother's boyfriend. Watty was beating the shit out of his mother one night and knocked her through a glass coffee table. Cocaine shot him with a gun he was holding for a friend. According to Cocaine, his mother only respected Watty when he was applying that chokehold around her scrawny little neck. And she only seemed to follow orders when she got a slap across the lips.

Even though it was some fucked-up shit to grow up seeing, it opened son's eyes in understanding a bitch. They wanted a man to be in control, to tell them what to do, and even welcomed a beating, minor or major, if they consciously ever stepped out of line.

All throughout Cocaine's entire life, he ain't never saw any man love his mother. She never asked for respect. She was a poor excuse and a walking embarrassment in his eyes because, after it was really all said and done, it turned out his moms was a prostitute and a dope fiend. It was still etched in his head, the day he came home from school and his moms was fucking and doing dope right on his bed. Now if his own momma wasn't shit and he never felt what it was like to know that kind of love, how in the fuck could anybody ever expect that man to love and respect another woman?

Me and Cocaine met when I did two years of fed time for gun-running. We spent the last two years of his bid exchanging ideas. We got along so good that when I came home he had a spot for me in Queens Village and a lil' Honda Civic at the time. When I was put down with OPT, everything changed.

Cocaine had a stable of bitches working for him, regular bitches with jobs, others just trying to make a dollar. My job was to recruit for him. His clients consisted of average niggaz, white boys from Long Island and the Upper East Side of Manhattan, police, and some anonymous rappers. His biggest clientele was the husbands tired of the same ol' sloppy, aged, wrinkled pussy they was getting after twenty years of marriage and who left their desperate housewives crying their eyes out at home.

A lot of dudes was jealous because I didn't have to go through the initiation process they did. I got in because he knew I could make that dough for him. And if one more of them faggots questioned why I didn't get beat in, they'd be dead.

Cocaine usually didn't have to say anything twice. He had a short fuse. And an even shorter one when it came to his woman, Cakes, an ex-stripper from Michigan that he scooped at a party. She was on the books too. After he'd showed her what kind of bank he was dealing with, she was on the first Greyhound running. She was the epitome of what a dime should look like, 5-9, slender, bronze complexion. Her name was tatted across her chest and was followed by “Cocaine's Property.”

She was his main investment, but there was a problem. He beat on her so bad at times that she couldn't always look presentable enough to work. He didn't like no one in the family looking at her unless she was on duty. She was his woman.

“Yo!” I knocked on Cocaine's front door. I said to Anton as he got out my truck, “Leave that window cracked so that shit don't be like no oven when we leave.” I rapped on the door again. “Yo!”

“Who it is? What it be like?” he said, answering the door in a Rahsaan Ali robe. “Pimping.” He smiled. “What's happening, broth?” He widened the door so we could enter.

“You know me. I just be doing what it do,” I responded, standing in the patio.

“What's up, Ton? You gonna come in, or you just gonna stand there like a fucking porch monkey?” Cocaine laughed. “Get your ass on in here.” He looked up and down the street before closing the door. He said to Anton, “You get my new strippers for the club yet?”

“I'm still working on it. The girl ain't been home. What you want me to do?” Anton shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah, you absolutely right. What the fuck he gonna do, Mack?” Cocaine shook his head as we walked into the living room. He walked over to the stereo. “Y'all niggaz want something to drink?”

“You got some Grey Goose?” Anton asked.

“Yeah.” Cocaine searched for the remote to his stereo. “What you want, Pimping?”

Before I could answer, his phone rang at the same time he found the remote.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Look, Trish, you have your ass here before eight tonight. That's it,” he said and disconnected the call.

No sooner had he stuck it down in the pocket of his robe than it rang again. He looked down at the caller ID display and frowned. “Looky here, y'all, I gotta take this call upstairs. Make your own drinks. You know where they at.” He pressed power on the remote then jogged up the stairs.

The front door unlocked, and in walked Cakes, her hands filled with shopping bags. She was absolutely fucking gorgeous, man. She closed the door with the heel of her foot. “What's good, y'all?” She placed her bags in front of a blue reclining lounge chair next to a four-foot potted bella palm tree, where an automatic sterling silver mini-sprinkler connected to the hose of the bar's sink hose sprayed a misty dew every ten minutes.

Cakes' long, sexy, lotioned ass shined and stretched outside of her poom-poom shorts as she strode across the green living room carpet and placed her bags at the bar. “What y'all doing here?” She looked specifically at me, while pouring herself a drink. “What's up, boo? You looking kind of snazzy today. Where you off to, a job interview?” she sarcastically asked.

“Naw. I'm off to see the âwizard' about some muthafucking brains, bitch.” I grabbed my crotch like Michael Jackson after his acquittal.

Cakes chuckled. “That was actually funny. Anton, you all sitting up there like you don't acknowledge perfection in your presence, nigga. Hail a prominent ho when you see one, nigga.” She bounced her ass off his leg.

“Hail the ho, hail the ho.” Anton bent over laughing.

“That's right. My shit is magic on the johnson.” She winked at me.

“So what you got over there?” Anton joked. “A bag of tricks?”

BOOK: Resurrection

13.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads