Authors: K'wan
Still Hood (20 page)
Leaning over, she let her breasts brush his chest, while her lips met his. “You awake?” her hand trailed down his stomach and touched his rock-hard penis.
“I am now,” he grumbled. His breath smelled like a shit sandwich, but Sharon knew Scooter had deep pockets, so she endured. “Yeah.” He placed his hand over hers and pressed it down harder against his dick. “That's that wake-up dick.” He rolled on top of her.
Sharon placed her hand behind his head and pulled him down into a deep kiss. Wrapping one leg behind his back, she beckoned him. Scooter's throbbing penis slid up and down against her soaked pussy, with the head almost slipping in a time or two. With animal lust, Scooter started sliding himself in her, but Sharon placed a hand against his chest.
“You got a condom on?” she asked, nicking his bottom lip with her teeth.
“Don't worry about it, baby, I won't cum in you,” he whispered, sliding in deeper. Waves of pleasure rode through Sharon, as good common sense flew out the window for a morning of mind-blowing sex.
RONNY STOOD IN THE DOORWAY
of the small kitchen watching the stove like a hawk. The cocaine in the bottom of it was now a sickly colored goop, on what was starting to resemble a cookie. The potency of the coke was so weak that he had lost a good amount of it during the cooking process, and now he found himself several grams shorter than when he started. It was a tough pill to swallow, but it was the best he could come up with, considering the dent the robbers had put in his pockets.
of the small kitchen watching the stove like a hawk. The cocaine in the bottom of it was now a sickly colored goop, on what was starting to resemble a cookie. The potency of the coke was so weak that he had lost a good amount of it during the cooking process, and now he found himself several grams shorter than when he started. It was a tough pill to swallow, but it was the best he could come up with, considering the dent the robbers had put in his pockets.
“Man, watching that pot ain't gonna make that shit cook no quicker,” Blick said, coming from the bedroom, leaning heavily on a cane. Though the doctors were able to remove the high-caliber shotgun slug from his leg, it had caused muscle damage and he would most likely walk with a limp for the rest of his life.
“Son, I feel like a bird, even trying to make something out of this weak shit.” Ronny lifted the pot and swished the water around a bit. “I wish to God I knew where them bitch-ass niggaz was from, so I could pop off!”
“Well, I might be able to arrange that.” Blick lowered himself into the chair. “You know, the world we live in is entirely too small.”
“What's popping?” Ronny asked, setting the pot on the table.
“I just got off the phone with my cousin, Dee-Dee.”
“Who, the swollen-ass broad from Myrtle Ave?” Ronny joked.
“Fuck you, man, she got a gland problem. Anyhow, it seems like her sister, Shakira, got into it with a bitch off Jefferson over some dude named Shannon.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” Ronny asked, trying to figure how he could best break the cookie down to get his money back.
“She described him to see if I knew who the nigga was, and guess what?” Blick smirked.
“What nigga?” Ronny finally tired of Blick's riddle.
“She described that same Napoleon nigga that jacked us!”
“You lying. How you know it's the same dude?” Ronny asked excitedly.
“I don't know for sure.” Blick picked his .38 up off the table and checked the chamber. “But we're gonna find out real soon!”
“YO, I HEARD IT WAS POPPING OUT HERE LAST
night,” Mousy said, licking the ends of the Dutch to seal it. “I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and I seen police had this whole shit taped off.”
night,” Mousy said, licking the ends of the Dutch to seal it. “I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and I seen police had this whole shit taped off.”
“My moms was coming in from work and she said that she heard from crackhead Bill that they was out there shooting in front of 437. The boy Roots was supposed to have got murked. Quiet as it was kept, I heard it was Shannon and that nigga from Harlem he be with,” a girl named Stephanie added.
“With them trigger-happy niggaz, I wouldn't be surprised. Yvette, you was out here with them niggaz last night, so I know you got the scoop?” Mousy asked anxiously.
Yvette just shrugged. “Shit, we smoked like two blunts, then I broke out and Shannon went upstairs,” she lied. Yvette had been coming from the store with Spooky when they heard the gunshots. Before she even got a grasp of what was going on, Spooky was blasting away. That boy carried himself like a real thug nigga, which only made Yvette more fascinated with him.
“Ah, shit,” Mousy said, nodding down the block. Shakira was headed in their direction with three hard-faced
chicks that weren't from the block. She was dressed in Timberland boots and sweat pants, with a scarf tied on her head, so it obviously wasn't a social call.
chicks that weren't from the block. She was dressed in Timberland boots and sweat pants, with a scarf tied on her head, so it obviously wasn't a social call.
“Mouse, if these bitches try to get stupid, be ready to grab my hammer out the garbage can,” Yvette said, stepping off the stoop.
“All day,” Mousy assured her.
“Yeah, there that bitch go right there!” Shakira pointed at Yvette, trying to amp herself up.
“I see that last ass whipping ain't taught you nothing about that word,” Yvette said.
“We gonna see who gets their ass whipped this time,” Shakira bounced in place. She was acting like she wanted it, but knew better than to get within arm's length of Yvette.
“Yo, I hear you cut my little sister?” This came from a rough-looking chick who had to weigh at least two hundred pounds, easy.
“She came at me with a bottle and I did what I had to do,” Yvette said, making sure to keep all four of the girls in her line of vision.
“Well, we ain't really feeling that shit, so something gotta be done about it,” Big girl said, slipping on a pair of gardening gloves.
“I'm down for whatever,” Yvette said defiantly. The girl outweighed her by quite a bit, but she refused to back down.
“I say we carve this bitch up right now.” This came from a skinny girl wearing a ponytail. Something shiny glinted in her hand. “Yeah, we gonna tear ya lil cute ass up.” The skinny girl moved in Yvette's direction, but a clicking sound stopped her in her tracks.
Mousy stepped up to stand beside Yvette, holding the nickelplated .25. “You bitches must be crazy coming up this end of Jefferson wit that bullshit. Shakira, you got ya ass beat, so take it like a real bitch and bounce.”
“Nah, ain't nobody going nowhere,” Big Girl said. She was acting like the gun didn't mean anything, but she wasn't stupid enough to try and move on the armed girl. “Look, give my sister the one-deep and lets settle this.”
“Bet,” Yvette said, taking a fighting stance.
Shakira had hoped they could just catch Yvette slipping and
stomp her out, but it didn't go down like that. She had been called out and would have to answer the challenge.
stomp her out, but it didn't go down like that. She had been called out and would have to answer the challenge.
DENA WAS AWAKENED BY A
loud commotion coming from under her bedroom window. Her head was still spinning from the night before, so she really didn't feel like the antics of Jefferson Avenue that morning. She sucked her teeth and rolled out of bed, shuffling over to her window to see what was going on.
loud commotion coming from under her bedroom window. Her head was still spinning from the night before, so she really didn't feel like the antics of Jefferson Avenue that morning. She sucked her teeth and rolled out of bed, shuffling over to her window to see what was going on.
On the ground below Shakira and Yvette were reenacting
The Clash of the Titans,
while the stoop rats cheered them on. Shakira was obviously the more powerful puncher, but Yvette was a much more skilled boxer. For every punch Shakira threw, Yvette threw two, connecting with most of them. Shakira tried rushing Yvette, only to catch a quick uppercut to the jaw.
The Clash of the Titans,
while the stoop rats cheered them on. Shakira was obviously the more powerful puncher, but Yvette was a much more skilled boxer. For every punch Shakira threw, Yvette threw two, connecting with most of them. Shakira tried rushing Yvette, only to catch a quick uppercut to the jaw.
Shakira grabbed a hand full of Yvette's hair, and the pain that shot through Yvette's skull seemed to graze her brain. But it only made her angrier. While Shakira shook her like a rag doll, Yvette went to work on her face with a series of combinations. Finally, not being able to take any more punishment, Shakira went down to one knee, exposing herself to the flurry of punches Yvette was throwing. It was then that the other girls tried to jump in. They had all become a mass of bodies and flying fists, until Mousy licked a shot in the air and scattered them in all directions.
“Just another day on the block,” Dena mused, moving away from the window. When she checked the time on her digital clock she was surprised to see it was after eleven-thirty. Apparently she had slept through the alarm, and nobody thought enough of her education to wake her up. Being that school was now out of the question, she decided to get an early jump on her weekend.
The first thing she did was charge her cell. The battery had been dead since the previous afternoon, and she could only imagine how many messages she had. She had several from Lazy, singing some sadass song about he was sorry that he stood her up for the movie date.
“You're sorry, alright. A sorry fucking excuse for a man,” Dena
said out loud. There was a message from Mo that had come sometime that morning, with her cursing Dena out about having her standing in front of her window shouting her name for over a half hour. She said that she was off to school and would catch up with her later. “There goes my cut partner for the day.”
said out loud. There was a message from Mo that had come sometime that morning, with her cursing Dena out about having her standing in front of her window shouting her name for over a half hour. She said that she was off to school and would catch up with her later. “There goes my cut partner for the day.”
Of course there was another message from Lazy, this one coming shortly after Mo's. He sounded upset as he went on about how he wanted to make sure she was good, because of the gunplay at the video shoot. His voice was still rambling on as she hit the delete button without listening to the whole message. There was also a more recent message, that had come sometime after their little argument. He was going through some spiel about wanting to check on her because of the shooting at the video shoot, but Dena didn't want to hear it, so she deleted it before listening to the whole thing.
The oddest message was the one from Sean: “Hi, this is Sean.”
This nigga has got big balls,
Dena thought to herself. Not only was it creeping her out that he had tracked her number down, but he was fucking her friend and had the nerve to try and holla at her, like he was built like that. Sean was handsome and seemed cool enough, but she couldn't get over the fact that he was fucking Sharon's little ass. Sharon had the body of a grown woman, but it didn't change the fact that she was still a little girl. He lost major points for this in Dena's book.
Dena thought to herself. Not only was it creeping her out that he had tracked her number down, but he was fucking her friend and had the nerve to try and holla at her, like he was built like that. Sean was handsome and seemed cool enough, but she couldn't get over the fact that he was fucking Sharon's little ass. Sharon had the body of a grown woman, but it didn't change the fact that she was still a little girl. He lost major points for this in Dena's book.
Tossing the phone on the bed to continue charging, Dena picked out an outfit for the day. As she was going through the process of switching purses she came across a number scribbled on a matchbook from Shooter's. Just thinking about the night they had brought a smile to Dena's face. Black Ice was so very different than the guys she was used to dealing with. Though only a few years older than her, he had a wisdom about him that most men didn't come into until they cracked thirty. Yes, Ice was definitely worth looking into, so she decided to forgo her normal week-long wait-out and give him a call.
BLACK ICE LOUNGED ON THE
peach-colored love seat in the living room of his duplex, wearing nothing but a blue silk robe and a pair of flip-flops. Normally, he would've still been sleeping from the night before, but Dena's call had caused him to start his day a little earlier than usual. Cradling the cell to his ear he smiled like the Chesshire cat.
peach-colored love seat in the living room of his duplex, wearing nothing but a blue silk robe and a pair of flip-flops. Normally, he would've still been sleeping from the night before, but Dena's call had caused him to start his day a little earlier than usual. Cradling the cell to his ear he smiled like the Chesshire cat.
“Yeah, that sounds like a plan,” he said in a sexy voice. “Tell you what, I got some business to take care of in the city, so why don't I pick you up in a couple of hours and you can ride shotgun? We can finish that conversation we were having last night.” Dena said something that caused him to laugh. “A'ight, that's a bet,” Ice said before ending the call. No sooner than he closed the phone than Cinnamon was in his mix.
“Who was that, ya new little girlfriend?” she asked sarcastically, staring at him from the living room entrance. Her hair was wrapped around her head and pinned, with only a sheer robe covering her nude body.
Black Ice cast his sleepy eyes up at her. “When you start paying my phone bill you can ask me about who's on my line. What you doing up so early, anyway?”
“Well, I thought I could crack on you for a little dick this morning, before the rest of the world consumes your precious time.” Cinnamon walked over to the couch and sat on Ice's lap. “You think I can get a little bit of that love bone before you run off to see your high school sweetheart?”
Black Ice smiled at her lovingly just before he shoved her off his lap and onto the floor. “Bitch, if you trying to be funny, I sure as hell ain't laughing.”
Cinnamon's eyes flashed hurt, but her words were sharp and cruel. “Oh, so you got some new young pussy lined up, so mine ain't good enough for you. I guess once we cross the eighteen-year-old mark our shit ain't tight enough for Black Ice no more. You must be suffering from that R. Kelly syndrome.”
“Cinnamon, you better quit while you're ahead,” he warned her.
“What, you don't like me talking about ya new little pet, Ice?”
Cinnamon barked, getting off the floor. She stood in front of Black Ice, who was glaring up at her from his spot on the couch.
Cinnamon barked, getting off the floor. She stood in front of Black Ice, who was glaring up at her from his spot on the couch.
“What's going on?” Wendy asked, coming into the room. She had heard the commotion through the walls of her bedroom, where she was counting the last of the money that had to be dropped off to Don B.
“This bitch is trying her damnest to get her head split,” Ice told Wendy.
“Cinnamon, why don't you calm down.” Wendy placed her hand on the girl's shoulder, only to have it knocked away.
“Fuck calming down, Wendy, I wanna know what that bitch has got over Ice?” Cinnamon asked, with tears in her eyes. “Is she prettier? Is her pussy fresher?”
“Cinnamon, you know how it goes. Ice is trying to bring a new baby home for us to raise.” Wendy tried to sooth her.
“That's just it:
I
used to be the baby,” Cinnamon sobbed. “Ice, when I first came up here from Arkansas, you laid the world at my feet and treated me like royalty, but since you broke me in it ain't the same. I don't see that fire in your eyes when you look at me. What happed to that? Ain't I special no more?”
I
used to be the baby,” Cinnamon sobbed. “Ice, when I first came up here from Arkansas, you laid the world at my feet and treated me like royalty, but since you broke me in it ain't the same. I don't see that fire in your eyes when you look at me. What happed to that? Ain't I special no more?”
Black Ice leaned back on the sofa and gave her an emotionless stare. Cinnamon searched his eyes for something to hold on to, but there was only emptiness. “See, pampering ya ass is what has misconstrued your perception of me and what the fuck I'm about. All of my ladies get treated like queens because they go out and hustle hard for they man, but ain't no emotional attachments. A sporting nigga with a tender heart for a broad ain't got no place in this game, and may God Almighty strip him of all his bitches and pass them my way. I am a grade-A, muthafucking mack, not some goddamn wet nurse for overly emotional bitches. In case you missed it, we ain't playing house, we playing cop and blow; so if you can't dig the shit I'm kicking to you, then pack the shit you had on ya raggedy ass when I found you and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
“Is that all I am to you, Ice, just another source of income?” Cinnamon asked, with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Ho money is sho money,” was his reply.
They say that there is power in words, and Cinnamon knew this to be true, as the force of Black Ice's words hit her like physical blows. She knew when she hooked up with Ice that he was about pimping, but he treated her better than her own mother had. Sure, she danced and turned an occasional trick, but it was by choice. Black Ice never forced her to ho, only opened her up to the earning potential in it; and Cinnamon's naïve ass bought into it, thinking she was going hard for her man. At the end of the day she was just a means to an end, and this is what hurt her the most.
Black Ice was about to get up and head to the shower, when he heard what sounded like a cat being dragged over a barbed wire fence. He turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of Cinnamon rushing him at top speed. She had a look of madness in her eyes and a brass lamp in her hand. Cinnamon swung the lamp at Ice's head with everything she had. At the last second, he moved to the side, letting her momentum carry her past him. Grabbing her by the back of her wrapped hair, Ice shoved, and sent her flying over the couch.
With a low growl erupting from his chest, Ice bounded over the couch and landed on top of Cinnamon. Locking his forearm under her chin he pinned her to the floor and raised his right hand to finish her off. Cinnamon braced for the blow, but thankfully it never fell. She looked up at Ice, who had a confused expression on his face as he stared at his raised fist. Throughout his career as a pimp, Black Ice had always prided himself on the fact that he didn't beat his women. If you could break a woman's mind, you didn't have to do anything to her body, which was a code he lived by; but now found himself about to smash out one of his own. Had living amongst savages for so long begun to wither away the gentlemen in him that had made him such a successful mack?
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