Trap House (16 page)

A fool and his money
, Pony mused inwardly as Marcus went store to store, trying his best to
spend every dime. Pony realized he’d neglected himself in recent months and did a little shopping
himself. He copped the newest Jordans, and Marcus bought three pair. Pony picked up a One
Ummah jeans set, and Marcus got four. By the time they left the mall, Marcus had spent over
$3,000 while Pony had only left a few hundred behind.

Pony did splurge a little, having his aunt rent a Cadillac truck for the weekend. He justified the
expenditure by saying it was good for business, reasoning that if he had that much work, he needed
to look the part. Truth be told, he wanted to floss a little bit too.

After a fresh cut and a hot shower, Pony felt like his old self and admired his new clothes.

Marcus still looked rough, despite the $1,000 outfit he wore. He stuffed $2,000 in his pockets
to spend at the club, having every intention to make it rain!

Pony brought along $200 in cash and 100 one-hit testers. He was gonna make it rain, too, but
in his direction.

* * *

Tiffany greeted the two men as if they were anybody off the street. “Welcome to Chocolate.”
She smiled genially at Pony, totally ignoring Marcus. A casual observer wouldn’t have guessed
that she ever knew Marcus, let alone that he’d been her first love.

“What the fuck you doing here?” Marcus demanded to know, ignoring the obvious.

Big D caught the outburst and took a step in their direction, until Tiffany waved him off. He did
back off, but he continued to watch closely to see how she handled the situation.

“Tell your
little
friend that I work here,” she said to Pony, still refusing to look at Marcus.
Knowing how self-conscious Marcus was about his height, she went there again. “And tell your
little
friend the cover is twenty dollars per person,” she said with a slight chuckle.

Pony tried his best not to laugh, but a small giggle escaped as he offered to pay.

“I got it!” Marcus shouted, pulling out his bankroll. “That ain’t shit to a baller,” he announced,
tossing a C-note at Tiffany. “Keep da change, ho.”

This time when Big D stepped forward to intervene, Tiffany was unable to wave him off. It was
his job to prevent domestic squabbles like that one. Since so many dudes wanted to date strippers
but couldn’t handle it, he had his work cut out for him. The dudes would often post up at the bar
mean mugging whoever “their girl” danced for. Whenever a situation got out of hand, they had to
go, but there were two options—leave with or without getting their ass whipped first.

“It’s cool, D. They alright,” Tiffany said sternly, looking at Marcus for the first time.

“They better be,” the bouncer growled. There was no mistaking the danger in his voice.

“Yeah, we cool,” Pony said, dragging Marcus into the club before he could say anything else.

They found a couple of stools at the bar and mounted them.

Marcus made a big show of counting his money when he paid for the first round of drinks. “Say,
shawty, let’s get a table in the VIP,” he announced loudly.

Pony glanced over at the VIP section and knew instantly that they were out of their league. The
diamonds and platinum could be seen from across the room. “There go a table back there,” Pony
said, pointing toward the back. Marcus protested about wanting to be seen, but Pony knew better.
The back of the club better suited his needs anyway.

Marcus gave Ursula a hard time when she delivered a bottle of champagne, but he tipped her
well. She spread the word that there was a loudmouth showoff in the back, and the dancers made
a beeline to break him. Marcus had three girls dancing for him at the same time, at twenty bucks
a song each.

Pony made sure to slip each one a tester and his number. Once the girls realized what he’d
handed them, they slipped off to sample it. The ones who didn’t smoke kept them to trick with the
girls who did smoke.

“Y’all got any more of dem thangs?” a dancer whispered in Pony’s ear.

His first thought was to decline, as he intended to spread out the samples far and wide. That was
until he looked up and got an eyeful of Jasmine.

Jasmine was a solid dime by anyone’s standard. She was tall, red bone with rock-hard abs. Her
breast stood out firmly, topped by pretty brown nipples.

Pony looked at her legs and wondered if she could dunk. When he saw her pretty lips twitching
from the dope, he got hard instantly. “I’m getting low,” he said, trying to keep his composure.

“Come on,” Jasmine ordered, pulling him up by the hand. She led him upstairs to the private
VIP rooms. “Gimme five minutes,” she told a bouncer as she led Pony inside.

Once inside the room, Pony was inside her mouth before both cheeks touched the sofa he sat on.
“This is the life!” Pony exclaimed, looking out the room window to the club below.

“Mmmhmm,” Jasmine agreed at the same time fishing the testers from his pockets as she blew
him.

His enjoyment was threatened as he watched disaster unfold before his eyes. From his elevated
vantage point, he saw Marcus stalking Tiffany with his eyes. She was delivering a tray of drinks
to a table near his. He said something, she replied, and he jumped up, dumping the dancer off his
lap. The girl screamed as she plummeted to the floor, alerting security of a problem. Then Marcus
grabbed Tiffany by the arm and began yelling at her.

“Get the fu—” was all she got out before Marcus literally slapped the taste out of her mouth.

“This silly nigga,” Pony fumed, watching the drama.

“What’s wrong?” Jasmine paused to ask.

“Nothing,” he replied, guiding her head back down.

Big D had been keeping an eye on Marcus and was the first to respond. When Marcus reared
back to slap her again, his hand was caught by Big D’s massive paw. He was joined by two other
bouncers who dragged Marcus, kicking and screaming, to the rear exit. Mike had seen the incident
from his office and went to investigate as well. Once outside, the bouncers literally tried to stomp
a mud hole in his ass.

“A little to the left,” Mike said, supervising the beat-down. “A’ight, that’s enough,” he
commanded after Marcus was beaten thoroughly.

“Ima kill you,” Marcus slurred, spitting saliva and blood on Mike’s linen pants.

“Me?” Mike asked in disbelief after having just saved him from further abuse.

“Yeah, you,” Marcus repeated, trying to rise to his feet.

“Well, take that with you,” Mike said before kicking him in the mouth. The blow knocked out
five of his front teeth. “Put this trash where it belongs,” Mike said as he turned to leave.

The bouncers dragged Marcus to the large dumpster and tossed him.

Pony had finished off in Jasmine’s mouth about the same time Marcus hit the bottom of the
dumpster. He gave her a few more testers and told her to come by the hotel after her shift was
over. He ran into Tiffany, who was still visibly shaken from being slapped. “You a’ight?” he asked
sincerely.

“I’m cool. You need to be worried about your boy,” she replied, feeling the welts that the slap
caused.

“They ain’t kill ‘im, did they?” he asked casually, secretly hoping they did.

“Naw, but they shoulda,” Tiffany spat.

“A’ight, shawty, I’ll holla,” Pony said, turning to leave.

“Say, I heard y’all got that fire,” Tiffany said contritely. “You forgot about ya girl.”

“My bad,” Pony said apologetically, reaching into his pocket. He handed the rest of the testers
to her with a wink. “Fuck wit’ me,” he said over his shoulder, going to retrieve his buddy. Pony
almost passed by the dumpster until he saw Marcus peek out. “Hell, naw!” He chuckled, unable to
contain it. He roared with laughter until they got back into the truck and he saw how badly Marcus
was beaten. “Damn, cuz. You a’ight?” he asked sincerely.

“Ima kill dat nigga,” Marcus vowed through his ravaged mouth. “I need a blast,” he announced
urgently.

“A blast!?” Pony inquired incredibly. “Shit, nigga, you need a doctor!”

Over Marcus’s vehement objections, Pony steered the Escalade to Grady Memorial. On a typical
Friday night, Grady would treat twenty or more gunshot victims, so a standard run-of-the-mill ass-
whipping was a low priority. However, once they got a look at the bruises and contusions Marcus
sported, he was rushed into triage.

Marcus’s mother, along with his sister and her kids, arrived twenty minutes after Pony called.
They all waited in silence in the solemn hospital waiting room.

It was an hour before a doctor came out looking for family members. His grim demeanor
unnerved the population of the waiting room full of praying friends and families. “Well…” the
doctor sighed wearily from all the violence he’d witnessed that very same night. The corn-fed
young Midwestern doctor could not believe how violent people could be. “He’s got some head
trauma, lost quite a few teeth, a good amount of blood, and several broken bones, but he’ll live,” he
explained. The doctor went on to explain that Marcus would have to stay for observation to ensure
no blood clots developed.

While Marcus’s mother was worried, Pony was delighted to be free of the burden he was
becoming, happy to have enough time to finish the package they had and a re-up. Without his
partner smoking up half the work, he could maximize his profits. He resolved crack was to be sold,
not smoked. He would pay Marcus his share of what was left and then go solo.

CHAPTER 14

“F
uck!” P.I.G. roared as the bad news was repeated on all local channels. A Mexican cartel
operating in the city had been busted. Confiscated were hundreds of kilos of cocaine and
millions in cash. They weren’t just any Mexicans. These were his connect. The bust stemmed from
the seizure of fifty keys the week before. Together, it meant one thing: drought!

Under normal circumstances, P.I.G. loved a good drought. As long as he was in pocket, he
would make a killing. The problem was, he wasn’t. The last of his traphouses just sold out, and
he was catching hell trying to get back on. P.I.G. hated turning away money, but that was what he
was forced to do, and he was in a foul mood as a result. The few junkies scattered around the room
were feeling it as well.

He picked up the phone to call Blast again, but he changed his mind. He’d been calling her
every five minutes since she left. She’d cursed him out thoroughly the last time, having grown
impatient with his impatience.

Blast and Earl were out desperately trying to run down some dope. With her two-ounce-a-day
habit, she was in no mood to be harassed.