by Erica Hilton
Homicide took out his phone and asked Jasmine for her number. She gave him her regular cell phone number, and he told her he was going to call her, so she could lock his number in.
“We gotta link up,” he told her.
Jasmine couldn’t stop smiling. She leaned in to Homicide. “You know you were the first boy I ever had a crush on?”
Homicide looked at Jasmine and didn’t say anything in response. All he could do was look at how sexy she looked and imagine what it would be like to fuck her. He wasn’t sure if he could fuck her that night, but he was definitely going to try.
“You still a Muslim?”
“No doubt.”
“I can see you aren’t a nerd anymore.”
“Nah, these streets changed a muthafucka.”
Jasmine nodded her head.
“As sexy as you is, I know you got a man or something.”
“Long story.”
Homicide took Jasmine’s response to mean that she wasn’t putting up any resistance. “So what you doing after you leave here?”
Jasmine shrugged. “Nothing. I just have to make sure my cousin gets home okay, and I’m free.”
“That’s what’s up. So let me take you to get a drink or something. We can hang out and just kick it.”
Jasmine nodded.
As the game went on, neither Jasmine nor Homicide paid any attention to the score or the outcome. They were both just so much into each other.
Homicide’s main thoughts were about smashing Jasmine that night, and he wasn’t really trying to think past that. But Jasmine’s emotions were having a field day with her. She didn’t know how to describe her feelings. The only word she could come up with was nostalgic.
Jasmine knew she had to stay focused. She hoped that nostalgia wouldn’t compromise her mission as a confidential informant.
Thirty-One
Jasmine woke up at three in the morning in her SoHo apartment, and for a moment she forgot where she was. It was the first time that she had actually slept there, so the unfamiliar surroundings had thrown her off. In addition, her head was pounding from all the liquor she’d drunk hanging with Homicide after the Knicks game.
Jasmine realized that Homicide was no longer in the bed with her. She had ended up bringing him back to her apartment and fucking him, and after they had finished fucking, they both fell asleep. What Jasmine didn’t realize was that Homicide had never actually fallen asleep. He had just waited for her to fall asleep, so he could case her apartment.
While Jasmine had slept, Homicide went through her bag, her clothes, her closets, and her phone. Going through her phone, he saw Nico’s name, BJ’s name, Lorenzo’s name, Ish, Bebo and a bunch of other drug dealers, so he immediately knew how Jasmine got down and exactly how she got her money.
Homicide was looking through Jasmine’s government-issued phone and trying to figure out how to get to her text messages. He was familiar with BlackBerry phones but had never seen that particular model before. As he was trying to figure out the phone, Jasmine walked into the kitchen of the apartment and caught him by surprise.
“Hey,” Jasmine said, sounding real groggy, her eyes squinting from the light in the kitchen.
“Yeah, yeah,” Homicide replied, and he stood up and placed Jasmine’s phone on the counter.
Jasmine saw the phone, and her heart started pounding. “Everything okay?” she asked. She saw that Homicide was fully dressed.
Homicide walked up to her and gave her a hug. “Listen, I’m about to bounce. Some shit came up, and I gotta get back to BK.”
Jasmine was wearing a long T-shirt with nothing else underneath. She wondered if Homicide could feel her heart pounding, so she quickly pulled away from his hug and retrieved her phone.
“Your phone was vibrating crazy.”
“Please tell me you didn’t answer it.”
Homicide slowly shook his head but didn’t say anything.
Jasmine wondered just what he knew and what he had seen on the phone. “So you was just gonna leave and not say anything?”
“I’ll hit you up later today. Go back in the bed and get some sleep.”
“What’s wrong?”
Homicide knew that Jasmine had caught him looking at her phone and didn’t want to come across like the grimy nigga he was. “A’ight, I’ll keep it one hundred wit’chu.”
“Please do.” Jasmine didn’t want to feel used, like some stripper slut who got fucked by a random dude, and at the same time she desperately wanted to know if Homicide was on to her.
“We ain’t have enough time to chop it up like I wanted to, but yo, the thing is, I got a lot of enemies in this town, and it don’t take much to get caught slippin’.”
“I’m lost.”
“When you fell asleep, your phone was vibrating, and I saw a text message from BJ. So—”
Jasmine sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Ugggh.” She was about to flip, but she held her cool.
“So I know that name, and the first thought was, is it the same bitch-ass BJ that I know who almost got killed? So I looked through your phone book, and I see all these Ghetto Mafia niggas’ names in your phone.”
“Homicide. Okay, first of all, you looking through my phone—that shit is real whack.”
“Hold up, Jasmine. On the real, I’m not one of these chump-ass niggas on the street or one of these clown-ass dudes you be fuckin’ with.”
“I didn’t say you was.”
“Shut the fuck up when I’m talking!” Homicide shouted. He had a real short fuse, and Jasmine had not been in his life to know that. But immediately he had her respect.
“I’m sorry.”
“What I’m saying is, I’m up in here laying up in your shit with no burner or nothing. Anybody could walk up in this muthafuckin’ apartment and start blasting. You know what I’m saying? Especially them Ghetto Mafia niggas. Them niggas don’t fuck with me, and I don’t fuck with them.”
The liquor she had been drinking had just about totally worn off, and Homicide was helping her come to her senses. She realized how stupid she had been to let him fuck her that easily.
“Homicide, this is my apartment, and if I bring you here, you’re good. I mean, yeah, did I fuck with them Ghetto Mafia niggas? Yes, I did. And I thought I told you that before we left Madison Square Garden that I was fuckin’ with Nico. Would I be so stupid to bring you up in here and risk my own ass getting killed? No, I wouldn’t be that stupid. You’re good here.”
Homicide understood Jasmine’s reasoning, but his primary occupation was setting up drug dealers to get robbed, so he always saw things from a different lens. To him everything was a conspiracy or had the potential for a setup.
Homicide kissed Jasmine on the lips. “I’m out.”
At that point Jasmine was wondering if she had just blown her assignment. “Okay, but I really want to see you again.”
Jasmine knew how to make herself cry at the drop of a hat, and at that moment she called up some tears to her eyes. They didn’t roll down her cheeks, but her eyes were visibly starting to water up.
“You got my number. Hit me up,” Homicide replied.
Jasmine stopped him at the front door and prevented him from leaving. “I don’t want to just be a fuckin’ booty call.”
A smirk came across Homicide’s face.
“So you out just like that?” Jasmine asked.
Homicide nodded his head and told Jasmine once again to just hit him up, and after that he opened the door and made his way out of her apartment and out of the building.
Homicide was far from the lovey-dovey, cuddling-in-the-bed type of dude. He had fucked Jasmine and was good from that standpoint. Jasmine didn’t know he could sense that she was an emotionally needy chick that he was going to use to his benefit
if he could.
Thirty-Two
After Homicide left, Jasmine wanted to stay up, but her head was killing her, and her stomach was also bothering her. She still had the lingering effects from her hangover and was feeling stressed out. She wanted to reply to BJ’s text message, and at the same time she also wanted to call Homicide, but she decided against both, and instead she got back in the bed and went to sleep for a few hours. Close to four in the morning, and within a few minutes of lying down, Jasmine was in a deep sleep.
At eight o’clock that morning, Jasmine’s ringing doorbell and the knocking at her door woke her up. She hadn’t told anyone about her SoHo apartment, so she thought it could only be Homicide. She got up as quickly as she could, feeling extremely tired, and walked to her apartment door and looked through the peephole.
“Jasmine, it’s me.”
Instantly her blood pressure shot through the roof when she realized it was Agent Gosling. Jasmine was still unfamiliar with the locks on her door, but she did her best and ripped open the door as fast as she could.
“Okay, no disrespect, but what the fuck are you doing here?”
Agent Gosling stared at Jasmine and didn’t say anything to her. He invited himself in and began looking around.
Jasmine closed the door behind him. “Seriously, what are you doing here? You tryin’ to get me killed or what?”
Agent Gosling didn’t let Jasmine know that two other FBI agents had followed her after she’d left Madison Square Garden. They had staked out her apartment building, so they knew exactly what time Homicide and Jasmine arrived at the apartment, and they also knew when Homicide left. They had reported everything back to Agent Gosling, and he made it his business to stop at Jasmine’s apartment before going into the office that morning.
“So how’d things go with Homicide? Were you able to make any contact with him?”
Jasmine sucked her teeth.
“Is that a yes or no?” Gosling asked very sternly.
“Yes, I made contact with him.”
Jasmine felt really nauseous at that moment, so she rushed off to her kitchen and drank some water to try and settle her stomach. Gosling followed right behind her.
“I had too much to drink last night. I feel sick right now. I was trying to sleep it off, and I was going to call you when I woke up.”
Gosling, convinced that he smelled sex in the air, nodded but kept his mouth shut.
“Listen, can we please just get on the same page? I mean, not for nothing, but Homicide was at this apartment and left not too long ago. I don’t know how I would have explained your black ass popping up at my door.”
“Homicide was here?” Gosling asked, trying to sound like he was learning about that for the first time.
“Yes.”
“Jasmine, you apparently had too much to drink, and you know what we discussed, and now you’re—”
Jasmine cut him off. “No, I didn’t fuck him. I know what you told me, and I’m not trying to jeopardize shit.”
“Are you sure you didn’t fuck him, Jasmine?” Gosling asked, sounding more like a jealous boyfriend than a concerned FBI case agent.
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “So I’m a slut now?”
“No, no, that’s not what I was implying.”
Jasmine heard her phone vibrating in the other room, so she walked out of the room to retrieve it. When she got to it, she saw that it was a text from Simone, who had sent her a picture of a dick.
Jasmine shook her head and replied to the text with one word. Nice
Simone immediately replied back: It’s Ish’s dick. He damn near fucked me into a gotdamn COMA! LOL.
Jasmine replied right back. Kind of busy right now. I’ll hit you back in an hour or so.
Gosling had made his way into Jasmine’s bedroom. He couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to bend Jasmine over her bed and fuck the shit out of her right there on the spot.
Gosling, a recovering alcoholic, had been sober for a little over nine years. But something that night before had caused him to slip up and he’d found himself in a Manhattan bar downing way too many shots of Jack Daniel’s.
“You okay?” Jasmine asked him as he stared at her.
Gosling nodded.
“Something isn’t right. You popped up over here out the blue. You got this glossy-eyed look about you. Everything is good? You sure?”
Gosling sat down on Jasmine’s bed and assured her that he was fine.
“Listen, I wanted to make sure that I told you to stay completely out of Prince’s way. We’re taking him off your target list.”
“Why?” Jasmine asked, not that she was complaining, because as far as she was concerned, that was music to her ears.
“We’re ninety percent certain he was behind the funeral home shooting.”
“You shitting?”
“I’m serious.” Gosling took out a breath mint and popped it into his mouth to help mask the smell of liquor. “We would hate to be walking you into a death trap, so until we get more intel, just do your best to keep your distance from him. He’s a dangerous dude. If he shot up a funeral home gunning for Nico and his crew, there’s no telling what he would do to you if he found out or knew somehow that you’re Nico’s woman.”
Jasmine felt better at that point because it seemed to her that Gosling had really popped up at her apartment in more of a protective mode than a snooping, micromanaging role.
“Ahhh, you were so concerned about me that you came over this early in the morning?” Jasmine then walked over to her bed and sat next to Gosling and gave him a hug.
Gosling immediately stood to his feet, wanting to get out of Jasmine’s apartment. Pretty women were his second biggest vice, and his womanizing ways usually followed his nights of drinking. Jasmine was his new drug of choice, and he was desperately trying to avoid making a move on her.
“I have to get to the office,” he told her. “We have an important meeting.”
“Okay, I’ll call you later in the afternoon and fill you in on Homicide.”
“Okay, you do that. And we have to start moving to get Nico back in New York. Agent Battle is starting to grow impatient with me being so lax about Nico being in Miami.”
Jasmine nodded.
As Gosling made his way to Jasmine’s main door, he turned and looked at her before opening the door. “You look cute when you just wake up,” he said to her.
Jasmine was surprised to hear him say that. She didn’t know how to take it, so she decided not to read into the comment. “Is that right?”
Gosling slowly nodded. He was seconds from pulling her toward him and sticking his tongue down her throat.
“At eleven o’clock when they start serving lunch at McDonald’s, go get a Quarter Pounder with cheese, and get an order of large fries. Eat that, and I promise you all the hangover effects of the alcohol will be gone within a half an hour.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The salt from the food, it works wonders on hangovers.” Gosling was speaking from years of experience.
Right at that moment, Homicide was calling Jasmine, but she didn’t want to answer in front of Gosling.
“Good-bye, silly,” Jasmine said to Gosling, and she playfully pushed him out the door as he laughed and told her good-bye.
“Hello,” Jasmine said, quickly answering her cell phone before it stopped ringing.
“You up?”
“Yes,” Jasmine replied, not knowing what to think.
“I’ma come through and check you this afternoon.”
“Oh, okay,” Jasmine said with a smile. “I’ll be here. I’m not going nowhere.”
“That’s what’s up,” Homicide replied before ending the call.
Jasmine exhaled. She was thankful
that she hadn’t blown her assignment with Homicide. But she was more thankful that her childhood crush wanted to come back and see her. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. She made her way back to her bedroom, got in the bed, and smiled her way back to sleep.
Thirty-Three
Jasmine woke up at eleven a.m. She decided to jump in the shower and then quickly head to Long Island to get some more of her clothes, since she still didn’t have a lot of her things in the apartment. She was trying to rush and be back in SoHo before one o’clock, so she would be there when Ish arrived.
Jasmine made her way to the Williamsburg Bridge and was on the Long Island Expressway when her cell phone started to ring. Using her Bluetooth, she answered the call, and BJ’s voice was soon heard coming through the speakers in her truck.
“Jasmine.”
“Oh shit! BJ, I’m so sorry. I saw your text, and I meant to hit you back. I was so hung over. I’m just recovering now,” she said, laughing lightly.
When BJ didn’t laugh or respond, Jasmine could sense that something was wrong. “Everything okay? You doing good?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m good. I got an operation scheduled in about two hours.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll make sure I say a quick prayer for you.”
“Jasmine, I need you to keep it totally one hundred with me.”
Instantly Jasmine’s heart started pounding. “Of course. About what? What’s up?”
“What the fuck is up wit’chu and Black Justice?”
Jasmine immediately shot back, “Ain’t nothin’ up with that nigga!” Her mouth started to get dry, and she was trying her hardest to think as quickly as she could.
“You ain’t fuck that nigga, did you?”
“Oh, my muthafuckin’ God! Hell no, I didn’t fuck him! Me and Simone saw him one night up in the strip club, that night Simone met Ish. And he was with his boys and he was drunk and pushing up on me and shit, but I knew he was high, so it was nothing. I wasn’t trying to pay his ass no attention.”
“Jasmine, you sure?”
