by Renta
His only problem with Snow’s way of executing her game was that she could become so brazen with her dialect. ‘Ms. Pussy’. He frowned at the notation. It was far from professional, and surely a gamble with the cards dealing with a man of, Mr. Jordan’s stature.
Brains had been contriving this scheme for the last five months. He was a forty-four-year-old con, that viewed his craft as artistry. He loved the essence of deep deception and this long-awaited con was meant to be one of his most exquisite works. He was already a wealthy man, but the passion for the sport held him captive.
A slight gust of wind rustled the Wall Street Journal he was reading. He took another sip from his Starbucks cup just as a man in a tailored pinstriped, Brooks Brothers Suit sat next to him on the bench. To the public eye, the two men appeared to be merely enjoying the moment of bliss away from whatever their professions were. Yet, no one would have thought to notice, that the briefcase the man walked away with wasn’t the same one he’d arrived with. The one he’d left with was filled with stacks of money for the confidential information, that only the United States Government had access to. Now it laid at the foot of a conman.
Brain smiled at Snow’s success. “She’s in,” he said proudly.
Snow sat with her legs crossed pretending to be intrigued with her nails. Even though she noticed the well-dressed man approaching, she never took her eyes away from her cuticles.
“Excuse me, Ms.—ummm, Ms.—uhh.” His uncertainty was clear.
When he was notified of his supposed meeting, his first impulse was to alert security but just as Snow forethought. The name was the only thing that intrigued him, causing him to investigate the situation.
Snow stood offering her hand. “Ms. Pussy,” she clarified.
The man seemed flustered. “Okay,” he began. “Well, Ms. P., can I call you, Ms. P? Pussy seems, how can I put this—vulgar.”
Snow smiled at his sensitivity. “Call me whatever you like, Mr. Jordan, but pussy shouldn’t be viewed as ugly or profane. At the end of the day, pussy is exactly what a real man desires. Not to mention, it’s the name I was birth with, Mr. Jordan,” Snow giggled at the sound of Brain’s voice coming through her earpiece demanding she cut the bullshit and get to business.
Ashford Jordan stood strictly. No emotion showed on his face, but mentally he was curious of this beautiful woman’s intentions. “I’m not trying to be rude, Ms. Pussy.” He cleared his throat after the name, “But not only have you manipulated my receptionist, but the law. Not to mention, my time is very limited, as is my patience. So, let’s cut the bullshit and give me a good reason, why I shouldn’t have security escort you off the premises.”
Snow stared into his eyes as she replied. “Security is not needed, Mr. Jordan. As we speak, I have a proposition for you, that will make you and your company millions if not billions. I merely ask for fifteen minutes of your patience. After fifteen minutes are up if you’re not convinced, this is a very lucrative venture, I’ll buy you dinner and pay for your wasted time.”
Without a hint of amusement, Ashford Jordan turned and headed in the direction of the elevators. “Follow me, for your sake, let’s hope this venture you speak of is worth my attention because if not—” He turned and gave her a devious look. “You’re gonna be surprised how much my time cost, not to mention, how expensive my taste in food is.”
Brains had now replaced his Wall Street Newspaper with a laptop. He typed away at the keys listening to Snow put on a beautiful performance. No woman could’ve played the part better. Who would have believed just eight months ago, she was a full fledge prostitute in the stable of a crazy pimp? Brains saved the man’s life in a sticky situation and in return the pimp promised him a favor. He coulda never imagined, Brains had his eyes on the white beauty.
Once he proposed his request, the pimp didn’t think twice about his decision. He figured that the white whore was a small price to pay when compared to what Brains had done for him. Little did he know, this particular white girl had the potential to be more than a mere prostitute. Brains had studied her mannerisms and had an epiphany. She was a gold mine and he was thinking far beyond her pussy. Now eight months later, his assumptions proved one had to be a jeweler to understand the clarity of a real diamond.
“As I was saying, Mr. Jordan, South Africa is a middle income emerging market, with an abundance of supplies to natural resources. Their stock exchange is the seventh largest in the world of modern infrastructure supporting and efficient distribution of goods to major urban centers throughout the region. Growth was robust from two-thousand four, to two-thousand eight, as South Africa reaped the benefits of macro-economic stability and global commodities.
“The only reason stability slowed down in the second half, is because of global fiscal crisis, that impacted commodities prices and demands. Yet, as we speak, the stock is rising once again in concerns of diamonds. To be exact, in two-thousand eight the exports on diamonds stood at an all-time high of eighty-one point forty-seven billion, F.O.B. Now it’s twenty-seventeen and if you’ve been entertaining the portion of stock, you’ve recognized the rise in percentage.” Snow paused and took a sip of water from the bottle of Ozarka, he offered her. “I have assessed two things, Mr. Jordan.” From the look in his eyes, she could tell he was calculating the profits.
He stared at her intensely. “So, you are proposing, that I place my hard-earned money into a thesis built from the fibers of fact and opinion?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.
Snow smiled with assurance. “No, Mr. Jordan, I am proposing that we put our money into this thesis. I mean, isn’t your whole profession built from the fibers of fact and opinion? What I am saying is your every decision is calculated risks in terms of comity, right? Listen, Mr. Jordan, I’m not here to waste your time or mine.
“I run a very successful import and export company, but the type of money it takes for me to capitalize within this venture, I don’t have. You’re an investor, that holds partial ownership of a fortune five-hundred company. It’s in our best interest to make this move. It’s profitable endeavors.” Snow then did the unthinkable, she uncrossed her legs and sat with them apart, just enough so he could see, she was panty-less and freshly shaved. His eyes grew the size of golf balls at the erotic, slutty act.
“Look, Mr. Jordan, I’m willing to do almost anything for this deal to go through. If you don’t trust my business sense, then please allow our lawyers to discuss the specifics over lattes and mochas.”
Mr. Jordan’s eyes never left her bare treasure. Perspiration began to seep through his pores, as his thoughts, lust, and desires overrode his ethical judgment. Snow observed him intently. His weakness was evident to any woman familiar with seduction. From the beginning of time, pussy has been the downfall of men. Ashford Jordan was no different from the last mu’fucka, that fell victim to its psychology.
The temperature in the spacious office seemed to rise in Fahrenheit, as Snow stood from her seat and seductively strolled around the desk. Their eyes never left each other, as she used her left hand to sweep family pictures, documents, and pens to the floor. With her right hand, she reached over and began wrapping his tie around her wrist. Pulling him closer until their lips touched.
“Solicitation is illegal, Ms. Pus—” Mr. Jordan spoke, but was cut off.
“Shhh,” she hushed him. “Baby, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” She softly pecked his lips, while her free hand descended towards his visible stiff shaft. “You do know that you’re going overboard?”
“I should have security to remove—” Snow’s tongue snaking into his mouth, cut his speech short.
His pants were undone and his small dick was now free from its confinement. Precum seeped from it, allowing Snow the pleasure of knowing she had him exactly where she wanted. While gripping his tool, she whispered the words that sealed the deal.
“Shut up, Mr. Jordan. How many other bitches have you met with a pussy this fat?” She asked releasing his manhood, sitting back on h
is desk.
Never taking her eyes off him, she pulled her skirt up to her waist, exposing a pair of meaty thighs, connected to her petite waist. Even though those were beautiful assets, Ashford Jordan couldn’t take his eyes off her hairless pussy, pouting at him. Nectar oozed from between her lips and saturated her feminity as if she’d forgot to dry them after she’d taken a piss.
She used her middle and index fingers to spread her treasure. “Hungry?” she moaned.
Mr. Jordan loosened his tie and swallowed all in one motion. “Famished,” he replied.
Brains sat back and smiled at her success. From his laptop, he sent Ashford Jordan a portfolio of everything he needed to know. Within this memo, he also sent a small attachment introducing himself, as Snow’s lawyer. His smile turned into victorious laughter, as he packed up to leave.
‘Snow is unpredictable,’ he thought. “The plan was to fuck Jordan, but not literally. Fuck, I’m good, mami.” He whispered into the device as he hailed a cab.
Chapter Three
Assata
Lightning flashed across the Heavens as rain tainted the Earth. A strong gust of wind blew through the cemetery, causing Assata to hate his rash decision of discarding his shirt and Armani suit jacket. He stood naked from the waist up as the freezing rain seemed to make love to his skin as if it was trying to wash away his iniquities. His tears blended, with the essence of Heaven’s moisture, as he whispered soft confessions into the atmosphere in hopes, of God delivering a vital message to a nigga that was dear at heart.
“Lord, I’d be lying if I told you, I’ve never sinned or broken a promise to you, but it was never my intentions. My ‘G’ from within the most untamed portions of my life, I’ve slain men and sold poison to my community. All in the name of shit, I considered righteous and justified, but Father—” Tears ran away from his eyes, blending with the rain. “Never have I—never have I—I—fuckkk,” he screamed as anguish and venom coursed through his veins.
He stared down at the fresh soil that had been thrown on top of his right-hand man’s casket. He regained his composure and continued his conversation with God. “Father never have I snatched the soul from a man, that was innocent of blasphemy.” Thunder roared from deep within the sky as if God disagreed.
At that moment, the reality of never seeing or being able to fuck with his nigga again came crashing down on him. As the rain began to fall harder, it pelted his flesh. Assata crumbled to the wet grass surrounding the plot of dirt, that submerged his potna’s physical being, and dug his fingers as deeply as he could into the moist earth.
“Damn, my nigga!” He moaned as if the mental pain was a physical one. “I can’t believe you took this nap without me—why you leave me, dawg? I—I don’t understand this type of pain, fam.” Mucus drained from his nose.
Assata felt as though the rain wasn’t merely soaking him externally, but somehow it found its way under his skin. It felt as if he was drowning internally, with every tear Heaven shed. “Nigga, you know, my life story. You know, how my own family left me for dead, bruh. You know the promises my, T-lady made, and how she broke them all when she died on me. You see? I can now blame you for leaving me the same way, Shy. But, why homie? Why you let them pussies kill you, my nigga? Whyyy?” Assata sobbed passionately. Unbeknownst to him, an intruder had violated his privacy.
Jazzy stood quietly, witnessing her brother’s best friend lose himself in the night. Shy was her older brother, and they loved each other dearly. She’d constantly nagged him about leaving the streets, but it was a fate he’d been created for. He had a hard head, now he laid six feet beneath the same streets, he dedicated his life to. Jazzy couldn’t even attend the funeral. She couldn’t accept seeing her older brother, her hero in a pine box. Tears began to spill from her eyes as not only her heart but also Assata’s agony killed her softly, with each word that slid from his tongue.
She’d known him her whole life. She’d craved him since she was old enough to be in tune with attraction. Assata was exactly that, a gangsta! But, he was a very loyal and respectful one. Even when she tried to seduce him with her feminist ways, he’d simply ignore her. She could recall a day when she was home alone, stepping out of the shower. She didn’t even have a chance to dry off good before the doorbell rang.
Jazzy wrapped the terry cloth towel around her half-dried body and headed for the door. As she reached the living room, Assata was already stepping through it. He was family, he’d been walking in their house for as long as she could remember. So, why he rang the doorbell was lost to her. She stood there with water dripping on the carpet and her hands on her hips in a sassy manner. For a split second, she witnessed the desire in his eyes burning dramatically, then as if the reality of who she was set in, that same lustful gaze turned into a look of disapproval.
Most guys became enchanted with her foreign features. Her cinnamon red skin complexion, her large, yet slanted grey eyes, and her short curly hair was so silky and shiny, one would think she was using chemicals. Her attributes were courtesy of her Trinidadian, mother, and father. So, to say, she was a boss bitch would be an understatement. Jazzy was loyal and kept her word, at all times. What man wouldn’t die to possess a bitch, with just enough ass, nice sized titties, and fierce loyalty?
That’s why seeing Assata overlooking her kinda made her feel insecure. She remembered dropping the towel allowing Assata a glimpse of her, then seventeen-year-old body. She was appalled when he rolled his eyes and walked right passed her. The next week she went off to UCLA in hot pursuit of her, Bachelor’s Degree in Physiology. She’d been gone nearly three and half years.
Now, in her last semester, God seemed to have a different plan. There she stood staring at her brother’s best friend, lying on top of his grave, as if the sun was out instead of the rain, that seemed to be drowning him. Jazzy figured now was the best time to make her presence known.
Assata laid on top of Shy’s grave allowing the rain to beat against his skin. The wet mud covered his naked flesh, as well as stained the red Armani slacks he adorned. He gripped the twin P.90s at his sides as he stared blankly into darkness. It was as if the rain, that pelted his eyes did nothing. He felt nothing, but the cold steel in his palms. The only thing on his mind was revenge.
He suddenly began laughing at the thought playing before his eyes. “I told you, nigga—yeah—I know you was smiling down. When you saw, I showed up to your service. I stole yo’ shine, nigga—hahaha. We always said we’d show up to the other’s funeral one day. I did that shit, nigga.” He continued laughing thinking about how the many mourners at the service stared in awe, as he stepped up to the casket choosing to be the last mu’fucka to view his dawg.
Already shirtless, fully tattooed, and his Glock nine on display. He took Shy’s favorite black steel gun from his waistband, cocked it and laid it inside the casket, with a box of hollows. He then reached into his pockets and pulled out a knot of money, eighty-five thousand dollars to be exact, and tossed in there along with an ounce of Kush.
Assata saw a disturbance out of his peripheral. He gazed through his tinted Versace frames noticing Shy’s moms, Leah holding a man at bay. Leah knowing her son and Assata’s relationship respected the way he loved her only son. She knew if the shoe was on the other foot Shy would’ve done the same thing. Assata turned back to the casket, closed it on the love he’d just given, and walked out.
As he snapped back to the here and now Assata gazed down at his ruined pants, then at the white and red Gators on his feet. He sat up, laid his twins on the wet ground, and picked up the gallon of Henny, he’d brought for the occasion. Assata twisted the cap off, tilted the bottle, and allowed the Earth to have the first pleasures.
“For you, my nigga a toast to a real, nigga.” He whispered, then took a long hard swallow. “Auughh,” he proclaimed. The slight heat caused his face to frown up. “I should have been there, my dude—”
“Then you woulda been buried right next to him.” Jazzy intervened, stepping out of t
he darkness.
Assata quickly tossed the bottles and snatched up his twins. He trained the infrared in the direction of her voice.
Jazzy dropped the umbrella. “It’s been a long time, Assata.”
The rain was no friend of people without mercy it began to soak through her Dolce and Gabbana dress. Even still, her beauty couldn’t be denied. Assata stared at her through blurry eyes. He couldn’t fathom this gorgeous woman being the little girl, that used to nag him with her adolescent crush and premature sense of love. He hadn’t set eyes on her in three and a half years, and from this celestial image standing before him, allowing the rain to grace her skin. He could tell the journey matured her in more than a simple mental sense.
Due to the fabric of her attire being some type of silk, the rain made it seem transparent. Her dark chocolate nipples protruded against the wet fabric. It gave him a clear view of her C-cup breasts. Her 5’5 statue was thick in all the right places. The way that her hips bulged from her small waistline made it simply arduous for him to look away from her defined attributes. The ardor that consumed him carried him through a mental odyssey, that couldn’t be classified as anything else, but Nirvana.
“What, I’m still too ugly to speak to?” Jazzy broke the silence.
As if her voice shook him from his state of admiration, he turned away from her and laid the twins back down onto earth. Streaks of lightning lit up the sky as he sat back down. “I’m sorry, fam,” he whispered. “I should’ve been there for, Blood. But I—I—I—don’t know what happened. I’d just gotten off the phone with, bro. Not even three hours later, I’m answering my phone to screams of y’all, ma Dukes. All she kept saying was he’s gone. I didn’t understand what the fuck she was talking ‘bout at first, but outta nowhere, I started feeling this crazy shit, right here.” He pounded on his chest. “I knew who she was talkin’ ‘bout, but-but—” Tears cascaded from his eyes as Jazzy shared his heart broken melody. “I shoulda been there Jazz—and maybe—maybe—”
