by Renta
That night I had pep to my step—the evidence of some thug loving and the feeling of loving a real nigga. Assata had dicked me down real good that morning, and we’d been spending a lot of time together. I hated to say it, but for the first time in my life, I was willing to place a man before my hustle. Though Assata hadn’t mentioned it, I didn’t want him to view me as anything less than the woman I’d presented myself as. I’d been tired of the nightlife anyway, and my day job paid well enough for me to make the sacrifice. So, for what I wanted with Assata I was gonna make the sacrifice and make that my last night at the club.
That night I was topless—a transparent G-string rested perfectly between my chocolate crevices, and I made sure that it was pulled up as far as it would go so my lower lips protruded, and blew a nice—wet—juicy kiss at anyone that was sneaking a peek at my paradise. I knew I was a bad bitch as I sashayed through the room with a twist to my hips that gave a new meaning to the term: a slutty walk. My feet had a fresh pedi with clear polish accented by the black tips to match mani. My long tresses hung past my glittered backside—two-toned, beginning as a bright white at my roots, fading into a charcoal black in the middle. I had it twisted into two long braids that gave me the appearance of a Hershey chocolate Indian girl.
As I headed to the back to freshen up after a lap dance, my mind carried me on a mental expedition. The night the police had shown up and forced me and Assata to leave the cemetery. We’d went back to my apartment and showered. Afterward, we laid up and I held that man as liquid pain drip from his eyes. The experience was one of the most intimate I’ve ever had with a man, and in that instant, I realized the realism within the cliché, ‘a mental love is deeper than the physical.’ When a man gave a female more than his dick, allowed her beyond the act of blowing a few grand on her and making her a side bitch. He saw something inside that women that he respected.
That night, after a storm of emotions, Assata made passionate love to me. He took his time with each stroke, then after I had a peek at heaven—the animal inside the man clawed its way to the surface as he fucked me from the back and taught me that even the devil could take you to paradise.
“Say—let me get that dance, lil’ mama!” someone shouted and grabbed me by the wrist.
Anger instantly ignited in my posture as I was forced out of my daydream, I hated thirsty niggas, but I despised men that felt a conversation was part physical, with a dramatic roll of my eyes and fire on the tip of my tongue, I turned to give the violator a piece of my mind, but before I could release the beast on him, the owner of the club caught my eye. Gucci was sitting at the bar nursing a shot glass, observing his money. Our eyes met, and I had to tame myself, though it was my last night, one never knew what the future would bring.
Gucci didn’t play about his chips and his policy of keepin’ the customers happy was instrumental to my employment. I didn’t want to cause bad blood and not be able to fall back on the hustle if things got hard.
“My ears work perfectly fine, handsome, there is no need for the physical.” I leaned over and spoke in his ear so he could hear me over the music.
My nipples instantly hardened as they grazed his right shoulder. He released my wrist as I stood back to appraise him. He had pretty boy features framed by silky curls. To some, he’d be a prize, but me personally, I like my men dark, gangsta, and a little rough around the edges. Pretty boy smiled up at me, probably used to women fawning over him, and being the seductress that I am, I used his ego to my benefit. I could tell that he was a youngsta, and shorty next to him added to my assumption as be goaded his boy to try his shot.
“My—my fault, Mami, it’s just my B-day and you—I just—” he was flustered as I stared at him through long lashes and chinky eyes.
He was intimidated by me, and I used it against his young ass. In between the DJ changing songs I jeweled him, “That doesn’t give you the right to be groping women that didn’t invite you to do so. What if my man was up in here, youngin?” I replied and placed my hand on my left hip and anticipated his answer.
I could feel the eyes of the stranger from earlier boring into my backside as the youngster responded, “I ain’t scared of ya dude, ma, I can handle my own. Feel me?” He patted the bulge on his waist and smiled revealing a dimple in his left cheek that was so deep it looked as if I could hide something inside of it. He was adorable.
I laughed at his adolescent bravado as the DJ spun Lil Keke’s ‘Show Me What It’s Made For.’ I made up my mind and straddled the birthday boy reverse cowgirl so that I was facing the stranger as he sat in the shadows of the back of the club. Since the lights were dim, it was hard to see him clearly, but I knew his eyes were on me.
I’m here to spend this money /so take it off for me/ Girl, I want you to show me what that Pussy made fa /Work the edge of the stage, I see it in your face/ Girl you wanna show me what that pussy made for/ At the end of the night, I’m gonna do you right/but you gotta show me what that pussy made fa—what that pussy made fa.
I check ya forecast, they tell me when it rains, it pours/that pussy all mine, this money all yours/don't get it twisted, I'm a G, but I paid her—she took me to school then showed me what it’s made fa.
Lil Keke energized the room as I paced my hands on my knees and leaned forward, staring into the shadows where I knew he was staring back watching my performance. I wound my waist in time with the beat, youngin’ slapped my ass and I put an arch in my back, his lil’ ass was too excited. Using my special technique, I popped each ass cheek, isolating one, as the other vibrated like it was spasming. I knew I had more than just the youngsta’s attention because I peeped how a dude at the table to my left elbowed his potna to get his attention. The potna was in the process of turning the ace of spade bottle up when I bent all the way over and placed my palms flat on the floor.
I lifted myself into a headstand before wrapping my legs around the yougin’s waist. My ass cheeks began to vibrate as if they were boiling water in a scalding pot. The brotha spat a mouthful of spade onto the table and his man’s arm in astonishment. I could feel youngsta’s manhood throb against me as Keke gave him the incentive to stuff different denominations of bills under my garter.
Super thick but being sexy wasn't the same thing/ between ya legs can get ya chedda and a betta name/ I love ya stage show, get low so I can see/ I gotta couple stacks for you girl believe me/ I’m on patron with them Kush squares and feelin’ lovely/ work ya goal mind—say boo, you so lucky/ up and down, bust it open, then take it slow/ I’m here to spend this money, you gon’ have to show me tho.
****
~The Back of the Club~
The observer sat hidden in the shadows nursing a three-finger glass of rum, neat. His eyes never left the beautiful dancer as she put on a spectacular show. A show he knew was meant for his eyes to see. As he took a small sip of the brown liquor, a gentle smile quirked at the corners of his lip if only she knew that not only was she making his business his pleasure, but also easy, she wouldn’t be so eager to entice his thirst for blood.
He knew she was the key to finding where the man Assata was hiding at, the observer had been staking out Assata’s house for the past three days, but knew he’d never show. What smart man would after his eyes have been opened to the enemy being privy of where he rested his head? The observer had only found out about Armani after following her from the Cemetery where she and Assata shared their insane moment. The observer knew he’d be able to find Assata at his aunt’s funeral. Through his investigations he learned that the man loved the woman deeper than life and concluded that he wouldn’t miss the burial for nothing in the world, but when Assata didn’t show up for the funeral, the observer was ready to search elsewhere, but figured he’d see the burial site, and lo and behold.
“Tonight, my last night, handsome, and I’d truly enjoy being your entertainment for the rest of the evening,” a soft—honey laced voice disturbed his thoughts.
The observer cursed himself for being so careless
as to allow the pretty girl to sneak up on him. He took a slight sip from his drink to cover up his natural reaction. “Tat’ depends,” he continued
“On?” The pretty little woman smiled seductively with a curious expression and flirting with death came to life in that instant.
****
~Armani~
The man was a strange character—I always been attracted to the art of tattoos, but this man had not only went overboard with the ink but obviously, he had a fetish for exotic animals. I loved Tigers as well, but this man was obviously obsessed! As far as I could tell, his arm, face, and head were covered in a strange Tiger stripe pattern. His features were Middle Eastern if I wasn’t mistaken, but I couldn’t be sure. What I was sure about was the Bezel Audemars that glistened on his wrist despite the dimness of the light, and the dark YSL bubble shades he wore cost five-hundred or more. Without the gaudy jewelry that most of the youngsters wore to express their level of success, his were more conservative—silent money.
“Depending on your intentions, and how entertaining you can be,” he replied with a thick accent.
At that moment, the DJ put on Yo Gotti and Nicki Minaj’s ‘Rake it Up,’ with a mischievous grin, the strange man sat his glass on the table and patted his lap. I couldn’t explain why, but it was something about the dude that set off alarms. I glanced back to the bar where Gucci and his bouncer Bear sat and made eye contact with Gucci. The man had always had a thing for me, but I never mixed business with pleasure and he respected me for that. He gave me a slight nod of confirmation before I turned back to my prey—my eyes turn to slits as I licked my lips as if I was anticipating devouring him for dinner.
I climbed in his lap, and he instantly cupped my ass. “Your boyfriend?” He nodded in Gucci's direction.
I glanced down at him as I placed my hands on his shoulders and gyrated my hips to the beat. “And if he was?” I smiled.
The man reached up and took off his glasses. He sat them down and locked eyes with me. My breath got caught in my throat, his pupils were an inky blackness that told a story of cemeteries and bullets.
My heartbeat against my chest as he reached behind me and spread my cheeks open. “Let him watch—by de way, I’m de Tiger,” he whispered.
****
~Agent Harrison~
I had been back in Quantico for merely hours and already I was immersed in paperwork. If what I was told was correct, I may have been able to close not only the slaughter at the Russian’s house but also the capture of the infamous drug Lord, David ‘Ice-Berg’ Swanson, had made headlines the day after he'd been identified. The ironic part was that they were connected. Mr. Swanson had been very busy since his infamous elude of justice.
I shook my head in amazement when my phone rung. “Yello!” There was a pungent silence on the other end of the line. “Hello—is anyone there?” I inquired, irritation lurking just beyond the surface.
Someone had been playing phone tag with me all day. A few times they’d just sit there silently, soft breathing the only confirmation that they were on the other end.
I mentally vowed not to answer the blocked number again and was seconds away from hanging up when— “May I speak to Harrison—Agent Harrison?” a soft voice sparked my senses.
For reasons unknown, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “This—this is he. Who am I speaking with?”
She giggled seductively as a deep moan escaped her lips. “It—shit, it matters not who I am, pig, but what—oh God, faster, mutherfucker!” She growled.
Confusion quickly registered on my face. ‘Was someone playing a sick game? Were they toying with me?’ I wondered.
“You have to—shit—to excuse me, pig. I’m getting my pussy ate as we speak, but that’s not—wait—fuck,” she sounded as if she’d just reached her climax. I was on the verge of giving the psycho the dial tone when she rocked my world. “I’m calling to tell you that you have a dirty cop in your midst, and if you want to catch the Russian, you have to catch the compromised officer first,” she spoke matter of factly.
My knuckles were white from the grip I had on the edge of my desk. ‘Was this some typa sick prank?’ Are you there—hello?” she sang into the receiver.
My mood was in high gear. “Yea—yea, I’m here,” I replied skeptically. There was no way any of my fellow officers had gone rogue—sure, it happened, but not on my watch.
“Listen close, Mr. Harrison, because I’m about to give you enough information to push you to the highest position it is in the office, but only under one condition—”
The silence was thick as I weighed the possibilities of what she could ask for. “What condition is that?” I asked hesitantly.
“You have to eat my pussy for three days!” She giggled with the request.
Blood rushed to my face. “Listen here, you—”
“No, you listen!” she screamed. “I’m doing you this favor because I need you just as much as you need me. So—enough of the games—” At that moment my laptop chirped to alert me that I had an e-mail. “I just sent you a few surprises, Pig, make sure you make it count,” she said before disconnecting the call.
I had nothing to lose, so I signed into my e-mail, and as soon as I gained access. My heart almost exploded in my chest, about a hundred and fifty pictures flashed across the screen. Two men in very compromising images—some of those two men out for drinks, but many were insidious and very graphic captures of the two men in sexual trysts.
Disgusted, I forced myself to look at each picture. “I’ll be damned!” I murmured to myself upon recognizing Agent Forrest and the Russian mob boss.
I continued my observation until I came upon a picture of a very majestic image of a glass structure erected from a vast body of blue water. I frowned as I studied it closer—something about the image struck a chord with me, but I couldn’t place it. Sweat beaded on the bridge of my nose, as I studied the other pictures.
A knock at my office door startled me so much that I jumped. “Come in!” I shouted after I composed myself.
The door opened and a woman that I’d never seen stepped in. “Hi, Mr. Harrison, my name is Janice, and I’m covering for Angela. She’s caught a bug and couldn’t come in, so I’m your temp replacement.” She extended her hand.
I wiped my hands on my pant legs before standing and taking her hand. My eyes took in her features, her resemblance to Pandora Jacobs was uncanny. The only contrast to the two was this woman’s pixie cut hairstyle and slightly pudgy build was a major difference in comparison to Pandora’s long blonde hair and exotic curves.
“That’s peculiar, Angela is like a sister to me—I’d thought that she’d at least call and inform me that she was ill,” I murmured with a mock hurt look on my face.
That got a smile out of her. “Well, I’m just dropping this package someone left for you at the front desk. It was certified so I had to—” She shrugged her shoulders as if to say it was no big deal to forge my signature.
Janice held the small box out to me, and without taking my eyes off her, I accepted it. I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I’d met her somewhere before. “Not to sound typical, but have we met before?” I threw caution to the wind.
She gave me a studious gaze as if she was attempting to place me. I could tell if she’d lost a couple of pounds, she’d be quite a looker. “No, I’m sure if I’d met you or even seen a face as handsome as yours, I’d have remembered.” She smiled brilliantly.
I returned the gesture before walking behind my desk and observing the picture again—a light bulb clicked on in my head. “Uh—before you leave, do you mind taking a look at this?” I stopped her before she reached the door.
Janice had a strange look on her face that I couldn’t describe but strolled over. “Sure,” she said and looked down at the picture. “Have you ever seen this place before?” I inquired.
She studied the image for a moment before that contagious smile erupted onto her face again. “Oh my, God, yes—I’ve always d
reamed about going there—they say it’s the most luxurious hotel in the world!” she stated. My blood surged in my veins as I awaited her to continue and she did. “It’s over in the United Arab Emirates—that’s the BURJ AL Jumeirah Hotel!
****
~The Tiger~
I parked a few spaces down from where she’d parked. I’d followed de girl Armani to her home from de club and gave her enough time to get situated before I grabbed my famous friend and slipped from mi car with serpentine silence. I’d watched her stop to retrieve her daughter before coming here, so I knew she wasn’t alone. I hated harming children, so my attitude was quite fucked up when I knocked at the door I’d watched her enter.
Second, passed before hurried footsteps spattered a stop at de door. “Mama—mama, there’s somebody at the door!” An angelic voice broke mi heart.
The sounds of locks being turned sped mi heartbeat before it was flung open to reveal a tiny beautiful child clutching a black doll to her chest. “Lili, you better not open that door or I’ma whoop yo’ lil’ ass!” A woman’s voice raged from the back room, but she had to have realized how late the warning was as she rounded the corner and our eyes connected in a battle of hunger and fear.
“Hello, Armani—I’m afraid I wasn’t all the way truthful with you.”
****
~Agent Harrison~
As soon as Janice left, I’d called the director to inform him of my findings, and he’d informed me that not only did we have people on the Emirates soil, but also, I couldn’t go after Forrest without clearance from the boys up high and the DEA! I’d argued that it was my case and I deserved the bust, but he stood firm on us giving the DEA first rights to their own man. He’d ask me how’d I come to a conclusion so outlandish, and out of spite, I twisted the truth. I informed him of the anonymous call and e-mailed him the pictures except for the one that would lead them to the treasure.
