Microphone Fiend

by Sa'id Salaam

  “A club owner,” Stevens scoffed jealousy. What he hated most about Breeze was people loved him. They had so much love for the hustler that not so much as one single person had snitched on him. He did the impossible and elicited honor among thieves. The money, power, and prestige only added insult to injury. No, Stevens couldn’t be him, so he would destroy him instead.

  “Bruh, bruh,” Ray-Ray called out in his annoying habit of repeating himself twice. That’s actually how he came to be called Ray-Ray. “Tell this fuck-man who I is!”

  “Carlton, meet my brother, Ray. Ray, this is my club’s manager, Carlton,” Breeze introduced as he plucked the smoldering blunt from his brother’s black lips.

  “Hey, she gave me that,” he snitched, pointing to Billie. “So, tell fuck-man Carlton I can come in yo’ spot.”

  “His attire does not meet the code requirement,” Carlton insisted.

  “You’re both right. Ray, you can come in my spot any time you feel like it — and meet the dress code requirements,” Breeze said, touting those political skills of his once more. He steered his brother away and began walking with him up the block.

  “You trippin’, bruh-bruh, on some ‘fisticated shit!”

  “I’m trippin’? Ray, this is very important to me. I appreciate you coming out to support me, but you gotta follow the rules. Mama and Damita both in there having a ball,” he replied. On cue their mother and sister came out, each with the dude they had been dry humping on the dance floor.

  “There go my boys!” Mama Johnson exclaimed and rushed over as quickly as her cat suit would allow. Damita stayed back with their dates.

  “Hey, Mama,” Ray-Ray replied, bending down for a kiss. He turned his face, offering his mother his cheek since he, along with everyone else in the hood, had heard Alice gave the best head on the west side of Atlanta. “Bruh won’t let me in his club.”

  “Brezel, let yo brother in the club,” their mother demanded.

  “Sure, soon as he complies with the dress code like everyone else. Now, where you going, and with who, young lady?” Alice giggled girlishly at the young lady remark.

  “We finna go eat with our friends, um… Yeah, our friends,” Alice said, frowning to recall the men’s names. They had weed, so she figured it was cool to leave with them.

  “Well, have fun, Mama. Ray, I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Breeze said with an air of finality that wasn’t challenged. He, too, ignored her famous lips and kissed her cheek before turning and heading back inside.

  ***

  “Leaving already?” Breeze asked as he saw Big Money coming out of the V.I.P. section. He had both Tasheena and Tosha in tow, along with that I’m going to get some pussy look in his eye.

  “Hell, yeah!” The enormous man cheered and smelled his finger once more. Tasheena had let him play in her pussy under the table, and it was dollar store douche fresh.

  This was Tasheena’s biggest catch yet, but she still eyed Breeze seductively. She knew he owned the place, and he could get it, too. Right now she had to focus on her immediate problem, which was how to keep Tosha from tagging along. Big Money made it clear he was trying to get his ménage on, but she was trying to figure out a way to have him all to herself.

  “’Bout to skin some cat,” Big Money said with a grin and a wink, like he was saying something clever. He said it in the tone parents reserved for spelling out a word they didn’t want to say in front of the children.

  “There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Breeze stated and winked back.

  “There is?” Big Money questioned in total confusion.

  “Yeah, there’s 69 of them. Now, come on!” Tasheena said, pulling him away. She quickly rushed him outside, with Breeze checking out her ass as she passed. Tasheena was tempted to push Tosha out into traffic to get rid of her, but thought better of it.

  “Wow,” Tosha moaned, almost cumming on herself when the valet pulled up to return the Bentley that belonged to Big Money. Now Tasheena was the one in danger of getting pushed out into traffic. She, too, decided against it. Instead, she vowed she would try to out-freak her friend once they got where they were going.

  “I thought you had your period, Tosh?” Tasheena asked offhandedly as they rode up Peachtree Street.

  “Nope! You still got that discharge?” she shot back casually.

  Big Money was so focused on the new pussy he missed the back and forth cock-blocking taking place. The so-called friends volleyed insults back and forth like a tennis match as they rode to Big Money’s condo.

  “Wow,” they both exclaimed when they reached the high-rise building.

  They wowed again once he swung the heavy oak double doors open, allowing access to his place. Marble and glass tabletops, along with leather furniture, gleaming hardwood floor, polished floor-to-ceiling windows and every electronic you could think of lavishly decorated the place. They only had time for a quick glance around, because he eagerly rushed them toward his playroom.

  “What the?” Tasheena frowned at the freaky contents of the room. It had all kinds of furniture designed specifically for sex. There was the Back Shot Station, along with swings, stands, straps, and a variety of toys.

  “Get naked,” the gigantic man ordered as he quickly shed his own clothes.

  The two freaky girls couldn’t wait to see what he was working with. It wasn’t at all what they expected. He may have been 6’11”, but his dick wasn’t.

  “Huh?” Tasheena asked the six-inch dick with her head cocked curiously. It would have been about average size on an average-sized man, but it looked puny on the large man. To give him some credit, it did grow an extra two inches when it hardened.

  “You, on top. You, on bottom,” he barked to Tasheena and Tosha. Tasheena mounted his face while Tosha went down on him.

  “Ooh!” Tasheena gasped as she felt his tongue slip inside of her. Meanwhile, Tosha worked him over down below like she had a point to prove. Once Tasheena busted a nut in his mouth, she swapped places with her friend.

  “Whoa!” Big Money protested when Tasheena tried to insert him inside of her raw. “My accountant said I gotta use condoms!”

  “Okay,” Tasheena replied and grabbed one out of the basketful of condoms, lube, and oil. She opened the package with her teeth and put it on him with her mouth. This allowed her to bite the tip off before she climbed on board for the ride.

  Tasheena knew, or at least she assumed, having a baby by a professional athlete was her meal ticket, and worked her hips like a tornado. The ghetto girl rocked her hips from side to side, back and forward, and even wound them in a circle on the dick she was riding. When she felt his body begin to convulse, she squeezed her vaginal muscles extra tight to keep him inside. She literally milked him dry until he finished.

  “Next!” Big Money yelled out, pushing her off and guiding Tosha back down. He glanced down and saw half of his dick out of the condom and just shrugged it off before saying, “Grab another rubber.”

  “Okay,” Tasheena said as she rushed to comply. This time she put it on properly to ensure it stayed in place for her friend.

  Big Money had big fun for hours with the two friends that night. The three of them were like kids at an amusement park for the first time. They tried out the swings, slides, and a few more toys. Two seconds after his last of the night, he grabbed his phone to make a call.

  “Hey, Bret, this Big Money. I’m sending two your way, so call a cab,” he instructed when the doorman answered. He shoved a C-note in each of the confused girls’ palms and ushered them both out.

  “We ain’t even give him our numbers,” Tosha pouted as they rode back to the club to get her car.

  “Hmm,” Tasheena grunted. She had a hot box full of millionaire cum, and that was plenty for her.

  Chapter Eight

  “La-La ‘n ‘em was right! Shawty getting that money.” Ju-baby nodded in agreement with himself as he spoke. He and Wesley had been following Mont all over town the following day as he collected money fr
om his trap houses.

  “Mm-hmm,” Wesley grunted painfully. He wore a mask of anguish over his otherwise handsome face and was sweating profusely, despite the fact the AC in the car was on.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ju-baby asked upon seeing his partner’s discomfort.

  “I don’ know, shawty. My shit on fire! Feel like it’s itching on the inside,” he moaned in pain while squeezing his injured penis through his pants. “I think one of them hos burnt me!”

  “I been told you ‘bout fuckin’ them broads raw,” Ju-baby said, trying his best not to laugh at his friend. His best wasn’t good enough, though, and he cracked up.

  “There he go, shawty,” Wesley muttered when Mont emerged from yet another trap house with yet another bag of what they assumed was dope and major dope money.

  They followed him and his money home just like La-La and Shrimp had laid out to them. Inside, Mont counted up close to a hundred grand. Forty would go in his stash, and the rest went back in the bag to use to re-up.

  “Should get his ass now,” Wesley growled, sounding both irritated and impatient.

  “Naw, shawty. Today is Saturday. He gon’ have twice as much bread after he checks his traps again today,” Ju-baby stated, leaving out how dumb it would be to pull an armed robbery in the middle of the day. Then again, he understood his partner’s rush. After all, he was in a rush to put that fire out.

  Mont came out and drove off with the would-be robbers in tow. They cruised casually through the back streets of Atlanta until they reached downtown. The dope boy fielded non-stop calls from eager customers, ready for more dope along the way.

  “Sho-nuff, so that’s who got that work now, huh?” Ju-baby asked rhetorically when he watched Mont whip in next to Ray-Ray in the parking lot of The Varsity.

  Ray-Ray looked like your average dope-boy royalty in a souped-up old school Chevy. The shiny chrome rims spit reflections back like a mirror, while the paint looked like it was about to drip off. His appearance was also dope-boy fresh. He was dressed in bright colors and jewels that not only caught the attention of the police, but also some stick-up kids.

  “’Sup, shawty,” the two men said in greeting as they met up at the back of Ray-Ray’s car. He popped the trunk, proving once again just how stupid and reckless he was. Inside set several kilos of cocaine, along with a digital scale and a mac-10 machine pistol. He would get more time for being a felon in possession of the fully automatic weapon than he would for the large quantity of drugs.

  “This that butta-butta!” Ray-Ray bragged as he opened one of the bricks. He took a bump for himself before passing it to his customer to sample for himself.

  “Shit!” Mont exclaimed, reeling back a few steps when he hit the blow.

  “Let’s lay both of they clown asses down right now,” Wesley urged.

  “Downtown? In broad daylight? Boy, stop!” Ju-baby laughed, once again being the voice of reason of the duo. “I got a fire extinguisher in the trunk. Hit yo’ dick with it.”

  “Okay,” he said, reaching for the door handle. Poor thing was in such pain it sounded reasonable to him, even though it was just a jest.

  “Chill, shawty. We finna hit Grady,” Ju said and pulled off. They had seen all they needed to see. Mont was definitely getting robbed when the time was right.

  ***

  Luckily for Wesley and his wood, Grady Hospital wasn’t too far away. Their high-volume STD clinic was open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It was affectionately known as the burn unit due to all the gonorrhea cases it treated. Even on Saturdays there was always a full house.

  There were several familiar faces in the waiting room, but no one felt like socializing. Head nods served as greetings instead of the normal pounds and man hugs. The few girls present hung their heads low in shame, since they were the ones who donated the diseases to several of the men present.

  Wesley still couldn’t help but sit next to a shapely young red girl with a terrible weave job. The silky plastic — it wasn’t human hair — contrasted badly with her own rough crop. It wasn’t even long enough to cover the tracks. The mismatched texture looked like someone wearing plaids and stripes, or corduroys and fishnets.”

  “’Sup, shawty?” He still wanted to know, despite where they were. “What’s yo’ name?”

  “Shonna,” the girl replied meekly. The yellow yogurt in her panties urged her to get herself checked out.

  “Bitch burning,” AJ advised from across the room. Still, that didn’t stop Wesley from getting her number to go along with her name. No sooner did he lock it in than Shrimp marched out with her head held high, like she hadn’t burned five of the men in attendance.

  She burned Wesley, too, but at least he got some get back. She may have given him chlamydia, but it was he who transferred La-La’s clap to her.

  “Nasty bitch,” he growled as her presence confirmed the source of his pain. “I got you, shawty,” he vowed.

  A few hours later, his number was called, and he was ushered into the back where a q-tip up his dick put him on his tippy toes when it was swirled around to collect a sample. It came back positive for two separate STDs, which was not that bad, since it was two short of the day’s record.

  A couple had shit you can’t get rid of, while others had shit that would kill them. If you believe in luck, then consider him lucky. A shot in the ass and he was on his way.

  “What them folks talkin’ ‘bout?” Ju-baby asked when Wesley finally made it back to the car. He passed him the smoldering blunt once he got seated.

  “Nasty-ass Shrimp burnt me,” he grumbled in disgust. It was only half of the story, but the only half he knew. That made it the whole truth. “Hol’ up, shawty, there go that bitch I just met.”

  “Met where? In there?” Ju-baby asked, laughing at his friend’s foolishness as he pulled off, leaving the dirty pussy girl behind. Friends don’t let friends get burned intentionally, especially not twice in one week. “I need you one hun’red tonight. We finna get paid!”

  Chapter Nine

  At the same time Ju-baby and Wesley were scheming, Tasheena and Tosha were on a lick of their own: a ratchet-girl shopping trip that included returning last night’s outfits and using the same money to buy tonight’s outfit. Rent, actually, because this one would be going back, as well.

  Tasheena sashayed through Lenox Mall as if she were one of the B-list celebrities she hoped to spot. Tosha rushed to keep up so she wouldn’t get left behind. They entered a fancy boutique to make the return.

  “Yes, I need a refund, it didn’t fit,” Tasheena insisted as if it were really true. That’s the downside to lying: eventually you start to believe them yourself.

  “It fit perfectly when I sold it to you,” the sales clerk remembered the scheming duo from last weekend. She then proceeded to lift the garment to her nose and sniff the underarm area.

  “Un-uh, no she didn’t,” Tosha quipped ghetto-fabulously.

  “Bitch just tried me,” Tasheena added furiously. She knew all traces of deodorant and perfume had been removed courtesy of the Chinese lady at the cleaners around the corner from where she lived. She was down with the lick, and freshened all her garments with tags still attached for two bucks each. “Bitch probably be sniffing panties, too!

  “I do not,” the clerk lied indignantly. Just like she had sniffed the dress, she also sniffed the crotches of returned items for smells before returning them back to stock.

  Good thing she didn’t want to smell Tasheena’s crotch right now, because she still had the panties she wore yesterday. She was afraid to remove them, thinking the millionaire semen might seep out. She had stayed up all night thinking of baby names.

  The clerk knew she was a serial returner, but held her tongue. Not her face, though, which was a mask of mistrust and a yeah right expression.

  Once she got her cash back, she marched out with her head held high. The plan was to buy another outfit from somewhere else to wear tonight, and return it tomorrow so she could pay her ligh
t bill. However, it proved easier said than done. The gig was up, as she was about to find out.

  “Mm-hmm, that’s her,” a sales clerk from the next store said as she compared Tasheena’s face to the one on the picture in the red book kept behind the counter. Quite a few stores had shared information on boosters and serial merchandise returners, and her name and face had managed to make the list. The book may have been red, but the list was black.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t allow you to shop here,” the manager said discretely, not wanting to call any attention to the matter and create an unnecessary scene.

  “Say what! Bitch, do you know how much money I spend up in here?” Tasheena fumed loudly.

  “Yes, I do, and we’ve given it all back to you,” the woman shot back, holding her ground on the issue. She had hoped to avoid a scene, but Tasheena wasn’t giving her that option.

  “Fuck you! Fuck yo sto’! Fuck yo mama and yo…” Tasheena ranted, cursing a blue streak while her embarrassed friend led her away.

  They entered store after store with the same results. The Serial Returner had been blackballed in the mall, so she couldn’t shop anywhere.

  “Let’s just go to the West End Mall,” Tosha suggested.

  “I don’t wanna go to that ghetto-ass mall,” her friend protested, poking her lips out. She had grown up in the ghetto and spent her teen years hanging out in that same ghetto mall, and she didn’t look forward to returning to it.

  “Shoot, with the money he gave us, we can get an outfit, shoes, and our nails and toes done. Plus, we can get something to eat and get our hair did.” Tosha reminded her friend of the benefits of shopping at West End Mall.

  “Hell, we can probably get a tattoo, too,” Tasheena nodded excitedly in agreement. That sealed the deal, and off they went to the west side of Atlanta.

  Just Like was the most popular store in the low-end mall. They specialized in knock-offs and bootleg items that looked just like the real deal. They had every knock-off you could imagine, from Coogi to Gucci. The store carried everything from dresses to shoes to purses to designer glasses.