“I do try to do the right thing. That’s why I get down with you, Frankie. I step up to the plate like a man. I give you my white sap to keep you strong. I’m looking out for your health, for real, Frankie.” Brick gulped in fear.
Frankie sneered. “Yeah, that shit you talkin’ sounds all heroic, but somewhere along the line you done developed a bad habit. When I think back—the way you were so willing to give up your white sap…the more I think about it, the more I realize that you was already sweeter than a Fruit Loop before I started taking your strength.”
“Nah, I never got down with a dude before. I had to look out for my girl. Misty’s got a real bad habit. She can’t help herself. She gotta shop.”
“Oh, yeah? Ya girl been stealing my product?”
“No, she don’t smoke crack. She got a shopping habit. I swear, she can’t help it. She gotta shop all the time.”
“Nigga, please. Ain’t no such thing as a damn shopping habit. You probably helping her fuck up that money, just so you can get your dick sucked.” Frankie shook his head. “Here I am, thinking I’m teaching you something beneficial that you could use later on in life, and the whole time, I was dealing with a young homo. Nigga, I ought to whip your ass for lying to me. Now that you done turned completely gay, your white sap can’t help me no more.”
“I’m not gay!”
“Whatever. Tuck your shit back in your pants because I don’t want it. Drinking white sap from a faggot could mess my system up, have me sickly and weak as a little bitch.”
Hurt and confused, Brick lowered his head and slowly adjusted his pants. A few seconds later, Frankie advanced and yanked Brick into a headlock. “You gon’ pay for tricking me into fuckin’ with your sissy ass.”
“I didn’t trick you. I’m not a sissy. I’m straight.” He croaked out the words. Gagging and gasping, he fought to break Frankie’s chokehold, but couldn’t. Though Frankie claimed Brick’s white sap was tainted, had made him weak, he seemed to possess the strength of ten men as he crushed Brick’s face against his bulging bicep.
With his free hand, he dug inside his pocket and whipped out a gleaming knife. Brick went into a wild panic. To no avail, he desperately struggled to pull his head out of Frankie’s steely embrace. As if testing the sharpness of the blade, Frankie punctured the skin on Brick’s chin. Satisfied, he plunged the knife in, twisting it, brutally chipping chinbone as he pushed it in deeper.
Brick bellowed in agony. Frankie pulled the embedded knife upward, viciously tearing through flesh and chipping at bone. In a state of shock, Brick went limp. He didn’t hear the horrible sounds of his cheekbone crunching and cracking. He didn’t feel the hot blood splash out over his arms and clothing as Frankie brutally ripped open his face, zigzagging the knife from his chin all the way up to his hairline.
“Brick!” Misty shouted from the bedroom, her shrill voice bringing Brick back to reality. “How long does it take to wash up? Turn that water off, so I can get some sleep!”
Brick pulled his hand away from the curving scar and turned off the water. Tears blurred his monstrous, mirrored image. Frankie had not only fucked up his face, he’d also succeeded in messing up Brick’s head; distorting his sexual identity.
Frankie had claimed Brick was gay. Brick didn’t know what category he belonged in. Constantly plagued by freaky urges that involved men, Brick decided that although he wasn’t totally straight, he wasn’t totally homosexual either. He could back up that claim, too.
Sure, he allowed men to suck his dick and, yes, he engaged in sexual fantasies that revolved around men, but he had never performed or had been on the receiving end of anal sex with a man. As much as Misty badgered him and had tried to persuade him to give up some head to clients in order to increase their earnings, Brick flat-out refused.
A few years back, she’d bugged him about showing Shane some love; pleading with him to do it for her. She’d badgered him so badly that Brick finally broke down and agreed to it. But when she threw Shane some hints, Shane had frowned up, clearly appalled. After that, it seemed that Shane had gone out of his way to avoid Misty and Brick.
If Shane hadn’t slit his wrists and taken himself out the way he did, Brick was certain that Misty’s determined ass would have figured out a way to convince Shane to let Brick suck his dick. Truth be told, Brick would have done it. Misty was in love with Shane and Shane was his nigga. Shane was the only man that Brick would have even considered blowing.
Brick pondered his sexual orientation for a few more moments and came to the conclusion that neither Misty nor any other woman who’d ever sucked on his jawn could give head as well as a man could. But that’s just the freak in me. I ain’t no Fruit Loop!
“Brick!” Misty yelled again. “Bring a washcloth so you can wipe out all this slobber you left between my legs.”
“Aiight!” Brick opened the linen closet and sorted through a stack of colorful folded washcloths and selected a pink, fluffy one, which was monogrammed with fancy lettering spelling out Misty’s name.
Lovingly, he ran warm water over the expensive fabric and squeezed a few dollops of Misty’s favorite body gel. He’d clean her coochie slowly, tenderly—the way she liked it—until he lulled his pretty baby to dreamland.
“Here I come, Misty, baby,” Brick said, wearing a ready smile. He was pussywhipped and proud of it. His devotion to Misty’s coochie was evidence that Frankie the Freak had not turned him gay.
CHAPTER 9
The day was passing peacefully. No tricks were lined up that evening and Misty had left him with a large quantity of weed—her way of appeasing him while she hijacked their only source of transportation, leaving him housebound for the day.
Misty was on yet another day-long shopping spree. She was on a binge again. Shopping every day, buying up the stores, but she still wasn’t satisfied. Most times, she returned home weighed down by shopping bags that she tossed in the closet without even admiring her purchases.
Sometimes, she mistakenly bought the same item twice. Brick didn’t mind, though. He enjoyed the solitude. Nothing soothed his soul like being able to fall back, undisturbed all day. He loved Misty to death, but having her out of the apartment was heaven. If he didn’t keep her fucked and sucked several times a day, she’d talk his ear off about her latest idea for him to make them more money. Her constant plotting on new ways to market his dick made his head hurt sometimes.
Last night, he’d fucked her extra long and extra hard, using his penis to wear her out and put her to sleep. Just before conking out, she kissed him and dreamily told him she was going to make him an internet porn star. Even in the state just before slumber, Misty was on top of her pimp game, hinting that she’d like to film him in action. He wasn’t even worried about it, though. It didn’t matter how big his dick was or how long he could last, nobody would pay to watch a porn flick with a disfigured star.
Blissfully, Brick watched hours of daytime TV, rented a couple pay-for-view flicks, and rolled one blunt after another, puffing away until his appetite became ravenous.
True, he loathed tricking, but admittedly his thick inches kept him and Misty rolling in enough greenbacks to meet their needs. And his needs were quite basic. Food, weed, and brew on a daily basis plus a pair of sneakers, a pair of Timbs, a new pair of jeans, every now and then. Brick wasn’t into flashy jewelry. In fact, he didn’t wear any type of jewelry; not even a watch. Misty rocked so much bling, Brick was satisfied to bask in the illumination of her shine. Brick smiled. Just standing next to his pretty little Misty was a major come-up in his life.
After all these years, he still felt honored to be in her presence. He didn’t even mind when Misty openly flirted with other dudes.
“What about him?” dudes would ask whenever Misty flirted in Brick’s presence.
“Oh, that’s Brick. He’s my bodyguard,” she’d reply, looking and sounding like an A-list star. On cue, Brick would assume a severe expression and the wide-legged stance of a bodyguard.
Going along with Misty’s public role-playing games always assured him of a night of freaky passion. He had to give her major props. Misty was dat bitch; in and out of bed.
A loud growl from his stomach interrupted his musings. Brick called a local deli and ordered a smorgasbord of greasy food.
When the doorbell rang, Brick rubbed his hands together and delightedly opened the door. The delivery person stood in the doorway, heavily laden with a large pizza and three large paper bags filled with side orders. “Hey, my man. What it is? Yo, cuz, you got here quick as shit. That’s whassup!”
Happily, Brick unburdened the delivery man of the packages.
Overdosing on weed and food and groggy from too much beer, Brick fell asleep on the living room sofa. The blare of the house phone jolted him awake.
“Damn!” he muttered and reached for the handset, a bleary eye focused on the caller ID. Thomasina Bernard. “Aw, fuck that!” he growled. He had no rap for Misty’s loud-mouth mom. If Miss Thomasina wanted to speak to her daughter, she’d better hit Misty up on her cell. If Misty didn’t pick up, that meant she didn’t feel like talking to her right now. Just hearing Miss Thomasina’s voice would wreck the remainder of Brick’s peaceful day. Following his better judgment, Brick turned off the ringer and curled back into his spot on the sofa. Two minutes later, the muffled but annoying sound of the telephone emanated from the bedroom.
He sat up and stared at the mute phone in the living room. What the fuck is up with Miss Thomasina? Maybe something had happened to Misty! Sudden apprehension caused Brick to lunge for the phone. “Hello!” he said urgently.
“Where the hell is Misty?” Thomasina barked into the phone.
Irritated, Brick blew out a whoosh of air. “She ain’t home.”
“Well, where the hell is she?” Thomasina asked sharply.
“Shopping.” Brick’s emotionless, one-word response was certain to rile Misty’s mom.
“Tell me something I don’t know, genius,” Thomasina snapped. “Misty picked me up after work. She dropped me off at my linedancing class and was supposed to come back and take me shopping after my class.”
Brick screwed up his lips. He didn’t appreciate hearing that Misty’s hateful mom was benefiting off his hustle, too. I’m not good enough for her daughter but my money’s good enough for her to spend.
He wanted to say something sarcastic, but Misty wouldn’t appreciate him disrespecting her mother. Wisely, Brick decided to suck it up and let it ride. Besides, Miss Thomasina’s taste wasn’t anywhere near as expensive as Misty’s. She couldn’t break the bank.
“I’ve been waiting for an hour and twenty minutes. Where could that girl be?”
Deep in unpleasant thoughts, Brick frowned as he ran a finger over his thick scar. It wasn’t like Misty to leave her mom stranded. If somebody had hurt his pretty baby, he’d shoot a mufucka, strangle him with his bare hands, stomp a nigga to death. Brick shook his head as a succession of murderous thoughts galloped across his mind.
“Are you going to help me come up with a solution or do you plan on breathing in the phone like a moron?” Thomasina said with chilling hostility.
“Uh, I’ll hit her up on her cell and see whassup.”
Thomasina made a long groaning sound. “If I can’t reach her on her cell, what makes you think you can? I told you her cell is turned off,” Thomasina huffed. “Nitwit!”
Brick flinched at being called a nitwit. So far Miss Thomasina had called him out of his name twice in the conversation. He wanted to go off on her, put her in her place, but he kept a civil tongue. “Maybe she turned it back on by now. I’ll check on that for you.” Brick forced his voice to take on a respectful tone.
“No, thank you,” she muttered resentfully. “I’m not waiting another minute for that spiteful heifer. I’m taking a cab. Make sure you tell Misty that she owes me cab fare and a shopping trip.” Thomasina hung up.
Brick flopped back down on the sofa. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Too anxious to go back to sleep, he fired up a blunt and cracked open another can of brew.
CHAPTER 10
Misty’s weed connect wasn’t taking her calls. She’d left Brick at home with damn near a quarter-pound of bud, leaving her with only one blunt. Damn if she was going to be stuck at the mall with her mom without a nice buzz going on.
Desperation forced her hand. After a little investigating, she obtained Todd, her weed man’s, home address. He lived in the Fairmount district. Most streets in Philadelphia were comprised of cookie-cutter row homes, but not Todd’s house. As she cruised along, she noticed a variety of interesting, architectural designs, all within the same block. She also noticed, to her chagrin, that Todd’s charming little block had no parking spaces large enough for her X5. Two streets over, she found a place to park.
Todd didn’t like clients showing up at his front door, but Misty didn’t give a fuck. Boldly, she marched up to his house, rang his doorbell twice, and then impatiently pounded her fist on the frosted glass pane of the front door. The sound echoed in the quiet, gentrified neighborhood. The door opened. A dark-haired, white guy stood in the doorway, squinting at Misty through eyeglasses. He was a bookworm type, an obvious nerd.
“Where’s Todd?” she asked testily.
“Todd?”
“Did I stutter? Don’t try to act like you don’t know who Todd is.”
“Yeah, sure. I know Todd, but he, uh…”
“He, uh, what?” she mimicked.
“Todd got busted,” the bespectacled student blurted.
“He got busted?” Misty was shocked. And disappointed.
“Yeah, a few days ago. He had an open case back in Wichita. He got extradited this morning.”
“Are you in charge, now?” She reached inside her Juicy Couture bag. “I’ll pay double.”
Appalled, the nerd recoiled. “I’m not involved in that. Todd and I were roommates. That’s all.” He dismissed her with an agitated gesture and closed the door.
“Asshole!” Misty muttered a string of nonstop profanity until she reached her SUV.
Nothing lasts forever, she reminded herself. That was a life lesson she should have learned a long time ago. Even though Todd had that good green stuff, the best in the city, Misty should have had a back-up plan. Now, what was she going to do? She checked the time. She still had a half-hour before she had to pick her mom up from her corny, line-dancing class. She picked up her cell and scrolled through the contact list. Jocko. Jocko was a Jamaican dude, who had some real good ganja, but his high prices were ridiculous. But, anxious to get high, she called his number. The call went straight to voicemail. Goddamn!
Misty continued scrolling through her list of numbers until she reached the name Young Buck. Who the fuck was Young Buck? “Oh! Monroe!” She suddenly remembered. Monroe was the young fool she’d taken on a joyride and tossed him her thong as a keepsake. Misty laughed. His weed was garbage, but being desperate and running out of time, she called him.
As expected, Monroe sounded excited to hear from her and agreed to meet her at the court on Parkside Avenue. Fifteen minutes later, Misty watched Monroe and another tall male approach. Monroe was tall—well over six feet, but his buddy had him by a couple inches.
As the pair grew closer, Misty gasped and covered her mouth. Her heartbeat quickened. The swagger in the other man’s walk, his height and body type, were hauntingly familiar. He reminded her of Shane.
“What’s good, shawty?” Monroe greeted. His buddy looked a couple years older than Monroe. His attire was fresh, nicely coordinated. His diamond studs were small. Fine as he was, he should have been blinging some rocks.
“Whassup?” Misty muttered, her eyes fixed on Monroe’s friend. Amazingly, from the jet-black, tight curls on his head, the silky thick eyebrows, to his big, juicy lips, and down to the cleft in his chin, the man was the spitting image of Shane. His complexion was similar to Shane’s, a mixture of brown and red tones; his handsome angular features seemed sculpted from clay.
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“Yo, shawty, I ran out of product, but my cousin has a sweet connect.”
She looked at Monroe’s cousin and nearly swooned as she marveled at his uncanny resemblance to her deceased lover. Misty swallowed. Her throat was dry; she didn’t trust her ability to communicate with her typical sass and self-assurance.
“No disrespect to my partner over here.” He nodded toward Monroe. “But my lil’ cuz just got rid of a batch of dirt.”
“Yo, man, I got the block on smash. My product is dope.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, you know how I do.” Feigning confidence, Monroe poked out his chest.
“Fuck outta here. Your shit is dirt. Niggas around here don’t care what they smoke.”
“That’s real slimy, Cuz. I’m putting you down with shawty and now you trying to disrespect me.” Monroe kicked a pebble in disgust.
His cousin ignored him and leaned into the driver’s side window. “Obviously, someone looking as fresh as you is used to being pampered. I know you don’t wanna smoke nothing but the best—” His eyes swept away from Misty’s face. He leaned back and checked out the sparkly rims on her truck. “Yeah, I can see you like to live life to the fullest—” He paused, waiting for Misty to react. She nodded. That’s all she could do. Dude was putting his thing down, slaughtering her with his flow, his cocky attitude and his uncanny resemblance to Shane.
Experiencing a severe attack of pussy palpitations, Misty shifted in her seat. Squishy sounds emanated from her core. She squeezed her legs together, trying to quiet her coochie down, or at least muffle the dick-demanding noise.
“I have a hook-up with some AK-47. It’s expensive, but it’s worth the high cost.” The Shane lookalike flicked his tongue against his plump, bottom lip, moistening it as he completed the sales pitch.
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