Smash Hitz’ name kept popping up. Being that Misty knew the man’s dirty little secret, the rapper was suspect. Brick needed some contact information on Smash Hitz. A phone number would be good for starters. Things were starting to make sense. Misty was on her way to see Smash Hitz and, out of the blue, a female tried to kill her.
Now Brick realized the perpetrator wasn’t an ordinary female; it was a female impersonator. Whoever that transvestite mufucka was, he and Smash Hitz were both as good as dead!
“What happened to Misty’s client list?” Brick asked Cash Money in a tone much calmer than he felt.
“She kept her records on her laptop.”
Misty’s crib and all the contents had been immediately confiscated by the company that owned the property. That company was based in Miami. Brick figured that Smash Hitz probably owned Misty’s crib, too. The realtor claimed that Misty had been negligent in the monthly payments on the mini-mansion she’d been leasing. At the time, Brick and Thomasina were so concerned about Misty’s health, salvaging her personal belongings had been the furthest thing from their minds.
“Do you know the tranny’s name?” Brick asked.
“Nah. All Misty told me was the tranny was pissed off when Smash refused to take her…him…or whatever, out in public. Misty said the tranny threw a fit and wanted to fight when she found out that Smash was taking Misty to the Grammys.”
Brick nodded solemnly and stroked his chin as he mentally planned a trip to Miami.
Smash had a security team surrounding him at all times. Still, the man was only human—capable of human error. And the moment he slipped up, Brick planned to be there, spazzin’ on his ass. The beat down he planned for Smash Hitz would persuade the man to eagerly give up the name and location of his transvestite bitch.
Brick shook his head, imagining all the bodies he’d have to drop and the long trail of bloodshed that would ultimately lead him to the jealous transvestite that had fucked up Misty’s life.
CHAPTER 11
Licking my wounds, I drag myself to Evette’s front door, planning to smoke my reefer once I get behind closed doors. I check my pockets, and quickly realize my ten-dollar bag of weed is gone.
They got me for my weed, my Top paper, my lighter—everything. Those niggas was off they rockers, but I’m somewhat comforted by the fact they didn’t get the money tucked inside the bottom of my sock.
But I’m still feeling irate over getting my ass whooped, and getting clipped for my reefer. Young bucks nowadays take shit to the extreme. They real extra with their shenanigans.
I could press the doorbell like a civilized person, but after the brutal attack I endured, acting civilized is out of the question.
I pound irritably on the door. “Evette!” I yell in fury. I count to ten, trying to calm myself down, but it doesn’t work. It occurs to me to look for a rock and bash out one of the glass panes at the top of the door. Before I get an opportunity to deface her property, Evette finally opens up.
Looking a hot mess, she’s wearing a grandma nightgown and has a silk cap on her head.
“What happened to you, Kaymar?” she blurts out as she takes in my bruised face and ripped-up shirt.
Cussing, I shove her out of my way, and take the stairs two at a time. I look in the bathroom mirror to inspect my face. There are knots on each side of my head. It looks like I’ve sprouted a set of horns. My face is cut, scraped, and swollen.
I’m reluctant to check out the damage to my ribs. Worried they might be fractured or broken. Both sides of my ribcage hurt so badly, mere breathing is painful.
Evette comes in the bathroom. She’s standing behind me, looking concerned. She keeps asking me what happened. I ignore her and continue examining my injuries.
Wincing in pain, I take off my shirt. Evette gasps in shock. My whole torso is fucked up. Those lil’ niggas had a field day on my black ass. As dark as I am, there are visible bruises all over my stomach and ribcage.
“Some young bulls rolled on me,” I finally mutter.
“Why?”
I glare at her nutty ass. “Ain’t no reason why niggas roll on somebody. They robbed me and ran off with my bag of weed!” I shake my head. I can’t believe that out of all the pen pal bitches in the world, I ended up with fuggly, dumb-ass Evette.
“You gon’ just stand there, or are you gon’ take care of your man?” I say in a surly tone.
She opens up the medicine cabinet and begins to gather up a bunch of bullshit.
I stand there flinching and cussing as she dabs my facial wounds with a cotton ball saturated with peroxide. I ain’t gon’ lie…after a few moments pass, I kind of like the tender way she’s administering to me. Her gentle touch reminds me of the upstate nurse. Mmm! Thinking about the jailhouse nurse is getting my dick hard.
“You got some Vaseline?” I ask.
“Yeah, but I was going to put that on the cuts after I make sure your wounds are clean.”
“Hell with them wounds. Put some Vaseline on my dick.” I reach down to undo my pants, but a sharp pain shoots through my ribcage. “Ahhh! Shit!” I cry out in agony.
“Make yourself useful, Evette. Help me pull down my pants.” It’s obvious I can talk to Evette in any ol’ grimy way I choose. Clearly, she’s allowing me to treat her like she’s a piece of shit because I’m her last hope for marriage.
I don’t feel sorry for Evette. She should’ve known better than to get involved with a convict. Besides, she knew when she refused to send me her pictures she was hiding the fact that she’s a hideously deformed bitch.
She offered to let me stay here just to keep me close. To trap me. But it’s not gon’ work. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that I’m ever gon’ take a walk down the aisle with Evette.
Meanwhile, as long as I’m living here, I’m gon’ make her suffer for trying to dupe me into matrimony.
Evette has a confused look on her face as she carefully pulls down my pants. “It looks like those monsters were trying to kill you,” she comments when she discovers more scrapes and scars on my hip and thigh areas.
“Yo, enough with all the comments. Be quiet,” I holler. “Grab some Vaseline and jerk me off.”
“Huh?”
“Can’t you see I’m in pain? I need some quick comfort.”
“Why do—”
“Zip it!”
She instantly closes her mouth.
“Now get the Vaseline, so you can take care of your future husband.”
She goes and retrieves a container of petroleum jelly from a shelf in the bathroom closet.
Using four fingers, she scoops out a glob of Vaseline. I watch intently as she coats my monster-sized erection with the greasy substance.
Feeling lightheaded from the good feeling, I lean against the sink. “Put some on my nuts, too,” I direct.
Following my instructions, Evette lubes up my dick and my nuts. The girl is not easy on the eyes, but I have to give her credit for being a quick study. With one hand, she strokes my shaft, and she uses her other hand to expertly rub my nut sac in a circular motion.
As Evette administers to my manly desires, my thoughts turn to that lil’ dick tease from the Chinese store. I want to fuck, but I also want to hit a bitch. That peculiar combination of impulses has me shooting off my wad quickly.
I like seeing dick juice splattered all over the front of Evette’s nightgown. That’s sexy.
I can feel my Johnson twitching as it begins to recharge. I have a couple more loads up in me. “Take that grandma nightgown off,” I hiss. “Why didn’t you put on something pretty for your future husband?”
A smile creeps across Evette’s lips. She loves it when I refer to myself as her future husband. I’d be willing to bet money this bitch’s cum hole is gushing with pleasure. But I’m too injured to give a fuck about the status of her pussy.
At the moment, my head is filled with a lot of freaky thoughts.
Evette takes off the drab nightgown. I don’t look at her
face. As long as I keep my eyes focused on her naked body, my dick will stay hard.
My dick is still nice and greasy, but I need some additional lubrication for the idea I have in mind. Thoughts of that lil’ dick teaser is messing with my head, making me both horny and mad.
“Hand me the Vaseline,” I tell Evette. She has to do all the legwork. I’m in too much pain to be moving around.
She gets it for me and holds the container while I dig out a scoop. I rub it into my right palm. “Turn around,” I utter. My voice is husky with lust.
“Why do you want me to turn around?”
“Don’t ask questions!”
“But I’m not into anal sex. That’s nasty,” she says pitifully.
“You think I’m a fag or something?”
“No.”
“You think I’m a pervert?”
“No, but listen, Kaymar. I…I have boundaries, you know.”
“I got boundaries, too. I don’t stick my dick in assholes, stupid ho.”
“I didn’t mean nothing…I only wanted you to know—”
“Zip it! Turn around!”
Too afraid to be disobedient, Evette reluctantly turns her naked ass around. I imagined those pink letters that shawty was rocking on her ass, and I give my dick a couple of strokes. Before I get too caught up, I stop myself and give Evette some attention. I smack the hell out of her ass with my lubed-up palm.
“Oh, God!” she shrieks as I light her ass on fire.
“You love pink, huh?” I say, ignoring the pain in my ribs as I brace to strike her ass cheeks again.
She looks at me over her shoulder. “Pink? What are you talking about, Kaymar?” Evette asks in a frightened and desperate voice.
I don’t wanna look at her right now, so I yell, “Why is your nosey ass looking at me?”
Evette yanks her head back around. She’s crying and hollering as I sprinkle her ass with a series of slaps and a couple of punches. Her ass changes colors, going from soft brown to bright pink.
Completely aroused, I press my lubed-up groin against her sticky buttocks. Jolts of pain shoot up my sides as I grind hard against Evette’s bruised flesh. With a grimace, I endure the extreme discomfort.
“I love pink,” I whisper in her ear.
She doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about. But it doesn’t matter. Evette can feel the passion behind my words. She wiggles and thrusts and before I know it, she’s backing that ass up, pressing against my dick.
“I love you, Kaymar. I’ll do anything you want me to do,” she tells me as she reaches behind her back and separates her butt cheeks.
“You want me to fuck you in your ass?” I ask, making sure that I’m reading the signs right.
She nods. “If you want to.”
“That’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?” she whispers, trying to twist around and look me in the eye. Even though it hurts to use any of my muscles, I grip her arm to keep her in place.
“Bend over so I can see those pink marks on your ass,” I say in a soft voice.
She bends at the waist. Her ass is in the air, at groin level.
I grip my dick and aim upward. With a loud groan, I squirt on Evette’s back. With pride, I watch my nutt as it trickles down to the welts on her ass. Those welts remind me of pink letters.
CHAPTER 12
“I need your government name and I want your mama’s address,” Brick said dryly.
“What do you want that information for?” Cash Money looked appalled.
“Insurance. I can’t stay here and baby-sit your ass. But if you decide to disappear, I’ll be able to reach out and touch your mother.” Brick smirked. “I’m curious to find out if a mother’s love is strong enough to withstand torture.”
Horrified, Cash Money inhaled sharply. “My mom never met Misty. And she don’t know nobody Misty was associated with.”
“Doesn’t matter. Your mom is going to know where you’re hiding. Once I start using sharp tools on her fingertips and shit, I’m pretty sure she’ll give up all the tapes, including your date of birth and your social security number.”
Cash Money swallowed. “My real name is Steve, man. Steve uh…Harris.”
“You’re lying already, Troy.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s Troy Harris. Steve is my middle name.” Cash Money looked sheepish.
Brick shook his head. “What’s your mom’s address?”
“She stays with my aunt right now, uh, in North Philly. Nineteenth and Berks.”
“He’s lying,” Anya said, glaring at Cash Money. “His real name is Troy Morris. His mother lives—”
“Why you putting my business out there?” Cash Money griped.
“You lied on me—told this man I was tricking. And then you brought him to our room, involving me in some drama I don’t know anything about.”
“I was only kidding when I told dude you was a ho.” Cash Money shook his head, as if Anya was being overly sensitive.
“Well, I’m not laughing.” Anya looked at Brick. “I’m innocent. I don’t know his mother’s exact address but I do know she lives near Fifty-Sixth and Media.”
“Come on, Anya. Are you serious? You just gon’ lead this killer straight to my mom’s front door?”
“You should’ve thought about that before you brought him to our hotel room.” She looked in Brick’s direction. “If I show you where C’s mom lives, will you please let me go?” Anya bit nervously on her bottom lip.
Cash Money let out a groan of displeasure.
She held up her right hand. “Honestly, I don’t know anyone named Misty.”
Brick could tell the girl was telling the truth. It was obvious she didn’t know Misty or any of the people involved. Brick wondered what curveball life had thrown at Anya that had landed her in this dump and with a sleazy character like Cash Money.
“This room is hot like a sauna. I’m ready to get up outta this piece. You ready to roll out?” Brick asked Anya, wiping sweat from his face.
“Can you give me a few minutes to pack? I don’t want to be anywhere near this slime ball.” She glowered at Cash Money.
“Who you calling a slime ball? Go ahead…leave! Go with dude. Fuck if I care.”
“No, fuck you! I thought we were friends. But your grimy ass—”
“You gon’ show me where his mom lives or not?” Brick interjected.
Anya nodded.
“Get your shit together, and let’s go!”
Hastily, Anya threw clothes and toiletries into a quilted, red overnight bag.
“After all the meals my moms cooked for you, you just gon’ throw her under the bus?” Cash Money grumbled.
As she stuffed her bag, Anya looked over her shoulder. “You didn’t hesitate to throw me under the bus!”
“I told him you don’t know anything about Misty! He wouldn’t listen!”
“You ain’t living right, C. I didn’t come to Philly to get caught up in your drama.”
“Whatever, bitch,” Cash Money spat.
Cash Money was getting way out of line. Brick was tempted to fold him up with some gut punches, but he was bored with beating on the skinny dude, so he barked at him instead. “Yo, watch your mouth, Troy Morris,” Brick said snidely, using Cash Money’s government name. “I can touch you and everybody in your family. Remember that!”
Brick strode to the door. Anya fell into step beside him.
“Before you roll out, can I get my cell phone back?”
Brick gave him a dirty look.
“Aye, aye. Keep it. But um…if you not gon’ use the room with the AC, can I move my things in there?”
Brick sneered at Cash Money. “You expect me to help you get comfortable? Man, you lucky to be breathing. Fuck outta here!” Brick held the door open for Anya. They exited the hot, stuffy hotel room.
CHAPTER 13
Sitting in the passenger seat of Brick’s car, Anya pointed to a row house with neatly trimmed hedges. “That’s where his mom lives
. The house with the white security door.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I don’t have any reason to lie. Come with me; I can prove it.” She opened the car door.
“Nah, I’m good. You go. I’ll be watching from the car.”
“Okay.” Anya shrugged and stepped out of the car. Brick half-expected her to make a run for it. He watched her warily as she sauntered down the walkway. Remembering that her overnight bag with all of her worldly possessions was stored in the trunk of his car, Brick relaxed.
Turning his attention away from Anya, he examined Cash Money’s contact list and tapped on, “Mom.” Brick held the phone to his ear, and listened to the ringing phone on the other end. On the third ring, someone picked up and began shouting in his ear.
“You gotta lot of fucking nerve, calling me from my son’s cell phone. Listen, you barbarian, you better stop harassing my son. Troy told me you threatened to come to my house and hurt me. Well, it’s gon’ take a lot more than some threats to scare me. I’m sick of you thugs bullying my child. Troy’s a good boy; he shouldn’t have to live in fear, looking over his shoulder all because you think he stole something from you. Troy was raised in the church, and he doesn’t steal.”
Brick took a breath and attempted to get a word in edgewise, but the woman kept up the tirade. “And another thing, you can tell that little bitch, Anya, that I have a pot filled with bleach and boiling water for her. After I welcomed her into my home—fed her hungry ass—she’s got the audacity to bring trouble to my front door. Yeah, I got something for her when I see her. I’ma burn the skin right off her body. Think I won’t? Make sure you tell her what I said!” With those hostile words, Cash Money’s mother hung up on Brick.
Anya was at the front door, prepared to rap on the front door. Brick honked the horn, and then jumped out of the car. He yelled Anya’s name. Rushing toward her, waving his hand, he beckoned her to get back in the car.
Anya turned around; she looked at Brick and shrugged. He gestured for her to move away from the door. She trotted toward him in the knick of time. The door burst open and a tall, thick woman stood in the doorway. Smoke and steam wafted from the pot that she held in her hand. “Lowlife bitch!” the woman yelled.
Brick (Double Dippin') Page 6
