Heartless

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  She finds his rage funny in a weird way. If this was anybody else, his head would be splattered on the window by now. Deep down, she knows that he would never roll over on her. She raises her gun, and with a flick of the finger, she hits the lever. The cartridge falls out of the gun and lands in the console. She lays the gun on top of it. She raises both of her empty hands in the air for him to see. He takes his gun out of his pocket and lays it on top of her gun.

  “Cool. Now that we got that outta the way, let’s talk like brother and sister,” she says with a peaceful tone.

  She removes her shades from her eyes, and the sparkle in them is comforting for him. He reaches over and hugs her. “Girl, you know I love you more than I love my own family,” he whispers in her ear. “Don’t ever put me in a situation where I have to think about going against you. It’s us against them. Whatever we gotta do to wipe them the fuck out, I’m here. Anybody… niggas… police…whoever!”

  57

  Next Day

  Storm is about to indulge in some retail therapy. Her spirits have been in the dumps these past few weeks and she hopes that this will help her a little. This morning, she hit the old man up for a few grand to sponsor her trip to the mall. He gave it to her with no problem as usual, but what was unusual to her, he hasn’t hit her up for any pleasure of his own. She could care less about engaging with him in that manner, but she does find it weird that he hasn’t tried. She’s charged it off as him caught up in his feelings about all of this.

  Storm strolls along Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, both hands full of bags. Alongside of her is the Ethiopian Princess, Beeba. Once Storm got her phone back from Mr. Antonelli, she saw that she had nearly a hundred missed calls and fifty voice messages. The messages were from Beeba and her husband, well, at least, most of them. In the messages, Beeba was practically begging her to call back. There were also many messages where clearly she could hear Beeba’s husband in the background coaching her on what to say, to get them to link up again. To her surprise, there were a few calls from him without Beeba. That was strange to her.

  Beeba is in awe of New York City. She walks around with her head in the clouds like the tourist that she is. This is her first time in the Big Apple. Storm met her on the parkway this morning and showed her the little that Newark had to offer before bringing her over the water.

  When Storm made the call to Beeba and told her that she wanted to link up without her husband, she didn’t know how that would go. However, she had managed to do it. Storm didn’t even ask, but she does know that he’s been calling her every twenty minutes asking of her whereabouts. She’s not much of a liar and has made up all kinds of lies. Not once has she mentioned Storm, though. Beeba lying to her husband to be with her, is a good sign to Storm.

  * * *

  Shopping until it became boring, they end up at the Cafeteria. Their table is at the window, which gives Beeba the pleasure of eating while watching the busyness of Seventh Avenue. Storm has shown her a lovely time and has even spent a few dollars on her. She has money of her own, but Storm wouldn’t let her spend a dime of it.

  Storm has treated Beeba like the perfect date, which has Beeba confused. She doesn’t know if this is an actual date or just friends shopping and chilling. She’s caught Beeba looking into her eyes many times, as if she’s actually feeling her in an intimate way. Beeba hasn’t said anything to her because of her confusion.

  Beeba’s puzzlement has a lot to do with that night at the Pleasure Garden and the act that took place. Before that night, when they originally met in Atlantic City, she thought she saw lesbian in Storm’s eyes, and she thought they had a common attraction to each other. She was thrown off at Pleasure Garden when they had all the opportunities in the world to go at each other and Storm didn’t touch her. Not only did she not touch her, she brushed off any advances that Beeba made toward her. The truth, Storm has no feelings for her in a girl-on-girl way. She knows Beeba feels her that way, so she continues to play the mind games with her. Beeba doesn’t understand it all, but one thing she does know is, if Storm is any way thinking of being with her in that way, she’s all for it. Storm is in no way attracted to women, but she knows how to play the game to get what she wants.

  As they are enjoying their meal, Storm’s phone rings. The two-six-seven area code floating across the display leads her to know that Beeba’s husband is calling her once again. She wonders if maybe he’s calling to see if they are together. She lets it go to voice mail, just as she does all of his other calls. A few seconds pass and the message alert goes off. She quickly dials and listens to the message.

  “Hey, pretty lady. I got some time on my hands, and I was wondering if we can link up, just us. I’m willing to make it worth your while. Just name your price.” He pauses for a few seconds. “That was my first time on that type, but I ain’t gon’ lie, it was all right. I been hitting you crazy because I’m comfortable with you. I can’t be moving out like that with just anybody. Hit me up and let me know if we can get together. I can come to Jersey, or if you don’t want to come here. Just call me back.”

  Storm presses the key to replay the message. She hands the phone over to Beeba. “Listen to that.”

  Beeba slowly places the phone to her ear, and in no time, her mouth gapes open. She can’t believe her ears. The betrayal is only a fraction of what she feels compared to the disgust. To actually hear her king begging to be tossed up breaks her heart.

  He always made her feel like their little sexual fantasies and ménage a trois were for them as a couple. He told her doing things with other women turned him on because he knew it turned her on. Foolishly she believed that those ménages were for her. He said it would only strengthen their relationship. To hear him begging to play that position, without her involvement makes her question if any of it was ever for her. She hands the phone back to Storm, not able to listen to another word.

  Storm realizes this is the perfect time for her to go in while she has her on the ropes. “I got about twenty-five messages from him, all similar.”

  Beeba drops her fork onto the plate. She’s lost her appetite. Storm looks past the hurt in Beeba’s eyes and can see that she’s lost any respect that she had for him. If this was a game of tug of war, he’s just let his end of the rope go. She’s won the game.

  58

  Irvington, New Jersey

  Slicks Go-Go Bar

  The strip bar is dark but live with action. The smell of Victoria’s Secret mixed with funk floats throughout the air. Walking in with a fresh nose, the smell could knock you unconscious. The dancers all look the same, Beyoncé knockoffs, all with, at least, thirty inch long cheap weaves. The ones who aren’t wearing weave are wearing even cheaper wigs.

  Storm, Toy, and Wendy are not here for enjoyment or pleasure. Their reason for being here is all business. They’ve been hitting up strip bars all over the city this week scouting for talent. They’ve hit the lowdown raunchy bars and lock-doors where it all goes down. They’ve also hit the Russian bars where very little goes down. Storm has picked the best of them all and hopes to put together a solid team of women.

  They sit in shock at how these women have the confidence to get up here and dance in front of men damn near naked. Another thing that most of these women have in common, besides weave, is the lack of an exercise regimen in their lives. Rows of stomach overlap each other with their breasts sitting on top of the rows lifelessly, just flopping lazily. Their bodies are covered in enough sweat to fill up a sauna suite.

  Their weaves are matted against their faces from perspiration. Layers and layers of cellulite cover their thighs. Storm has even counted a few bullet hole wounds on some of them. She has nothing against big girls because she has seen some beautiful, well put together, and polished plus-size women, but these women here are not them. What shocks them even more is how these men are reacting. They seem to have no problem with any of it.

  “Look, look
,” Wendy says, pointing rudely at the man a few seats down from them. “Look at that look in his eyes. Like a damn rapist.”

  The pitch black, big bellied, big bearded, big watch, big jewelry wearing man has big money written all over him. His snagged tooth smile exposes his cherry red gums. Lips so red it looks as if he’s been eating red Kool-Aid out of the pack. He watches with his tongue hanging out of his mouth as the plus-size dancer crawls around the bar. She rubs her hand over his bald head as she continues to crawl past him. Just before she gets out of arm’s reach, he wraps both hands around her waist and pulls her back to him, butt to face. He buries his mouth in between her cheeks and begins to feast as his friends cheer him on.

  Storm can’t take another second of this. She gets up and her girls follow. They’ve seen more than enough. As they are making their exit, a dancer steps in front of Storm in the aisle and doesn’t move.

  “Y’all leaving? I was just on my way around to y’all,” the dancer says.

  Storm looks her up and down, and this has to be one of the better ones in the spot. She’s tall, thick, and juicy, with a lil pudge around the gut but still sexy to say the least. Storm peeks around at the girl’s butt with no shade whatsoever.

  The dancer toots her ass up in the air and turns to the side, so Storm can get a better view. Storm can’t believe her eyes. The young woman’s ass is the size of a full grown cow’s. All three of them stare at the girl’s butt in astonishment.

  “Y’all gonna stay a little while or what?”

  “Nah, we out,” Storm says as she digs into her pocket. She flicks her business card to the girl, holding it in between her fingertips. “Lose half of that ass and call me. I can take you away from this shit and make you a lot of money. Ain’t no money in them big gigantic asses. Lose all of that,” she says, pointing to the girl’s butt. “Then call me,” she says walking around the girl.

  The woman has never heard anyone tell her that she had too much ass, it’s all new to her. She is quite intrigued as to what Storm meant by, make a lot of money. She’s not sure if she’s ready to rid herself of her most valued possession, but she will call to find out the details. She stares at the business card for a few seconds before watching them exit the door. She sees strength in how they are rolling. Judging by how they move, they seem to be into something heavy. She most definitely has plans on finding out exactly what.

  The girls giggle on their way out of the bar. As they approach the doorway, a man intentionally obstructs their pathway. With her head still turned facing the girls, Storm bumps into the man, knocking her back a few steps. She turns around where she finds the man standing there, as if he doesn’t intend to move.

  “Excuse you,” Storm says sarcastically.

  He doesn’t say a word, just stares into her eyes with his head nodding. Storm looks the man up and down. She charges him off as young and dumb and quite ugly. He looks like a black Rottweiler with a full Sunni beard. He has a head that would fit a three-hundred pound, six foot five man, yet he weighs about one-sixty and stands five foot seven.

  “Fuck is your problem?” Storm asks as the rage builds inside.

  An off-duty officer spots the problem at the door and walks over. As the man peeps the officer, he slides out of the way, not wanting to make a scene. He moves, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of her. They indulge in a stare-off full of hatred.

  Toy wraps her arms around Storm’s shoulders and pulls her along. “Come on, girl. Later for that shit. He’s probably suffering from broke, ugly nigga problems,” she says to ease Storm’s rage. “Ain’t nobody got time for that,” she adds as she steps out of the bar.

  Storm makes her way to her car parked directly across the street. Toy and Wendy get into the rented Impala. The man has now stepped outside of the bar. He pays close attention to both cars. Storm pulls off without noticing him. Toy speeds off right behind her.

  The man stares at Storm’s license plates until it’s locked into his head. Another young man steps onto the stoop. Both of them watch the cars speed up the block. Storm has no clue that she was this close to the homie Big Face. Had she known it was him, it all would’ve made perfect sense to her.

  “Damn, big bruh! You should’ve just let me at her right here. Could’ve got this shit smooth over with,” the young man says.

  “Nah, it’s about patience,” Big Face says. “I wanna see what else we can get out of the deal. Heard the bitch eating. This shit gon’ be worthwhile. Kill two birds with one stone. Smell me?”

  The young man understands exactly what he’s saying. “No doubt.”

  They are always thinking of ways to make a come-up and looks like they just found a new one.

  * * *

  Hours later Storm and the girls are receiving a great deal of attention at the Emigrante Men’s Club. The attention has very little to do with them being women in a strip bar, although they are the only female patrons in the spot. The attention they receive is mixed, good and bad. Racism can be felt in the air, and it’s all aimed at them being the only blacks here.

  This bar is the difference between night and day compared to the three neighborhood spots they just visited. The girls are prettier and much more polished. The music is completely different, too. Even the patrons are different. They are either Puerto Rican, Portuguese, or from some South American country.

  Storm is here in search of some Latin flavor for her roster. Of all the spots she’s hit so far, she has had an eighty to ninety percent success rate. The ten percent that she didn’t get was at the Russian bars. She hasn’t been able to crack that market yet, but she plans to. She’s seen, in those bars, the most beautiful green-eyed, six foot plus, all legs, Russian women, that she’s ever seen in life. She’s sure those women could score a lot of money on the road and supply the strictly white women lovers.

  Toy has the perfect, classy look that can reach that crossover market. She’s beautiful and just the right size that is not intimidating to white men. Wendy, on the other hand, is pretty enough for the white men, but her huge ass keeps her pigeon held. She’s right in the middle, pretty enough that the white men want her, but once they see her huge ass, they become disgusted or intimidated.

  Once Beeba is added to the team, she will be able to take Toy’s spot. With Toy and Storm partnering on other business, there will be a void that Storm is sure Beeba can feel. She’s beautiful enough and thin enough to fit in any market. She has the perfect mass appeal. Her dark complexion and locs will accommodate any white man who has jungle fever.

  Storm even picked up a few bottom feeders, big, ghetto booty, weave head chicks from the past couple raunchy bars. There’s a market out there for them as well. The young drug dealers love the ghetto booties, the bigger the better for them. All in all, she’s just trying to put a brand together that has something for everyone.

  A tall Latin brunette struts sexily across the bar. Her hair extends down to the middle of her thighs. Dressed in the cheesiest two-dollar outfit and five-dollar white platform shoes, she’s still super sexy. She winds her hips as she glides across the stage.

  She catches Toy pointing at her from across the bar. She stops short and puts on a dance show just for Toy and the girls. Her lips pucker up as she blows a sexy kiss across the bar. She turns around and drops it like it’s hot.

  She bends over, pulls her long hair to the side to show the tiny handful of cheeks that she has. She slides into a Russian split and lays the top half of her body onto the floor. Then like a worm, she wiggles across the bar before turning over onto her back. She wraps her legs around the pole that extends from the floor of the bar to the ceiling. Using her legs, she pulls herself closer to the pole. She grips her legs tighter around the pole and humps it like a cat in heat. She leans forward, just enough to grab the pole. With one hand, she pulls herself onto her feet and, from there, puts on the sexiest pole dancing show.

  “Yo! That’s the o
ne right there,” Toy says with no doubt. “She a bad bitch.”

  Storm looks over at Wendy. “What you think?” she asks, expecting her to say no.

  They both have their own taste when it comes to women and haven’t been able to agree on many during this scouting phase. Storm has peeped that Wendy is a bit jealous, and any woman that she feels threatened by she finds a problem with. One woman she disagreed on because her pinky toe was just as long as the rest of her toes. It was then that Storm realized that she had to take Wendy’s opinion lightly because her they were based off of envy.

  “That bitch is bad,” Wendy says, mouth gaped open. Storm is shocked at her reply. For Wendy to admit that, this woman must be supermodel status.

  “Wow! Y’all finally agree.”

  “That’s definitely universal beauty right there, hands down.”

  The woman comes walking toward them after her pole dance. The lack of ass she has is made up by the super-sized breasts that bounce vibrantly with every step she takes. She stops in front of them and puts on a special show just for them. The anger can be seen on the racist patrons, hating that the black women who they don’t even want here are getting all the beautiful woman’s attention.

  Storm reaches for the woman’s hands. She grasps them gently and pulls her toward her. She stares into the woman’s big and beautiful eyes. “You’re beautiful,” she says with charm. The woman winks at her as a reply. She can’t stop blushing. Storm leans in closer to whisper in her ear. “What country are you from?”

  “Mexico,” the woman says in the strongest Mexican accent.

  “What nights do you work?” Storm asks. “I would like to come and see you sometimes.”

  The woman looks at her kind of starry-eyed. She’s confused, but she tries to retain her sexiness by keeping the seductive smile on her face. “Me no speakie Ingles.”