The Dirty Red Series

by Vickie M. Stringer

  • • •

  As the cabdriver cruised down I-275 N, Bacon’s thoughts were racing a mile a minute. Once they exited on 165, he noticed that the once-familiar surroundings of his hometown had changed. New homes and businesses reminded Bacon that he had been gone for way too long.

  “If this shit has changed, I wonder what else has,” he muttered under his breath. “Aye,” he called out to the cabdriver. Dude kept driving. “Aye!” Bacon said louder.

  “Yeah,” the cabbie responded sharply, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

  “Take me to the Poindexter Village Apartments,” Bacon commanded. He realized that going back to his house might not be a smart move. With all of the commotion at the airport, and technology growing every day, he suspected that someone could have taped something with a video camera or a cell phone. His heart raced with fear as he envisioned his face on the five o’clock news. There was no way he was going back to prison, especially over that bitch Red. Bacon noticed that the cabdriver peered at him through the rearview mirror like he was crazy. “You got a problem?” Bacon barked. “I said Poindexter!”

  Reluctantly, the cabdriver honored his request.

  “Suit yourself. It’s your fare, buddy,” he remarked, making an illegal U-turn, then heading back in the direction they came from. Bacon’s heart raced quickly as he heard a faint siren in the background. The sound became louder by the second. The driver heard the siren and saw the flashing lights in his rearview mirror. He slowed and pulled over to the right.

  “You stupid son of a bitch!” Bacon yelled at the driver. “You know you can’t make no fuckin’ U-turn!” He slouched down. When the siren was at its loudest decibels, he looked out of the left passenger window and saw an ambulance speed past. The driver pulled back onto the street and headed toward the highway once again.

  Bacon sighed in relief. He couldn’t wait to get to Foxy’s—the only place he felt safe.

  Forty minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of a familiar place. Before he was locked up, the neighborhood was decent, but now it was outright pitiful. Screen doors were hanging off their hinges; some wouldn’t close, and some couldn’t close. Windows were boarded up and others were cracked. The kids that played outside were in desperate need of baths and working washing machines. Others needed combs to tame the wild, unkempt hair that graced their crowns. The kids didn’t care how they looked. It was a beautiful early fall day and the weather was absolutely perfect. Not too hot, not too cold.

  Foxy’s place was the only decent apartment that didn’t have anything hanging or cracked. He now knew why Foxy had a steel-gated door on her crib. He was sure that the other tenants didn’t have the same taste she had when it came to decorating. She had an Ethan Allen theme going on that Bacon really liked. Foxy was always there for him and for that, he would be eternally grateful.

  “Wait here,” Bacon said gruffly as he unlocked the door.

  “Uh-uh, buddy,” the cabdriver said as he locked it back, using the electronic switch. “You owe me eighty-two twelve and I ain’t movin till I get it.”

  Bacon looked at him like he was crazy. “Man, I ain’t in the mood to be dealin’ with yo’ shit. I’ma get it; now, let me out the car.” He pulled his Glock into plain view and taunted the driver with a screwed face.

  The cabdriver’s bladder weakened when he saw the piece; he had no choice but to do it. He stared as Bacon ran up the steps, taking two at a time, and disappeared behind the door. Three minutes seemed like an eternity to the cabdriver, but when Bacon reappeared, he braced himself for what could possibly happen next.

  “Here,” Bacon said, nonchalantly, flipping a crisp $100 bill toward the cabbie. “Now get the fuck on.” Bacon turned and loped back up the steps. He knew he would have to face questions once he appeared on the other side of the door.

  • • •

  “Q,” Red whispered. He didn’t respond. Red got up and shambled over to where Q was sitting. She gently placed her right hand on his shoulder. “Baby, I—”

  “Stop, just stop,” he interrupted and brushed off Red’s hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to say shit to me right now, Red.” Q stood up and attempted to walk away from her, but when he did, he brushed up against her and smelled her urine-soaked shirt.

  Q scowled at Red in disgust. She saw the look of repulsion in his eyes. Suddenly, she saw herself through Q’s eyes. She looked raggedy, and she even smelled her own body, so she knew she stank.

  Red decided not to press him. She was already embarrassed enough so she figured she’d let Q come to her when he was ready to talk. She walked back over to her seat and sat down. Trying to get comfortable, she pulled her legs up to her chest, turned a little on her right side and clasped her arms around her knees—in the fetal position—and closed her eyes.

  “So, that was that nigga Bacon.” Q spoke in a low, deadly tone, after what seemed like hours, but actually only after a few minutes had passed.

  “Yep, that’s Bacon,” she admitted.

  “Were you going to say anything to me about him being home or was this the way I was supposed to find out?” he asked smartly.

  “I didn’t know he was home, Q,” Red replied truthfully. She looked at him with an intense gaze. “Do you think I would actually put you in that type of situation on purpose?”

  “What type of situation, Red?”

  Red became silent.

  “A situation where I could have gotten killed?”

  Q had every right to be angry, but she wasn’t about to admit to anything, either. That wasn’t a part of her game plan.

  “Q, all I did was go home. I didn’t know he was in the house,” she admitted. “Maybe he thought I was a burglar or something.”

  “Red, save it. That nigga know you ain’t no burglar.” Q began to raise his voice.

  “But what I’m saying is, he hasn’t seen me in a long time and—”

  “How long is a long time?” Q yelled.

  Red looked at Q like he was crazy. “Don’t yell at me. I’m right here, I can hear you.” She became silent again.

  “Well, since you can hear me, whose baby did you lose, Red?”

  Red craned her neck to the side. “What you mean whose baby? It was yours, you know that,” she snapped.

  “Do I?”

  “Yeah!”

  “What I do know is when you visited him y’all fucked. You lowered yourself”—he paused—“to fuck a nigga”—he continued slowly—“in the stall of a prison bathroom.” Q looked at Red with eyes shooting daggers. “So let me ask again, whose baby did you lose Red, mine or his?”

  “Fuck you, Q! Fuck you!” Red’s eyes now welled up with tears. Her reaction told Q what he needed to know.

  Q watched as Red’s eyes could no longer hold the tears that formed. Is that shit real or is she crying because I caught her in her own game? It ain’t gonna work this time.

  “Save the tears and cut the bullshit, Red. I’ve known about the shit you’ve been up to for a long time, but I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe someone so beautiful, someone who I would do anything for, would be so scandalous . . . so dirty.”

  Red now had tears cascading down her face.

  “I’ve been with scandalous bitches before, Red, but baby, you take the cake. Even when you played my boy Zeke, he warned me about you, told me to leave you alone. Said you were poison, but I didn’t listen . . . nah, I didn’t listen.” He shook his head as if he heard Zeke tell him to leave her alone.

  “I knew you were using me in the beginning, but you know what, I was using you, too. I got what I wanted . . . some easy pussy, any and every way I wanted it. What you got from me was minor league, baby.” Q spit his accusations at Red to inflict the most pain. “Then I started doing things for you because I was falling in love with you. Hell, I fell in love with you, but look what that did to a nigga. Almost got a nigga killed.”

  By this time Red was stone-faced and his anger was mild
compared to the emotion she felt. Q just called her out on a lot of stuff that she didn’t think he knew . . . stuff she would have never told him.

  “Q, I—”

  “When we get to Mexico,” he interrupted, “I’m puttin’ you on the next flight home.”

  Eyes widening, Red gave him a perplexed look.

  “In case you don’t understand what I’m saying, it’s over.” With that, he made his way to the front of the plane and sat down.

  Red put her head on her knees and cried uncontrollably. What have I done?

  CHAPTER 3

  Foxy was Bacon’s homie, lover and friend. Not only did she have the 411 on what was going on in the hood, her shit was always accurate. Everyone respected Ms. Foxy because when she caught her bid, she didn’t snitch like a bitch. Doing her time like a man gave her mad respect in the streets.

  Foxy stood about six feet and had the luscious curves of a woman. Her skin was soft and smooth. She kept herself up. Nobody would ever know of her past life. Although she didn’t care if they did, she was comfortable being who she was.

  Now she was in the kitchen wearing a pair of tight, skinny jeans and a cropped shirt that said “U want this” on the front. Her makeup was flawless and she wore her hair pinned up while she stood at the counter, dicing onions and green peppers. She sipped on some grape Kool-Aid through a straw just as Bacon busted through the door.

  “What was that all about?” Foxy asked. “And why would a cab cost a hundred dollars? Where the fuck were you?” She shoveled the onions and green peppers into a pot of sauce on the stove and stirred the bubbly liquid.

  “It’s a long story,” Bacon said, plopping down in a seat, “and I don’t want to get into it right now.” He took a deep breath in and let it out.

  “Aw, naw . . . it ain’t happenin’ like that up in here,” Foxy said with an attitude. She laid the spoon down, turned the pot down to simmer and sashayed toward Bacon. “Now, talk.”

  Bacon’s eyes darkened with hatred as he began speaking through tight lips. “That bitch Red . . . I tried to kill her.”

  “Whatchu mean you tried to kill her?”

  “I had her right here”—he motioned like he had her neck in his hands—“and I just shudda . . .” He looked at Foxy, who was now sitting next to him. “But then this pretty-ass nigga come to the door, ringing my bell and shit, looking for her ass.”

  “And?” Foxy questioned, trying not to show any emotion. She knew the pretty-ass nigga was Q.

  “Shit . . . one thing led to another. Nigga kept questioning me about her ass, and . . .” He paused, and scratched his chest. When he did that, his shirt lifted up and Foxy saw the Glock tucked into his side.

  “What did you do, Bacon?” Foxy’s heart started beating as fast as a racehorse. “What did you do?”

  “I did what any nigga would do. Handle shit like a nigga supposed to. I tried to blow both they muthafuckin’ heads off.” Bacon moistened his lips with his tongue, pulled the right side of his lip into his mouth and bit on it.

  Foxy shook her head in disgust. “I can’t believe you!”

  “What the hell you talkin’ ’bout?” Bacon snapped.

  Foxy had heard enough. Now it was her turn to speak, but she chose her words carefully.

  “Look, let me spit something at ya.” Bacon looked at Foxy as she continued talking. “First of all, you gotta get a grip on yourself. How long you been locked up? You wanna go back? Huh?

  “Secondly, I gotta give it to Red. Although I don’t like that lil’ stick-figure bitch, you gotta admit, she got her game tight. She got all of y’all catching cases for her, trickin’ off money, putting her up in cribs and shit. Why you gon’ get mad?”

  “Why?” Bacon barked. “All the shit I did for her and—”

  “Bacon, I understand that,” Foxy interrupted, “but you’re missing the point. You knew all along what that bitch was all about. You created a monster letting her have free rein over everything. It’s over and done with. Move on.” Foxy’s voice was firm. “Why you gonna let Red jeopardize your freedom?” Bacon looked at her through squinted eyes. “Is she worth all the trouble?”

  What’s the hype with this bitch? Foxy questioned herself. Niggas out here willing to risk death or go to prison over her. What the fuck? She looked at Bacon quizzically, trying to will an answer out of his brain. I know I can I can put my game down better than any bitch out here, and I’m a damn better woman than she is. But damn! Nobody can take care of you like I do . . . and you know it.

  Foxy started to catch feelings for Bacon when they fucked on the first night of his release while he was staying at her crib. She thought back to the last time they were together, and how he filled her mini-pussy with his dick. The memory made her shift her body position—uncross her legs, then cross them again—as she sat next to him. She was feeling horny, but she couldn’t let that distract her.

  “I know a lot more than you think,” she said seriously, “but you have a lot to your advantage right now.”

  “What’s that?” he questioned as he tightened his lips, turning up the edges. “I ain’t got shit!”

  “Your book, Bitch Nigga, Snitch Nigga, is the hottest thing since Let That Be the Reason, by that chick . . . what’s her name?” Foxy tried to reach back into her memory bank as she snapped her fingers.

  “Vickie Stringer,” he clarified.

  “Yeah, right, but anyway, don’t let your desire to kill Red, or anyone else for that matter, land you behind bars again. Use that energy and explore a second book deal with Triple Crown Publications. Get back on top legit, then what happens . . .”

  “Happens,” Bacon finished her sentence.

  He understood what Foxy was saying.

  “Now, mister,” she said as she slithered on top of him and placed his hands on her 36DD breasts. Bacon didn’t have a problem fondling them. They felt just as real as titties on a real woman.

  Foxy’s voice suddenly took on a husky, sultry tone. “Why don’t you gimme some of that big dick of yours? Ms. Foxy been missin’ you.”

  Bacon smiled and stood up, the start of an erection bulging in his pants. Foxy wrapped her legs around him as he headed toward her bedroom. Deep down, he was glad she suggested it. Not only would it distract him from Red, but he’d been wanting to fuck Foxy since he walked through the door.

  Bacon watched Foxy while he stroked her with his dick. Her breasts moved naturally with every stroke he gave. Bacon had to refrain from cumming because her virgin-like pussy gripped his dick like a glove. The money she’d spent on her sex change was well worth it. He couldn’t hold back. Within minutes, Bacon came inside of Foxy, hard, and collapsed on top of her. He usually liked to start his sex game off with oral sex, but he couldn’t mentally get to that point with Foxy. Fucking her was one thing. A hole is a hole, Bacon reasoned, but putting his face where she once had a dick didn’t sit well with him.

  Hours passed and Bacon stirred out of his sex-induced coma. He looked at the clock; it read three-eighteen A.M. The few street-lights that weren’t broken shone into the bedroom and cast a faint glow on Foxy’s face. It was time for Bacon to make his move. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he reclaimed what was rightfully his.

  He threw on some clothes and quietly left the safety of Foxy’s. Bacon roamed the streets, then caught an early morning bus out of Detroit, until he arrived at the home he’d longed for while in prison. Bacon noticed a police car cruise down the street with its lights on. He silently slipped inside without being seen.

  The disturbance he caused the other night was not typical in his neighborhood. He was certain that Ms. Taylor, the neighborhood watchdog, had called the cops. But he felt confident that nobody had put two and two together because right before he dozed off at Foxy’s he’d watched the news, and there was no story about a commotion at the airport.

  Bacon tramped up the stairs, made his way into his bedroom and lay in his own bed. His mind began to drift into active thoughts while his head nodded,
attempting to fight off sleep. He thought about Foxy’s suggestion to contact Triple Crown for another book deal—a sequel to Bitch Nigga, Snitch Nigga.

  They’ll sign a nigga, he said to himself, but then he thought about the name on the book. Lisa Lennox. Bacon would have to find his way around the name. He then remembered that he burned the building down. That was okay; he’d find them again. Bacon smiled as he thought about the story. He would play out how he would get back at all who had done him wrong. He still had something for all involved. Q, Catfish and, most important, Red. As he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, he began to formulate in his mind his come-up and Red’s demise.

  CHAPTER 4

  Come on,” Q barked at Red while he continued to take long, forceful steps around the Cozumel, Mexico, airport. “I need to find the closest ticket counter.”

  “Q, quit bullshittin’,” Red pleaded and grabbed his arm to stop him. “You know you don’t want me to leave.”

  “You think I’m bullshittin’? I told you I was putting you on the next flight back home and I meant it.”

  “Q, what about money? Everything happened so quickly. Do you have money?”

  Q reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He only had a little over $2,000, and an immediate ticket like he wanted to purchase would take up most of his cash. He saw the check that Red had given him back at the church but he couldn’t cash it in Mexico. Although legitimate, a check of that magnitude could raise a lot of unnecessary questions, especially being out of the country.

  He reached for his cell phone. “I can call Zeke.” Q decided to Federal Express the check to Zeke in the morning and have him hold it until he got back. “I can call my moms. I got a list of folks I can call who can wire me some money,” he spat angrily.

  Red realized that at this point in her life she had nobody. She’d cut her closest friends, Kera, Terry and Sasha, loose; so she couldn’t call them if her life depended on it.