The Dirty Red Series

by Vickie M. Stringer

  “Any friend of Maurice’s is definitely a friend of mine.” Jose extended his hand for a handshake as he displayed a platinum grill. Bacon could do nothing but smile. This was your typical case of another ethnic group trying to be black.

  “Hook my man up,” Maurice said to Jose.

  Jose snapped open the barber cape while Bacon sat down in the chair. Maurice watched as Jose worked his magic on his friend. About fifteen minutes later, Jose had trimmed Bacon’s sparse facial hair into something that resembled the five o’clock shadow that women seem to love. Once Jose was finished, Maurice traded places with Bacon.

  Bacon looked at the other patrons; they were smiling at him hard. It made him feel uncomfortable, like they were on some gay shit.

  The door to the shop opened and in walked a familiar face. It was the woman who dissed Bacon the other day. He immediately became angry. As she walked into the establishment, she stopped and looked at Bacon.

  “Ooh, papi,” the woman purred. “Nice . . . real nice.” She held eye contact with Bacon as she walked toward Jose.

  Although angry, Bacon felt a familiar tingle in his dick as he thought about how she would look and feel riding him. He watched as she spoke to Jose in Spanish, then turned around and left. But before she left, she seductively blew a kiss at Bacon. He shook his head in disgust. Women, he said to himself, just can’t understand ’em.

  “There you go, my friend,” Jose said as he finished Maurice’s mustache.

  Maurice flipped Jose a $100 bill. “Thank you as always.” They pounded.

  “You know you came just in time for the cruise, mayne. You know you always got a standing invitation.”

  Bacon was heavy in the game and knew what was up. He’d been on the cruise Jose mentioned with Red, Catfish and Sasha. Now he realized how Maurice really got down: although gone from the hood, he never truly abandoned the streets. His money gave him access to diverse investments and Bacon now knew why Maurice suggested the trip. Loyalty between ballers. Opportunity now was only a grasp away.

  “I gotcha. We’ll be there, man,” Maurice confirmed.

  CHAPTER 11

  Q panted heavily as he made his way back to the resort. Just two hours ago, he left Red at the resort alone to retrieve the money Zeke sent. He was hotter than a muthafucka and wanted to get into someplace cool. He walked into quietness and saw a note on the glass table next to the door. Picking it up, he read:

  Q,

  I can’t continue to do this. It’s not working, so I’m going to give you your space.

  Good-bye—Red

  He walked swiftly toward the room in which she was staying and saw her glide across the room, naked and shimmering with water. She had just taken a shower, and sat down on the bed to lotion her body. Watching her, he knew his heart was weak—the little head’s voice was going to take over the situation. As she got up to retrieve a pair of panties and a bra, she saw him studying her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, obviously shocked to see him.

  Q paused for a moment, taking in an eyeful of her body. “What’s the note about?”

  She located a matching white lace set and stepped into the panties and then hooked her bra. “Just what it says, I can’t do this anymore. I’ve already called a cab and I’m going to a hotel. I’ve already booked my return flight, and it leaves in two days.” While Q was gone, Red had called Gloria, the only person she could count on. Gloria was like the mother Red never had, and in her heart, she knew that Gloria wouldn’t let her down. Red just hoped that Gloria would return her call before she made it to the hotel, considering she had no money with her.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know I don’t have to.” She spoke firmly as she put more clothes on. “But I can’t stay with you feeling the way I do. You hate me and I . . . I love you.”

  Over the last few days, Red realized that she truly was in love and made the determination that she would change. She had to change in order to keep her man, but deep down, she was tired of being dirty. Dirty got her nowhere . . . she lost her baby, got shot at and fucked up what she had with Q.

  “You love me?” Q questioned. For some reason, the way she said it sounded different than before. Like now, she actually meant it.

  “Yes,” she confirmed. Just then a horn honked. “That’s my cab. You can keep the clothes. I don’t need anything else from you.”

  “Don’t go,” he said as she walked past him. Red continued to head to the front door. Q walked quickly toward her as she opened the door. He closed it. “I said don’t go.” She looked at him with tears in her eyes.

  In one quick move, Q picked her up and carried her to the bedroom without removing his lips from hers. They explored each other’s bodies, inside and out, like new lovers and they both realized this was where they wanted to be.

  I can’t let her go, Q confirmed to himself. I love her. I can’t play this game any longer.

  Looking into Red’s face, he saw the beautiful woman that he loved. Her face was beginning to heal, but there was a softness in her he hadn’t seen before.

  “What’s wrong?” Red asked. She noticed Q slowed his thrusts.

  “Nothing, baby,” he said as he stopped pumping. He wanted to cherish the sensation her pussy gave him while he was still. Red locked her legs around Q’s back, and he resumed his movements.

  “Baby, I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “I will never leave you again. I love you.” Simultaneously the two climaxed. Q dozed off only to be awakened with warm kisses on his chest. He tried to move, but his energy was depleted. He wanted to take Red out and show her the island. She had missed a lot in their time there.

  “We gotta get up,” he said, still in a heavy pant.

  “You are up,” Red said with a sly smile as she stroked his member.

  He looked down and smiled. “You’re right.”

  • • •

  Maurice took Bacon around to several exclusive boutique hotel spas in Playa del Carmen, which were about twenty-minute rides on the ferry. Bacon rejected his offer to go at first, but Maurice rationalized that Bacon had nothing in Mexico and this was the least he could do and he had the means to help. Maurice attempted to get Bacon accustomed to the finer things that legal money could buy. He owed a debt for his life and his career to Bacon, and they both knew it.

  Bacon had heard men talk about being pampered with manicures, pedicures and facials and thought they had homo tendencies, but he had to admit the shit felt good. He wanted to put the thought out of his mind because of the times that he and Foxy fucked. It was okay, he rationalized to himself. She looked like a woman and felt like one as well.

  The next stop was at a Rolex jewelry store. Maurice bought all of his jewelry in Mexico due to the wholesale duty free rates. The States taxed luxury items, but in Mexico, it was dirt cheap.

  “You see something you like over there?” Maurice asked while trying to decide which watch he wanted to add to his collection. He noticed that Bacon was looking at something in the diamond case.

  “You see these diamond studs over here? This is gangsta!”

  “If you want ’em, get ’em. Remember, this is on me.”

  After paying for their purchases and leaving the jewelry store, the two walked past the Cartier store. Unable to resist, they both went in. Maurice bought a pair of shades for himself and bought Bacon a debonair pair of rimless, non-prescription glasses.

  Their last stop was Maurice’s personal tailor. He was always in suits except when he was on the basketball court. Maurice knew that image is everything so he was going to help Bacon with that—his image. He knew that dressing a certain way could get anyone just about anywhere.

  “Where we going now?” Bacon asked. His stomach was growling and he was hoping they’d stop and get some food.

  “You’ll see,” Maurice teased. “This will make you a new man.”

  “Ah . . . yeah, that’s the shit,” Bacon said, “you got a harem of hos and I get
my pick, right?”

  Maurice laughed at his friend. He felt bad because he didn’t get any pussy the other night, but he was sure after what he had planned, pussy, or lack thereof, would no longer be a problem.

  “Maurice, my main man!” the middle-aged Spanish man greeted when they arrived at the tailor’s. “Welcome back!”

  “Hey T, man, it’s good to be back.” T looked at the strange man who stood next to Maurice. “T, I’d like to introduce you to a longtime friend of mine, Bacon.” Bacon outstretched his hand. “Bacon, this is my personal tailor, T.” He took Bacon’s hand and shook.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” T suggested.

  “Hey . . . hol’ up, what are we starting?” Bacon asked.

  “Getting you a new wardrobe. The stuff you’re wearing is cool, but it’s time to step ya game up.”

  T took Bacon’s measurements and engaged in general conversation. Shortly afterward, Maurice and T were catching up, and Bacon noticed some suits that Maurice had hanging up. Even though he used to own designer suits, they were nothing of this quality. He took it upon himself to try one on, just on G. P.

  Maurice glanced over at Bacon and stopped talking. T stopped as well when he saw Bacon. Both men grinned like school-age boys who saw a girl’s tits for the first time.

  “Fuck y’all grinning at?” Bacon said and walked over to the full-length mirror. He stood still, unable to recognize the man in the mirror. He moved his arm. The man in the mirror did the same thing, but Bacon couldn’t believe it. “Damn,” he said. “This me?” He looked like a new man and felt like one, too.

  Maurice walked over to him, amazed at Bacon’s transformation. “Now you know you can’t walk around looking like a million bucks but calling yourself some swine. Good-bye, Bacon . . . Hello, Isadore Jeffries.”

  Bacon liked the sound of that. He looked like he had truly made it. Now nothing could stop him.

  • • •

  Red and Q decided to take a break from lovemaking. Their time on the island was slowly but surely coming to an end, so they filled their remaining days with numerous activities. Red’s face and her nose had begun to heal and she was beginning to look like her old self again. With skillfully applied makeup, you couldn’t see her scars at all.

  As they began to wind down by relaxing on the beach, a young boy walked up to Q and handed him a box. Q handed him a $20 bill and the boy skipped happily away.

  “What’s this?” Red asked, opening up the box. Q didn’t stop her. “Q!” she squealed. “You got it!”

  Q surprised Red with a semi-sheer black Versace dress with a Chanel diamond-encrusted brooch at the waist.

  Red excitedly tackled Q and planted kisses all over his face.

  Q knew she wanted it when he saw her eyeing it, but he didn’t buy it for her at that time. “You can wear that on the cruise coming up in two days.”

  “Cruise?” She acted surprised.

  “The Dimes and Ballers Midnight Cruise,” he reminded her. “You know, the one you’ve been bugging me about.”

  “You don’t ball no more, Q,” she reminded him.

  “You right, but I still got connections.”

  The cruise was the biggest soirée for drug kingpins and their top generals to connect with other players in the major cities. Red hoped that Q would want to go. She figured if she could get him around the money again, he’d stop talking about getting out of the game. No matter how she felt about Q, Red needed the stash to maintain her lavish lifestyle.

  When she mentioned it to Q, he flat out told her no, and no amount of pouting would change his mind; but after he thought about it a little longer he realized that the game was all Red ever knew and he, as always, wanted to make her happy. Q couldn’t take the game outta the playa, but began to wonder how their relationship would hold up without this lifestyle.

  Red placed a tender kiss on Q’s lips. She planned to thank him properly. She couldn’t wait. Two days couldn’t arrive soon enough.

  CHAPTER 12

  Two days passed like a blink of an eye. The night of the Dimes and Ballers Midnight Cruise arrived.

  After a day of sightseeing, Q and Red arrived back at the resort with not much time left to get ready. Earlier that day, they had visited the small village of Cedral and saw how the noncommercialized locals lived. Afterward, they enjoyed the El Cedral, which Red learned was the island’s oldest ruins. Although she had visited before, she never knew the history of Cozumel; now she was truly able to enjoy the beauty, splendor and history the island had to offer. But tonight was all about the cruise.

  Excitedly, Red held the black Versace dress that Q had surprised her with up to the mirror and envisioned herself wrapped in the delicate material.

  “JLo ain’t got nothin’ on you, baby,” Q joked. They both laughed. “But for real, though, let’s get ready. We’re already behind.”

  Red thought about his comment. Q was right. The dress he had chosen put the famous blue-and-green, open-front Versace scarf dress that JLo wore to the Grammys to shame. Red knew that Q’s bankroll ran long, and his taste was exquisite, and because of this, she was certain no other woman would come close to her tonight.

  After bathing and lotioning, Red slipped into the dress and enjoyed the feel of the silky material against her skin. Q appeared in the doorway, dressed in a crisp, off-white linen suit, with a Cuban-style hat resting on top of his curls. Damn, Red thought as she saw him out of the corner of her eye. Q was looking good.

  Q watched Red slip into her black, jeweled sandals and run her hand up the length of her leg. Once finished, she stood in front of her full-length mirror and admired how she looked. Q appeared behind Red and embraced her. He planted tiny kisses along the side of her neck.

  “Ummm . . .” Red moaned as her right hand instinctively made its way up to the nape of Q’s neck. “We look good together.” Red closed her eyes to savor the moment and nestled against Q’s body.

  Q glanced at the clock. “Come on, baby.” He took her hand and escorted her outside to the awaiting limo. When the two arrived at the drop-off point, they were amazed.

  “Do you see this!” Red exclaimed.

  “What?”

  “Look at the yacht! It’s tight!”

  “Mm-hmm.” Q nodded his head coolly, trying to play hard.

  “And look at all the people, Q!”

  Q glanced out of his window and saw the crowd. The driver got out of the car and opened the passenger’s side door. Q stepped out and held out his hand, and Red slowly emerged.

  Whistles could be heard from the crowd of spectators that formed on both sides of the security line. Security henchmen were in force because these were major players in the drug game. Nothing ever popped off at this event and they were positioned to make sure nothing would. Red and Q boarded the yacht like royalty. White lights outlining the watercraft’s upper and main decks sparkled like diamonds.

  Mexican and Caribbean music filled the air. The majority of the men wore linen suits—some in white, others in black and a few in off-white.

  Out of the one hundred travelers, Q spotted some of his former connects. Red noticed that quite a few of the women thought that “couture” meant dressing only in designer labels. Not only were they misled, they had no grace or style about them whatsoever. Red and Q, however, were poised and dressed such that they commanded respect. Nobody would have guessed that Q was getting out of the game and Red had just been pistol-whipped almost to death only two weeks earlier. Although still faintly bruised, she looked like a million bucks.

  Q excused himself to get drinks just as the yacht began to set sail. Red walked further onto the main deck. The party was just beginning, but Red peeked in another room where three tables were heaped with food. On the first she saw huge platters of pineapple, mango, strawberries and papaya. Her eyes went to the next table and saw a silver platter piled high with lobster tails, tiger prawn shrimp and raw oysters. On the third were mounds of plantains, chicken, rice and peas and filet mignon
on top of warmers. Whoever is behind this, she thought, their money runs deep.

  Red went back onto the main deck and walked toward the balcony and looked out over the black, still water, waiting for Q to return. It was a clear night with a slight breeze; millions of stars sparkled in the sky. Red leaned against the railing and looked upward. She overheard people below talking about money, cars and celebrity gossip. She could do nothing but smirk at the show-offs.

  If you gotta brag about it, you ain’t ’bout it, she thought. The smell of new money was thick and she silently prayed that she wouldn’t run into anyone she had played in the past or who knew her through Bacon. The thought put butterflies in her stomach.

  Red strolled away from the balcony as a couple headed her way.

  The handsome, dark-skinned man affectionately caressed the woman he was with, giving most of his attention to the growing bulge in her tummy. Red smiled at them as they walked by but a small tear formed in the corner of her eye as she thought back to her own pregnancy. Red’s hand went to her flat stomach and she rubbed it slightly. Anger toward her mother’s sexually abusive husband, Jerome, spiked inside her.

  Red thought back to Bacon and the thoughts of revenge she had planted in him as to how she lost “their” baby. How Jerome had kicked it out of her. Would he avenge his baby’s death?

  “Them muthafuckas jumped me,” she’d lied to him. “So whatchu gon’ do to dat muthafucka?”

  Red knew that once she told Bacon what had happened, he would take care of everything, including Jerome’s pedophile ass. She just wondered if Bacon’s anger with her would prevent him from handling the situation. If he didn’t it was okay. She wanted to be the one to handle Jerome—and her mother. A hand slipped around her waist, startling her. She turned to see Q holding their drinks.

  “You all right, baby?” Q asked, detecting that Red seemed uncomfortable.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just waiting for you.” She took her long-stemmed glass from Q’s hand and sipped at the golden bubbly liquid.