Smoke and Mirrors

by Tiana Laveen

  “What about when she was cryin’ out, huh?! She fuckin’ trusted you!” He punched him again, this time breaking that fucker’s nose. The same way he beat his wayward johns, he beat this man, only this time, he planned to add a little ‘extra’. His victim was rendered speechless as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Smoke couldn’t get a hold of himself as he delivered more body shots, but then his inner voice told him to cease, or he’d surely kill the man. He got to his feet, all covered in blood and exhausted from the rapid arm-fire and legwork. He stumbled back, and looked down at the man he’d turned a crimson mess, then tossed the hundred-dollar bill in the air. It fluttered like a green leaf before landing in the blood pooling around the fucker’s neck.

  “Traditional pimp code says,” Smoke huffed, “that when a woman chooses you over her old pimp, if you are worth a damn, you will give him a little money for his loss. Your niece is mine.” He pointed at him. “She’s worth more money than all the currency in the world, but this is more for a demonstration, if you will. And let me tell you why I chose a hundred dollar bill, over a dollar.” He smiled. “I did it because she told me one night that you had accused her of stealing a hundred dollars from you. She hadn’t, and you beat her ass so bad, she couldn’t walk for a damn week. Now, here’s your money, Uncle Troy. This is your first and last lesson in proper pimp etiquette. Be lucky I’m leaving here allowing you to still draw breath because I and everyone else who knows me, also knows there is nothing I’d like more than to wrap my hands around your greasy throat and choke the fucking shit out of you. And should you get any ideas, like wanting to snitch, or report this shit to the police, I’ll come back and finish the job. It’s nothing to me. On that, you have my word.”

  He stormed out the door, hightailing to where he’d parked. As he suspected, a crowd had gathered around his unusual, expensive car. As soon as they saw him though, they began to disperse. After all, he matched the damn vehicle now, coated as he was in the blood of a mothafucka who got a taste of Smoke’s wrath.

  You can fuck with his money and live. You can fuck with his time, and survive. But if you fuck with his woman, cause her any ounce of pain, you just may pay with your life…

  *

  THE MOTHERFUCKER WALKED in shirtless, covered in sweat, and went straight to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Paris heard the shower water turn on, bursting out at high speed. She stood outside the door, ready to wrap her knuckles around the knob, but… she thought better of it. When he’d first walked in the apartment, everyone seemed to spread out like the Red Sea. Smoke stormed down the middle of the damn entranceway, his car keys in hand. He slung them onto a nearby curio and disappeared into the lavatory. Now, here she remained, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and worry etched within her very soul.

  What was he doing out there?

  When he emerged, bare-chested, his hair was wet, and his eyes gleamed bright like a newborn’s.

  “How’s it been? Everything okay?” he asked as he walked past her, making his way to the sitting area as he dried his hands with a plush hand towel.

  “Well, for the most part it’s been quiet. The better question is, are you okay, Smoke? You peeled out of here and have been gone for hours.” She frowned.

  “I’m fine. A little thirsty is all.” He sat down on the paisley silver and blue printed couch and ran his index finger along a shiny globe sitting nearby.

  “I’ll get you some iced tea, is that good?”

  He nodded, seeming to drift off into a daydream. She returned moments later, handed the man the glass, and sat beside him. He took a hearty gulp, then another, and set it down on the table in front of him.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked, taking his hand into hers.

  “We call his bluff.” He scratched the side of his nose then faced her. “You’re not paying him a dime, and I will be getting that fifty grand back, too. It’s the principle of the thing.”

  She turned away and stared ahead at an enormous painting depicting a woman from the 1700s with her gown partially removed, and a male suitor sitting behind her, nibbling her neck.

  “Smoke, he’s more dangerous than he may look. You see, Royal is a live wire. Like I told you, I was going to tell you.”

  “I know you were; you don’t have to keep saying that. I believe you.”

  She paused for a moment and gathered her thoughts. “Well, I was just trying to see if there was something I could do, solve the problem on my own, and once I realized I probably couldn’t, I made to share every damn detail with you. It’s my pride, Smoke. I’m humiliated by this. What gets me is, he and I never had any problems up until this point. Someone rattled his cage, and this mess is all my fault!” She gripped her forehead, sensing a migraine coming on. “You were right. I shouldn’t have told my girls. I wanted them to know that I wouldn’t cheat them, so I offered full disclosure. I’ve been treating them the way I’d want to be treated, if I were in their position. I got too comfortable, too trusting.”

  Smoke nodded and kissed the side of her face.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it anymore, Paris. You live and learn. It got to the wrong people is all, and I’ll take care of it.”

  “Yeah, but who? Who would do something like this?”

  The man hesitated a fraction before he abruptly turned away. Smoke was keeping secrets again…

  “You know, don’t you? Who did this to me, Smoke?! I have the right to know!” She punched her upper thigh with her fist. “Which one of them did this?!”

  He turned towards her, an icy glare in his striking eyes. “One that’s already gone, Paris. Carla. That’s why Felicia was here, actually, to tell me about her.”

  “Oh my God.” She shook her head, cursing her lack of judgment. “I should have known it would have gotten back to her. She called me at least two times trying to get back in, Smoke, and I refused each time.” She took a deep breath as she folded her hands across her lap. “I should have known she’d do something this devious. I picked that woman off the street. She was a mess! I took her in, cleaned her up and told her I’d help protect her. She’d had battles with crack cocaine, but there was something about her that endeared her to me…then she went and turned on me like I’d never lifted a finger to help her in my life.” She bent low, feeling a bit shaky as she simmered with anger and regret.

  “Yup.” He slumped back onto the couch. “We’ve all done it at least a time or two, baby, but no worries.” He smiled weakly and patted her knee. “It will be fine. Now, in the interim, you are to go nowhere without Frank and the same for the girls.”

  “Yes, you’ve told me that and I won’t.”

  “If there is something they just must do, everyone is to have a security-cleared escort until further notice,” he reminded. The man must’ve told her that a hundred times, but only because he didn’t want a hair on their heads harmed.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “I’m going to go home and change clothes, pack a few things up and return. I’ll be here with you, tonight, okay? And I’ll be back as quickly as possible.”

  He rose from the couch and she joined him, smoothing out her oversized white shirt and flared, lime green pants she’d changed into earlier that afternoon.

  “Wait a minute, Smoke. This reminds me. A long time ago you said that two of my girls chose you, and you turned them down. I know about Carla—who was the other one? I was too shocked, angry and out of it to ask at the time…”

  “Vera.”

  Vera was a woman who’d come and gone like the damn wind. Paris had almost forgotten all about the fickle, strange woman.

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “No love lost there. She is already gone, anyway.”

  Smoke nodded. “She just needed some direction. She would’ve been good, but never mind all of that; it’s over now.”

  She took his hand as he walked to the door, and he pulled her to him, enveloping her face with both hands before placing a loving kiss across her lips. “I
love you. Everything is going to be okay.” He kissed her nose tenderly, his lips lingering on the tip, oh so sweet, before he turned and walked away.

  When had she started to depend on this man so much? And when had it stopped being an issue that she did?

  “I love you too, Smoke. More than anything.”

  She stood there watching, and said a silent prayer. One asking for direction, strength, and a shield of protection not only over her and the girls, but also for Smoke. She feared her love had become a volcano, ready to explode, but a nagging feeling took up residence within her, making her wonder: Had he already erupted?

  *

  One week later…

  THIS BITCH THINKS I’m playin’ with her!

  Royal gripped the steering wheel of his silver and blue Eldorado, driving like a bat out of hell after discovering that not only had he not received his payment, the woman was over at her ho house, living it up. Time to pay the madam a visit.

  He made sure to take his gun with him, to make his point crystal mothafuckin’ clear. First, he had the place scoped out to ensure the white boy wasn’t there. He had to act fast, for there was no telling when the jolly white giant would return. Arriving at the lavish den of iniquity, he pulled the clutch and parked his car against the curb. Once he stepped out, he didn’t miss the frenzy inside of the apartment building as if a big production were underway. It dazed him for a moment, stopped him dead in his damn tracks. Shadows darted past the windows, and a spotlight suddenly blazed across the opulent lawn, illuminating the bright yellow roses.

  “Stop!” a male voice boomed over an intercom. “You are not cleared to enter.”

  Royal bent at the waist in bursts of laughter as the dusky sky grew many shades darker.

  “You gotta be kidding me!” He threw up his hands. “You all got some Robocop type shit goin’ on, huh?” He pointed at the building. “You tell Madam Your Highness that she better get her ass out here and give me my damn money! If she doesn’t, I will deliver on what I promised!” He ran his hand under his nose and inhaled.

  “You are being asked once again to leave, Royal,” the voice rang out for a second time. Like a strike of lightning delivered from the Greek god, Zeus, he pulled out his 45 and shot the damn thing, causing wires to pop on the intercom. Soon, muffled screams erupted from inside the place, while the damn thing reduced to sparks and smoky embers. He took slow, heavy paces up the steps until he stood on the front porch, ready to party, ready to score, and ready to fight—refusing to be made a fool of one second longer. He banged on the door repeatedly, slamming his fist into it.

  “Open this goddamn door, rich bitch!” he screamed. “You have to come out sooner or later. Look, don’t be afraid, Paris.” He stood back, flashing a grin as he raised his hands in surrender. “I won’t even charge you interest for being late. We’ll just call it an innocent mistake on your part. Even the bank waives your first overdraft!” He waited a few more seconds, and was met with nothing but silence.

  “Even if I leave this damn house, do you really want to have to look over your shoulder all the time?” he growled, taking another step back. “You don’t, do you? Because I’ll be there! I will shoot all these ho ass bitches in their goddamn chest! And it’ll be all your goddamn fault! Give me my mothafuckin’ money!” Raising his gun in the air, he shot out a window, causing more screams. “I don’t give a fuck if Smoke knows, either! I’m not afraid of none of you mothafuckas!”

  His adrenaline pumped out of control, fueled by anger and a feeling of no longer giving a flying fuck.

  Just then, a shiny red, expensive car pulled up, its tires screeching. From a near distance, police sirens could be heard, blending into the scene. His heart raced a bit faster, sweat ran down his entire body, sticking his clothing to his flesh when Snow White, the seven foot anti-dwarf stepped out of his Lexus like a goddamn cowboy, gun raised, and steel in his cold, blue eyes.

  “Don’t make me shoot you, Royal!” he roared.

  “Or what?!” Royal turned his gun towards Smoke, aiming it at the man’s heart. Smoke stood over thirty feet away, but he could take him from that distance.

  “I don’t shoot to miss.” Smoke cocked his weapon and stayed steady, his finger on the trigger and not a sign of fear in sight. Suddenly the front door swung open and there appeared Frank, the Italian bodyguard. Everyone knew who the hell Frank was, and he and Smoke were like fucking kin. The man held a gun tight in his grip, and he aimed it at Royal.

  Without a second to think, Frank’s shot rang out, but he was far too late. Royal had already fired first, shooting Frank square in the chest. He could barely stomach the shit as the man fell to his damn knees, his moans filling the air as he tumbled forward, flat on his face. The block was getting hot, but he still had another bastard to contend with. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go!

  Why didn’t the bitch just give me the goddamn money?!

  Everything was falling apart!

  More screams rang out from various areas, convoluting his mind. The police sirens grew louder, and Royal understood at that moment that he was completely in over his head. He heard a crowd storming towards him from inside the house, and turned back towards Smoke…but in all the commotion, the man had disappeared. Then, a ridiculously long shadow appeared beside him. He turned to his left, but this time, for him, it was too late, for the bullet pumped through his head, entered his skull, and his body gave up completely. He collapsed to the ground in a thud, his entire form shutting down.

  Ohhh… my… God…

  He could hear his own voice ringing out, echoing over and over, but it sounded as if everything happened in slow motion.

  His eyes rolled around, and the screams grew much louder, then came a soft hush. The big pale beast stood over him, his gun hanging at his side, and a cold, ruthless face made of stone. The last thing he saw—his own reflection in those icy blue eyes, there to haunt him until he drew his final breath…

  *

  SMOKE COULD HEAR her screams while they roughly grabbed his wrists and handcuffed him, the silver restraints sparkling in the sunlight. They pushed him in the back of the police car, making a scene, making it so much worse. Paris had to be restrained by her girls and two security guards on the premises who’d called the police as a last resort. The police took forever, so according to Tasha’s sobby confessions, Frank tried to settle the matter once and for all. Smoke happened to be only two blocks away, taking care of an urgent matter regarding some banking transfers, and what was supposed to have taken less than an hour, had taken three. Paris had grown calmer as two weeks had passed since the incident, but something didn’t feel right to him. He could practically smell the son of a bitch coming.

  Like tuning into an old radio, he got a sudden, strange feeling. When he arrived at the little Chinese restaurant down the street to pick up food for everyone, he called Paris to see if things were okay. She was in a joyful mood, a little silly actually; initially he felt at ease, but something was rubbing him the wrong way. It had been one of those perfect days. The johns caused no issues, the women weren’t asked to do anything out of their comfort zone, and everyone’s playbook was full to the max. He knew damn well Royal hadn’t forgotten about his blackmail scheme, and once the fucker realized Paris wasn’t giving him a damn thing, he no doubt would make a move. And he did. Oh yeah, he did…

  The guy had been desperate. Royal only had two whores. One wasn’t worth a damn, and the other was lazy and not the least bit attractive. That fifty grand was probably already spent up on drugs, alcohol, partying, and a whole lot of dumb shit. Besides, the money wouldn’t bring back Frank, his freedom or Pussycat’s peace of mind. The only thing on their side, was Royal’s fear of him. One of Paris’ girls claimed she’d seen it in the man’s eyes, and she knew fear well…

  That explained him threatening Paris to not say shit. Smoke figured out what could have spooked the creep. When Smoke first entered the scene, there was a skirmish at a local bar. He was sitting ther
e amongst his folk, chugging down beers. Royal came in and started some shit with one of Smoke’s trusted associates, another well-known pimp named Smooth. Smoke had no clue what the issue was, and he no longer cared after Royal bucked up and knocked Smooth clean to the floor. Smoke jumped headfirst into the middle of the action and fists flew everywhere.

  Apparently, he’d gotten the best of Royal in all the flurry, and the man had ended up in the hospital after suffering repeated blows all over his face and chest. Funny thing, Smoke didn’t recall beating the man that badly, but anyone who could mess with Smooth like that, a guy that didn’t start trouble with no damn body, had it coming. Regardless, he’d been arrested but soon, the charges were dropped. People were saying Royal was a simp, and no pimp that professed to be alpha, wanted that sort of title hung on his reputation. If you got a beat down, you simply did—pimp rule #462, don’t tell a cop shit. He’d forgotten all about that crazy incident so many years ago until he saw the motherfucker standing on his joint property, pointing a gun at his main man and shooting up the place. Matter of fact, before this ruckus, he didn’t even know Royal’s name was Royal, and that it was the same son of a bitch blackmailing his woman. Up until that point, Royal was simply a non-motherfucking-factor…

  Smoke sat in the back of the police car, knowing in his heart this would be the end of the yellow brick, money-lined, pussy-laden road. He had caught a damn case, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He’d fallen in love, things had changed, and he’d grown tired. He supposed Dad had been onto to something; maybe that man knew all along that his son didn’t have the stamina to keep on keeping on in the life. Brent Sr. had claimed Smoke knew how to love, and that would be his damn downfall. If it hadn’t been for a pretty golden brown creature with dark, vibrant eyes, he’d have been just fine, but his ‘just fine’ sat at half a level above miserable. Feeling thankful for the joy she put in his life, he dared himself to look at his woman. Her long legs still kicking to and fro, her face shiny with tears and the veins and muscles in her neck stretched and popped, she seemed to have lost her goddamn mind.