by Sa'id Salaam
Mrs. Frank wasn’t one to sass her husband, especially since he provided her lavish lifestyle. She turned a blind eye to all his indiscretions but had no doubt his insatiable greed was the cause of the current predicament.
Thadeous Frank was about as straight as a circle. In the real world people seek trustworthiness and honesty in a C.P.A. but in the underworld corruption is a virtue. Mr. Frank had a knack for taking duffle bags of dirty, filthy, drug blood money and bringing it back crisp and clean. On average, he ran a hundred mil through his financial washing machine annually. He took a generous ten percent for his trouble. He proved true the adage of no honor among thieves by skimming a few more points off here and there. He didn’t have much respect for his black and Latino customers and assumed they wouldn’t miss it. Most didn’t, however, Casper did. He may have been the boss of the Black Mob but he was neither black nor stupid. He wrote the first loss off as an oversight the next time the money was short he sent someone to collect.
“Please Thad, give her what she wants! She has our Jacinthia!” Philomina Frank pleaded.
“Look she’ll never find it. Never! Once she gets tired of looking I’ll give her a few grand from the safe and let her scurry along,” he shot back. Baby or no baby he had no plans on coming off that cash. He liked the kid and all, but she wasn’t worth ten million to him.
“Please, it’s been hours. Jacinthia must be terrified,” Mrs. Frank moaned looking at the kitchen door where the intruder took her child.
“Stop bitching, you’re making too much out of it. What can that girl do?” he said curtly. Thadeous was smug like that, confident, always in charge. The silly man had no idea who was upstairs in their home searching for stolen monies.
“You’re good! I still can’t find it!” the intruder sang in the sing-sing manner of an eight year old as she breezed back into the dining room.
The couple both frowned at the sexy maid outfit she had changed into but for different reasons. The high priced item was cut low in front and high enough in back to show her pert caramel ass in a thong underneath. Thadeous recalled the one time his pasty white wife wore it for him and it hadn’t look like this.
“Is she wearing my lingerie?” Mrs. Frank complained to her husband then turned to the girl. “Where did you get that?"
“Same place I got this,” she giggled and produced a large brown dildo. Brown from the porn star who modeled for it. The white lady turned beet red from embarrassment.
“Well I never!” she huffed indignantly. The intruder frowned dubiously, sniffed the vibrator, and gave it a flick from her tongue.
“Yes you have,” the girl giggled sheepishly. She looked at her target and covered her mouth suddenly coy. “Ooh I see you!”
“Thadeous!” Philomina shouted seeing her husband’s stubby little erection standing up.
“Here relax,” the uninvited guest said turning the knob at the base of the dildo. She giggled again when it began to vibrate with a soft buzz. She shoved it under the woman’s vagina and tuned towards the kitchen with Thadeous’ eyes glued to her ass.
“How’s Jacinthia? She must be hungry,” Mrs. Frank asked desperately.
“I doubt it,” the girl laughed over her shoulder as she left the room. “We’ll talk more after dinner.”
“Just give her what she wants! I’ve said nothing about your affairs and…stuff,” she demanded trying to ignore the building pleasure the vibrator was creating.
“She said we’ll talk after dinner. She hasn’t found anything in the…” he paused to look at the grandfather clock, "four hours she’s been her! I’ll give her ten grand and she can run off and buy some crack and colorful clothes that niggers love so much!”
Mrs. Frank missed the last sentence from the buzzing between her legs. She shook her head ‘no’ as she tried in vain to stave off an orgasm. It was futile and she came with a loud grunt. It was the best orgasm she’d had with her husband in the same room. Now she concentrated and went for seconds. Her pleasure was cut short before she got to bust another nut.
“Dinner is served,” the girl announced pushing the sterling silver dinner cart into the dining room. On it were two plates topped by silver domes to keep the food warm.
“Would you mind loosening our hands so that we may partake in this wonderful meal?" Mr. Frank requested sweetly. He attempted to hide his devious plan behind the kind words and pasted on smile. The fifty-ish out of shape white man figured he could over-power the little girl. Boy was he wrong.
“Um…ok but one at a time,” she relented. Thadeous again watched her firm ass shift as she skipped into the next room.
She returned a few seconds later with the black satchel she came with. Before she opened it, she pulled the blonde dreadlock wig off and stretched her neck in relief. It made a dense thud when she placed it on the table. She un-zipped the bag and pulled out a long chrome pistol and even longer chrome silencer. “In case you try anything”
The girl next pulled a pair of wire snips and danced over to the Mrs. She cut the plastic tie that had broken into her skin from movements. The woman immediately snatched the vibrator from between her legs.
“Ladies first,” the server said placing the plate on the table in front of her. She removed the dome with an air of flair complete with, “Ta dah!”
“Oh!” Mrs. Frank uttered at the attractive meal on her good china. She also noticed how pretty the girl was now that her face was no longer obscured by the dreads. She was the exact same shade that the lady took her coffee with milk, not cream. Although her features were delicate and defined, she had an odd look in her eyes. The far-away gaze of a lunatic. The curious gape of the deranged.
“We have wild brown rice with slivers of almond, braised Brussels sprouts in butter-garlic sauce and I’m sorry but I can’t pronounce the meat. Jaza or jasm? Something like that,” the girl explained.
Philomina was scared the food would be poisoned but she was more afraid of the big pistol on the table. After a second of contemplation, she decided to eat. She popped a whole Brussels sprout in her mouth and chewed. A slow nod of approval began as she savored the flavor. Next, she sampled the rice and finally the pretty kabobs of meat and peppers.
“How’s my baby?” Mrs. Frank asked after swallowing.
“You tell me?” the chef asked in return.
“Huh, I don’t follow?” she frowned curiously.
“You said how’s your baby and I said you tell me. That’s what you’re eating. I didn’t over cook her did I?”
“Noooo!” the mother screamed as the nightmare was multiplied times infinity. She pulled and tugged at the plastic tie cutting deeply into her wrist. “You’re sick! Sick!”
“Me? You’re the one who ate her baby lady,” the girl shot back sarcastically. With the woman busy trying to cut her own hand off she turned her attention to Mr. Frank. “Have some? It’s thigh, I hear that’s the best part. I wouldn't know cuz I don't eat kids. Well…”
“Mm mm!” Thadeous declined squeezing his mouth tight and moving his head from side to side to avoid the fork full of baby thigh meat she extended.
“Ooh, I know what will make you open up,” she exclaimed cheerfully at her bright idea. She grabbed the gun and fired a silent round into his calf. Harmless, but it got him to open his mouth wide in an opera worthy high note.
“Good?” she asked shoving the meat inside his open mouth. She didn’t wait for an answer and went back into her black bag. Thadeous took the opportunity to spit his kid onto the marble floor.
Both Franks were dealing with their problems but the next item out of the bag took precedence. She stopped thrashing about and he longer felt the burn of the gunshot.
“What the hell is that?” Thadeous demanded as if its mere presence offended him. Actually, it should.
“This,” she began, holding up the circular wire contraption, “it’s the D.C. 2000! That’s short for decapitator 2000. I saw it in a movie and had to have it!”
She went on to explain h
ow the spring-loaded wire hoop snapped shut to a zero circumference when activated. It was strong enough to cut through a 2x4 so skin and bones were no problem at all.
“Now I’m going to cut both of your heads off,” she said plainly, as if it were no big deal.
“Why both of our heads? I didn’t have anything to do with any of this!” Mrs. Frank pleaded in an attempt to save herself.
“No, both of his heads I meant,” the girl explained going back into the satchel. The garden shears she produced needed no explanation.
“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Thadeous appealed as she approached. “I’ll tell you where the money is!”
“Too late,” said slipping the D.C. 2000 over his head. “I’m glad you didn’t give it to me.”
“Go to hell!” he shouted and in a final act of defiance he spit in her face. The lovely little lunatic smiled, licked the saliva from around her mouth, and picked up his flaccid penis.
“Ok, bye-bye,” she sang and simultaneous hit the switch and closed the shears. The tiny dick head popped off and rolled under his chair. A second later, his big, bald head fell into his lap.
Mrs. Frank looked on in stunned silence as her husband was decapitated. Whoever the girl was, she was a killer. A killa, a real animal. She let out a sigh of contentment and accepted her fate.
“Well, time to go with your baby, but don’t tell her you ate her,” she whispered conspiratorially.
Mrs. Frank lifted her chin prepaid to die with dignity. Instead of shooting her or cutting any parts off, the girl prepared to leave. She packed her pistol and D.C. 2000 into the bag along with the shears. She took the wire cutters into the kitchen and cut the gas line leading to the restaurant size stove. Then breezed back through the dining room ignoring the confused woman.
The girl made a stop in the family room and lit the fireplace. Once the gas made it this far the house would be leveled by the explosion. A sly smile spread over her face as she stepped over the body of the butler. He had smiled brightly when he opened the door for her and she shot him in it.
When she got into her SUV and drove away, she added the two kills to her tally. The total was now 99 and she wasn’t quite 21. She pulled her cell phone out to report in to her boss. Casper smiled brightly when he saw the name on his caller ID.
“Yolo! Did you get it?” the white boss of the Black Mob asked eagerly. He didn’t need the money but didn’t want anyone to have the satisfaction of stealing from him and enjoying it.
“No, he wouldn’t tell me,” she replied sadly. “Good news though. The D.C. 2000 works like a charm!”
“That is good news. Have fun?” Casper inquired.
“I did. I did,” Yolo said bouncing in her seat.
A thunderous roar rocked the SUV and shook the earth. A glance in the rearview mirror showed a huge orange fireball where the house once stood.
“Yay! One Hundred!” she cheered knowing Mrs. Frank was in the debris blown sky high.
You may wonder why a girl would derive such joy from killing people and the answer is because she’s crazy. You may also wonder how she amassed such a high body count at such a young age. The answer to that is simple too; she started early.
Yung Pimpin
prologue
An evil smirk twisted Yung Pimpin’s otherwise handsome face as he spotted his target. The notorious Sammy the pimp was posted up at the bar talking loud and dressed even louder. He was old school to death in a yellow three-piece suit complete with yellow gators and a yellow hat, with one long yellow feather extending from it. He couldn't help but wonder for a second if it was actually some place in nature where yellow alligators or ostriches thrived; perhaps some gay ass enchanted swamp with bullfrogs giving each other blowjobs. But now wasn't the time to ponder over it, now was the time to kill.
Yung Pimpin represented the new era in pimpin’. Instead of finger waves like his target, he wore an intricate array of braids running down to his shoulders. A fresh white wife beater showed off his lean muscular frame decorated with colorful tats. A diamond-laden 'YP' medallion hung to the middle of his chest from a diamond-crusted platinum chain. Expensive designer jeans slung low on his waist sat on top of exclusive sneakers.
The patrons of the speedy after hours' club grew quiet at the arrival of the highly anticipated showdown. Rumors of the battle had the P&H bar filled to capacity. The joint was named after proprietors Paul and Harold 20 years ago but those who know, knew P&H now stood for pimps and hoes. This was Ground Zero, Pimp Central, and Hoe Headquarters.
The sudden change in the air put Sammy the pimp on high alert. It was that eerie calm before the storm. The look in the soulless eyes of his bottom bitch confirmed the danger. There is no honor among thieves so the honorable thing would be for Yung Pimpin to bash the back of his head in then go shoot a game of pool until the cops came. No sense running because, again, there's no honor among thieves and someone was going to snitch on him.
"Heard you was looking for me," Yung demanded, tapping the man on the shoulder, making two mistakes at once. The first was talking instead of swinging and the second was touching instead of swinging. He paid for them both at the same time.
"I am!" Sammy said as he whirled around and swung. The open hand slap sounded like a thunderclap when it connected. A slap stings enough on its own but the razorblade concealed in his fingers made it burn. The slap was designed to humiliate but the blade served a more sinister purpose.
"Pimp fight!" a broke down old hoe named Debbie announced with glee. Her raspy voice had a slight echo from years of cum shots knocking out her tonsils. Her black lips where shaped in a perfect 'O' from all the dicks sucked. They looked like an old tire on her worn face.
The only thing better than a ho fight was a pimp fight and this bar had seen its share of both. Pimps when they do fight, fight to the death. Be the death literal or figurative, somebody had to die. Even if the loser lives, there will be no more pimpin’ for him around here. Lose a pimp fight and your stable and respect is transferred to the winner. To the victor goes the spoils and in this case the bootie is the actual booty. Pardon the oxymoron but no self-respecting ho will whore for a pimp who gets punked.
"Get him daddy," Sammy's bottom bitch hissed like the snake she was.
Coming from her, it was another slap in the face and made Yung Pimpin hesitate. That hesitation cost him another slap in the face by the older pimp. This one was a Venus Williams backhand formally known as the pimp slap. It was the ultimate in disrespect. Even pimps don't like to be pimp slapped.
"Miss that good Wet-Wet don't you boy?" Sammy teased.
"You can take that bitch to hell with you,” Yung snarled. He knew if he won, she would be his again. This time he would do what he should have done many times over; kill her.
Yung lifted his hand to his face and felt the blood. The hand then turned into a fist and threw a straight jab that popped the pimp in his slick talking mouth. It was quickly reciprocated by a two-piece.
Both men shared the same height and weight among other things. The DJ cut the music and hit the lights so no one would miss the action. Camera phones began filming; this was going to be on world star.
"They kind of favor each other?" a young whore said with a curious frown.
"They should, they father and son," Wet-Wet reported. She should know; she was part of the problem. It really wasn't about her but then again it was.
The pugnacious patriarch and progeny pimps went back and forth trading blows. The fight was pretty evenly matched with both lumped up and bloody when the inevitable happened.
Just like male Rams run full speed into each other with their horns and giraffes use their long necks to fight, pimps use straight razors. Once they got tired of punching, out came the blades.
"You know how to use that?" Sammy taunted and took a swipe.
The blow opened the front of Yung Pimpin's shirt and sliced into his skin. The pain reminded him of the pistol in his pocket. He answered the question when he swung back, opening a
similar hole in his father's yellow jacket.
Back and forth, blow for bloody blow, the father and son battled. It wasn't a battle of good versus evil, more like evil against more evil. You'll have to hear the whole story to determine which one was which.
Getting nowhere with the razors suddenly both Parker pimps pulled pistols. Only one got off a shot. One died, the other killed, again.
STUD 1, 2, 3, & 4
When I got in from the robbery, I just wanted to crash. Murder always made me sleepy. There was my mother, up in the middle of the night, praying as usual. Unless she was on her period, Laylah spent half the night praying. She would chant in Arabic in a soft, melodic tone. I’d heard it so much that I knew half the words to the one she said most often: “Bis-millaahir Rahman-nir Raheem…” Most nights, she paid me no attention if I came in when she prayed, but this time, she cut it short as I walked in.
As she did her closeout from right to left, I saw the reason for the truncated prayer. There, on the coffee table, was my strap-on, and right next to it was my growing DVD porn collection!
My first instinct was to run. I turned to bolt out the door, but her words held me in place.
What shocked me most was her tone. She was eerily calm. “Wait. Come sit down,” she ordered in a subdued tone, yet making it clear it was not optional. “Well, I guess it’s more than just a fad. I guess you won’t just grow out of it,” she mused, pushing the sex toy with a finger.
“Ma, it’s—”
“Chill, Andrea. I can smell the thing from here.” She frowned, shaking her head. “Your girlfriend needs a bath.”
I shook my head, thinking about Tameka’s nasty ass. There was nothing to say, so I said nothing. There was no need to anyway because her next words said all that needed saying.
“Good and evil cannot coexist in the same place,” she stated helplessly.
“What does that mean?” I asked, exasperated.
“You have to leave. Please return to what—or to who—kept you to three a.m. You can collect your things whenever,” she sighed.
