Ghetto Girls 6

by Anthony Whyte

  “You may present your witnesses,” the stone-faced judge said.

  Then the prosecution paraded a litany of police officers, all attesting to reports that Eric was involved in a murder-for-hire scheme that backfired. The idea was preposterous, and Eric at different points in time, stared directly at Sophia. He could see her shapely legs wrapped neatly in a tight-fitting blue pant-suit. Sighting her cleavage rising and falling when she leaned, he saw flashes of her flesh. Eric wondered when she would be called.

  Sophia was easily the most beautiful person in the courtroom, but she had betrayed his trust. Eric was surprised that he still harbored feelings of adoration for his ex. He tried to dismiss the thoughts, but they devoured his mind. Eric found himself reminiscing about when Sophia stood by him right after the rape. He had overheard Deedee crying. She was really upset over the whole situation, but especially hard on herself. He didn’t know what to do.

  Deedee stood in front of the oval mirror on the back of the door. She stared at her reflection. This is what happens when you take something without permission. You have to pay. But why is there such a heavy price? Tears welled in her eyes. Deedee’s chest heaved uncontrollably; then she cried hard and loud. Her uncle heard, and froze to the spot where he stood in the kitchen.

  “Where is Sophia? I need her now!” Eric said, talking to the ceiling. “And Deedee’s damn drugged-out mother. I don’t even know where she is. Dammit! I swear on my brother’s grave, whoever did this fucking shit, I’ll personally take care of them. I want no help from those fucking police.”

  Eric was almost on the verge of tears as he collapsed in an easy chair. When he couldn’t stand hearing his niece cry for help going unheeded, Eric drank couple glasses of Louis. He settled, but it wasn’t so with Deedee’s sobbing.

  Later, as he sipped another brew, Eric heard the keys turning in the door and the sound of Sophia’s footsteps rapidly approaching. They embraced briefly.

  “I could hear her from outside. What’s wrong? Why’s she crying so loud?” Sophia asked.

  “Listen, I really don’t know. She came in and went straight upstairs and locked her door. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her.”

  “What? You haven’t even spoken to her? Well…”

  “I didn’t know what to say.”

  “She may have wanted to say something to you.”

  “She had a chance when we were driving from the hospital and—”

  “Eric, get me two glasses of cold water, please.”

  “For what? I don’t need to cool down.”

  “Who said anything about you? They’re for me and Deedee.”

  Sophia took the first glass and drank a mouthful. She set the glasses on a tray and took her black pumps off, then made her way up the short stairway to Deedee’s room.

  “Dee? May I come in?” she asked knocking gently.

  “Hold on. Just a second, Sophia,” Deedee said then opened the door and headed toward the bed.

  “Hey, girlfriend,” Sophia said, trying to sound upbeat. Deedee mumbled, but Sophia ignored the inaudible response.

  “I brought some water… Cold water, with a few ice cubes, I thought you could use a little. I know I could.”

  “Mr. Ascot’s culpability is made even clearer and shows that his hands were dirty and involved in the deaths…”

  The prosecution was still rattling off evidence that Eric was involved in a murder for hire conspiracy that resulted in the killing of several people. Her name came up again as a key person with close knowledge of an alliance between him and Busta. Eric glanced at Sophia when she was introduced.

  After an emotionally shaky start, Sophia eloquently articulated her story. Her soft lips were assisting the prosecution, and Eric stared at her sexy features. He couldn’t resist reflecting on their sexually charged encounters, even when he was late for an important event and tried to make it up to her. Everything seemed to turn out just right.

  “Good. Just the way we planned this, Mr. Lateness,” Sophia said.

  “I won’t be late…” Eric said.

  Eric massaged Sophia’s thigh. The fabric felt supple in his hand, her flesh warmed to his touch. She put the car in gear and zoomed out of the parking lot. Eric and Sophia, a little drunk from the evening’s activity, crept up the stairs like kids who had broken curfew. They dashed into the bedroom, where Eric’s hands quickly encountered the silk panties covering Sophia’s ass.

  “Take it easy,” Sophia whispered.

  “I’m just trying to be on time.”

  “You don’t have to try. The loving ain’t going nowhere. It’s right here, waiting for you,” Sophia said in a throaty whisper.

  She turned to face Eric, and he watched with fascination. Sophia reached up and made the black dress clinging to her toned, five-foot-eight-curves-in-the-right-places, svelte body, disappear with her arm movements. Eric kissed her gently, biting Sophia’s earlobes while his hands moved smoothly all over her ass.

  “Ooh. Oh my, are we the impatient one…” Sophia sighed as her body clung to Eric’s.

  “Ah,” she moaned as her heartbeat galloped, making her breath come in gasps.

  Their bodies fell entangled on the huge waterbed. The bed swayed slightly. Sophia rolled on top. She peeled off the rest of her clothing. Eric kissed and sucked at her nipples. Sophia’s naked body came in contact with the wool covering his erection.

  “You’re not out of your clothes yet, good looking? Late again, huh?” whispered Sophia.

  She straddled Eric. He could feel her soft skin. His hands roamed, kneading her taut hot brown body. His touch made her skin burn. Her tension uncoiled into mush. The heat ignited Sophia, raising her temperature to dizzying heights.

  “Ah, uh, I can’t wait on you, honey. I want you inside of me now,” she whispered, pulling Eric’s zipper down.

  His erection was unleashed and Sophia easily mounted his hardness and began rocking back and forth.

  “Oh, oh, ugh yeah, baby,” Eric grunted.

  “Oh baby,” Sophia whispered as she kissed Eric’s face.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. The cheeks of her buttocks were cupped in his large strong hands. Her gentle rocking brought him to the gates of ecstasy. She felt his body in a spastic dance ritual signifying Eric reaching his orgasm.

  “That’s it? That’s all?” Sophia grunted with Eric on top of her.

  She flipped Eric over on to his back. Then sucked until his dick head pointed proudly to the ceiling. Sophia straddled him. All the time Eric grunted while he enjoyed the view of Sophia her breasts bouncing up and down. He saw the way she bit her lips to prevent from screaming. She sweated as she continued to ride.

  He was like a kid in classroom with a crush on the sexy teacher. Eric was afraid of being found out. Lips that once kissed him softly, were now testifying in a court of law against him. Eric realized he had attained a full-size erection while sitting in the courtroom listening to Sophia’s deposition. He was still enamored by Sophia. His incandescent sexual excitement with her continued blissfully, until he heard his attorney shouting.

  “I object. That’s hearsay, your honor,” Max Roose said, interrupting Sophia’s answer and Eric’s sexual musing. “This witness has no actual knowledge of any conversation between this man known as Busta and my client regarding shooting anyone.”

  His lawyer’s verbal tirade brought Eric back to the reality of his situation. The attorney was arguing the validity of the evidence. Busta had his apartment wired with three cameras from different angles and the police were able to get a copy of the recordings.

  “Apparently this man had a recording device installed, and we have a copy. Your honor what you’re about to see is real,” the prosecutor said and signaled to an assistant.

  Eric Ascot watched the screen lowering, and the video started to roll. It was lights, camera, and a lot of trumped up drama.

  Vulcha rang the doorbell. Lil’ Long stood guard next to the stairs. He swayed as if drunk. Vulcha rang a s
econd time. He heard sounds within the apartment, but the door did not open.

  “Busta, whassup? Got some biz to see you on, big man,” he called through the door.

  He rang the bell for the third time, nodding to Lil’ Long. The rattling of the door caught his attention. Vulcha stood and waited. He was uneasy now. Just as nervous as on that cold morning when he was released on parole after serving nine months of a one-year bid. Back then, it seemed like every day was cold. He was trying to survive on the streets. Snatching chains was all he knew. It was a street specialty that yielded long ropes of gold, but he was still short on cash.

  Busta had owned and operated many weed spots back then. He hired Vulcha immediately when he saw the young Vulcha stalking his victims.

  “You gonna have to keep getting up after getting your swerve, kid. Doeth unto others, know-wha’ I’m saying? Why take his shit in violence? Take it in peace, see? You don’t have to hurt the brother. Come, I’ll show you,” Busta had told him.

  Vulcha had listened. His eyes grew wider as Busta peeled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from a thick wad of bills.

  Busta smiled and said, “Niggas will pay for all types of entertainment, cuz we love that type o’ shit. Nobody else love that shit like we do. We wait on long lines on the coldest of nights, searching through our pockets trying to get into a nightclub.”

  The he placed the clean bill on top of a public phone, damaged by an angry user. Vulcha took the bill, and several more from Busta. Vulcha eventually ran one of Busta’s weed spots. It kept him indoors, out of the cold, but it also landed him another stretch in jail for parole violation. He had never repaid Busta for his kindness. Vulcha remembered as he waited.

  “Who dat? Who is it? Ooh, uh, ugh. Shit.”

  Vulcha heard the hiss of passing bullets. He turned in time to see smoke departing the silenced, shiny muzzle of the Desert Eagle held in Lil’ Long’s left hand. He turned and stared at the space carved by the bullets. They had ripped the upper half of the door nearly to shreds and mutilated Busta’s heavy body with holes the size of baseballs.

  “These rhino shits are really bad, dogs. I’m telling you, da rhino rounds will penetrate anything. Don’t sleep, nigga. Damn!” Lil’ Long excitedly shouted.

  Vulcha realized what had transpired. He pushed, and the door swung open. He stood back as if to admire the handiwork, awed by the damage done by the bullets. Vulcha walked slowly into the apartment without speaking. He glanced around, guns clenched tightly in each hand as if he expected Busta to rise.

  Busta’s bleeding body moved in slow convulsions. Thick red blood flowed, staining the soft, plush, earth-hued rug. Vulcha ambled over to Busta’s jerking body. He dropped a one hundred dollar bill in the spreading blood-stain. He fired twice and Busta’s body jerked for the final time. Vulcha slowly shook his head as Lil’ Long spewed his venom.

  “All weak muthafuckas must die in order for me to achieve immortality. Niggas must perish. That’s why we still here, kid. I don’t joke when I go to smoke a mo’fucka!”

  Lil’ Long held his Desert Eagle high. Vulcha gaped, grasping for words. They came in an uncontrollable outburst.

  “I--I thought…! thought I was da one to take care of this fucking problem. It was my problem. He was my man…remember? We go way back. What—What, you don’t trust me, or sump’n?” he asked.

  “You’re heated, nigga. I saved your fucking life and you don’t even…” Lil’ Long began his search, lifting long gold chains with heavy medallions, rummaging through drawers. “Let’s go, Vulcha. This fat muthafucka kept everything in da fucking bank. All I see is bank receipts. Let’s get his producer friend. You can shoot his ass. But are you getting soft, nigga?”

  Vulcha looked at his old friend’s apartment. He fired one of his nine-millimeters twice into Busta’s head. Then he leaned down and removed a diamond-encrusted ring from Busta’s twitching left pinky.

  “I knew your ass would want that shit, yo. Let’s go before po-po start hitting the doors.”

  “Yeah,” Vulcha said. “Let’s use da fucking stairs.”

  “Let’s find us a music producer, and you can shoot him, dogs,” Lil’ Long said. He pounded his fist against Vulcha’s.

  The video clip brought a chilling effect. Several lives were affected and Eric knew he had directly involved Busta. Busta’s death had been clearly motivated by Eric’s need for revenge. Busta was just trying to help out a friend and he was killed. He had not been charged with that particular crime, but Eric Ascot sat wondering if he wasn’t already guilty by association.

  “Well, I think we’ve seen enough for the day. Let’s adjourn this proceeding until tomorrow at 9 a.m.,” the judge said, looking bored.

  22

  It was an exhausting hump-day for Eric. He wanted badly to lounge at his apartment with a drink. He was about to do just that when his phone rang. “Max Roose,” the caller I.D. read.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Eric, sorry to be calling you at this time. Is it a good time—uh— can you talk?”

  “Yes, sure Max go ahead,” Eric said looking at the bottle of Louis.

  “I wanted to talk earlier but you left quickly to avoid all that press and stuff, huh?”

  “Yeah, but you handled it.”

  “That’s what I do Eric. That’s exactly what you pay me to do. But Eric, we can’t get clobbered tomorrow. I don’t think Sophia’s testimony was very damaging. The prosecution will be bringing out the detectives who overheard your conversation with yourself while you were locked up—”

  “That’s bullshit, Max!” Eric shouted so loud, the cell phone almost fell out his grasp. He recovered it just in time to hear Max Roose.

  “Not to worry. We can counter with Tina Torres. She’ll be a very reliable witness. Stick with me Eric and you’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, Max. See you tomorrow at nine.”

  “Good night Eric.”

  Eric poured the drink, but couldn’t help but think of Busta and how he drew his friend into the fire. If only he hadn’t made that call, things would be all different. He flung the shot of Louis XIV to the back of his throat. Eric sucked his teeth while going through the possibilities. Eric was in the midst of second-guessing how he handled the rape situation, and Deedee walked into the living room carrying a bowl of ice cream and almonds. He could see her from the corner of his eye. She had really grown up and as Deedee leaned against the marbled wall, Eric saw something else.

  “All this legal stuff getting you down, huh Uncle E?” she asked, shoving a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth and chewing some nuts.

  “I don’t really know if it’s boring me to death or agitating more. I don’t know.”

  “Yes, I could imagine. And it’s only the first day,” Deedee chuckled. “Wow, uncle, I know she wasn’t on our side, but Sophia really looked fly in that courtroom. Her outfit, anyway…” Deedee’s voice trailed.

  “I mean…she did. Anyway Dee, do you think I’m doing the right thing with Sophia? I mean I don’t hate her or anything like that but,” Eric said, and there was a loaded pause. “Forget about it. You know what, it’s really adult business and—”

  “But uncle, that’s not fair. You started to ask me a question and then you just tell me not to bother answering. Why did you ask in the first place? Well since you already asked, I think you should talk to her. But let it happen casually. Don’t be too intense, because you can be intense, Uncle. And if you guys really love each other then I think it can happen. You know a rekindling of some sorts…”

  Deedee kept shoving ice cream in her mouth and eating almond nuts. Eric watched her for a beat while she enjoyed her snack.

  “Take it easy with that ice cream. You don’t wanna eat too much of that…”

  “Uncle E!” Deedee screeched and quickly walked out.

  Eric Ascot scratched his bearded chin, smiled and said, “Dee must be growing up. She’s so sensitive.”

  He continued drinking and thinking about his trial. The
n he hummed a tune and walked over to the piano, banged out a few chords and just like that, Eric was caught up in the creation of a new song.

  Deedee hurried down to hallway to Coco’s room. She knocked then walked inside the room. She was aware that Coco was still in grief. She found Coco at a desk writing with headphones on.

  “Coco, Coco, do I look I’m gaining weight?” Deedee asked.

  “Huh, yo?” Coco asked, removing the headphones. “What you said, yo? I couldn’t hear you.”

  “Coco, I’m sorry to be bothering you, but do I look like I’m gaining weight?”

  “I mean I guess… Somewhat, yo. It’s hard to tell. But if you’re pregnant then more than likely you’ll gain weight, yo.”

  “Anyway, Uncle E was like, ‘You’re getting fat, Dee,’” Deedee said with disdain.

  “That was a good time to mention to him that you’re carrying a baby inside your stomach.”

  “Coco, you’re right. But I’m—I don’t know where to begin.”

  “That was your opportunity right there, yo. And opportunity only knocks once.”

  “Well, there’s always a second chance. I’m wishing that Uncle E gets back with Sophia and then she can sort of break the news to him and you know—”

  “Butter him up…?”

  “Yeah, get him lathered up… Hmm, how do I go about arranging that?”

  “You’re still a beautiful person, Dee. But you’re crazy, yo.”

  “So what are you getting into? Uncle E is drinking, and that made me want one of those drinks, too. Anyway, what’re you up to?”

  “Just messing with these beats Uncle E gave me, yo,” Coco said, smiling.

  Deedee glanced at her smile and realized that it was the first one in a long while. Coco had been brokenhearted and barely spoke, so her smile was a welcome relief for Deedee. She embraced Coco and kissed her.