by J-Blunt
“I can’t believe I’m doin’ this,” Shanice mumbled, closing her eyes and sitting on Pop’s dick.
The heart monitor beeped again, Pop’s heart rate continuing to increase. Queenie bent over him, kissing him on the face and whispering in his ear. “Wake up, baby. Wake up. Me and Shanice here. Wake up and fuck us. Wake up.”
Shanice was torn between pleasure and disgust as she rode her cousin’s pipe. He was long and thick, and she would’ve loved it if it wasn’t attached to family. When she looked down and seen Pop’s eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids, a tingle sparked through her body. Queenie was right. She was having an effect on Pop. It looked like he was trying to wake up.
“Fuck him harder! Do it faster,” Queenie encouraged. She could see Pop trying to fight his way out of the coma. “Take the whole dick.”
“Wait. It’s big.”
That wasn’t good enough for Queenie. She straddled Pop’s stomach, facing Shanice and pulled off the pregnant woman’s t-shirt. “Fuck him like he me,” she said, sucking Shanice’s breasts and grabbing her hips to guide her.
The touch of her lesbian lover was what she needed to lose herself in the moment. She closed her eyes and allowed Queenie’s hands to guide her hips. The taboo act of sex with a woman and her cousin sent sensations through her body that she couldn’t describe. She increased the pace, riding Pop hard, loving the erotic deed.
“Yeah, baby. Fuck him good,” Queenie cheered.
Pop’s heart monitor beeped steadily, his excitement peaking. Then his body spasmed, locking up.
“What happened?” Queenie asked.
The sexiness of the moment was gone from Shanice’s face. She looked disgusted. “He nutted in me. I feel so nasty.”
“It’s okay, baby. You did good,” Queenie said, kissing her lips. “Is he still hard?”
Shanice climbed off, revealing his slick, rapidly-shrinking tool. Queenie moved quickly, slurping Pop into her mouth, trying to get him back hard. It was all for nothing. Pop’s heart monitor beeped lightly as his heart rate slowed.
Chapter 15
Ever since the attack at Aunty Dorothy’s house, Queenie had become a light sleeper. The slightest noise or bed movement would awaken her. So when the bed moved, Queenie’s eyes opened immediately, finding the clutch that had been thrown onto the bed. Standing a few feet away was Princess, her face flat, eyes brimming with anger.
“Really, bitch? You gon’ fuck her in the same bed as Pop?”
Queenie sat up and stretched out her arms, trying to calm her sister. “It ain’t what you think. She almost made him wake up.”
“I don’t wanna hear that shit!” Princess snapped. “I told you not to fuck wit’ her in the first place. You took it too far.”
The raised voices woke Shanice. She lay in bed, listening to the sisters, unsure what to do.
“Just listen, Princess. Last night he woke up a little.”
The beep of Pop’s heart monitor made everyone pause. “What was that?” Princess asked.
“I think he ‘bout to wake up!” Queenie said, moving to Pop and grabbing his face in both of her hands. “Can you hear me, baby? Wake up!”
The heart monitor beeped again, and Pop’s eyes began moving rapidly behind his eyelids. And then they opened.
Queenie lost her mind. “Oh my God! Oh my God! He woke up!”
Princess and Shanice moved closer, watching Pop’s eyes go from cloudy and confused to alert and coherent. Queenie removed the mask from his face. “Can you talk?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He tried again and only managed a whisper.
“What he say?” Princess asked eagerly.
“I don’t know. Somebody get him somethin’ to drink.”
Shanice jumped out of bed and raced from the room. Pop cleared his throat, trying to speak again. Queenie moved her ear close to his lips and laughed.
“What he say?” Princess asked again.
“Why we makin’ all this noise?” Queenie laughed, kissing him on the lips.
Princess didn’t laugh. “I’ma leave that answer up to you.”
Pop began whispering again. “You don’t remember nothin’?” Queenie asked. He shook his head.
“What he say?” Princess asked.
“He wanna know what happened. Tell ‘im.”
“After you got shot, you called me and drove home. As soon as you parked, you passed out. Born Ready got you a doctor. You got a blood clot during the surgery and went in a coma. You been out for five days.”
Pop frowned and whispered, “Five days?”
The sisters nodded. At that same moment, Shanice walked into the room with a bottle of water. A scowl spread over Pop’s face as he mugged her. He tried to speak, but his words sounded like a hoarse dog trying to bark. Not being able to talk made him angry, and he ripped the IV from his arm. He sat up in bed and began barking again, none of them able to understand what he was saying. When Shanice held out the bottle of water, Pop snatched it, mugging her as he drank.
“What I tell you?” Princess scolded Queenie.
“How the fuck she get in my house?” Pop said, his voice harsh and deep.
“She came wit’ me. When we heard you might die, she wanted to come check on you,” Queenie explained.
The heart monitor beeped as Pop’s anger rose. “What the fuck I tell you, Queenie? Fuck didn’t you understand about that?”
Queenie moved across the bed, creating distance between her and Pop. This was her first time on the receiving end of his anger, and she wasn’t sure how he would react.
“Calm down, Pop,” Princess interrupted.
He turned his anger on her. “Don’t tell me to calm down, nigga! Y’all my bitches. When I say somethin’, you muthafuckas don’t go around and do what the fuck y’all wanna do. That ain’t how this work. My word is law. My bitches don’t break my law.”
“Relax, cousin,” Shanice cut in. “Your heart monitor is going crazy. You just woke up from a coma. Chill before you hurt yourself.”
Pop looked at her like she was dog shit on the bottom of a fresh pair of Jordans. “Why the fuck is you still here?”
Shanice shrank back a little. Pop had never looked at her or spoken to her the way he did. “Because you never called me back. And you almost died. I came to see if you were okay.”
“I’m good. Now get out.”
Queenie came close, reaching out to Pop. “C’mon, baby. She the one that helped wake you up. Don’t–”
A hard backhand to the face cut off Queenie’s words, and she fell onto the bed.
“Shut the fuck up!” Pop roared. “I don’t wanna hear that shit!” he breathed, physically tired from the slap.
Princess went for her clutch. The 380 leapt into her hand like it could walk. “Touch my sister again and she gon’ be the last bitch you hit!”
Pop mugged Princess, breathing heavily, “You gon’ shoot me, Princess? You gon’ pull a gun on yo’ nigga?”
Princess stood her ground. “Don’t you ever touch her again, Pop, or I swear to God I’ma shoot yo’ ass.”
Pop eyed Princess, his limbs shaking as he struggled to get out of bed. “When I. Get up. I’m. Fuckin’. You up. You betta. Shoot me,” he said weakly, struggling to breathe as he rose. The sheet slipped off, revealing his nakedness, his knees shaking like they were about to break.
Princess didn’t back down, her finger holding steady on the trigger.
“Pop, Stop!” Queenie yelled, not wanting to see the outcome. She knew if Pop pushed his luck, Princess would kill him, but Pop didn’t seem to care as he inched toward her. The closer he got, the more his body shook. When he could no longer take the physical strain, he collapsed and passed out.
***
When Pop opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was Queenie. She sat in the middle of the bed, legs crossed Indian-style, watching him. A bruise had formed on the left side of her face, and her top lip showed swelling.
“That shit
creepy as fuck,” he mumbled.
She didn’t speak right away. “Look what you did to my face.”
“You shouldn’ta disobeyed me. I told you not to talk to Shanice. You know I don’t bullshit. When I say somethin’, I mean it. You my bitch. You went foul, and I had to put you back in yo’ place.”
The words hurt more than the slap. “You gon’ talk to me like that, for real? I was worried about you. I love you. I brought her home and she helped you get better. We brought you back, nigga.”
Pop’s face twisted into a frown. “Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”
Queenie searched his face for a sign. Did he really not remember? “You don’t know what happened last night?”
“I was in a coma. Fuck I s’posed to know what happened?”
Shanice walked in the room, the angry look on Pop’s face halting the conversation. Then he seen the delicious-smelling bowl of chicken broth she carried on a plate. His mouth watered and stomach rumbled. He would’ve preferred fried chicken instead of broth, and something like some scalloped potatoes, but he correctly surmised that having just come out of a coma, his stomach wasn’t quite up to that.
When he attacked the broth with fervor, she smiled with satisfaction. “Even though you shitted on me, I still got love for you.”
Pop just kept on eating until the bowl was empty.
“What happened to C-Note?” Shanice asked, taking the plate.
Pop ignored her and got Queenie’s attention. “Help me walk to the shower.”
“You don’t hear me talkin’ to you, Paul?”
Pop didn’t even acknowledge her presence. Instead, he wrapped the sheet around his waist and lifted a hand for Queenie to help him stand. Shanice pushed his arm down. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til you talk to me! What happened to C-Note?”
Pop exploded, “I killed that bitch-ass nigga! He snitched. I don’t fuck wit’ snitches.”
Silence echoed in the room. It took a couple seconds for the words to register in Shanice’s brain. The reaction that followed was unbridled anger. Shanice ran at Pop, her nails turning into sharp claws as she reached for his face. Queenie leapt in the air, tackling Shanice onto the bed.
“Stop, Shanice!”
“Let me go! Let me go!” Shanice struggled.
“No. I can’t. Stop.”
The wrestling match was short-lived. Queenie was bigger and stronger. Shanice was pissed. Tears rolled down her face, and she stared up at Pop with angry eyes. “I hate you, Paul. I swear to God, I hate yo’ guts. I don’t ever wanna talk to you or see you again. Don’t call me. Don’t ask about me. And if I die, don’t come to my funeral, ‘cause I damn sure ain’t comin’ to yours. Fuck you!”
***
“Welcome back to the land of the living!” Born Ready smiled, opening his arms for an embrace. “How you feel?”
Pop hugged him lightly, careful not to aggravate the chest wound. They were in Pop’s living room. He was two days removed from the coma. Although he was able to move around, his strength hadn’t returned and his body felt weak.
“I’m good. Can’t nothin’ keep a real nigga down.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout, nigga!” Born Ready grinned. “I need you now more than ever. While you was out, a lot of shit happened. We need to put our heads together and get back out there.”
Pop shook his head. “I think I’m done.”
Born Ready’s face showed displeasure. “What you mean? We just got started, brah. The whole state can be S.O.D.”
“I think I’ma take my quarter ticket and move on. Buck Wild is a loose cannon. Fuckin’ wit’ him gon’ be the downfall. I ain’t goin’ down wit’ the ship.”
Born Ready paused to consider Pop’s words. “Li’l bro is a hothead, I know. Nigga can’t think past violence, which is why I need you to help me finish what we started. You a rare nigga, Pop. Gimme six months and I’ma have a mil for you. If you wanna leave after that, I won’t try to stop you.”
It was Pop’s turn to stop and think. The money was tempting. His goal was literally a few months away, but no amount of money was worth dying or spending life in a cell. “Did Buck tell you what happened?”
“Yeah. Said twelve was watchin’ the house and you had it out wit’ ‘em while he ran in to get D.D. Said you ran and left him.”
Pop laughed. “So that’s how he spun it, huh?”
“Yeah. I know he left some shit out. Gimme yo’ version.”
“I seen twelve in the truck as soon as we got to the house. I told the stupid-ass nigga to fall back, but he broke the patio door and ran in the house anyway. They ran up wit’ they dogs out. We let ‘em bark. They almost knocked me off. Hell yeah, I left his stupid ass.”
“Listen, Pop. That’s li’l brah, and I can’t turn my back on him. But I had a feelin’ you would say what you said. I try to anticipate er’thang. Look outside. That’s you.”
After a brief stare down, Pop got up with effort and looked out the window. In the driveway was a black-on-black Lamborghini Aventador.
“That’s a couple years old. A $150,000 car. Bitch look like the Batmobile, don’t it, Pop?” Born Ready asked, his words enticing Pop. “Stay wit’ the team, brah. Help me finish what we started and that’s you, plus the mil.”
Pop wasn’t materialistic. He liked nice things, but he wasn’t the kind of person who lived to be seen. As far as he was concerned, reaching a mil was his only goal, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the powerful, high-performance machine. It called his name.
“Fuck it. Where the keys at?”
***
It didn’t take Pop long to learn how to drive the Lambo. The eight-speed automatic, 600 horsepower engine excited Pop every time he pressed the gas pedal. Sport seats molded to his body, the top-of-the-line leather interior smelled new, and the black aluminum wheels made the car a perfect ride. Fifteen minutes later, Pop and Born Ready pulled into the parking lot of Scandalous. It was one in the afternoon, so there weren’t many patrons in the strip club. One of the few men in the club caught Pop’s eye. Dark skin, over six feet tall, wirey build, short afro, trimmed mustache, dressed casually in a t-shirt, jeans, and Nikes. The 40-year-old cop gave all his attention to the thick, light-skinned, half-naked woman grinding on his lap.
“’Sup, detective!” Born Ready nodded. “I see you gettin’ the party started early.”
Darnell Marks looked away from the entertainment to eye his guests. His eyes lingering on Pop Somethin’. “No sense in lettin’ good talent go to waste. You look familiar.”
Pop Somethin’ eyed the detective, staying silent.
“Can we join you?” Born Ready asked.
“Yeah. Y’all want drinks?”
Born Ready sat down heavily. “Yeah. A beer would be nice.”
Pop shook his head, choosing to remain silent as he took a seat.
“Grab us some brews. Put it on my tab,” Marks told the stripper, patting her on the ass as she scooted away. “Is your boy a mute?” he asked, looking Pop over again.
“Nah. He actually really articulate and eloquent with his speech, but you don’t understand his language, so don’t worry.”
“I shot somebody the other day after he shot my partner. Had the same aura as your guy. Was it him?”
Born Ready got serious. “I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout, and that’s not why we here.”
The detective laughed. “Okay. I’m a naturally curious person, so don’t shoot me for trying. Now, tell me how you got my number and what you want.”
“You a public servant, mane. Yo’ information is public record. But I also heard you did jobs for the people you serve and protect, if the price is right. You see what’s goin’ on in the streets. I need a man on the inside. S.O.D. takin’ a lot of losses. Tell me what I need to know to protect my people and assets.”
The detective sat back in the chair, holding eye contact with Born Ready. “I became a cop to heal my city. To put criminals in jail. To protect those that c
ouldn’t protect themselves. Along the way I seen crime on a whole ‘nother level. When I was on the beat, I chased down petty drug dealers and robbers, convinced I was taking a bite out of crime. Turns out the people on the streets aren’t criminals, but victims of the greedy judges, politicians, and dirty cops. I discovered that everyone is doing the same thing. Just trynna make it. Currency is power.”
“That almighty dolla!” Born Ready smiled.
“I need ten thousand up front. Another five every time I drop you something golden.”
Born Ready dug into his pocket and threw four bound stacks of money on the table. “That’s twenty. A lot more where that came from. Now gimme somethin’ gold wit’ diamonds in it.”
Detective Marks grabbed the money and fanned through it. “We believe S.O.D. is trying to take over the drug game in Atlanta. We think y’all killed Grind Squad’s co-founder, Sid, and their enforcer, Duke. How do we know? We have a witness. She was on the phone when your boys made the hit. Said she heard the killer say, and I quote, “It’s a takeover, bitch. S.O.D. in the building.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t have access to that information.”
“I just gave you twenty Gs. Get it.”
“I’ll see what I can do. It’s not my investigation. Blank is the lead man. Somethin’ else you should know is we’re focusing on different leads in the S.O.D. leaders’ homicides. Nobody believes Mecca killed Boss and Gus and ran away with the money. We also don’t believe Grind Squad made the hits. And now that we’ve had this meeting, I’m sure you are the brains behind the shake-up in Atlanta. Good job.”
“Yo’ job is to keep yo’ people off our ass by keepin’ me two steps ahead. You do yo’ job and I’ma keep them pockets right. You got my numba. Hit me.”
Chapter 16
“Have you heard from Pop?” Queenie asked.
Princess didn’t look up from washing the dishes. “Nope.”
