The Kat Trap

by Cairo

  “Let me get on top, and ride ya fat cock,” I said, hopin’ to get in control of the situation before he had my wig in his muthafuckin’ big-ass hands. Thankfully, he was ready for me to ride him down into the mattress. He slowly pulled his dick outta me.

  We changed positions, and this time I straddled on top of him, then reached up underneath me and stuffed his dick up in me. That was better. I made a note to myself to never, ever, let another nigga I had to body hit this pussy from the back. From now on, I’d be on top at all times. I slammed down on his dick. Gave him the ride of his life, then leaned over and reached under the mattress for my gun. I held it in my hand, grindin’ down on his dick, pressin’ and brushin’ my clit against the shaft of his cock.

  I let out another loud moan, glancin’ over at the clock: 3:15 a.m.

  “Aaah, shit,” he groaned. “I’m gettin’ ready to nut, baby. Oh, shit…this pussy. Is. So. Fuckin’. Good.”

  “Give me that nut, daddy,” I said, tightenin’ my grip on my piece. “Bust all up in ya pussy, baby.”

  “Oh, shit…”—he thrust deep up into me, grabbin’ me by the hips—“I’m. Cum—”

  Theessrrpp!

  I shot him between the eyes, then continued ridin’ him until I came all over his dick again. When I was finished, I rolled up off of him, wiped his ass down, removed the sheets, then tossed the spread up over him. I quickly slipped into my clothes, gathered my shit, then quietly walked outta his hotel room.

  I pulled my phone outta my bag, turned it on, dialed Cash’s number, then pressed send. “What’s good?”

  “I know why the caged bird sings,” I said, walkin’ off the elevator toward my hotel room. I slid the key into the door.

  “That’s what it is. I’ll get at you.”

  “Yeah, make sure you do,” I replied before hangin’ up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Three weeks later, word on the street was that that nigga who beat my mom’s ass was out on bail, and she was released from the hospital. Good for her, I thought when I heard the news. I still wasn’t fuckin’ with her ass. They were probably holed up in her room fuckin’ like two banshees. Interestingly enough, she had tried callin’ me a few times. I guess to let me know she was outta the hospital. Then again, knowin’ her ass she was gonna try to come at me on some other shit—even with a wired-ass jaw she was probably gonna try ’n pop shit. I guess she knew not to leave me any damn messages ’cause I wouldn’t listen to ’em if she did.

  I hadn’t really been playin’ Brooklyn too heavy either. Most of my time was spent in SohHo, midtown, or the upper east and west sides. Other than that, I kept my ass in Jersey. Chanel was already talkin’ ’bout movin’ back to Brooklyn. And on some real shit, I was really startin’ to miss Brooklyn as well. There was somethin’ ’bout its vibe and a Brooklyn nigga’s swagger that made a bitch’s pussy moist. And I was seriously thinkin’ ’bout sellin’ my spot and buyin’ a cute brownstone somewhere over in Prospect Park or the Grand Army Plaza area. But I also liked the luxury of bein’ ’cross the water away from all the hustle. Besides, my spot was laced lovely.

  Anyway, I still wasn’t fuckin’ with Tamia’s crusty-pus-pocket ass either. And Iris’s dumb ass finally popped up on the scene after bein’ ghost for almost a week and some change, talkin’ some bullshit ’bout travelin’ with that nigga she was mulin’ for. Humph, whatever! The bitch stayed away from me, and didn’t return my phone calls. I knew it had nothin’ to do with her knowin’ that I knew she had sucked Naheem’s dick, ’cause when I called her ass I kept it real cute, actin’ like I wanted to get caught up. The bitch didn’t wanna hear my mouth ’bout how she was makin’ her ends. Not that I had any room to come at her neck ’bout it, but…humph, fuck her! Either way you looked at it, the bitch had it comin’. It was only a matter of time before the ho slipped or got caught up.

  Chanel tried to convince her to stop fuckin’ with that nigga and runnin’ drugs for his ass. But the bitch said she knew what she was doin’. I told Chanel not to even stress that shit. If the bitch wanted to be a mule, then let her. Sometimes you gotta know when to let a know-it-all bitch do her ’cause that’s the only way they gonna learn. Bitches like Iris gotta fall real hard, bang they heads, then get up and start runnin’ in circles before they realize they done got they asses stuck in the middle of a fire. So when Chanel called me all frantic and whatnot last night, I knew Iris’s day had come. I was pissed that I didn’t get a chance to smash her fuckin’ lights in first.

  “Kat, girl, you not gonna believe this shit,” Chanel said, talkin’ all fast ’n shit. “Hurry up and turn on ya TV. Iris done got her dumb-ass grill splattered all over the news.”

  “What?!” I shrieked, jumpin’ up off the sofa and racin’ over to get the remote off the entertainment center. I turned the power on, then started flippin’ through the channels. “What channel?”

  “Two, four, seven, take ya damn pick,” she said. “Hurry up and turn the shit on.”

  I pressed the buttons for channel two, and almost passed the hell out when I saw Iris’s face plastered on the screen, along with eight niggas and two other bitches, behind the white reporter chick with the pressed-powder makeup. “Breaking news,” she said, talkin’ into the camera. “Federal authorities have dismantled a global drug ring in New York, New Jersey and Connecticut allegedly headed by a Long Island man authorities have identified as Marcellus Bryant…”

  “Can you believe this shit?” Chanel asked, interruptin’ my concentration. “They gonna slay her dumb ass. Didn’t we get at her ’bout this shit a few months ago?”

  We? Humph. I shook my head, iggin’ her ass. “Chanel,” I shot back, “will you shut the fuck up and let me finish listenin’ to what the bitch is sayin’! Geesh.”

  “…Undercover DEA agents bought large quantitities of cocaine about a year ago and that purchase has led to the arrests of twenty-eight people, seizure of more than three million dollars’ worth of cocaine, a hundred-and-fifty pounds of marijuana, and close to five-and-a-half million dollars’ worth of Ecstasy tablets. Along with the drugs, authorities confiscated a cache of assault weapons, pistols, swords, bulletproof vests, and approximately two-hundred-and-eighty thousand dollars in cash in making arrests over the past four months. Marcellus Bryant, thirty-two, who commanded and controlled the New York nexus of the drug ring, was arrested this morning along with…”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearin’ and seein’. The shit was unreal. Like I said, I knew this shit was gonna happen. I didn’t know it was gonna pop off so soon, and to that fuckin’ degree. This bitch was in way over her head. And I bet her ass didn’t have no paper stacked for bail, or lawyers. Retarded bitch!

  “Her mother is gonna flip her noodle when she hears this shit,” Chanel said. “Hold on, T’s callin’ on the other line.” I rolled my eyes, listenin’ to the reporter list the rest of the fools arrested while she had me on hold talkin’ to Tamia’s smutty ass.

  “…and Iris Pines”—the news camera zoomed in on her grill then showed her bein’ escorted in handcuffs by five agents—“twenty-four, of Brooklyn, New York, who was in possession of a black gym bag containing fifty pounds of cocaine, more than five-and-a-half pounds of heroin, and approximately a hundred thousand dollars in cash. The defendants are being held on bails ranging from forty-five thousand to five million dollars…”

  Humph, I thought, they ’bout to fry that ass up real good. This bitch is goin’ to the furnace!

  “Kat, girl, you still there?” Chanel asked, flickin’ back to me.

  “Yeah, ho. I shoulda hung up on ya freak-nasty ass.”

  “Whatever,” she said, laughin’. “Ain’t this some shit?”

  “Not really,” I said, turnin’ the TV off. I had enough. “She knew the shit came with risks. She knows enough chicks who done got caught up in that shit to know shit ain’t sweet. But she still got down with it. So, I can’t feel no kinda way ’bout it. She gets what she gets. And they ’bout to bring it
to that bitch’s head.”

  “Damn, that’s fucked up, Kat. She’s ’posed to be ya girl ’n shit.”

  “The fuck she is,” I snapped. “Not after findin’ out that bitch was fuckin’ Naheem.”

  “Oh, damn, my bad. That shit slipped my mind.”

  “Well, it didn’t slip mine,” I said. “That bitch got just what the fuck she deserved. I wish I coulda dropped her ass first. But it’s all good. I’ma be front and center when that bitch gets sentenced, trust. And then I’ma go pay her ass a visit when they ship her ass up the river—and knock her dead in her grill.”

  “Oooh, Kat, you wouldn’t,” Chanel said, shocked.

  “Then I guess you don’t really know me. That slut crossed the line. It woulda been different if I didn’t know the bitch, but she was frontin’ like we were all fly ’n whatnot. Oh, no, that bitch got a ass whippin’ comin’ to her special delivery.”

  “I wonder if she’s gonna be able to post bail.”

  “Probably not,” I said. “That ho was too busy splurgin’ on bullshit to be thinkin’ ’bout stackin’ her ends. All I know is the bitch had better not call me askin’ for no change to help her with shit—especially not after findin’ out ’bout her and Naheem—’cause the answer is gonna be Hell, muthafuckin’ no, trick-ass bitch! I don’t support or sponsor stupidity. And I damn sure ain’t gonna ride with a bitch who had the dick of a nigga I was fuckin’ with stuck down in her throat. Fuck what ya heard. Anyway, if a bitch gonna ride dirty, then a bitch better have her paper stacked and a legal team all lined up and ready to roll, in case her ass gets popped.”

  “I heard that,” Chanel said, soundin’ like she was deep in thought. She was probably feelin’ sorry for the ho.

  “Look, let me get off this phone. I’ma take a few hits off this blunt, then take it down. Call me tomorrow. Maybe we can do lunch or somethin’ one day this week.”

  “Now that sounds like a plan,” she said. I could almost see her greedy ass droolin’. “You treatin’, right?”

  “Damn, bitch,” I replied, laughin’. “You always tryna get a handout. I need to start puttin’ ya man-eatin’ ass out on the stroll.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” she said, laughin’.

  As soon as I hung up from her the Kat line started ringin’. I rolled my eyes, takin’ a deep breath.

  “Yes, Cash,” I answered.

  “I got a day trip; you want it?”

  “Where?” I asked, lightin’ my blunt, takin’ two long pulls, then blowin’ the smoke out slowly.

  “Baltimore. And I need for you to be able to get in and get out, not try to turn the shit into a week-long production.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, nigga.”

  “I’m serious, Kat. The nigga done fucked up some major paper and the cats he crossed want his ass fried, ASAP. He’s down in B-more for some type of meeting.”

  “When you need it done?”

  “Tomorrow night at the latest.”

  “Send me the paperwork with my money,” I said, puffin’ on the blunt. Damn this shit was good. I blew smoke outta the side of my mouth. Although I wasn’t in the mood for fuckin, maybe I’d suck the nigga’s dick, or just get my pussy ate out. I just hoped his grill wasn’t wrecked and his body was on point. I hated them fat, nasty-lookin’ muhfuckas with the big-ass titties, double-wide stomachs, and tiny link-sausage dicks. Humph. “I hope you not sendin’ me no bullshit either.”

  He laughed.

  “I’m not laughin’, nigga. After that white man stunt, I gotta stay on ya black ass to make sure you don’t try ’n clown me again.”

  “I got you, baby,” he said, still laughin’ all hysterical ’n shit.

  I was startin’ to get pissed. “Hahaha, hell, muhfucka.”

  “See, if ya freaky ass handled shit without all the extras it wouldn’t be an issue.”

  “Whatever,” I said, suckin’ my teeth. I took two more pulls from my blunt, held the smoke in my lungs, then blew it out.

  “Look,” he said, gettin’ all serious, “like I told you before, I don’t care how you handle ya business. Do you. I just need this shit handled quickly. You the only one on the team I let turn down jobs ’cause you don’t like how a muhfucka looks. Go figure.”

  I had to chuckle to myself. “Well, that’s what happens when you got the hottest bitch on ya squad.”

  “Yeah, aiight,” he said, laughin’. “You hot alright. Hot in that fat ass of yours. Now you gonna handle this shit or what?”

  “Didn’t I tell ya ass to send me the muhfucka’s shit? Geesh.”

  “It’ll be there later tonight. Get in and get out, Kat. No field trips until after you take care of this.”

  I rolled my eyes up in my head, frownin’. “Nigga, please…what the fuck I look like tryna make a field trip outta goin’ down to Baltimore? Ain’t shit down there I wanna see.”

  “Good, ’cause like I said, I need the shit handled.”

  “Alright, I heard you the first time. What the fuck?!”

  “Kat, what I tell you ’bout your mouth?”

  “You make sure you send my paper along with his shit, nigga.”

  “You’se a crazy bitch. You know that, right?”

  “That’s already been established,” I answered. “Now beat it. I got shit to do.”

  “Aye, yo, Kat, keep poppin’ shit, aiight.”

  “Cash,” I said, lettin’ out a deep breath, “kiss my fat ass.”

  “As long as I can slam this dick up in it when I’m finished,” he said, laughin’.

  I let out a disgusted sigh and hung up on his ass. That nigga better be very careful what he asks for, I thought, headin’ upstairs to make my travel plans and pack an overnight bag. The muhfucka might end up gettin’ more than what he bargained for.

  Scary thing, the idea of fuckin’ him, then puttin’ a bullet in his skull, was startin’ to get more and more appealin’ to me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Come on in from off the block…remove ya hoodie ’n Timbs…drop ya boxers…lay back…relax…let’s smoke some trees…chill for a while…close ya eyes…free ya mind…listen to the tick of the clock…while I drop to my knees…I’m here to give ya what ya body needs…let a real bitch climb up on ya dick…wet it nice ’n slow…lose ya’self in this pussy heat…call my name, nigga…let Kat spill ya nuts…betta get it while ya can…’cause I’m a ’bout to open ya guts…

  It was almost seven-thirty p.m., and I had just turned left onto Monument Street and was makin’ my way toward the Peabody Court Hotel in the Mount Vernon section of Baltimore. Instead of takin’ that borin’-ass three-hour drive, I flew into the Baltimore–Washington International Airport, and had the first flight outta there in the mornin’. I didn’t even bother tellin’ Grant I was outta town since I was gonna be back in Jersey long before he even realized I was ghost. Besides, it really wasn’t any of his fuckin’ business. But, just in case the nigga called tryna come through, I decided I was gonna tell ’im I was out chillin’ with my girls.

  I pulled up in front of the hotel entrance in my rental, then got out and grabbed my overnight bag. I handed the keys to the valet, then made my way into the hotel lobby.

  “Hello, welcome to the Peabody,” the perky white chick said, greetin’ me with a wide, toothy smile. She was a cute blonde chick with big-ass teeth. Humph. She reminded me of Mr. Ed ’round that mouthpiece.

  “Hi,” I said, givin’ her a phony-ass grin. “I have a reservation.” I gave her my name, slidin’ my bogus ID to her.

  She clicked the computer keys with her long fingas, pullin’ up my information. “Ah, yes, Ms. Carmichael. Here you are.” She clicked the keys a few more times, then waited for the room printout. “There’s a package here for you as well,” she said, handin’ me back my ID.

  “Oh, good,” I replied.

  “Let me go get it for you,” she said, handin’ me my room key, and the printout to sign. “You’re in room 302.” I smiled to myself, knowin’ my mark’s r
oom was right ’cross the hall from me. I never figured out how Cash always managed to know exactly what rooms these marks were in, but he did. The nigga had connects all over the country, in almost every type of industry. A muhfucka with that kinda power was not only dangerous, but it made my clit pulse, real talk. And I knew that the thing that kept me from fuckin’ Cash was the fact that his ass was gorilla ugly. Otherwise I’d probably been had his dick in my throat. She came back with a small brown box. “Here you go,” she said, handin’ it to me.

  “Thanks,” I replied, gatherin’ my things to bounce.

  “Enjoy your stay.”

  “I’m sure I will.” I walked off toward the elevator.

  Once I was inside my room, I dropped my shit on the bed, stripped off my wears, then headed to the bathroom to run the shower. I wanted to get showered and chill for a minute before it was time to tap on my mark’s door to bring him room service—pussy and a bullet.

  I decided to wait ’til ’round eleven to make my way ’cross the hall to his room. I had already changed up my look by skillfully puttin’ in my Especially Yours light-auburn Bohemian clip-in extensions wig, then puttin’ in a pair of contact lenses. The look was cute. Knowin’ how to rock a wig and beat this face really helped to keep my look fresh, and keep muhfuckas from identifyin’ me if shit got messy. I removed the hotel towel from ’round my body, then pulled out a handmade feathered flower from its satin pouch and dusted my body with Kama Sutra Honey Dust, Sweet Honeysuckle. Humph. I loved that shit. It conditioned the skin, leavin’ it silky smooth and glowin’. And it kept a nigga wantin’ to kiss all over ya body. Then I slipped into a breezy, multi-colored, abstract print Issa London kimono dress with plungin’ V neckline. The shit was sexy as hell. And for the grand finale, I slipped my feet into a pair of four-inch Gucci Page pumps, then tossed my gun into my large white Michael Kors Beverly Python drawstring satchel. I peeked outta the door e’ery so often to make sure there was no one wanderin’ the halls. When the coast was clear, I made my way to my mark’s door and gently knocked.