by Sa'id Salaam
“Yes, I’m yours,” Tiffany moaned as Mike entered her.
“Tell me you’re my property,” Mike demanded, stroking her firmly.
“Yes. Yes, I’m all yours!” Tiffany yelled as an orgasm shook her small frame.
CHAPTER 19
Mike had put out a $10,000 reward for whoever brought Wanda to him. He wanted her alive…so he could kill her himself. Her little stunt cost him fifteen stacks to replace the money she stole from Tiffany. It didn’t matter that he drove Tiffany even harder and charged more for her services.
Once Wanda polished off the last of the ounce she got from P.I.G., she was back on the hunt, knowing full well that P.I.G. despised her and would turn her in on the strength, let alone ten stacks. That bridge was burned.
Word was out at most of the other smokehouses in town, further reducing her options. The few renegades who either had the balls or lacked the brains to trap on the street or out of hotel rooms had pure D bullshit, straight chalk.
Wanda was born again when she found the card Pony had given her months before at the bottom of her purse. She remembered a sample of that butta came with it.
Pony knew about the bounty on Wanda’s head, but he wasn’t interested in claiming it. At the same time, he wasn’t messing with her either. His life was drama free, and he wanted to keep it that way. Instead, he directed her to the address of the small smokehouse he had set up for Marcus.
Wanda was thrilled to find out trick-ass Marcus had a package. As bad as he used to sweat her, she didn’t intend to spend a dime. She knew the money she’d stolen from Tiffany wouldn’t last. Even if Mike hadn’t blackballed her from every club, who wanted a dancer missing a front tooth?
* * *
“Today is ya lucky day,” she said, pulling in front of the small rental house Marcus operated out of. Another advantage to seducing Marcus was his shared hatred of both Mike and Tiffany. He could be an asset in her plans for revenge.
She had long ago copied the keys to Mike’s condo and gleaned the combination to his safe. The only thing she lacked was the courage to hit the lick. Years back, Wanda had previously watched Mike beat a girl to death over some missing money—cash Wanda herself had stolen. She planned to make an anonymous tip once she got that money out of the safe.
It took several minutes of beating on the door for Wanda to revive Marcus from the coma-like sleep.
“Fuck! Beating on da do like da po-lice!” Marcus grumbled. Then, being the foolish, reckless junkie he was, he pulled the door open without even checking to make sure it wasn’t the police.
“Hey, Mr. Man,” Wanda said seductively, pushing past Marcus. She was relieved to see he was alone, and better yet, he hadn’t begun to get high. One thing Wanda knew was that once a junkie started smoking for the day, he had no use for some pussy.
“What time is it?” Marcus inquired, blinking rapidly and trying to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. He couldn’t believe Wanda was actually there and being nice to him.
“Oooh wee! Time to brush yo’ teeth,” Wanda said in jest as she looked around the spare room.
The room was empty except for a queen-sized mattress on the floor and a camcorder on a tripod facing the bed. Marcus obviously fancied himself a mini P.I.G.
“Whatcha tryina cop?” Marcus asked, flopping back on the mattress to go back to sleep.
“Nigga, you been sniffing my ass for a year, and now that I hand-delivered the coochie, you treat me like a customer,” Wanda said, peeling off her clothes.
Marcus was now fully awake and grinning from ear to ear. “That’s what’s up!” he exclaimed, reaching to pull her onto the mattress.
“You gotta go slay that dragon first,” Wanda teased.
Marcus was up in a flash to go brush his teeth.
While he was gone, Wanda picked up the shooter next to the bed and loaded it with a large chunk of crack from the plate on the table.
From the bathroom, even over the sound of running water, Marcus could hear the familiar and tempting sizzle of the drug being smoked. He didn’t know what he wanted to hit first, the pipe or Wanda. He was rock hard thinking of both. Marcus stripped in record time and lunged on the bed. He tried to get in between her legs, but they snapped closed.
“You gotta kiss her and get her ready,” Wanda purred.
Marcus snatched his grill out and dove between her thighs.
Wanda pulled her legs up from the back of her knees, putting herself in the buck. “Mmm…eat that pussy,” Wanda said, preparing to fake an orgasm. To her surprise, Marcus licked and sucked her so well she came for real. “Come on and get you some of this wet-wet,” she purred, pulling him up.
As soon as Marcus got inside her, he began humping wildly. “You like dis dick?” he demanded to know. “Tell me you like this dick!”
“Ooh, Daddy! You beating this pussy up,” Wanda replied, trying her best not to laugh. At the rate he was going, he was going to blow his load before she got him to commit to her plans. When his breath grew ragged and his eyes began to roll into the back of his head, Wanda pushed him out of her. “Hold up. Lemme ride that big ol’ dick,” she said, causing him to grin at the compliment. When she slid down onto him, she began to whisper in his ear, “You gonna help me get some get-back?”
“Yeah! At who?” he asked, flailing his head from side to side as she rode him. At that moment, Marcus would have agreed to kill the Pope, the president, and whoever else she told him to.
“Mike. I want you to kill Mike,” Wanda purred as she contracted her vaginal muscles.
It was too much for Marcus, and he let loose inside of her. “Don’t worry. Ima kill dat fuck nigga first chance I get!” Marcus swore once he caught his breath.
“Well, Ima give you the chance and the keys to his condo,” Wanda said, squeezing his rapidly deflating dick.
The couple then commenced to smoke the rest of the day away. Marcus actually turned his phone off, as he didn’t plan on making any more sales that day.
It wouldn’t be the first package he’d fucked up. Pony was giving him plenty of rope to hang himself, and Marcus was quickly tightening the noose.
CHAPTER 20
Fueled by Mike’s promises of being together and living together, Tiffany was tricking like there was no tomorrow. She was servicing four to five men a day. Mike often told her he loved her and then sent her off to sell herself.
Her steadily increasing consumption of cocaine had her senses numb. In her drug-induced stupor, she pretended she was an actress. Each customer met a different persona, depending on their desires. There was the sweet, demure Tiffy, who was shy and innocent, almost virginal. Then there was Sasha, the stone-cold freak. Tiffany could read a man in seconds and would simply zone out and turn her body over to one of her alter-egos.
She was in such high demand that Mike split her earnings 50/50 and then raised her fee. With the money she earned, Tiffany was able to live the lifestyle she once only dreamed of. Tiffany now shopped at Lenox Mall and ate at the best restaurants.
In return, Tiffany never balked at anything Mike asked her to do. But then that day came.
“Oh, hell naw!” Tiffany yelled upon arrival at her “date’s” house. She whipped out her cell and called Mike, tapping her foot furiously as the phone rang. “I ain’t about to do no porno!” she yelled into the phone as soon as Mike answered.
“This is the last one, baby! This is it!” Mike said gleefully. “We did it!”
“Did what?” Tiffany asked, getting caught up in his enthusiasm.
“The money they gonna pay us puts us where we need to be. It’s over. Just me and you!” he said.
“So I ain’t gotta dance or date no more?” Tiffany asked dubiously.
“No, no nothing. Just you and me, baby,” Mike said soothingly, then threw in an “I love you” for good measure.
“So if I do this, I can move in now?” Tiffany asked wistfully.
“Baby, you can move in tomorrow!” Mike shot back. He was glad to be
on the phone so Tiffany couldn’t see the “Yeah, right” expression on his face.
“Look, do whatever them folks want you to do, then bring ya clothes over tomorrow,” Mike said convincingly.
“You for real?” Tiffany asked, bouncing like a small child.
“Yeah, baby. Sure,” he replied before saying his goodbyes.
“A’ight. Let’s do this!” Tiffany yelled to the confused crew.
The director sprang into action and put her through every sexual scenario known. At his direction, Tiffany engaged in a lesbian scene with a white girl, and to her surprise, she actually enjoyed it. Then she was pummeled simultaneously by two black men.
Even when one of them eased into her rectum, she was busy mentally redecorating Mike’s condo. She was so caught up in her own mind that she didn’t even hear the director call, “Cut!” It seemed like only a few minutes, but in actuality, they compiled hours of material – footage that would eventually be published in movies, magazines, and on the Internet.
After showering the sweat and semen from her body, Tiffany went home to pack. She had turned her last trick, and tomorrow she would be moving in with her boo. For the night, all she planned to do was smoke.
* * *
The next afternoon, Tiffany was humming a happy tune as she stuffed her belongings into her bags. She was pleasantly surprised when she ran out of room in her luggage only halfway through her closet. She had replaced everything Wanda had stolen or destroyed and then some.
At the same time Tiffany was naively stuffing her clothes in her bags, Mike was across town stuffing himself inside of Peaches.
Peaches was a fine young thing Mike had bagged in the ‘hood when he stopped for gas. Although he generally avoided the ‘hood and hoodrats, Peaches was something to see—truly a sight to behold. Standing right at six feet tall, she caught his attention, but her round ass held it. Mike expected her to sweat him and/or his Porsche truck, but Peaches didn’t give either a second glance. He started to push once the tank was full, but he couldn’t. The girl was a knockout! Drop-dead gorgeous, she looked like a taller version of Ashanti, but her eyes were a pale shade of blue. Her breasts and ass were giving the fabric of her clothing all it could handle. To top it off, she was young—real young.
It took some of Mike’s best game to get the girl in the car. She told him she was eighteen, but her conversation told him sixteen, tops. He couldn’t care less though. The younger, the better.
Mike wasted no time once he got her to the condo. There was no small talk, no blunts, and nothing to eat or drink. He rushed her into the bedroom and ran up in her. He was almost a foot deep inside of Peaches when his cell phone began to vibrate on the nightstand. “Shit!” he cursed, seeing Tiffany’s name on the display.
“What’s wrong?” Peaches inquired about the outburst.
“Nothing, shawty. Turn over!” Mike replied. He had been meaning to call Tiffany all day to “postpone” her move-in date. Does dat bitch really expect to move in? To be my girl? After all the tricks and making a damn porno? He almost laughed out loud at how gullible the girl was.
When Peaches obeyed his command to turn over and stuck her perfect ass high in the air, thoughts of Tiffany and her problem vanished. He contemplated what to do with Peaches as he slammed in and out of her. Mike was far from a tender dick, but damn! If you a pimp, then pimp, nigga, he scolded himself. He decided to keep her for a minute and then put her to work. P.I.M.P.
* * *
Marcus rechecked the pistol as he pressed his ear to Mike’s front door. He couldn’t hear anything through the heavy oak, so he pressed on cautiously. He’d seen Mike rush the young girl inside a few minutes earlier, and judging by the look in his eye, he assumed he was up in her by now. He slid the key into the lock, then waited another minute to turn it. It took another full minute before he went past the point of no return and turned the doorknob.
Marcus rushed in with his gun eye high, ready to murder something. The front room was empty, but the sound of vigorous sex could be heard coming from the back. He stealthily followed the noise until he was standing in the open doorway of Mike’s bedroom.
Mike was hitting her so well that Marcus almost hated to interrupt. He had Peaches flat on her stomach, pounder her from behind. Marcus could hear her coochie splashing from across the room.
The initial plan was to pistol-whip Mike and talk some shit like they do in the movies or one of those corny “black author” books. Instead, he raised the large gun and shot Mike in the back, just like a coward would do.
Mike went limp instantly as the heavy forty-five-caliber slug tore through his spine.
Peaches hesitated in confusion, then screamed in horror when she realized what was happening.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Marcus pleaded desperately, as if her screams would alert the neighbors more than the sound of gunfire.
When Peaches next opened her mouth to scream again, a bullet sped into it and out the back of her young head. Mike was still squirming, so Marcus put a bullet in the back of his head as well.
Marcus, being a petty thief at heart, stole a roll of cash and some jewelry that was lying around. “You mind if I get this?” Marcus asked sarcastically, picking up a bottle of Cognac. “’Preciate it.” He chuckled when Mike didn’t answer. He stuffed his pockets with loot and made his escape.
Of course he knew nothing of the safe nor its contents. Wanda planned to come back and clean that out on her own.
In an odd twist of fate, Tiffany pulled directly into the parking space as Marcus pulled out. Each was too consumed by their thoughts to notice the other. She had been dialing Mike’s number since leaving home and never got an answer. “I know he here,” she said aloud, noticing the Porsche and Lexus both in their places.
As she grabbed a couple of the smaller bags, a police car whipped up and stopped at the building entrance. Two officers jumped out urgently and trotted inside. Tiffany followed behind and waited on the next elevator. The next car came, and Tiffany rode up to Mike’s floor. When she arrived, she could see Mike’s door was wide open, and she tilted her head curiously at the anomaly.
As she neared, the younger of the two police who had rushed in rushed out and tossed his cookies in the hallway.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” Tiffany asked the officer, who was now turning green. He was too busy regurgitating donuts to respond.
Tiffany left the sick man and rushed into the apartment. The front room was in order, so she followed the sound of the second officer’s radio and found him standing over the splattered bodies. A bloodcurdling scream alerted the police officer to Tiffany’s presence, but before he could say a word, she fainted.
When Tiffany came to, she found herself on the living room sofa with an EMS tech hovering over her. For the next few minutes, she watched the detectives and CSI personnel swarming in and out of the condo. When she regained her composure, she was taken to the Major Crimes Department at police headquarters. There, she was grilled by the detectives assigned to the case.
“What was your relationship to the decedent?” the older of the two asked genially.
“To who?” Tiffany asked, confused by the new term.
“The dead guy,” the other cop shot back. “How did you know the dead guy?”
“Oh, Mike? He was my boyfriend.” Tiffany sobbed. “We were moving in together today.”
Her answer caused the detectives to share a conspiratorial glance. The two cops excused themselves to huddle in the hallway.
The next person to enter the room was a CSI tech who swabbed Tiffany’s hands for gunshot reside. She had become a suspect.
For the next several hours, she fielded hundreds of questions. “Who was the girl? Did Mike have enemies? Where did he get the $200,000 in the safe?”
Tiffany couldn’t answer any of their questions. The reality of there being a woman present shook her soul. When the GSR test came back negative, she was cleared.
“If it wasn’t for you
r loss, we’d have called Dekalb County. They got a warrant for your arrest,” the portly cop told her.
“Thank you,” Tiffany mumbled, grateful not to be going to jail, especially with the half-ounce of crack in her purse. Since she was too shaken up to drive, a patrol car took her home. She decided she could retrieve her car in the morning; for now she just needed a blast.
* * *
The next morning, a federal investigation was set off by the money found in the safe. In a week’s time, the club, the houses, and the cars were seized by the Feds.
Tiffany was out of a job and a place to live overnight, instantly jobless and homeless. The only thing that remained was a serious drug habit that demanded to be fed.
CHAPTER 21
Wanda was pissed at not being able to get at Mike’s fortune, but his being dead was the next best thing. Since Marcus was still getting good dope from Pony, she slid under him.
Pony was still looking out for his childhood friend by giving him ounces to “sell.” He was supposed to bring back $500 on each one, but he never did. Pony only did it to keep Marcus out of his hair. He was getting rich and didn’t need the distractions Marcus was sure to bring.
Marcus and Wanda smoked far more than they sold. There was always some sort of P.I.G.-style freak show going on at the house. He and Wanda had sex with each other and whoever else happened by.
Pony was feeding him with a long-handled spoon but was growing tired of him. Marcus was hanging on by a thread but didn’t even know it.
* * *
Pony heard through the grapevine that Tiffany was dancing at Dimes on Buford Highway. Dimes was a questionable strip club that featured black, white, and Mexican girls. The local police made arrests for prostitution or drugs there on a regular basis.
Tiffany, with her outrageous masturbation show, was an instant hit. Once the regulars from Club Chocolate found out where she was, they flocked to see her, boosting her status with the owner. She was making plenty of money to support her addiction without having to trick. Each night after work, she’d pick up a package from P.I.G. and retire to the extended-stay hotel she called home.
