This causes more screams from the crowd.
“We’re looking for the owner, Diesel Carver. If one of you could simply tell us where that big muthafucka is hiding right now, we can wrap this shit up and let you good folks go on your way.”
Nobody says shit.
More gunfire erupts from the front of the club. At the ensuing screams, we’re all stuck imagining what’s going on in there.
“What? None of you muthafuckas got shit to say? We know that nigga got to be here somewhere. C’mon. Cough his ass up.”
These muthafuckas can’t be serious. No nigga, I don’t care whether he’s from the streets or not, is going to voluntarily snitch in front of all these people. My ass included. Diesel isn’t here, so these grimy Vice Lords aren’t going to find what they’re looking for. The real question is why are they looking for him? I don’t have to think about it for long before Ruby Cove pops back up in my head.
“All of you get up and move your asses to the front of the club.”
Everyone looks around, too terrified to move.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat
We scream.
“Move it!”
We jump to our feet and herd ourselves back to the main floor with the other club participants. There, more Vice Lords with their gold kerchiefs around their mouths are carrying assault weapons.
“Everyone keep calm.” Another Vice Lord steps forward and appears in control of the crowd. “Follow directions and nobody will be hurt.”
“Profit,” somebody whispers close to me. I turn to see that it’s Milo. “That’s Fat Ace’s little brother.”
I know the name. This is the boy who was at the center of my sister’s death. I glare at the tall figure and wish I had some type of weapon that would take his head off.
“He’s not here,” someone yells.
“Wait. Who said that?” The leader scans the crowd until one guy attempts to stand.
“You say he’s not here.Where is he then?”
The man shrugs. “Don’t know. I don’t think he came in tonight.”
The soldier snatches off his gold kerchief.
I recognize Lucifer’s driver, Tombstone.
“You got to be shitting me.” He looks back at the men ringed around him.
The janitor’s gaze swings around. No one else is cosigning what he’s saying. No one would dare. “No. No I’m not.” His voice shakes.
“Search this place. This muthafucka comes in every night. He’s gotta be hiding in here somewhere.”
The crew breaks up and combs the entire club. The crowd remains terrified, on pins and needles while they pull every brother with the slightest resemblance to Diesel to check him out.
Profit marches cool as you please back and forth. Somebody screwed up, and clearly Profit is trying to figure out what to do about it.
“Ain’t this some shit,” Tombstone swears, looking ready to take his frustrations out on somebody. “Well, we’re delivering a message. Tell that illegal gangster that the Vice Lords are looking for his ass. If he knows what’s good for him he’ll pack his shit up and get the fuck out of our town before we catch up with him.”
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat
We scream and duck. The janitor dives to the floor and then trembles like a leaf.
Profit turns to his crew. “Head out.”
The men under his command waste no time turning tail and rushing back out the exit doors. However, Profit looks like he’s not finished with us.
“Deliver our message to Mr. Carver. Tell him he’s on notice.”
45
Nefertiti
Diesel’s crib
“Oh, bitch. That’s my spot.” I toss my hair over my left shoulder so I can look at the white bitch pounding my pussy from behind with a Mandingo-size dildo strap-on. This Barbie look-alike growls like she’s on the edge of busting a real nut all over my back.
“You like my black cock, momma?” Barbie’s seriousness brings a smile to my face.
“Go deeper,” I tell her as I reach between my legs and stroke my dripping wet pussy. I’m not saying that this shit is as good as the real thing, but it’s damn close. I might have to keep this bitch on standby the next time my ass goes through another dry spell.
“Spread her ass wider,” Diesel instructs from across the room in a dark corner.
I don’t know about Ms. Barbie here, but I’d forgotten about Diesel being in the room, watching. I flip my hair to the other side and peep him out while Barbie, following instructions, opens my thick booty wide. Air swooshes inside between strokes, causing my pussy to sound like it’s blowing raspberries.
Diesel sits in the corner, puffing on a cigar and stroking the top of his Doberman pinscher’s head.
“Why don’t you come join us?” I ask, and then jump when Barbie slaps my ass with a nice stinging blow. Pleased with herself, she delivers another one on the opposite cheek.
“Maybe later,” Diesel responds in his usual cool baritone. “I don’t want to disturb the nice flow that you two have going right now.”
I poke out my bottom lip to let him know how disappointed I am. In addition to being GQ fine with a thug swag, Diesel possesses the sweetest dick that I have ever had. When he slings that monster around, he could straighten a chick with scoliosis back out.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m good, ma. Do you.”
We share a smile. In the next second, my mind is snatched into another world. “FUUUUUCK!” I drop my head and come so hard that I can barely stay on my knees.
Barbie is saying some fucking shit that I can’t understand while crouching over my back and rubbing on my titties. Her small hands pull me out of the game. I tolerate her pawing me because she really can hook a sister up.
Diesel chuckles and then climbs to his feet. “Does this mean that you approve of our latest product?”
“Oh fuck, yeah.” I laugh.
Barbie pulls the Mandingo out of my pussy and I instantly miss my new friend. “Oooh.” I drop onto my stomach and roll over.
Barbie’s eyes light up at the sight of the black bush between my legs. The girl is a fucking pussy monster.
“Whatcha looking at?” I tease, arching my back and cupping my breasts so that they sit straight up in the air.
Diesel sits down on the edge of the bed and watches Barbie salivate. Solomon, the dog, pads his way over. The moment I hear his panting, I snap out of the moment.
“Get that muthafucka away from me.”
Diesel ignores me and reaches over to see how wet I am. The moment he touches me I flush and tingle all over. “Damn. You’re soaking wet,” he praises.
“Does that mean that you’re going to hook me up next?” I squirm as he plunges three fingers in deep.
Instead of answering, Diesel watches my reaction as he finger fucks me. The shit feels so good that my legs inch farther apart while my eyes droop low.
“You like that, don’t you?”
“Mm-hmmm.”
“You’re a nasty bitch. You know that?”
I look him dead in his eyes and remind him, “You love nasty bitches.”
He chuckles for the first time since his latest obsession, Cleo, left him with blue balls at the signing party.
Solomon whimpers and licks his chops.
“No,” I snap, and grab Diesel’s arm. “Don’t you fucking do it.”
He grins. “Do what?”
“Nigga, don’t play dumb. Don’t forget that I know your freaky ass better than anyone.”
Solomon whimpers, moans, and whines louder.
“You should have never got that dog used to licking pussy,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I ain’t that damn nasty.”
Diesel and I maintain a long stare-down before he commands Solomon to leave the room. “Out, boy.”
Crushed, Solomon drops his head and pads out of the room.
“Satisfied?” he asks.
“Play those games with those other bitches. Th
at shit ain’t me,” I tell him.
“How do you know? You’ve never tried it.”
“And I never will.” I’m pissed. The mood has been ruined.
“Calm down, momma. I didn’t mean to throw you off.” He glances up at Barbie. “Come here and taste this.”
In a flash, she scrambles over to suck my cum off his fingers.
“Mmmm,” the greedy bitch moans before glancing back over at me. No lie, she’s looking like she could devour my ass.
“I think that it’s time for you to let Trixie here show how she knocked Superhead off her throne.”
“Superhead, huh?”
Trixie bobs her head as she reaches over to caress my legs.
Once again her small hands leave me cold, but if the bitch can work her mouth even half as good as she can work that damn dildo, my ass is here for it. “All right. Let’s see what you got.”
Trixie moves like a child waking on Christmas morning. My first shock is when her tongue runs down the crack of my ass. “Oh.” I blink my surprise.
Diesel’s handsome face splits into a wide grin. “Nice, huh?”
I can’t respond. Trixie’s tongue goes straight through my back door while two fingers go through the front. My head becomes a jumbled mess. The white bitch here is an ass-girl for sure. I fire off two orgasms in quick succession.
Trixie sops up my cum like it was the best damn meal she’s done had in years.
My pussy churns honey by the pound and grows sensitive as shit. I hang in there, but I have trouble breathing.
“Wait. Wait. Stop.” I inch up the bed.
Pussy monster ain’t having that shit. Her fingers and mouth switch positions and my ass damn near shoots up the wall.
My third and fourth orgasms pop off while I beg her for a break.
Diesel watches and strokes his cock through his silk boxers.
In all the years that I have known him, I have never been able to tell whether he gets more pleasure watching or fucking.
While he watches us, I watch him—or rather I stare at his huge dick until my mouth waters.
“What are you staring at?” he asks. “Huh?”
With Trixie’s mouth on my clit, I can’t control my breathing long enough to respond.
Diesel stands up from the bed, his silk robe falling open so that his cock stands fully erect. “Come get this sugar, ladies.”
Trixie and I spring up at the command. I almost shove her off the bed in order to wrap my hand around his cock first. Instead of shouldering me back, Trixie concentrates on taking care of Diesel’s balls. Together we service Diesel with the best blow job of his life.
Diesel folds his hands behind his head and hums. It takes a while to recognize the tune: “Ebony and Ivory.”
The phone rings.
Diesel stops humming.
No. No. No. I double up my efforts in the wild hope that he’ll let whoever it is go to voicemail. But he never lets it go to voicemail.
“Hold up, ladies. I gotta get that.” He waits for us to turn him loose so that he can pick up the portable sitting on the nightstand.
“Hello.”
I sit back on folded knees and give him a look to hurry up. To my left, Trixie copies my sitting position but looks comical with the fake black dick still strapped on. When she sees me looking at her, she pushes up a smile. “I love your pussy.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve never had black pussy before.” She giggles. “Maybe we can do it again sometime?”
“Uh, well. We’ll see.”
“Say that shit again?” Diesel snaps his fingers in our direction, telling us to shut the fuck up.
“What the fuck? Yeah, man. I’m on my way!”
My heart sinks. Our private party is over.
Diesel slams the phone down and releases a stream of obscenities. “Those Vice Lord muthafuckas just shot up my damn club.”
“What?”
He turns on the lights and snatches up his clothes. “That bullshit King Isaac pulled on Ruby Cove blew back on my ass. This shit is more muthafuckin’ money out of my damn pocket. I knew that old cat was going to be nothing but trouble when he got out of the joint. Shit! Fuck!”
He looks up and gestures for us to leave the room.
Like a trained puppy, Trixie hops off the bed and scrambles for her clothes on the floor before marching into the adjoining bathroom to get dressed.
I untuck my legs and lean back against the bed. “Now will you listen to me? You need to cut your losses and let these backward country negroes have this fucked-up city. Atlanta is where your throne sits.”
“I’m not going to talk about that right now.”
“When are you going to talk about it?Your cuz has reneged on the original agreement. They are hardly in the position to pay back what you’ve already invested, so what else are you going to do?”
“Titi, I said not now.”
“Whatever.” I toss up my hands and then fold them across my chest. “But you know that I’m right.”
“Yes. Yes. I know. You’re always right.” He stops and draws in a deep breath while he thinks on things. “I don’t like not finishing what I start,” he confesses. “But, yeah. This whole thing is one big disaster. But there still may be one way to fix everything.”
Suddenly I’m connected to his thoughts. “You want to take out King Isaac.”
A sly smile slopes unevenly across his full slips. “You really do know me so well.”
46
Hydeya
The scene down on Beale Street is eerily similar to the scene on Ruby Cove. The same reporters shout the same hysterical questions as I make my way into Club Diesel. Inside the huge tri-level club, the police team is doing their best to keep a rattled crowd calm. There are overturned tables and broken glass strewn about, but at least I don’t see any white chalk or body bags lying around.
“So somebody catch me up to speed. What do we have here?”
Officer Jones reads from his notes to give me a rundown. His voice gets shaky when the chief enters the building and stops to listen.
“How do we know that they were gang members?” the chief asks.
Officer Jones leans down and picks up a gold flag. “They were all wearing these—what little information we could get is that they wore the colors of the Vice Lords—nobody willing to speak on the record, of course. Hardly anyone is talking at all. You know the drill.”
The chief and I bob our heads. We know all too well. But I’m choosing to look at the lack of dead bodies as a gift. I glance up and note the damage to the ceiling. “It’s going to be a lot of fun, digging those out.” I scan the corners and spot all the cameras. “Bingo.”
The chief looks up. “Hot damn. Someone please tell me that those things are working.”
I turn my attention to Officer Jones, who is also looking up. “Where’s Diesel Carver—the owner?”
“That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question. We’re locating him now. We placed calls to his cell—no answer. So we’re pulling the license to get a home address. After that we’ll send a patrol car over so that he can at least know what’s happened down here at his club.”
I nod along, remembering my last encounter with the man. Besides being a handsome devil, Diesel is a puzzle that intrigues the hell out of me. “When we get the address, I’ll make the visit.”
“You will?” the chief asks.
“Is that a problem?”
The chief sucks in a breath, but keeps any commentary to herself.
My hackles rise. “Excuse us for a moment,” I tell Officer Jones.
He sighs and scrambles off before I face the chief. “Is this going to be a new arrangement?” I ask her head-on.
“What arrangement is that, Captain?”
“You micromanaging me. I know how to do my job.”
“I never said that you didn’t.” She crosses her arms and leaves it at that, but clearly there’s plenty that she’s not saying.
“S
o . . . we’re on the same page?” I ask for clarification. “You’re stepping back and letting me work?”
“I’ll let you do your job.” The stepping-back part was left out, and her message has been received. My job is hanging by a thread; her ass can’t wait for the slightest sign of my ass fucking up before she snips that muthafucka. That, of course, has me thinking about Isaac again. Everything circles back to him.
Chief Brown drifts off to circulate around the club and I’m off to do the same thing when my gaze snags onto a familiar face.
What’s her name? I scroll through a Rolodex of names in my head, but I can’t come up with it. I know she’s the club’s singer, and lately she seems to pop up when I least expect it. I snap my fingers when her name comes to me. “Cleo . . . Cleo Blackmon.” I move around overturned furniture and step across broken glass to make my way over to the distraught singer. The last time I saw her, it was at Momma Peaches’s funeral. The time before that, Fowler brought her downtown for questioning after the shooting at the Power of Prayer Baptist Church.
“How are things holding up?” I ask, drawing her attention away from one of my detectives.
She shifts her head in my direction and I’m struck, once again, by the woman’s undeniable beauty. “Okay. I guess.” Her gaze sweeps over me. “I know you. You’re that new police captain, right?”
“Yes. And you’re Club Diesel’s hottest attraction.”
Her brows climb.
“The singer,” I clarify.
Cleo seems surprised. “Yeah. How did you know that?”
“I’ve seen you perform a couple of times,” I tell her.
Her full lips split into a smile. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re really talented. I’m sure that you’re going to go far in the business.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
We laugh before she asks, “Do you know how much longer we are going to have to stay here? I’m really beat and have to be in the studio early tomorrow morning.”
“Have you finished giving your statement?” I look over at the officer standing next to her.
He gives me a look that tells me even before he shows his sparse notes that Ms. Blackmon hasn’t given him anything. “Honestly, there’s not much to tell. Everything happened so fast. I really didn’t see much.” Past experience has shown me that anytime someone uses the word honestly in a sentence, they are full of shit.
Queen Divas Page 20
