The room suddenly got quiet and now all of a sudden bitches ain’t had shit to say. They knew who I was and what I was about. I was still EBV in the house, had a reputation that stretched for miles, and was still connected to dangerous people. I was nobody to be fucked with.
Bitches averted their attention from me and continued doing what they were doing: nothing. I marched out of the room needing that drink. They looked but they didn’t say shit. I met Power at the bar and took a seat next to him. He smiled. For a goon, a thug, he had a really nice smile and a warm personality. He had my drink ready.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You know I got you. Damn, you change up nice. I like that outfit.”
“Thanks.”
“You the baddest woman up in here,” he complimented me.
He didn’t have to tell me that. I already knew it. But it was nice to hear him say it. He was dressed nicely himself, sporting a leather jacket, dark jeans, and beige Timberlands. He wore a diamond-encrusted pinky ring along with a diamond-encrusted big-face watch and earring. And his head continued to be as bald as a baby’s bum.
He looked at me and said, “Why you don’t like me? I’m not ya type?”
It was unexpected. Should I be honest with him? “It’s not that I don’t like you, I just have a lot of shit goin’ on in my life right now,” I said.
“Like what, beef?”
I didn’t know what to call it, but it was situations. “I have a son, first off.”
“And, I love kids. I don’t have any myself right now, but I would love to have kids of my own someday.”
It was nice to hear.
“What else? What don’t you like about me and I’ll fix it,” he said.
I smiled. “It’s not that simple.”
“Try me, and I can make it be,” he said wholeheartedly.
It was nice to hear once again and he seemed believable, but I dealt with guys like Power my whole life. At first, they seem charming and caring, willing to give you the whole world, make you their queen, or pretend to be, and then suddenly, it all changes. They can become overbearing and controlling, and they think because they have money, bought you some nice things that they own you. I didn’t want to be owned by anyone anymore.
So I didn’t trust anyone. I wasn’t picking on Power; he just came at the wrong time in my life.
“You’re a beautiful woman, you know that, and you ain’t gotta be so standoffish all the time,” said Power. “Someone made a mistake with you; it don’t have to rub off on the next man. Everybody’s different. I’m different.”
“It’s what they all say,” I countered.
“Well, it’s what I say. Get to know me and see for yourself.”
I gazed at him. He was intelligent and able to hold a conversation. I couldn’t say the same for most of these niggas who frequented the place. If it wasn’t about drugs, pussy, weed, or sports, then the men were left clueless with stumped faces.
“Give me a chance, let me take you out somewhere nice, somewhere different,” Power said, continuing to woo me.
I sighed. I continued gazing at him fighting my better judgment. He was an intimidating man, but he spoke like a humble man to me. He drank wine instead of hard liquor. It was a first. But I knew in his eyes what this man was about, the type of life he lived: a gangster’s life, possibly a hardcore killer and violent man who didn’t get his savage street reputation by being humble in these mean streets. He wore one face around me, but in the game, he was someone different. Rico was the same way.
Power fixed his eyes on me, my beauty, and smiled. His teeth were white as pearls and his trimmed goatee was cute. “If you say yes, I’ll let you rub my head and make a wish,” he joked, rubbing his head for the fun of it.
I chuckled. Say yes, I told myself. What would it hurt? “Okay, one date,” I remarked.
“One date is cool. I can’t argue with that.”
“You can’t,” I said.
“I see ya sassy.”
“You don’t know what you’re gettin’ into,” I told him.
“I’m willing to take my chances.”
He ordered me another drink and we continued to talk. He made me smile and laugh, and for once, he took my mind off of the troubles in my life. It was a good thing. I needed the talk and laughter he gave me.
Time went by with us talking at the bar. That night, he put over $1,000 in my pockets and offered me a ride home. I had to admit, he was an interesting guy. I prayed that going out on a date with him didn’t backfire on me.
Chapter Fourteen
Mouse
Erica was living her life, being comfortable, but I felt that I was simply surviving. With me giving her 65 percent of every dime I made every time we hit the track, it wasn’t any real money. It would take me forever to save for a place of my own at the rate I was going. Meanwhile, Erica had other schemes going on with Cream and she was buying nice clothing, jewelry, and doing her in pleasing ways. I felt like the wicked stepchild, me and my daughter. Whatever my daughter needed, I paid for it. Erica only did us that one solid when I first arrived to appease me, to get me to work for her. But now, she wasn’t buying my daughter shit. I did for Eliza with my blood, sweat, and tears. It made me rethink and evaluate my whole situation.
I wasn’t going to be able to come up on my own while I was still living with Erica and owing her all the time, and with Cream steady trying to fuck me while Erica wasn’t looking. The nigga was a creep. The way he would look at me and come on to me, I wanted to knock his teeth out. I wasn’t about to degrade myself that low; it was bad enough strangers got a piece of me on the track, but it wasn’t about to happen where I slept, shit, and ate, and especially with Erica’s man. He thought he was a pimp, but he was nothing but a lowlife, a disgusting pig who took advantage of women.
Cream was one of a few pimps who tried to persuade me to come under them, to choose them for protection in the streets. See, I may have been living with Erica and Cream, but I wasn’t his bitch. I was too stubborn and boorish to have that muthafucka brainwash me into slaving me into lifetime prostitution. He was trying to acquire a stable of hoes to work for him. I wasn’t about to be one of them.
However, Cream was the least of my problems. It was a pimp named Cat Head I strongly felt I needed to worry about. He was a gorilla pimp in the game who frequently saw me working the track. When the warm weather started to come around, more and more girls started to come out to the track. I got into a few conflicts with a few of Cat Head’s bitches in Hunts Point. We fought over territory like drug dealers; like in the game, working the right territory mattered and Cat Head and his bitches tried to drive us away from the prime real estate. But Erica and I were the ones working Oak Point Avenue from top to bottom when it was freezing cold, and we weren’t about to be run off like some scared bitches.
However, Cat Head took a serious liking to me. He would approach me when the chance came around and he would try to smooth talk me into joining his stable. He would mention how all of his hoes were well taken care of, from clothes, money, food, having a nice place to stay, to traveling around the country. He took his bitches to Vegas, Miami, Atlanta, Chicago, L.A, and Houston and so on. They were area code hoes. He was pimping some beautiful women and he wanted me.
Cat Head made Cream look like a bitch. Cream was all talk, trying to play a part that he wasn’t meant to play, where Cat Head was nothing but bark, a fierce muthafucka who buss his gun and could be extremely violent. Whenever Cat Head came around, I noticed Cream was never around. He would disappear like Houdini, and then come back around whenever Cat Head was done talking to me. I had no respect for a bitch-ass nigga. Also, I wasn’t about to join Cat Head’s stable. I barely liked working with Erica, and the reputation Cat Head had was a whirlwind of trouble coming my way, no matter where he took his girls and how much he spent on them. Word on the street was it was hell in his camp if you disobeyed any of his rules or if he felt you disrespected him. He was a gorilla pimp, an
d those the niggas any bitch would stay away from. He was known to use brute force, excessive head twisting and arm breaking, and some of his bitches be looking rough and beat up.
But the nigga was persistent in trying to snatch me up and it was becoming scary. It got to the point where I felt he would try to kidnap me.
“You’s one fine-ass bitch, Diamond. You and me, we would kill this game and make so much money. Shit you’d be straight fo’ the rest of ya life,” Cat Head said to me. “I would definitely make you my bottom bitch.”
No matter what he said or how he said it, I wasn’t interested. But gorilla pimps are excessive and relentless. The word no wasn’t in their vocabulary.
The Juice Bar was a place where everyone went to unwind, get their drink on, listen to good music, and mingle. The pimps came to the place to show off their stable and solicit their women. The ladies came to display their sexy attire and maybe catch them a baller, and the ballers came to flaunt their wealth and probably snatch up a juicy booty call for the evening. Everyone came to the Juice Bar on East Gun Hill Road. It was a decent spot in a mutual location.
I was there with Erica sipping on a cognac and Coke. We sat at the bar talking, enjoying the evening, and chilling. She was buying and I was drinking. I needed the break. However, Cat Head walked into the place with two of his whores. He was dressed in a pricey leather bomber, a Yankees fitted, and bejeweled in white gold and diamond, looking excessive with his wardrobe.
The minute Cat Head noticed me seated at the bar with Erica, he grinned and came my way. He looked at me like I was some object of his desire. His dark eyes became fixated on me like a fat kid seeing cake and he strode my way leaving his two hoes behind and rubbing his thick goatee like some smooth cat daddy. He was bad news.
I sighed. Erica saw him coming and she looked annoyed too. He was upsetting her. In her mind, Cat Head was a threat; him desperately trying to snatch me away was like taking food out of her mouth. I was temporarily under her thumb until I came into my own and taking 65 percent from me every night did add up into a healthy profit. I was a bad bitch and everyone wanted me, for pleasure and profit.
“Ladies, good evening,” Cat Head greeted us and invited himself into our personal space. “Diamond, you look lovely tonight, like always, but I can make you shine like brand new every day, you hear me. I’m like Robin Hood, I take from the rich, the poor too, and I keep it and my bitches prosper from it too,” he added. He pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills and flossed in front of us.
“Drinks on me tonight, ladies, I can afford it,” Cat Head boasted, peeling off two hundred-dollar bills and dropping it on the bar.
Yeah, it was ladies now, but bitches later. He was a wolf in sheepskin clothing, the devil in disguise. And I wasn’t impressed with his flaunting. He placed his arm around me and continued his flattering pimp talk like I really cared.
“You know when all the buildings fall pimpin’ gon’ still be tall, you feel me, and a woman’s legs are her best friends, but sometimes best friends have to part, ya feel me? ‘There are two types of people: those that talk the talk and those that walk the walk. People who walk the walk sometimes talk the talk but most times they don’t talk at all, ’cause they walkin’. Now people who talk the talk, when it comes time for them to walk the walk, you know what they do? They talk people like me into walkin’ for them.’ You feel me?”
What the fuck? What was he talking about? And I swear he got that from some famous movie. But he was preaching to me this pimp talk as if I was listening. He was intense with his words and wasn’t gonna give up on me. He talked to me like getting down with him was going to fix all of my problems, seducing me with fortune and moving to some utopia.
I wasn’t sold and I was never gonna be sold.
I wanted him to go away. He wasn’t. He invaded my world like an alien invasion. No one in the place wanted to mess with Cat Head because of his reputation, but when I saw Tango walk into the Juice Bar I felt it was all about to change.
Cat Head was still talking to me while I was looking at Tango. Inwardly I smiled seeing Tango. I admit I liked him. I liked the way he talked to me, and even better, the way he would look at me, like I was the last woman on this earth and he was going to cherish me. It made me feel good, especially now with the hell I was going through.
He came alone, clad in a leather jacket and Tims and looking finer than ever. He had this image about him that screamed bad boy and I was attracted to him. He noticed me and smiled, but that smile was short-lived when he saw Cat Head cozying next to me and being in my ear. The look that shifted in his eyes said he was fuming. He must have felt that Cat Head was trying to snatch his dream girl away from him, because I suddenly saw hell in his eyes.
He marched my way with a scowl. In my gut I knew it was a storm coming. Cat Head and Tango mixing with each other, it was like a tornado meeting with a volcano. It could get ugly, become a natural disaster, and affect everyone around them.
“Hey, beautiful,” Tango said to me coolly.
He hugged me right in front of Cat Head and smiled. He didn’t even acknowledge Cat Head. His attention was fixated on me like Cat Head was invisible. I could tell in Tango’s eyes that he was annoyed by this pimp talking to me. But he gave me my love and attention first like he was claiming his woman. But I wasn’t his woman, not yet anyway. He glared at Cat Head almost daring him to say something. And Erica stared at them both like she was waiting for the main event to happen.
“Let me buy you a drink,” said Tango.
“She already got a drink, nigga,” Cat Head chimed.
“Nigga, I wasn’t talkin’ to you,” Tango barked. “And who is this muthafucka anyway?”
“You fuckin’ wit’ the wrong pimp,” Cat Head rebuked him. “Don’t worry who the fuck I am.”
“Nigga, get the fuck out my face and stay the fuck away from my woman.”
“Nigga, ya bitch chose me!” Cat Head exclaimed.
He was now talking crazy. I chose no one. But right now I had these two thugs ready to fight over me. I sat in between them and felt like I was in a tug of war match. They weren’t physically pulling me, but the way they went back and forth with harsh words about me, it was dizzying.
“Y’all need to fuckin’ chill,” I chimed. But my statement was nothing but a whisper from a mountaintop and they were down at the bottom. They didn’t hear shit.
“Nigga, she don’t need ya fuckin’ kind in ya life. You fake-ass pimp,” Tango insulted him. “Step the fuck off!”
“My kind? Nigga, my kind make five to ten grand a night, you broke-ass nigga. I can give my bitches whatever they fuckin’ want and travel the world. What can you give her, muthafucka?” Cat Head retorted.
By now both men were in each other’s face, glaring at each other and shouting heatedly. The entire place took notice. I didn’t know what to do. The inevitable was about to happen. Tango continued to be very disrespectful toward Cat Head. He said words to the pimp that would get any man killed. But the challenging look in Tango’s eyes told me it was about to get uglier and their argument continued to ensue right there.
It came out of nowhere, the attack on Cat Head. The beer bottle smashed against Cat Head’s head shattering to pieces and staggered the man. I stood aghast. It was so sudden. Shards of glass from the broken beer bottle got on me. Tango was all over Cat Head, pummeling the man down to the ground with his fists. He hit him and hit him, and hit him, not missing, and every punch coming from Tango seemed to echo like an explosion happening in the room.
“Don’t fuck wit’ me, nigga,” Tango screamed out.
Cat Head was on the ground trying to protect himself, but Tango was a beast. It looked like a housecat trying to fight a lion. Tango was too strong. He hit Cat Head so bad I thought he killed him. And then he punched and stomped the man viciously into the floor. Tango raised his Timberland boot almost like fifty feet in the air and they came crashing down on Cat Head like the sky was falling. He howled from the pain a
nd looked completely helpless.
“You a bitch-ass nigga!” Tango shouted.
It was almost like he zoned out and attacked and attacked like his own life had been threatened. I was afraid Tango was going to kill this man.
I just stood there and watched. I admit, I was part turned on and part scared at the brutality. It took a few workers at the bar to pull Tango off of him. He roughly resisted, but they finally pulled Tango off the man; it looked like they had to lift a concrete slab off a crushed man. He was adamant to finish what he started. It took hordes of security to pull Tango away. The man was difficult to control, but eventually they did and the beating came to an end.
When I finally got a look at Cat Head, he looked like he had been mauled by an animal. He was bleeding profusely with his face bruised and swollen, and he couldn’t get off the floor. Tango demolished Cat Head’s vicious and gorilla pimp reputation. He embarrassed the man in front of everyone.
Tango looked at me and then shot his eyes down at the man he had severely beaten, and then he suddenly took off, leaving the bar like it was on fire. I assumed the realization suddenly hit him that he was on parole. And that fight would have been a straight violation.
“Damn, he fucked him up,” Erica said, smirking.
She hated Cat Head. I kind of felt sorry for him.
There was a part of me that wanted to go chase after Tango and make sure he was okay, but I didn’t. I figured he would be long gone by now and maybe he wanted to be alone. I watched two of Cat Head’s whores help their pimp off the floor. They both looked traumatized by the ass whooping he received. When Cat Head was finally on his feet, he flipped out. He roughly pushed them away, screaming, “Get the fuck off me, I’m okay! I’m fuckin’ okay.”
No, he wasn’t. He looked like chopped meat.
He placed his hand on his face and it was coated with blood. He used the bar for support, still looking dazed and confused, bleeding from everywhere. I hadn’t seen an ass whooping like that in a long time. It was almost humorous to witness, but insane to watch. The man was in terrible shape. His edgy and flashy persona was tainted now.
La Familia 2 Page 13
