Welfare Wifeys

by K'wan

  “Ain’t nobody forgot nothing, Cutty, but you can’t eat a memory,” Jada shot back.

  “See you’re gonna make me say some shit to you over this phone that might get me another charge.”

  “As if it would make a difference,” Jada mumbled.

  “Fuck all the smart shit you’re talking. What happened to that thing you were supposed to do for me a few weeks back? You were supposed to meet up with my man’s sister so you can settle that debt for me and you never called her.”

  “My bad, I had to go to Davita’s school and when I tried to hit shorty back to reschedule I kept getting the voice mail. I’ll get around to it,” she said as if it was nothing.

  “Jada, you know better than to come at me with that bozo shit. I’m in prison, not the streets. You can’t really promise a nigga something in here and not come through. Behind the wall all you got is your word and Cutty’s word is his bond.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “So I’m noticing. You’re not only sorry, Jada, but you’re trifling too.”

  “What kinda bullshit are you talking about now?”

  “I’m talking about after I couldn’t get you on the line I had my mom go to the stash-account to take care of it for me.”

  Jada was shocked. “Your mother? I know you didn’t let your mama have access to our bank account?”

  “My bank account and yes, I did. What you thought I was gonna jam myself by only allowing you to have access?” Cutty laughed. “This ain’t Casino, baby, and you ain’t Ginger.”

  “Cutty, that’s some real shady shit to say,” Jada told him.

  “Nah, what’s shady is the punch line of this fucked up ass joke. My mom said that account is short.”

  “Cutty, I know that money is only supposed to be for emergencies, but I had to tap it to take care of a few things. Welfare don’t hardly give you enough to make ends meet. Just last week I had to go to building fifty-five and—”

  “Jada, if you say one more thing other than the truth, as God is my witness I’m gonna reach through this phone and rip your fucking lips off,” he cut her off. “I’m missing almost twenty thousand dollars and I wanna know where the fuck it is?”

  Jada was speechless at first. She had been tapping into the money here and there, but she hadn’t expected the tally to be so high. “Cutty, you mother must have it wrong because—” she began, but he cut her off again.

  “Jada, you’re already insulting my intelligence so please don’t insult my mother too. The bottom line is that I wanna know where my money is, and if you can’t tell me that then you need to tell me how you plan to put it back.”

  “Nigga, I know you ain’t trying to call me no thief?” Jada got indignant as she tried to spin a plausible lie in her head that would explain where the money had gone.

  “I ain’t trying to tell you shit. What I am telling you is that if you don’t produce my bread, immediately, me and you gonna have a problem, bitch.”

  “Hold the fuck on. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  “I’m talking to the trifling cunt that my dumb ass trusted with my life and my kid!” he raged.

  “Fuck you, ya mama’s a cunt! Cock-eyed old bitch!” Jada yelled back.

  “Jada, I don’t know what the fuck you’re out there doing with my bread, but you better give me back what belongs to me or you’re gonna be the sorriest black bitch in Harlem,” Cutty warned her.

  “I know you ain’t trying to send no threats this way like I’m some punk bitch?” Jada’s tone darkened. “Cutty, you know how the Butlers give it up so please don’t take it there.”

  “Shorty, the way I feel right now, everybody in your house who didn’t come outta my nuts can get it!”

  Jada was hurt by the way he was speaking to her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing it. “I hear you talking, gangsta. When I was running around out here for you making moves, and sucking your dick on the dance floor, I was your lifeline and now you’re talking to me like I’m just some bitch you’re fucking. We’re gonna see how tough you talk when it’s all said and done.” Jada’s mind immediately went to the shopping spree she was going to go on with what was left of Cutty’s money.

  Cutty laughed. “Bitch, I know you like I know my own dick, so you can rule out the petty ass bank robbery in your head. I already had my mom remove your name from the account and my lil man’s and them from B.K. know not to put another dime in your hands. The ride is over, boo.”

  “So this is how you’re gonna do it, Cutty? You’re just gonna leave me and the kids out here with nothing?” Jada was emotional.

  “My kid is gonna be straight. My mother is petitioning for custody so you should be getting the paperwork any day now.”

  “So how am I supposed to get by?” The tears had escaped and were streaking her cheeks.

  “Get by on that punk ass twenty thousand you stole, whore. If you need to get ya ones up then here’s a thought for you. Why don’t you stop giving that washed-up pussy away so freely and try selling it?” It was a low blow and they both knew it.

  With that statement Jada knew that it was the end of her and Cutty. “That’s some cold-blooded shit, but I should’ve expected as much from a low-life convict like you. But that’s alright, Cutty, you’re gonna rue the day you crossed a bitch like me.”

  “Trust me, I already do. Outside of my money and my son we ain’t got shit to talk about. Get my money, Jada.”

  “Well, here’s a thought for you, Cutty. The night you got fall down drunk and me and J.C. had to carry you home, not only did I fuck him in your bed while you were laying there sleeping, I sucked his dick and let him cum in my mouth. See you in twenty-five years, ass-pirate!” She ended the call.

  Jada had always considered herself one of the coldest young chicks in the streets, but she had always had a tender heart for Cutty . . . a heart that had been stomped into pieces. True, she was guilty of tapping his bank account and skimming a little of what he had coming in, but Jada felt like she was entitled to it. When Cutty got knocked and everyone kept living their lives, Jada put hers on hold to ride with her baby daddy. From risking her freedom by visiting him with a vagina full of heroin, to bleeding other dudes so they could eat, and now he wanted to cast her aside like trash. With having the financial rug pulled from under them a lesser broad would’ve fallen apart, but Jada was a Butler and it would take more than idle threats for a dude doing two decades to break her spirit.

  “Fuck it.” Jada pushed the memories from her mind and nestled into her covers to get some long overdue sleep. No sooner did her eyes close than her cell phone rang. Without even looking to see who it was she flipped the phone open, prepared to get her spazz on, but the anger drained away when she heard who was on the other end.

  “Oh, shit. What up, cousin, Gucci?”

  Chapter 6

  When Arthur Weis lifted his head from his desk he looked like he had been hit in his face with a ball of flower. His cheeks and nose were a ruddy shade to match his heavily veined eyes. On his cluttered desk there was a hand mirror smeared with cocaine. As he peered down at his chalky reflection in the mirror he didn’t see the successful attorney who had fought his way up the ladder into his own lucrative private practice, he saw the monster his greed had made him.

  From the time when he worked as a legal aid in Manhattan Criminal Court, Arthur had made a name for himself as an attorney who would go above and beyond in his pursuit to win a case. Unlike some of his colleagues, Arthur didn’t care to barter with the prosecution for reduced sentences, there was no money in that. Arthur knew to stick for the long bread he had to make a name for himself as a shark and only then would he be able to crawl out of the shitty position he was in. It didn’t take long for Arthur’s name to be circulated among the career criminals he helped beat the system and they all came to Arthur when they got in a jam and needed someone to look the other way.

  When he was able to establish his own practice, clients flocked to him
like disciples, and carrying cash in barrels for his services. The lifestyle that his clients led was so enticing to him that he often found himself letting his career and personal life overlap. You could often find Arthur in the back of the club popping bottles with notorious killers and bosses. He quickly became one of the darlings of the underworld and reveled in the adoration he got from some of the ghetto’s most powerful organizations. For as sweet as the life was for him, Arthur was mortal and therefore subject to the larcenies that lurk in the hearts of men.

  Arthur got greedy and instead of doing his job he just collected money. Even if Arthur knew he couldn’t win the case he would feed the clients false hope just to get their money and march them to their demises with a straight face. Quite a few of his former clients didn’t take kindly to being railroaded and had promised to settle up with Arthur, but he knew none of them were stupid enough to actually touch a lawyer as high-profiled as Weis. His biggest headaches were coming from the state, thanks to a sour client and some sloppy money laundering. Arthur’s life was slowly becoming a shit storm and he was standing in the middle of it with a broken umbrella.

  When Arthur heard his door click open unexpectedly he jumped out of his seat and knocked over his coffee on the brief that had been sitting on his desk. Arthur was so focused on saving what little bit of cocaine he had left that he had the mirror held up in plain sight when his assistant walked in. She was a pretty young brown-skinned girl with bright eyes and a nice shape.

  “Jesus, what the hell are you doing just busting in here like that? I told you to cancel my appointments for the day, I don’t wanna see any more clients!” he barked on her. Her mouth opened but no sound came out as fear had made her mute. When Arthur saw the shadows materialize behind her he knew just what her fear was like because it crept into his heart too.

  “I’m not a client, I’m the bitch you’ve been fucking for the last six months.” Don B. walked in, draped in black leather and heavy jewels. He was flanked by several hard-faced men wearing murderous scowls. Don B. was anything but your typical rags to riches story. He had once been a ghetto superstar, handpicked and tutored by the old kings of Harlem, and on the fast track to being the next hood legend. He was a natural hustler, but more importantly he had a sharp mind. Don B. had seen the writing on the wall and knew that he could only bleed the streets for so long before they eventually bled him, so he set his sights on music and started Big Dawg Entertainment and the wheels of fate were set in motion. Seemingly overnight he watched Big Dawg go from a startup company to one of the most successful labels in the music industry. From the hottest upcoming rappers to R&B veterans, Big Dawg had it all. But nothing was without its price, which Don B. would learn over the years. True, Jah, Pain, Lex, the list went on so long that many of them had become little more than nameless faces, but the Don remained and so the show would go on.

  “What’s up, Don? I didn’t see you on my calendar for today. Is everything cool?” Arthur asked nervously.

  Don B. stepped forward and stared at Arthur from behind his black shades. He ran his finger across the saucer, then over his gums, pausing for a minute to feel the potency. “No, everything ain’t cool, muthafucka. I don’t appreciate being fucked unless you’re a bitch that throws it like a porn star. Are you a porn star, Arthur, because you’ve surely fucked me?”

  “Listen, if this is about that little thing with the guy Harold, I promise you that I’m working on it, brother.” Arthur gave him a dopey smile.

  Without warning Don B. smacked the cocaine-coated mirror from Arthur’s hand. “First of all, I ain’t ya fucking brother, cracker, and second of all you’re a damn liar. You took my bread and left my lil nigga Fully for dead!”

  During the production of the Left Coast’s second album Fully had gone out drinking with some of the homeys and gotten into a fight with some guys in a bar. He hit one of the guys with a bottle and disfigured him. The situation looked bad for Fully but Weis had promised to get him off for the right price. Desperate to get the album finished Don B. went against the advice of his regular attorney and paid Arthur five hundred thousand dollars to get it done. In the end Fully ended up blowing trial and getting a flat twelve instead of the six to nine the DA initially offered.

  Arthur adjusted his tie nervously. “Don, that wasn’t my fault, it was that cunt of a judge and rotten luck! What are the odds that her son was killed five years ago by the same gang Fully belonged to? She had a hard-on for the guy from the time she read his jacket. It was outta my hands.”

  “Of course, because you needed your hands free to take my money, you fucking crook!” Don B. snapped.

  “Hey, now that’s not true. Don, I fought my ass off for Fully, and when I blew it I accepted responsibility for it and gave you a discount to get his appeal done. I know you’re salty because it’s taking so long, but these things take time with the red tape and all, ya know?”

  “Yeah, we know all about tape.” Don B. nodded to one of his henchmen who produced a roll of duct tape. “Weis, I may be a lot of things, but I ain’t no fool. You never filed Fully’s appeal because you knew he couldn’t win the damn case in the first place. Now I gave you a half a ticket for the case and if you stack that on top of the appeal you never filed for and add interest, it puts you into me for about a million and change. Do you have my money?”

  “Come on, Don, you know me, we go back. Listen, on my mother’s eyes I put that paperwork in, I can even show you the e-mail confirming it.” Arthur went to turn his computer monitor around but Don B. stopped him.

  “That’s not what I asked you,” Don B. said coldly.

  Arthur looked from the man holding the duct tape and smiling menacingly, back to Don B., and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Don, I didn’t steal from you, man, I swear to Christ. Okay, if you wanna work something out I’ve got fifty thousand in my desk drawer and I can get you a little more in a few days. Let’s say I kick you back the bread you gave me on the appeal and we’re square, huh?”

  Don B. removed his shades and glared at Arthur. “I gave you a million dollars which is what I expect back.”

  “Don, let’s be reasonable about this, we’re friends for Christ’s sake!” Arthur began, but was cut off when Don B. stuck a gun in his belly.

  “Friends don’t fuck friends, Arthur.” Don B. waved his men forward. Arthur struggled with everything he had but he was no match for the thugs who used the duct tape to bind him stomach-down across his desk. Using two pairs of handcuffs they clamped Arthur’s ankles to the legs of the desk, forcing him to have to lie with his ass up.

  “Don, what the hell are you doing, man?” Arthur struggled to crane his neck so he could see the men over his shoulder.

  “It’s like I said, kid, friends don’t fuck friends, but when you took my bread that ended our friendship.” Don B. hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and gave Arthur a look that made his blood run cold.

  When Arthur started to get the picture he began thrashing wildly trying to get free of the tape. “Wait, wait, wait, you’re going too far, Don B! I know I’m in the wrong because I owe you money, but this is fucked up on so many levels!”

  Don B. frowned. “Arthur, you got me twisted. The Don only indulges in pussy, I don’t play them games you hinting at.” Hearing this made Arthur breathe a sigh of relief, but it was a short-lived moment when he heard Don B.’s voice again. “Yo, Herc,” Don B. called over his shoulder. All 350 pounds of Herc lumbered forward licking his lips at the sight of Arthur bound and helpless. “Herc, until this piece of shit pays what he owes, he’s property of Big Dawg. Enjoy, my nigga.” Don B. patted Herc on the back and headed for the office door. Devil grabbed the secretary by the arm and followed.

  “Don, you can’t do this to me! This is inhumane!” Arthur shouted over the sounds of his pants and underwear being ripped.

  Don B. stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Nah, this is the game you chose to play.”

  Don B. and Devil escorted the secretary into the re
ception area, leaving Herc and whoever else stayed behind to their devices. The girl was sobbing uncontrollably because she knew after what she had witnessed there was no way they would let her live.

  Devil went around the girl’s desk and retrieved her purse from the floor. He fumbled around inside until he came up holding her driver’s license and a picture of her kids. He ran his thumb across the image of her teenage daughter and licked his chops. “What’d you see, baby?” he addressed her coolly.

  “I didn’t see nothing, I swear I didn’t,” she said between sobs.

  Don B. pondered her answer for what seemed like an eternity before giving Devil the nod to cut her loose. “Come here, shorty.” Don B. waved her over. The secretary took timid steps toward Don B., keeping her eyes glued to the ground. “Look at me.” He forced her face up. In his hand he held a thick roll of money. He placed the money into her trembling hands along with a slip of paper that had a number scribbled on it. “Take a few days and get ya shit right, ma. Use that number if you want a real job, ya dig?” The girl was too frightened to answer so she just nodded dumbly and scurried out.

  “How you gonna scare a chick shitless and then offer her a job?” Devil asked after the girl had gone.

  Don B. smirked at him. “I was feeling kind. Besides, if I get her on the payroll I stand a better chance to sample that sweet little ass. Did you see the body on that bitch?”

  The two of them laughed so hard at Don B.’s twisted humor that they had almost forgotten that they were at the scene of a crime. That changed when they heard Arthur’s high-pitched squeal coming from the next room.

  Don B. led his entourage out of the plush Fifth Avenue building as if they totally belonged, dressed in baggy jeans and jewelry. Devil drove Don B. in his Durango while Herc and the rest of the soldiers rode in the minivan. On the way to their vehicles they drew the occasional stare from the business types they passed but one set of eyes lingered on them longer than anyone else’s. Hatred swelled behind the eyes and it took everything the watcher had not to move on Don B. right then and there, but the watcher was patient. The watcher had waited years to settle up with the Don so a few more days wouldn’t change what was coming. Only when the men had climbed back into their vehicles and pulled off did the watcher take his eyes off the entourage.