Lipstick Hustla

by Allison Hobbs

  Smash ain’t have no choice. He had to stop her. Had to make sure she wouldn’t get the idea she could be coming at him whenever she got mad. He used a left hook on that unruly tranny.

  Raquel was lucky he didn’t ship her back to the streets of Argentina. Or Nicaragua. Or wherever the hell she came from.

  Now Misty and Smash had an understanding. He liked trannies but had an occasional penchant for buff men.

  Horatio thought he was special. Thought he was entitled to some of the perks Misty got from Smash. When she told him that his shot with Smash was a one-time deal, Horatio got angry and quit. Misty didn’t care. She warned him that if he ran his mouth about Smash Hitz’ personal business, he was gonna come up missing somewhere.

  She assumed that Horatio would take heed.

  CHAPTER 49

  Brick came into the kitchen. “I don’t know how he did it, but Little Baron slept through the whole party.”

  Thomasina wiped the countertops in her newly remodeled kitchen. “Inviting all those people over was a big mistake. And who told them to bring all their friends and family?”

  “That’s our people for you. When they hear about some free food and liquor, everybody and their momma gonna show up.” He shook his head.

  “Well, that will be the last time I get neighborly. I couldn’t even enjoy seeing my baby at the Grammys.”

  “I know. Too many haters sitting around, tryna throw shade on her dress.”

  “I should’ve listened to you, Baron.”

  “Live and learn. Ain’t that what you always say?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Misty looked gorgeous, didn’t she, Baron?”

  “Yup. She’s a stunner. Don’t worry, baby. We gon’ watch it again.”

  “We are?”

  “Yeah, I forgot to mention it. That new HD box I picked up from the cable company comes with a DVR. I recorded the Grammys so we can watch it again.”

  Thomasina’s face lit up. “I didn’t realize the new box did all that. You know, I leave all the high-tech stuff to you.”

  “You can watch the show over and over, speed up to all the parts where the camera’s panning in on Misty. I recorded it on the living room TV and upstairs in the bedroom.”

  “I’m married to a genius,” she told him with love in her eyes.

  “Little Baron is going to get a kick out of seeing his big sister on TV.”

  “But he’s not gonna understand how Misty got inside the TV,” Thomasina said, laughing.

  Brick pulled out two bottles of wine—one white, the other red—that were hidden beneath a pile of dish towels.

  “I thought the neighbors took all the wine.”

  “Yeah, they broadied us for most of the leftover bottles, but I stashed these two for me and you.”

  Brick rifled around inside a kitchen drawer and pulled out a corkscrew. Next, he took two wineglasses out of the cabinet.

  “Let this mess wait. I’ll help you clean up tomorrow.”

  “I can’t sleep with dishes in my sink. You know that.”

  “Hurry up, baby. Don’t stay down here too long. We gon’ have our own little private after-party. Upstairs.” He gave her a suggestive look.

  “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be right up,” she said, her eyes blazing with arousal.

  Brick took off everything. Got buck naked in seconds. He un-corked a bottle of white wine and filled the two glasses. He looked down. Damn, my dick is hard.

  “Hey, baby!” he yelled.

  “I’m coming!” she hollered back.

  “Don’t cum yet. Wait ’til you get in bed with me.”

  He could hear his wife giggling. He loved her with every breath in his body. Time hadn’t changed his feelings at all. If anything…these past two years had made him love her more than ever.

  Brick turned on the TV. He hit the DVR button on the remote. As the pre-Grammy show came on, he began taking big swallows of wine. Sipping was for chumps. Back in the day, he used to guzzle a forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor like it was water.

  Brick killed his glass of wine and then downed the glass he’d poured for Thomasina. Feeling good, he refilled both of their glasses.

  Aiming the remote, he fast-forwarded to Misty’s entrance. He gulped down another glass of wine and grinned at the TV screen. Seeing Misty in the limelight made him feel like a proud father.

  Look at you, Misty. You’re right where you belong. On the red carpet, baby. Do ya thing. You in your world, now, Misty baby.

  His thoughts took him back to the way they used to be. He drank more wine. Shook away the images. It was somewhat confusing to be sitting in bed with a hard dick, looking at his ex-girl—his stepdaughter. Brick shook off the disturbing images.

  That was then. This is now. I love my wife and I’m happy for you, Misty.

  His lustful thoughts about Misty were accidental. But they still made him feel guilty. I should have helped Thomasina clean up the kitchen.

  Brick picked up his boxers. He tried to stick his foot inside the leg, but was thrown off balance. He laughed at himself. Damn, I’m acting like a straight sucka that can’t hold his liquor. Getting tipsy after a little taste of wine.

  What the hell is taking Thomasina so long? In his intoxicated state, he got the idea to creep up on Thomasina. He grabbed the extra bottle of wine, intending to take the bedroom after-party down to the kitchen.

  I’ma pour some wine down her cleavage. Lick it off…do some freaky wine-tasting in the kitchen.

  Carrying the bottle of red wine, he crept down the stairs, steadying himself by holding on to the handrail. I better hold on to something so my drunk ass don’t fall down these damn steps and break my damn neck. He laughed at himself as he took careful steps. Instead of going through the living room, he turned down the short hallway that led into the back of the kitchen, planning to surprise his wife.

  He felt a rush, imagining him and Thomasina engaged in hot sex on the cold kitchen floor. In his mind, he envisioned the scene: puddles of spilled wine on the kitchen floor, discarded female lingerie on the counter, and his boxers tossed in a corner.

  He saw himself lifting Thomasina’s bare ass onto the countertop, spreading her thick thighs, and entering her from the front. Then he was gonna lower her onto the floor and hit it from the back. Then he was gonna…

  Brick stopped cold when he reached the entrance to the kitchen. What he saw threw all thoughts of sex out the window.

  Thomasina’s complexion was a frightful gray. She was shaking all over. Her tear-filled eyes were wide with terror.

  Behind her was an amped-up addict. One arm held her in a headlock; the other held a knife to her throat.

  “You schitzing, nigga. I know you crazy!” Brick’s voice boomed with rage and indignation.

  The home invader narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want no trouble, man. I thought y’all was sleep. Gimme some money or something. I don’t wanna hurt her, but I swear I will.” The man with the knife tightened his grip on Thomasina and dragged her helplessly as he moved a safe distance from Brick. Though he was trembling almost as badly as she was, he was steadily poking the knife into the side of her neck, breaking the skin…proving that he meant business.

  The first thing Brick recognized was the stained Eagles jacket. It was the crazy-eyed junkie who had tried to slither into his home earlier.

  “You acting real reckless with that knife, yo.” Brick’s voice became low-toned and sinister.

  “Gimme some money, man. Or a small flat-screen TV or something I can flip,” the knife-wielding smoker demanded, his face tightening in frustration.

  Had he been sober, Brick might have attempted to work out a plan in his head. In an intoxicated state, his mind was too fuzzy for logic.

  No time for thinking. The woman he loved more than life was being threatened by a fucking dope fiend. The intruder had Thomasina’s neck in a vise-like grip, yanking her head back and forth, showing no concern about snapping her neck.

  The sound of Thomasi
na gagging and gasping for air sent Brick into a dark place.

  His ears roared. His eyes dimmed. Cold sweat poured over his body. His dark side took control, forcing the rational side of Brick’s brain to shut down. Wearing a maniacal grimace, Brick moved with lightning speed across the kitchen, wine bottle raised. His movements were so sudden and so swift, the frightened dope fiend dropped the knife. It hit the floor with a clatter.

  “You brought your ass in here with a knife,” Brick bellowed, his voice cracking with emotion. The notion unbelievable to his ears.

  Brick broke the wine bottle over the man’s head. Red wine spilled down his neck, and poured down the front of Thomasina’s sweater.

  Dazed, he loosened his grip on Thomasina. She yanked free from her captor, clutching her chest as she gasped for air.

  “You wanna cut my wife, nigga?” Holding the neck of the broken bottle, he opened the man’s cheek with the jagged edge. “You like how that feels?” Blood poured down the man’s face, intermingling with the red wine that had accumulated around his collar.

  “You put you dirty hands on my woman, man!” Brick lunged for the intruder and got him into a chokehold. Then Brick went wild…delivering a series of brutal stabs into his face, neck, and through the front of the stained, green jacket.

  The intruder’s face was a red mask of blood, but Brick kept jabbing him with the broken bottle, until the dope fiend’s legs buckled.

  Finding her voice, Thomasina let out a horrified squeal.

  Brick released him. The man fell to the floor…moaning as he curled into a ball.

  Thomasina had her hand pressed against her mouth. Her voice emerged through the spaces between her fingers. “Baron, we have to call the police.”

  Brick stood panting, still fuming with rage. Not listening to his wife. Keeping his eyes on the man who came into his home to do bodily harm to his family.

  Quite suddenly, the injured man rolled in the direction of the discarded knife.

  Like he was squashing a bug, Brick stomped his hand with the heel of his bare foot, breaking bones in his fury. Shards of glass met Brick’s foot. Blood gushed out, but Brick felt no pain.

  Breathing like a beast, Brick crouched down, clenched the man’s head between his hands. “Oh, now you tryna stab me?” He slammed the smoker’s head against the ceramic tile floor…over and over until the addict became dazed. One arm flailed about defenselessly.

  Considering any movement as a threat, Brick seized the intruder by the sleeve of the green jacket and, in a few swift moves, he placed the offending arm over his bent knee and broke it.

  The sound of breaking bone had Thomasina gasping and yelping in shock.

  “Stop, Baron. Your foot, baby. You might need some stitches.” Her attempt to distract Brick failed.

  Looking crazy, Brick used his uninjured foot to kick the man in his side.

  “Oh, my God. You’re going to kill him. This is a matter for the police. Baby, listen to me.”

  Brick took no heed. Thomasina’s voice seemed faraway…her words were nothing more than senseless babble.

  “Lemme show you how it feels to be choked, mufucka.” He wrapped his large, strong hands around the limp man’s bloody neck….applying intense pressure. As the drug addict kicked and thrashed, Brick stared down into the pleading eyes of the man who had threatened to take everything away from him.

  “Baron! Baron! Please stop. Please,” Thomasina begged.

  Her pleas went unheard. Like white noise droning in the background.

  Brick slowly squeezed the life out of the doomed intruder as he convulsed and struggled for breath. Deep in that dark place, Brick held the unlucky gatecrasher in a death grip long after the light of life had left his eyes.

  Then the sound of Thomasina’s body crashing to the floor brought him back from the dark abyss.

  CHAPTER 50

  “We got troubles.” Fearful of being overheard, Brick’s voice was barely audible.

  “Who got trouble?”

  “Me and your mom.”

  “That’s between you and your wife. Nobody told you to marry somebody with all those miles on her,” Misty said snippily.

  “This is serious, Misty. I hate to ask you, but I really need a loan.”

  Misty’s high-pitched laughter pierced Brick’s eardrum. “You’re kidding, right? You and my mom love being regular folks…those are your words, Brick. That’s what you told me when I came over that day with all those presents for my little brother. Isn’t that what you told me? So keep being regular. Personally, I enjoy living a fabulous life.”

  “Misty, this ain’t no joke. I gotta get my hands on some money. I’ll pay you back. I swear.”

  “Damn, you talking like a smoker. You using drugs or something?”

  “Nah, man.”

  “Well, don’t be tryna use my ass. I already give you and mom all the material things y’all broke asses can’t afford.”

  “We appreciate it. But we never asked you for anything.”

  “I’m generous. But I don’t like nobody tryna take advantage of me. Just because you see me rolling with Smash Hitz at the Grammys don’t mean you supposed to call me the next day asking for a goddamn handout. I’m surprised that you’d show your greedy side so quickly. It’s not a good look on you, Brick.”

  Brick swallowed his pride. He took Misty’s insults without comment…he let her have fun at his expense.

  He cringed at the image in his mind—saw himself limping through the night, carrying a heavy knapsack filled with tools. Brick had used a crowbar to loosen the manhole cover, and then lifted it with a manhole cover-lift dolly, a tool he used at the construction site where he was currently working.

  After he’d lifted the manhole, he went back to his car, popped open the trunk, and lifted out double-bagged, heavy duty, contractor trash bags. Inside the plastic was the dead man’s body.

  The dead weight was harder to lift than the bag of steel tools, but he had managed. He had to. Had to get rid of the body. Pushing desperately, he had crammed the plastic bag inside the open manhole, and had given it a shove. The body was stuck…wouldn’t move. Pressing on the man’s shoulders, Brick had thrust harder until he was able to inch the body down farther. Finally, he had heard a splash. The dead man was down in the sewer.

  Relieved, Brick had returned the manhole cover, driven home, and helped his wife get rid of the blood spatter and other evidence.

  “Quite frankly, I’m embarrassed for you, Brick.” Misty’s voice snapped him back to reality. “You left me for my mother…so how do you sound hitting me up for some money?”

  “I’m in a jam, Misty.” Raw pain was evident in his voice.

  “So shouldn’t my mother be the person you should be asking to get you out of a jam?” Misty laughed bitterly. “I was starting to believe the hype…thought you were a righteous, hard-working family man.”

  “I am a family man. I can’t go into details. But I gotta get my family out of this ’hood. Move to the suburbs or someplace where it’s safe.”

  “So whatchu expect me to do…buy you a damn home? Sell the one you got. My mom’s house is paid for.”

  Brick cleared his throat. “She…uh…she took out another mortgage when we remodeled the kitchen.”

  “That’s the dumbest shit I ever heard. Y’all put a second mortgage on a home that was paid for so you could have a cheap-ass, crappy-looking kitchen. Ain’t even no marble or granite nowhere in that kitchen.”

  Brick didn’t have the strength to argue with Misty or to defend his and Thomasina’s actions. “We don’t want anything major, Misty. Something small. Something in a nice neighborhood.”

  “Nigga, you done lost your mind. I’m not out here busting my ass so I can take care of you and your family.” Misty exhaled disgustedly.

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. This is some life-or-death shit. Real talk.” He pictured the body being discovered, and bit his lip so hard, he tasted blood.

  “You know what,
Brick. You’re exactly like every other nigga in the street…out for your damn self. I knew you didn’t have any real feelings for my mom. All this time…you been putting on a big front…using my mother so you could keep a roof over your head.”

  “I love your mother, Misty. With all my heart. I swear.”

  “Uh-huh. Tell that to somebody who don’t know your sorry ass. We go way back, Brick. For as far back as I can remember, you always had security issues. Being homeless is your greatest fear. But damn…you ain’t have to knock my mom up and marry her ass to keep a roof over your head.” Misty’s malicious laughter stung…had hurtful potential to put tears in Brick’s eyes.

  Brick felt more vulnerable than he’d ever felt. He felt worse than he did when he was a child, dumped on a neighbor, waiting for his mom to come back for him. Fending for himself was one thing. But it wasn’t all about him now. He had a son—and a wife—a family that he had to protect. Family that depended on him.

  “You’re a union man; ask your union for a loan,” she taunted mercilessly. “Ask them mufuckas that got you breaking up concrete, and eating lunch outside with a bunch of sweaty mufuckas.”

  “I can’t get another loan from the union. I already got a loan when I bought the family car.”

  “Yo, I peeped the way you threw the word ‘family’ into the mix,” she said mockingly.

  Brick wasn’t getting anywhere with Misty. She was so busy kicking dirt in his face, she couldn’t comprehend the gravity of the situation.

  “Something bad went down after the Grammy party. Some rank- ass, crazy shit.” He spoke slowly. His voice held a dream-like quality as he still found it hard to believe the nightmarish turn of events that had gone down after the Grammy party.

  “What Grammy party?”

  “Your mom had a party here at the crib. Wanted the neighbors to see you walking the red carpet.”

  “So what happened?” There was a tiny trace of concern in her voice.

  Brick looked around suspiciously, as if the walls had ears. “Look, I’ma call you back in about ten minutes. I’ma call you from a payphone.”