Bitch (5 page)

Azar continued his speech until we pulled up to the Marriot on Adams Street. I felt he was molding me to be Bonnie to his Clyde, which wasn't cool with me at all. This was about getting money to pay off my greedy-ass moms and take care of myself, but now Azar had me caught up in some gangsta shit. I was mad about it.

When we got out the car and headed up to our room, I wasn't feeling right. It was like all eyes were on me, but they really weren't. Azar's paranoia was rubbing off on me, and that feeling wasn't good. Right when Azar was opening the door, he paused. "Oh shit. I left the bag in the car."

"We can get it later," I said, anxious to get inside and lie down.

"No, it's the bag with all the money I took from them boys. Baby, I gotta shit bad as a ma'fuckah. Will you run down to the truck and get it?"

Last thing I felt like doing was going back to the car, but I grabbed his car and room keys and walked away. I heard Azar scream, "Thanks, Baby," as I made my way to the elevator.

When I finally got to the ground level, the garage was deserted. It was quiet to the point that it was spooky. I hurried and ran to the car, grabbed the bag and sprinted back towards the elevator. As I waited for the doors to open, I felt the cold tip of steel on the back of my head. "Ain't this some shit," I blurted out. You know how you so scared you can't even be scared; that's how I felt. I knew that was a gun ready to blow the back of my brains out, but as bad as I wanted to cry, scream or run, I was numb. I just thought to myself, Is this it?Is this how I'm going to leave this world, brains splattered in the Marriot garage?

"I don't want to kill you," I heard the baritone voice finally speak. "If you do what I ask, then you can walk away alive. The choice is yours."

"What's the choice?" I spit, sounding more confident than what I was.

"All I want is my money and your boyfriend's life. If I don't get both, then I'm takin' yours."

"My boyfriend? Who my boyfriend?" I asked, wanting to see if he really knew who I was. I knew by asking the question I was trying his patience, but there was that slight chance this was a case of mistaken identity, although that was highly unlikely.

"Bitch, don't play wit' me. I saw you and yo' man, Azar, leave them projects a half hour ago. If I put my money on it, you was the same girl that was in the car wit' him a week ago when I blasted out his windows. I would hate to blast you now since technically you don't have nuttin' to do with this, but I will."

"So you saying if I give you what you want you'll leave me the fuck alone? I won't ever have to be bothered wit' you again?"

"I give you my word."

"Why you gotta kill Azar, though?" I asked, making a last ditch effort to save Azar's life. "Isn't the money enough?"

"That was my brother he put a bullet in. He gotta die. Enough talking. What's it gonna be?"

That decision was easy. I handed over the bag I just retrieved from the trunk of the car. Then I handed him the room key, "Room 716." All this took place with my back turned away from him.

When he walked off, I made a quick turn to get a look at him. I only caught the side of his face, but it was one I would never forget. He had a thick, long, razor edge scar going from the top to the bottom of his chin. The elevator doors closed behind him, and I jumped in the Range and headed home.

On UPN's ten o'clock news they said that an unidentified man had been found shot once in the head sitting on the toilet inside his hotel room. I knew it was Azar and I actually felt bad for him. But what could I do? It was his life or mine. Like I said before; ain't no man worth dying for.

The next day I packed up my shit and moved to the apartment in Harlem. The money in the bag Azar asked me to hold was $50,000. I was going to use some of that to buy furniture for the place. I told my moms I was moving out but would still hit her off every month. That way she wouldn't try to cause no problems for me.

After I left my moms, I went to see Boogie at the detailing shop and told him how one day I was at Azar's crib, and he said he had to step out for a few but never came back. I explained that I believed some sort of foul play happened, and he was never coming back. I told him that Azar left me the keys to his Range, and he had two other cars at a garage.

Next, I made Boogie a business proposition attached with a favor. "Boogie, you can have all three cars. Take them to your friends at the chop shop and sell off the parts. That's easy money for you." Boogie had a lot of money, but he always liked to make more. It didn't matter how little or how much.

"Yeah, I can do that. Azar have some nice rides."

"Just so you know, a couple of the windows in the Benz got blasted out."

"What the fuck happened... don't even tell me. I don't want to know. So what do you get out of this, Precious?"

"All I want is a car of my own."

"You not even sixteen, nor do you have a license."

"Boogie, I'll be sixteen next month, and I'll be getting my drivers license."

"With a car you have to pay insurance, and you defi- nitely can't park it in them projects you live at."

"Boogie, I got all that covered. Just get me the car."

"Alright. What you want?"

"A baby Benz."

"Don't you think you need to start off with a nice Honda or Toyota to keep your insurance down? Yo' boy, Azar, disappeared, so you don't have him to help you out. I could always give you your old job back, but it will probably cover the insurance and nothing else."

"I appreciate you looking out, Boogie, but I'm good. I won't have a note, so I'll be able to maintain the insurance. You also don't have to worry about the car being parked in the projects - I actually moved."

"Where?" he asked, curiosity written all over his face.

"I'll call you with the address when I get settled in. How long do you think it'll take to get me my car?"

"I need at least a month."

"Good. By that time I'll have everything straight on my end." I handed Boogie the keys and wrote down the address to the garage. There was no doubt he would come through.

As promised, Boogie hooked me up with a silver C240. It took a few months, but it worked out perfectly. It gave me enough time to pass my driving test and get my new crib in order. I also transferred high schools. I continued to hit my moms off, and she never questioned my whereabouts.

For the next two years, I managed to graduate high school and keep up my rent and all other bills. The super was mad cool. He questioned me a couple of times about Azar, but I would always say he was out of town. Then one day I pretended to be distraught and was crying right outside the hallway where I knew the super could hear me. When he asked me what was wrong, I told him Azar broke up with me, and that I was devastated. By this time I was eighteen, so I was able to convince him to let me still stay and put the apartment in my name without a credit check. When I hugged him to show my appreciation I rubbed my ample breast against his chest and let him rub his hands down my ass. He was so grateful that he took an additional two hundred dollars off my rent every month.

It didn't really matter, though, because after Azar got killed, all I fucked with was hustlers. They threw money at me like it wasn't nothing. I worked my shit out so good that I still had a large chunk of the $50,000 that I was supposed to hold for Azar - that is, before he died. It seemed that every nigga I fucked with, I just got them open.

Just 61P 8 Nib NO

It had been a little over two years since Azar's murder, but I knew this year was my time to shine. It seemed like overnight I went from living with my dope junky mom to flexing in my own fly ass crib with a Benz to match. I could come and go as I pleased, answering to nobody.

As I strolled down 125th and Lenox relishing in my ghetto dreams, I noticed a guy staring me down. I was used to niggas' mouths watering as they imagined how the insides of my pussy felt. When I reached the corner I stood in that `I know I'm the shit' position. With my low waist jeans perfectly accentuating the gap between my slightly curved legs and five-foot-five-inch hourglass figure, the dude was in complete awe.

The closer the dude got to me, the more appealing I became. My butterscotch complexion glistened under the afternoon sun. The wind slightly blew through my wavy golden brown hair, which stopped around mid-back. My glossy lips added to my sensual looks. I'm sure the nigga felt he was supposed to have spotted me lounging on a Miami Beach instead of walking the grimy streets of Harlem.

"Excuse me, Ma, but can I speak to you for a moment please?" he asked in his most sincere voice.

I paused for a moment and ogled the stranger up and down. I then folded my arms and smacked my lips before speaking. "Nigga, I'm not yo' Ma. Save that shit for the next bitch."

"Hold up a minute," he said as he reached to grab my arm. I instantly pulled away with my eyes speaking for me. He knew they read, back the fuck off. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to grab on you like that, but I didn't want you to walk away."

"Hum huh," I said, rolling my eyes to let the stranger know he was getting on my last nerves.

"No disrespect, but you are far too gorgeous to be speaking with so much venom."

"Excuse me. Who the fuck is you? The Preacher's son?"

"Nah, my pops is dead, but when he was alive, he definitely wasn't a Preacher," he said with a devious chuckle.

"So why how I speak matter to you, since you ain't no savior?" I asked, hoping the nigga would keep walking.

"I said my pops wasn't a Preacher; I didn't say I wasn't a savior."

"How you know I need saving?" I asked, becoming more drawn into this slick talking dude's conversation.

"I don't see a ring on your finger," he said as he gently massaged my left hand.

"Maybe I don't want a ring on my finger," I snapped, pulling my hand away.

"All queens deserve to be blessed with the finest rings, and you are definitely a queen. If you don't mind will you tell me your name?"

"Precious," I answered in a silky tone, which was in contrast to my once gritty voice.

"Damn, your mother knew what time it was when you were born, `cause you damn sure precious."

"Cute, but I've heard all these lines before."

"I don't care about all those other cats that fed you lines. I'm a real `G' so my line is the only line that matters."

Damn, this nigga feeling himself, I thought to myself. After getting over my initial attitude, for the first time I actually swallowed the whole essence of the man standing before me. His flawless mahogany skin was highlighted by a low cut, full of jet-black curls. He was six-foot-two and a solid one-ninety. His full lips were decorated with perfect white teeth. I had to admit he was fine. "So what's your name?" I said, warming up to him.

"Nico. Nico Carter."

"It's nice to meet you, Nico. So what you want from me?"

"Your company or maybe your hand in marriage, or maybe a pretty baby."

"Nigga, I ain't making no baby for you."

"You say that now, but just give me a month. You'll be begging to have my seed."

"You real confident with yours. What you pushing?" I asked, trying to get down to business. He was fine, but if he was broke, it didn't make a damn bit of difference.

"What you mean what I'm pushing?" Nico asked with confusion in his voice.

"You know what I mean. What type of whip you got?"

"Precious, that's not the type of question you ask a man when you just meet him," he said, sounding like a concerned father lecturing his daughter.

"He might get the wrong impression and assume you're a paper chaser," he added.

"Sweetheart, you got me confused with the next bitch. I don't give a fuck what impression I give off. I don't fuck wit' broke niggas. A broke nigga make for a dry pussy. You feel me? So are you gonna tell me what you pushing, or do I need to keep strolling and go about my business?"

I knew every instinct in Nico's body was telling him to walk away and never look back at the danger standing before him, but being a typical nigga with a hard-on, his lust prevailed. "I tell you what, let me take you on a date, and I promise you won't be disappointed."

"I guess that means you not gonna tell me what type of wheels you got. I hope you not walking, because if you are, you'll be on that date solo." Nico laughed. "What's so funny?"

"You. Just give me your digits. You definitely gonna be my permanent piece."

I figured that instead of turning Nico off with my slickwith-the-mouth antics, I was pulling him further in. He probably wasn't used to my type, a woman so blatant with it. He had to respect the fact that I let it be known that you either come correct or don't come at all.

CIP

"What's up, Maria?" I said, walking in the Dominican spot for my weekly wash and blow out. Maria responded with her standard nod and smile, which was fine with me since my beautician could barely speak English. After the deep conditioning and roller set I was under the dryer, dreading the hour process. Luckily, I came prepared with the latest magazines to pass time. I was enthralled in reading about the most recent rap battle between two of the hottest MC's when the rattle of someone pounding on my dryer jarred me from my concentration.

"What's up, homegirl?" Inga grinned as our eyes met. Inga and I had been cool since sixth grade, but in the last year or so we became real close. When I moved out my moms' crib and changed schools I would get lonely for female company sometimes. All the girls at my new school had established their cliques and looked at me as an outsider. Plus, they couldn't take that all they boyfriends was sweating my ass. Inga would come over and stay with me just about every weekend. We would just kick it together or go out on double dates since we both liked hustlers.

"Bitch, you was about to catch it," I said, giving her a pound. "I didn't know who the fuck was banging on my dryer like a crazy person. I should've known it was yo' wild ass."

"What you reading?" Inga asked as she sat down in the seat next to me.

"Just some rap bullshit. I'm starting to believe all this so-called beef just be a publicity stunt. These niggas will do anything for airtime."