Get Some (10 page)

A sinister smile spread across Jimmy's mouth. His curled lips revealed a row of white, violent teeth. His fists nailed her wrists to the couch.

Trudy was frantic. She struggled under his body but his rigid arms held her wrists tight. And just when she thought he would make her confess, as his razor-blade eyes sliced across her taut body, Jimmy slowly moved inside her again.

He was teasing her! My God, that's what Jimmy was doing. Trudy had held her breath for such a long time, she felt like she might pass out. Each time he dove in, her body went crazy, winding her waist like she worked at a strip club, thrusting her big hips and wide, juicy thighs. She wanted him to come. She wanted it over. The terror was too much to bear.

“Damn, your shit's good,” Jimmy said, smiling again. “I keep pulling out to just make it last.”

He tried to stop again, but Trudy wouldn't let him. She could see he was teetering right near the edge. If she raised her large hips and sucked one of his nipples, she knew she could bring him back down.

“Don't do that. Wait, girl. Wait, baby. Stop.” But Trudy smiled this time and sucked even harder and used those extra-strong muscles buried way deep inside that she saved for special occasions. Jimmy tried to slow down but Trudy's hips pumped fast. He blew up and slumped over her stomach.

Trudy waited a long time for his breathing to get heavy. She watched him drift softly to sleep. Trudy gently rolled from under Jimmy's overgrown body and tiptoed away on the rug. She took the five hundred dollars out from the book and added it to her stash. She picked up his pants and took them with her to the bathroom and quietly locked the door. She put on her flowered silk robe hanging from the knob and rummaged through his pants pockets. Car keys, gold case lighter and cell phone. The other pocket had a few crumpled-up fives and ones and a business card to a dentist. The back pocket held his wallet. She examined his driver's license. That was his picture all right, but the address was an apartment in Inglewood, not the house in Baldwin Hills. She looked inside the billfold. There was eighteen hundred dollars. Trudy left that money alone. She didn't want him to wake up and think she had robbed him. That's how folks ended up shot. Next to the money was a folded piece of paper. Trudy unfolded it and found a picture inside. It was a young Latin woman in a bikini. Trudy turned over the picture and read the small print on the back. “Hey, papi, here's the picture you wanted. I miss you so much. Can't wait to see you. My eye is almost healed, you big bruiser. (smile) I'll call you as soon as I get back from San Juan. Love, Conchita.”

Who was this chick? Had Jimmy hit her? Trudy flushed the toilet and walked back to the room just as Jimmy rolled over and opened his eyes.

“What are you doing up?” Jimmy asked from the couch. Trudy almost jumped out of her skin. She still had his pants behind her back.

“Where'd you learn to love a brother like that?” Jimmy pulled her back down to the couch.

Trudy stayed cool and let the pants fall silently to the floor. She began to kiss the fine hairs below his navel. “What about you? Your mama didn't show you those moves,” she teasingly said.

“My mama didn't teach me shit.” Jimmy shot her a dirty look. “Fuck her,” he said.

Trudy watched him carefully. She didn't know what to say. Her own mother was a sore subject.

“Listen. You don't know a got damn thing about me. Where I'm from. How I was raised. What I had to do to live.”

Trudy pulled back. She didn't know him at all. Here she was naked, just had sex with the man and she really didn't know him from Adam. The one thing she knew was she had to get out. He was dangerous. Trudy definitely knew that. She had to find a way to get away.

“She's my mama, but Hallmark ain't talking about her in them cards. Bitch had the nerve to call the cops on my ass. Said I pushed her in the street while driving my car. Ain't that about a bitch. I never touched her ass. She's the one who opened the door.”

Trudy recoiled. “What happened to her?”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “Now there you go with your interrogation shit. ‘What happened? What happened?' I'll tell you what happened. She dropped out and rolled and got pinned under a car.” Jimmy smiled when he said that, his voice filled with pride. “Oh, she cried and carried on, put on a show for 5-0. Lied and said I was slangin' 'caine. I lost everything, all of my money, all my cars; I had all kinds of stuff. She said she wouldn't press charges if I left the state. After that, all I did was strongarm at clubs.”

“You mean like a bouncer?”

“Yeah, but not like Percy or raggedy-ass Ray Ray.” Jimmy looked at her like he knew something about her and Ray Ray. “Nothing like them nickel-bag fools around Dee's. All them niggas want is enough scrilla to stay high on. See, I branched out from that. Any time there was some real mess they beeped me. Used to call me ‘QC.' Stood for quality control. Hired me to make sure the club always stayed tight.” Jimmy suddenly sat up. “Say, what you got to feed a brother around here, baby?”

Trudy looked over her shoulder. She wasn't cooking this man nothing! She was hoping he would get up and go. She wanted him to leave so she could finally get out. She had to hurry up and meet Charles. Maybe he'd be happy with a bag of corn chips. She got up and went to the kitchen.

“So,” she called out from way back in the kitchen, “ever get hurt doing that kind of work?”

“Not really,” Jimmy said, rolling over, exposing half of his well-sculpted body. “This one fool tried to pull a knife on me once when I threw his ass out of this club.” As she walked out of the room, Jimmy pulled down the blanket on the couch and showed Trudy an ugly jagged scar that ran down the length of his calf.

“I had him in a stronghold and he stabbed me straight in the leg. It was on after that. Nigga shouldn'ta never done that.” Jimmy laughed. “He didn't come out too good, though.”

“What happened to him?” Trudy said, walking back into the room.

“Snapped that muthafucka's neck, pi-ya! That's what the hell happened. Punk stay up in some halfway house now. Trying to talk shit from a wheelchair, damn buster. Dude used to drive this baby-blue Impala. Only wheels he got now are up under his butt. Could have killed him, they said. Just came that close. They taught us that shit in Desert Storm.”

“You were in the military?” Trudy became more and more worried. This brother was a trained killer. He was hot-headed too. Jimmy was a clean and pressed sledgehammer walking.

“Yeah, but only for a minute until them tight blue suits tripped. Said I beat up an officer. Lied on me again. Didn't like all the cheese I made in that place. I used to lie in my cot and just count it at night. Had all them dead presidents in my bunk bed, baby. None of them dudes wanted to risk getting shot without getting their high on first. Some were even high-ranking officers. Shoot, they
had
to let me go. No black man can have that much power.” Jimmy walked to the kitchen. Trudy took one step back.

“Girl, you sure know how to love a man right.” He pulled Trudy's leaning-away frame and held her close. “I ain't never letting you out of my sight,” Jimmy said.

“So,” he said opening her cabinet, “what you got in here to eat?” He looked at the macaroni and cheese box, a large can of corn and three squat cans of sardines.

Trudy's heart raced.
My stash! Oh my God, please don't let him open the macaroni box.
Jimmy stared at her pitiful pantry for a long time. “You on a diet or something?”

Trudy hadn't bought food because she knew she was leaving. “I can make you a sandwich,” she said, trying to close the cabinet.

“No, I like macaroni.” He was reaching for the box when his cell phone rang loudly. He walked out of the kitchen and picked it up from the coffee table.

“That's okay, baby. Just bring me a can of sardines and a Coke.”

Trudy got a Coke and peeled open the can.

“And put some ice in the glass,” Jimmy yelled back.

He was putting his gold watch back on. “Yeah, Fresno, what's goin' on, man?”

“Jimmy, we got a little problem,” Fresno said.

“What problem? Man, I ain't tryin' to hear 'bout no problems tonight. Tonight's the fight, man. I'm fixin' to head down to the club now.”

“Man, somebody hit Wilson coming from the bank.”

Jimmy stood up, walked over to the window and peered out. “Naw, I know you ain't talking about
my
shit getting robbed, dog.”

“I'm trying to tell you.” Fresno paused for a minute. “I'm trying to tell you it's gone.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Back the fuck up. What the hell do you mean gone?”

“Some busters jacked Wilson down the street from the bank. It's gone, man.”

“What?”

“I'm telling you, they got him!”

“But that muthafucka was driving my Lexus, man. All of my shit was inside my ride. Where the hell is my LS400, man?”

The tan-suit man and Jimmy had the same boss. The tan-suit man made deposits. They used him to hide the cash. But Jimmy had a totally different kind of job. He delivered large stashes of coke for the mob.

“I told you already. Dude was crying like a baby when he came in today. They took it all. The money, the suitcase, the Lexus, everything. Said somebody at the bank must have tipped them off.”

Jimmy snapped the phone shut and knocked over Trudy's houseplant. He watched her in the kitchen.

“Where'd you say you worked again?” Jimmy asked, cornering her near the stove.

“I work for Tony. I sing and do office work at Dee's three times a week.” Trudy said it matter-of-factly, but inside she was dying. She could tell from the call Jimmy knew about the bank. She was trying her best to act natural.

“Naw, baby,” Jimmy said, looking inside his jacket. He pulled out a small business card and flipped it toward her face.

Trudy recognized her bank business card. She hadn't given it to him. How in the hell did he get it?

“You dropped this inside of my car the last time we went out,” Jimmy said, walking toward her.

Trudy sat quietly while her stomach did flips. She hoped Jimmy wouldn't notice her left leg was shaking. “I
used
to work there. I quit there last month.” Trudy felt her satchel with the heel of her foot. Jimmy'd already seen it but might check it now. She scooted it farther underneath the kitchen table.

Jimmy got right in front of Trudy's face. “No, girl, I remember. You said you had two jobs, Tony and the B of A on Wilshire.” He jammed her against the wall and Trudy's eyes skimmed her knife rack. She wondered if she could reach one without him knowing. He was holding Trudy's face when his cell rang again.

It was the boss. Jimmy covered Trudy's mouth with his hand.

“Jimmy, I heard some nasty shit went down. I need that shit handled now!”

He put on his clothes and threw Trudy her dress. “Get yo' shit and let's go!” is all he said, dragging her out to his car.

T
ony picked up the used beer cans from around the TV and threw out the stacks of racing forms. He was pissed that he got stink-eyed and hadn't cleaned the place better, but when he unhooked the latch and saw Flo in all her glory, he felt like the Fourth of July.

“Well, well, well,” Tony said, sucking his thick bottom lip. “Come in and make yourself at home.”

Flo walked next to Tony and let her body gently graze against his plaid polyester pants. She flashed him a radiant smile.

“Hey, Tony, baby, got anything to drink around here? You know I like that pink stuff you used to make.”

Do I have anything to drink,
he said smiling to himself. Baby girl was trying to be cute.

“Those were panty-droppers, girl, Tanqueray and lemonade. Don't come in pretending like you don't remember. 'Cause I remember a time when you begged me for some. Now I might be getting a bit bald on one side, but that don't mean I'ma forget.”

Flo got two glasses from the low bar in the corner, filled them and handed Tony his drink. She leaned, letting her healthy cleavage fall in his face. She knew what a weak fool he could be.

“My, my, my. I swear your steaks are still rare. And you ain't had no babies yet to knock them breasts down neither. Girl, you look good enough to eat.” He swallowed that comment and downed the clear fluid, using his sleeve to wipe off the rest.

Always was a sloppy fool,
Flo thought to herself. She got up and fixed them another quick round. She made his drink strong, pouring in tall Tanqueray shots. But in hers she used clear 7-Up. She lit one of his Winstons and took one deep drag.
I hope to God this don't take long,
she sighed low.

At thirty-four, Flo had known a busload of men. She'd had young ones, old ones, rich ones and fools. Most of them wanted the same fucking thing: some good sex and a nice place to eat and sleep. She smiled at Tony. She wasn't giving him shit. The only thing she was getting him was drunk.

But Tony had ideas of his own.

He was getting warm. He sprawled himself over the couch, unbuttoning his ripe polyester shirt until it fell and his gut poured over his belt like a half-harnessed whale.

I'm definitely getting me some of this tonight,
Tony said to himself, rubbing his massive stomach.

Flo took the cigarette she lit and put it right in his mouth.

“I was wondering when you'd come to your senses, ol' gal. You finally see who the real man is.” Tony tried to grab her arm but Flo smiled and squirmed away.

Shit,
Flo thought, making his third drink. She was going to have to give this fool something to hold him off. Tony got up and rubbed her butt as she stirred her cold ice. Flo slowly buttoned the top part of his shirt and guided him back to the couch. Tony leaned over and started caressing her breasts. She let him rub them a long time while she watched the news. He tried to take her blouse off but Flo walked away, pretending to glance through his loose stacks of music.

“You got anything good?” Flo said, looking around.

Tony sat way back, sipping the rest of his gin.

So Baby wanted to take her time, he thought to himself. He watched her pick up Al Green's greatest hits and put on
Love and Happiness.

Flo lit another cigarette and made Tony down the last of his glass, only this time she slipped in two of those yellow pills the doctor had prescribed for her nerves.

“Come on, baby,” Flo said, unzipping the front of her blouse and tossing it down to the ground. “This is my jam, honey. Let's dance!”

Just looking at big-boned Flo got Tony excited. She wore a giant lacy bra and had full-riding tits and a nice pair of black skintight pants. “Whoa, shit,” he said, sucking his whole bottom lip. His dick was harder than holiday candy.

“Yeah, baby, that's right. You still got them moves.” He twirled her around as they cha-chaed over the worn carpet. “You ought to come down to the club sometime, gal. Them jitter skips would have them a fit, seeing you.”

Flo slipped his fourth drink into his hand and said, “Let's toast.”

“To what, baby?” Tony slurred. His burning ash sadly dropped down to the shag. He felt woozy. He sank both his hands into Flo's shoulders. Like he was in the deep end and didn't remember how to swim.

“To that big thang you got pushed against my stomach.” Flo tried to sound raunchy, like she was really tipsy too.

“Damn,” Tony said. It throbbed so hard it hurt. He couldn't believe Flo was standing here in his living room. He grabbed up his glass, swallowing the hot fuel so fast it burned a razor-sharp path down his gullet to his bowel. He raised his glass, swaying back and forth on his feet. He felt blurry-eyed and wild with lust.

“Let's make a toast to that mail-carrying chump.”

“To Charles!” Flo said fast, throwing back her own glass.

“This is a new day. I finally got my woman to come back.”

He threw back his head and drained his glass with one long, messy-mouthed swallow. He wiped his face and kissed her hungrily and wet.

Flo got seriously sick to her stomach.

She didn't want to have sex. She just wanted him out. But Tony was all over her now. She had to think of something quick.

All she had to do was stall him, let the liquor and dope kick in. Flo decided she would give him a little striptease show.

“Take your clothes off,” she said. Tony started fumbling with his pants.

“I'ma give you a fast erotic dance,” she told his mouth. Flo began to unhook her black satin bra. She removed both her arms from the sleeves. She let the blouse graze across her firm-nippled breasts. Flo pulled the blouse taut, like she was holding a rope, then pulled it back and forth between her thick, juicy legs like her blouse was a giant black horse she was riding. Flo smiled as she approached Tony's rippling gut. She unzipped his pants and then zipped them back up.

“You're killing me!” Tony screamed, but he loved the whole show. He'd never been closer to heaven.

Flo laid him flat and tied both feet with his belt.

“Girl, you always was a stone freak.” He laughed. His head was rolling against the couch now and his eyes were completely glazed.

He started moaning to himself. His tongue hung to one side. Flo walked over and slipped her big toe in his mouth. Tony sucked it like he was a baby.

Tony's body jerked suddenly forward, and he grabbed her and held her firm with both hands. His whale body pinned her down firmly to the couch. She was barely able to breathe.

“I'm getting some, girl. You done played me too long. Now, gimme that sweet meat you've been savin' up, honey. You know it's supposed to be mine.”

Flo let him rub but she wouldn't let him get it. Every time he got close she'd move left or shift back to the right, so he never could get near the door. Suddenly he lunged hard, like he was diving over water, and completely passed out on the couch.

“Finally,” she said, quickly gathering her things. She washed her hands and face and buttoned up her top. Tony's face was sideways on the brown-checkered pillow, and one hand hung off the couch.

Flo went straight to the bedroom, remembering the giant saxophone box. That's what she wanted. That's where Tony stashed his guns. She looked under the bed and yanked out the case. She scanned the box and let her fingers graze the cool steel inside. She felt a chill run through her bones.

This is serious, girl,
she thought to herself. And then she remembered seeing Charles in the car with that bitch and the smell of a woman's perfume in their bedroom the other morning and the sound of Trudy's low-pitched voice on their phone and Charles creeping in late again.

She picked up the Smith & Wesson “Chief's Special” PD. It was the gun the police department used. It had always been Flo's favorite weapon. It was a satin stainless steel, 9mm chubby-handled gun, and it felt like a tank in her hand. It was a small personal-protection gun and the one Tony had taught her how to fire when they went to target practice together.

Yes, this would work. It fit good in her purse.

But where were the bullets? There weren't any inside the box.

She even removed the dark velvet that lined where the horn should have lay. Nothing. She looked in the kitchen drawers and closets and shoeboxes. Nothing. She was getting anxious about Tony waking up.

She quickly tiptoed back into the living room, where Tony snored loudly. He turned around and she felt her heart leap from her chest. She had to find those bullets and get out of there fast!

Tony was not cool sober, a stone fool when he drank, he had no problem putting his hands on a woman. Flo had to get out of there quick.

Where were those damn bullets? Shit!

She pulled out his drawers and fumbled, threw the shambled clothes inside. She heard Tony cough. She went back in the bedroom. She saw the small clock on the dresser clicking slowly away. It was summertime, daylight saving time too, but it was already starting to get dark.

She looked at the phone books stacked under the table. She went back in the closet and patted down his jacket pockets.

She heard Tony cough. She found a pack of cigarettes, a few matchbooks and coins. A crumpled stack of bills totaling forty-five bucks. She put the cash in her pocket and looked around.

Damn those bullets!

She went back to the bedroom again. She fumbled through the closet. When she got to an old army peacoat in the back, Flo found what she was looking for. The pockets on both sides were stuffed full of boxes, heavy and rattling with the rough sound of metal. She opened a box, shook out a few and dropped the rest in her coat pockets. Flo took the 9mm, cocked it and loaded the barrel. She pushed it back until it clicked into place.

Flo remembered holding that gun. It had been fun going to practice. Sometimes she would stand and imagine her target, aiming straight between the eyes. At the range, no one shot to cripple or wound. The only word around there was “bull's-eye.”

Flo decided to take the whole box and dropped it in her purse. She scanned the room one last time to make sure she didn't forget anything.

She looked at Tony snoring on the couch. One arm hanging limp from the armrest.

Flo aimed the gun at him and said, “bam,” under her breath.

She grabbed her purse, clicked the light out and left.

Flo drove like a fiend while thinking about Charles. That old feeling crept back and lodged deep in her brain. It was just how she felt before flinging that cake. That hate building up, that wanting to do something. That wild thirsty lust for revenge. Charles was probably sitting in Dee's laughing, oblivious to Flo as she drove with the cold, steely gun in her lap.