I Use To Love You: A Hood Chick's Revenge (3 page)

I tucked my 9 mm Millennium into the waistline of my DKNY jeans when a black Cadillac Escalade turned into the motel parking lot. I immediately went into predator mode as I watched the brand new SUV park on the opposite side in front of the last room.

When I spotted the young Mexican cat hop out of the Cadillac truck, he looked like a walking meal ticket. I figured any muthafucka pushing a brand new sixty thousand dollar whip fresh off the lot had to have a few dollars in their pockets. On my way over I decided I would play the role of a bitch in distress to reel his ass in. As soon as he let his guard down, I would strip his ass of everything of value.

It was easy to make the tears run down my cheeks after all of the bullshit I’d just been through. My face was still a little swollen from when that backstabbing white tramp, Kim K., was slapping me. But I knew it wasn’t enough to take away from the fact that I was a bad bitch. The one thing all men were suckers for.

“Oh, excuse me. I don’t mean to bother you but…” I cut myself off and covered my face with both hands as I pretended to burst into tears. I thought about dropping to my knees and getting on some soap opera shit. But I could see through the cracks of my fingers that I had his attention already.

“What’s crackin’ wit you chica? You alright?” He had one of those west coast Chicano accents. But you could understand every word. I shook my head while I kept up the act like I was crying my little heart out. “Are you hurt?” I nodded. “If you want me to help, you gotta tell me what’s up chica.”

I sobbed a little bit more, sniffed a few times and wiped my eyes before I uncovered my face and let him get a good look at me. I knew I had him the second his bushy eyebrows shot up while his little beady black eyes roamed over every inch of my body. He licked his lips as if he wanted to see what this golden brown bombshell tasted like.

“I caught my boyfriend cheating with my best friend.” I swallowed and closed my eyes. This wasn’t no act. The thought of Ivan and Kim together felt like a muthafucka was hammering a stake right through my heart. “He slapped me up and then left with her.”

More tears fell from my eyes as I pictured them back in Milwaukee, counting the money out together, and fucking each other’s brains out until they were passed out in each other’s arms. All shit that me and that triflin’ nigga Ivan use to do. When I opened my eyes back up and stared at the Mexican dressed in a white V-neck tee, black Dickie pants, and crisp white Nike Cortez’s on his feet, I had murder in my eyes.

“Chica bonita, you want me to get you a cab? After I take care of my business with my carnar, I’ll take you out on the strip. One night with Heriberto will make you forget all about the punta that did this to you.”

Yeah he’s getting money.
I could tell by the arrogant smile and gleam in his eyes. His swag was too turned up. This pretty boy Rico Suave, with his jet black hair slicked back, just didn’t know he was about to become my vic. Since I was still playing the helpless bitch role, I gave him a weak smile.

“That’s what I’m talking about, chica. Do you smoke? Pop molly?” He went into his pocket and grabbed a sack of dro and some capsules full of molly. “Heriberto has everything you need.”

I slowly walked over to him as if I was shy and unsure if I should trust him. On the inside my muthafuckin blood was boiling. My heart was pumping fast and this Mexican wanna-be player didn’t have the slightest clue that I no longer was seeing him. It was as if Ivan’s face was sitting on top of his shoulders.

I got close enough to swipe the dro and molly from his hand. When my smile grew wider and a lot more wicked, his ass knew he’d fucked up. I saw it in his beady little eyes. With my free hand I pulled out my millennium and jammed it into his gut.

“Lock your fingers behind your greasy ass head.”

“Chica, this is not a smart move.”

I jammed my strap into his flat tummy a little harder. “You know what’s not a smart move?” I asked through clenched teeth. “Not listening to what the fuck I tell you to do. Now lock yo fuckin fingers behind yo head.”

We glared at each other as he slowly followed my command. I stuffed the molly and dro into my pocket and began digging through his. I came up on a fat bankroll, keys to the Escalade, the brand new Samsung Galaxy phone and his motel room key.

“Turn your punk ass around,” I commanded as I pushed him in the chest.

He slowly followed my instructions. “Mi familia is connected from coast to coast, chica. We can touch anyone anywhere.”

“Listen, Hector.”

“Heriberto.”

“Fuck you and who you’re down with. Put your hands behind yo back before I pop yo ass.”

He slowly lowered his hands and locked them behind his back.

“That’s it muthafucka. Assume the position like you do for the cops.” I removed his yellow gold Rolex with an iced out bezel from his wrist and slipped off his gold ring with diamonds around an inscription I didn’t get a chance to read at that moment.

“I can get you more money and drugs if you let me keep the ring.” By that point I’d had enough of the big mouth greasy head ass Mexican.

“Muthafucka, walk to yo motel room.”

I followed behind him with my strap aimed at his lower back. I looked around for any potential witnesses. But besides us there wasn’t any other movement around the outside of the motel. If it wasn’t for the few whips parked in the lot, you would’ve thought we were the only ones checked into that low budget motel. My guess was that there were a few tricks busy with a whore. I was glad because with the sun beaming overhead it wouldn’t have been hard for them to see all of the drama that had popped off.

“Chica, there’s no need for this. You’ve taken what you wanted.”

I opened his motel room and ordered him to step inside. I closed the door and made him strip out of his clothes.

“You don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you Hector?” And with that said I popped him in the left ass cheek.

He crumpled to the floor as he held his ass with his face screwed up in pain. I popped him in the thigh just because he had such a slick ass moth. I probably should’ve killed him because a dead muthafucka can’t talk. But another body would’ve just made me too hot. Besides, I was headed back to the Mil. We would never bump heads again.

I scooped his clothes up, threw them on the passenger’s side of the Escalade, and drove out of there with vengeance on my mind and murder in my heart.

I didn’t know how long it would be before somebody found Hector’s naked ass in that motel room. So I pulled into a Jack in the Box fast food restaurant by the Greyhound bus station. I had every intention of ditching the Escalade before I bought a bus ticket. It was only a matter of time before the truck got hot. After getting treated like a sucker, Hector probably couldn’t wait to snitch on me.

I thought about trying to catch Ivan and Kim K.’s punk asses at the airport before their flight took off. But I had to control my urge to put a hole in their muthafuckin heads. Ivan wasn’t a dumb nigga. There was no way he was getting on a plane until he got medical attention for the shoulder I popped his ass in. He couldn’t go to a hospital either because the po-pos might get called in to investigate.

Ivan’s triflin ass knew the drill. I was willing to bet they were searching for a shady ass back door doctor. The nigga didn’t have any connections in Clark County as far as I knew. But money talks and a million dollars speaks for itself.

I didn’t know where they were. But I knew they were headed back to the Mil like I was. I planned to cop a bus ticket and take the scenic route. A lot less could go wrong that way and I would have plenty of time to plot how I was going to bring the pain to those two backstabbing muthafuckas.

After parking the Escalade, something told me to search it for any cash or anything else I could use before I walked over to the bus station. Ivan’s punk ass taught me a while back to always stay hungry when we were on a lick. He used to say that there is usually more to find if you just look. And as much as I hated that nigga at that moment, I ended up being glad I followed his advice.

There were two black book bags full of cocaine in the very back of the Escalade. The snow white powder was neatly packaged into plastic squares with the letters LMF stamped in red on each one.
LMF?
I dug into my pocket and pulled out the yellow gold ring I’d taken off Hector’s finger. And it was just as I thought: the letters LMF were engraved in fancy lettering and surrounded by diamonds.

I zipped up both bags before climbing back to the front seat. I set the navigation system for Milwaukee, Wisconsin before I drove out of the parking lot. Hector wasn’t going to snitch on me with all of that dope in his truck. Obviously he belonged to some type of Mexican cartel. And they were going to be a lot more interested in throwing my ass in the bottom of the Pacific Ocean than a jail cell.

A normal muthafucka would’ve left the truck and the dope in the parking lot and hopped on the next bus leaving the station. The difference between me and them was that I was a street bitch with a passion for fashion and flashing. That took a lot of money and the ten thousand dollars I lifted off Hector would only go so far.

Long story short: there was no way I was giving up all of that dope, I was on my own now. After I kill Ivan and Kim K., a bitch would need a way to live comfortably. If I could survive long enough, those two book bags full of dope were going to help my cause. I began the long drive back to the Mil a little scared, knowing whoever Hector was affiliated with would probably come at my head. But I wasn’t no dumb bitch. There was no way I was letting this opportunity pass me up. Especially after Ivan and that white bitch Kim K. robbed me of the last one.

About time I made it to Denver I was tired of driving. I needed to blaze up, chill, think and sleep. Getting high was legal in Colorado, so it wasn’t hard for me to find a place to cop a pipe to smoke the dro I’d stole from Hector. The store reminded me of one of those old school candy shops. It was decorated in nothing but cherry mahogany. The square glass display cases full of exotic weed were lined up on a long counter. I’m talking about that good shit that came in all types of colors. You scooped out whatever you wanted into little white paper bags and weighed it up on a digital scale.

I copped an ounce of some shit labeled Indigo Gold and a pipe to smoke out of. The weed looked blue and yellow like the Indiana Pacers’ jersey. It was my kind of spot. The older black couple that owned it were high as hell and just as friendly. Maybe after I handled my business in the Mil, Denver would be the place I laid my head.

I got lucky and found another rat trap motel that wasn’t too far from some outlet malls. Before I rolled out later that day I would swing by and grab some fresh gear and a bra and thong set. I’ve never been a triflin’ bitch and I definitely wasn’t going to throw on the same draws after hopping out of the shower.

This older Iranian bitch was trying to sweat me about ID when I went to pay for the motel room. I told her I lost it and it was too early in the morning to worry about something so petty. Of course I said this as I slid an extra hundred dollars across the counter. She quickly snatched up the money and handed over the key. I walked out of the office while she was trying to tell me where the room was in back.

Old bitch sweating me about ID. She should be glad someone wants to stay in this trap ass motel
. I parked a few spaces down from the room I was staying in. It was the only spot open among all of the whips with all kinds of state license plates. I sat in the truck and took Hector’s dro to the head. I was staring at the two story long white buildings with orange red doors, thinking how I better not get into any shit at this place.

Unlike the motel in Vegas, this muthafucka was full of potential witnesses and they had a bitch staying on the top level. That’s how I knew I was high as hell and paranoid already. I grabbed the two book bags before climbing out into the cold Denver night and making my way up the staircase.

I was hoping it was too early in the morning to be nosey enough to also see me carrying my strap. The dro I’d smoked and all that dope in those bags had me nervous about pulling out in time if some drama did come my way. Once I got my motel door open, I tossed Hector’s molly over the railing. The only time I liked rolling was when I was on some freaky shit and I didn’t plan on that happening for a while.

I had too much business to take care of. I had to stay focused on killing Ivan and Kim, getting the money we got L.V. the Don for, finding someone to slang the dope to and keeping my black ass alive. I laid the two book bags on the bed next to me. I closed my eyes while clutching my strap under the other pillow. The dro had all types of shit running through my mind but I was worn down mentally and physically. It wasn’t hard for me to just lay there and let my mind travel back in time, when I knew that white bitch Kim K. was going to be trouble.

I was heated while sitting in the parking lot of Dave’s Sport’s Bar. I was waiting on Kim K.’s text message. I hated I had to play the background while she got to work the vic up close. Ivan felt her skin complexion was an advantage but that didn’t stop me from being in my chest about it. Dave’s was a popular sports bar in the Village of Whitefish Bay that cracked hard every night of the week.

When Ivan found out from this hype, Turtle, the numbers this place was doing, and that the owner kept the cash in a safe until he deposited it in the bank once a week, he started plotting a way for us to get our hands on it. He just needed someone on the inside to get close enough to the owner to find out the exact day he moved the cash. I practically begged the nigga but he stood on that he believed we needed Kim K. to blend in amongst the other white faces in the sports bar.

“Bitch, are you crazy?” he asked as he paced the floor in our living room. “The name Whitefish Bay says it all. The only black thing they have out there is the streets. The owner of this place is white. His employees are white. And the customers are white.”

I sat on our leather sectional with my arms folded and my lip poked out. I trusted that my nigga knew what he was talking about. But I still didn’t want Kim K. in our business or next to my man. I didn’t give a fuck how long we’d been friends.

“White muthafuckas love black bitches though,” I said snaking my neck.

“Yeah he’d love to fuck yo ass. You’re a bad ass bitch but he ain’t trying to have you workin at his place. Now I’m through talking. Kim K. is goin to help us get this cash and you’re either with us or you’re in the muthafuckin way.”

So to make my nigga happy I sat behind the steering wheel of a Chevy Impala in the sports bar packing lot. Kim K. was working as a server, and keeping an eye on the owner. After fucking and sucking the middle age white man real good, he told her that the bar did around $40,000 (forty thousand dollars) in sales a week. She was able to learn the other shit we needed just by watching over a month’s time.

Dave, the owner, cleaned out his safe every Saturday night, about an hour before closing. He always carried the cash in a black leather pouch to his car, he would run it to his crib, and then come back to have a drink with his employees who are scheduled to close up that night. Kim K. bragged to Ivan that once she put her lips around his pinky sized dick, it wasn’t hard to convince him to always let her close. When I saw that smile on Ivan’s face I could’ve put a bullet in that bitch’s head. You don’t tell my nigga no shit like that.

I jumped a little when my iPhone vibrated in my lap. It was a text message from Kim K.: Here’s…Dave. I rolled my eyes as I read it out loud to Ivan who was ducked down on the floor in the back seat.
I hope you’re having fun, bitch, because you won’t be needed much longer.

“Holla at me Phat Kat,” Ivan said.

“I think I see his ass.”

“Is it him or not bitch?”

Humph. Don’t rush me nigga. Maybe you need that white bitch out here to strain her eyes for you.

Of course I didn’t have the nerve to say what I was thinking to Ivan. But as irritated as I already was I was definitely tempted. It was one-thirty in the god damn morning. It was dark even with the light poles on both sides of the parking lot. I strained my eyes and watched the figure that walked out the back of the sports bar. It wasn’t until he was about ten feet away from his Maserati that I saw the black leather pouch in his hand.

“Ivan, that’s him. He’s almost to his whip.”

“Anybody else in the lot? Any cars in the street?”

I quickly scanned both. “I don’t see nobody. Just a few cars parked.”

The last word wasn’t even out of my mouth good when Ivan crashed through the rear car door. We were supposed to follow the vic home like we usually do. But it didn’t surprise me that Ivan switched the game up without telling me. Ivan was the type of nigga that made up his own rules as he went along.

About time Ivan made it to the Maserati, the owner was inside with the doors locked. Ivan smashed the driver’s side window with his chrome .45 and then smashed the owner over the head. I looked around nervously as Dave the owner slumped to the side, knocked out cold from the blow to the head. The parking lot was still half full with all kinds of fly whips. Most of them were foreign with a few Rangers mixed in. I was just waiting for one of those rich muthafuckas to come staggering out of the sports bar half drunk.

But Ivan was able to snatch the pouch out of the Maserati and climb into the back of the rented Impala without us having to kill any witnesses.

“Drive Phat Kat. Take us home baby,” he said while ducking behind the passenger seat. His reason for hiding in the back seat was that the Whitefish Bay police might let one nigga through but they damn sure weren’t going to let two through.

He unzipped the pouch. “Look at all of this muthafuckin cash.”

“How much do you think is there?” I asked as I kept my eyes open for any po-pos.

It was crazy how the streets of that rich ass suburb of Milwaukee County were dead. I think the sports bar was the only thing open. But me and my nigga were alive and shining brighter than the stars above our heads. We had plenty of cash on deck and my nigga was happy. I was, too, until he brought up that white bitch.

“You’re friend Kim K. really did her thing.”

My grip on the steering wheel got a lot tighter.

“We’re goin to have to use her in more licks.”

I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t say anything disrespectful. But I got a feeling in my gut that having Kim K. around my nigga was going to tear us apart.