Introduction To Hard 2 Da Kore (Hard2daKore Book 1) (8 page)

She moaned and held me close while every drop of me unloaded inside of her, resting on top of her as we lay in each others arms. Bodies drained and exhausted, but very pleased and satisfied. Finally after a few minutes, I rolled off of her and lay on my back. She snuggled up next to me resting her head on my chest with her eyes closed. I glanced down at her and kissed her on the forehead. “Damn that was good babe.” I whispered. “Mmm hmm, yes it was.” She responded, planting a kiss atop my chest, both of us breathing kinda heavy.

Damn, now I know I told my moms that I would be right over, but I had to handle my business here first. I know for sure that if my momma was
me
right now, I know she’d understand, but for now I’m gonna rest for a few, and then go over there and straighten Kevin's ass out when I get up. As we both lay still and silent in each other’s arms I heard Sinnimin let out a low snore, letting me know that she’d fallen asleep. So I joined her by closing my eyes, and breathing deeply, and we both fell into a peaceful, relaxing and very sexually satisfied sleep.

9                                                                                                                                                            
TRACY TRUESDALE                                                                  
(Tracy)

I pulled into the driveway barely swiping some asshole’s car that was parked in my space. The sign clearly states that
this
parking space is reserved for suite 6A. We’re paying $2200 a month for our condo here and management still can’t manage to enforce their parking policy. I would make a fuss over this right now, but after such a remarkable day at work today, I couldn’t let a trivial thing like parking ruin my mood. I thought as I parked into the next available space and went into my building. Our dog, a beautiful full bred Lowchen, imported from Germany, greeted me at the door as he usually did before I could even get my key in the hole.

“Has your daddy been here yet, no? If he was then you wouldn’t have to be walked now would you, huh would you Freeway?” I playfully asked. He began jumping up and down by the door. I put my purse & brief case on the table and grabbed her leash and connected it to her collar then left. Freeway guided me down the hall to the elevator. I could tell my baby had to go really bad too because he ignored nosey Mrs. Dixon and her arrogant ass Angora cat. Now who in the world takes their cat for a walk? I always asked myself whenever I saw her with her cat.

We passed the usual neighborhood folks, like Mr. Lee from the dry cleaners walking his two grayhounds. The Johnson’s who were taking their twins boys Joshua and Jeremy to the playground across the street. This neighborhood was considered pricey, which was probably the reason why most of my friends labeled me an upper – lower. They meant it playfully, but in a way as if to say I was a snob. You know, upper-class attitude, high expectations with super lofty goals, but still acting like I was on a low budget. Well, maybe not that low, but far from being rich, well, maybe not that far either. I make ends meet, and truthfully, if my fiancee left me right now I still wouldn’t be late on any of the bills.

My job at the newspaper pays me well. Why hell my family thinks I’m rich the way they’re always asking me for money all the time. I can honestly say that I love my job. Even though I do expose lots of peoples’ uglinesses by the stories I do on them. I could personally care less because if they didn’t give me a story worth reporting about them, then I’d have no story to write about them.

People create their own drama in life by the things that they say and do, and the way they lives of course. I’m just the person that shines that light on their dirt, misdeeds and misfortunes. Oh, and their good deeds too. I’m an equal opportunity reporter, but it’s like the dirtier the news, the more people love to read about it. So hey, what can I say? That’s life, and living with the hand that we’re dealt. I know it’s not always fair, but that’s not my fault either, nor is it my problem. I have a constitutionally protected duty to inform the people of what’s going on in their communities, neighborhoods and society as a whole. Now freedom of speech and freedom of the press may be a right by law to anyone who wishes to express it, but investigating and reporting it is very different.

That comes at a high price, especially if you want the best in this highly competitive business. So if it’s the best you want, then it’s the best you have to pay, and pay us well. I’ve earned many awards for my articles, including a few prominent stories that helped sky rocket my career. I worked my ass off to earn my respect as a serious woman journalist. Most importantly, it helped me get that big boost in pay I was shooting for. I’ve made a few television, news and cable pundit shows appearances on stations such as Fox News and Friends, MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow Show and The Melissa Harris Perry show. I even once did a segment on Morning Joe. So I’ve been staying on top of things in the wonderful world of politics, local, state and federal.

Even though my sources are reliable, things can get dangerous sometimes too. I try and make sure that I’m always safe and protected. So I’m usually carrying my sexy hot pink Glock 9 millimeter. Along with my pepper spray and switch blade of course, in case of an unexpected emergency. Even though I’m strongly anti gun, mostly because of all of the gun violence in our communities, I decided to get one after what happened to a few of my colleagues while they were on assignment. So I’m not taking any chances out there with any of those crazies, so my heat stays close and ready for use if needed. Although I have to admit, I do like shooting off some rounds at the gun range. I hope I’ll never have to use it on anyone, but to protect myself, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second, but still I hope I never have to.

I’ve been in this business long enough to know when I’m in over my head, which is mostly never because once I get attached to a story, it’s becomes like a personal quest for me. My editor always tells me not to do this or not to do that, but it’s like I can’t help it. It’s like I get self-absorbed, so much so that I
have
to find out the truth. For the most part I usually do, and that’s why those who read my articles can trust and believe that when Tracy Truesdale says it, then it’s the Truesdale Truth!

I started a blogging site not too long ago which took off right after the day I put the Govonor of New Nersey on the spot in front of the major media venues with my questions concerning the dispersement of funds for some of the Hurricane Sandy victims on the southern tip of New Jersey. After that it seemed like I had over 20 thousand followers overnight. So now I can easily get lost for hours chatting away on my blogosphere about just about everything, but mostly politics. Sometimes balancing my career and my personal life can be a bit challenging, but somehow someway I manage to manage it well. It pays well, so I better.

My fiancée Sadique gets offended whenever I use my own money to buy things sometimes, and what kind of sister am I to offend a brother? So I keep most of my money to use however I want, and allow him to be the “man”. Sadique always treats me like a queen, but without being too mushy about it. It’s not like he worships the ground I walk on, but he always seems to know how to make me feel like I was created and designed just for him, and that’s what I love most about him. On the way back into the building I saw Paul, the young and extra fine security guard who was stationed at the front gate. He waved at me as he walked up to me. “Sadique, oh my bad, Mr. Parr’s package was delivered today, I signed for it at the front gate, do you want me to go get it for you, or do you want me to send it up to your suite?” He asked.

“You can have it sent, and thank you Paul.” I replied as I boarded the elevator. Once Freeway and I reentered my place, I turned on my girl India Arie and began to strip down as I walked through the spacious hallway and into the master bathroom of our three and a half-bedroom condo. Sadique put a down payment on this place just over a year ago for my birthday. He had it fully furnished and everything, so all we had to do was just move in our personal belongings and we were home free. He told me that he had interior decorators coming in and out of here for months before he decided to let me know about it. The best thing is that it’s not too far from my office where I work.

After undressing, I got into the shower where the water temperature seemed almost theraputic for me. I grabbed my favorite lemon shower gel, soaped myself thoroughly and washed my not so stressful day away. I thought about the story I saw on the news this afternoon about a pregnant teen that shot her father in the face. The story aired almost live on our local television station because the murder took place at her mother’s funeral.

The teen’s father was a local councilman, and the fact that the family was black only made me more eager to try to find out how something like this could happen? It’s not that blacks don’t kill each other because we know that happens, but this story seemed like there were some unusually circumstantial elements involved here. One wouldn’t expect a child that came from a prominent upper class family to harm their parents. Especially with her father whose political career seemed like it was on the uptick.

As much as I hated to make comparisons, but hell if my parents thought anyone was even thinking some slick thoughts regarding them you might get the shit knocked out of you. I thought as I picked up the phone and called my editor Jerome. I wanted this story so badly that I began to brainstorm on it. I know it was getting kind of late but my first thought of who to call was Gail, one of my best friends and old college roommate. I thought while waiting for Jerome to answer his cell.

“Hello?” said the very sexy and masculine voice. “You can stop with the sexy voice act Rome, you know it’s me.” I said. “What’s up Tracy, I take it you’re calling because you already heard about what happened to Councilman Hill at his wife’s funeral a little while ago?” He asked sounding somewhat hesitant. “Yes of course I did, it’s a tragedy isn’t it? Listen Rome, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I want this story.” I demanded.

“Oh, so finally you’re asking Romey Rome to
give
you something instead of just jumping all over it and telling me the facts that you’ve accumulated on it thus far now huh?” “Stop playing Rome, I told myself that I wasn’t going to strong arm you on this one, that’s why I’m calling you now. You know I’m the man for this story Rome.” I argued. “Oh, you stand to be corrected my queen, there’s nothing manly about you at all.” He chuckled. “Okay Tray, I’m gonna let you have the story, but please, and I highly stress the word
pleease
make sure that you don’t get into too much trouble this time.” He said.

“Don’t play with me Rome, you for real? You’re kidding with me right?” I asked in almost disbelief. “Didn’t you just ask for the story?” He said. “Yes, I did, but I didn’t th..” “I just said it was yours Tray, and mind you that I had 4 of your colleagues ask me for this story already too. One of them even threatening to quit if they didn’t get it and you did, so I told them all that I would think about it. So I thought about it, now I ask you again, do you want it or not?” He interrupted.

“Yes, hell yes I want it Rome thank you thank you thank you!” I repeated. I was a little shocked because I thought that he was going to put up a little more resistance like he usually does, which made we wonder why, but why bother wondering why when the story is mine now. I smiled and then felt a little silly inside. “You see I told you.” I joked.

“Told me what? Rome questioned. “I’m telling you that I’m wearing you dowwwwn baby, I am wearing you dowwwn.” I added, doing my best Steve Erkle impression. We both laughed. I could faintly hear a woman’s voice in the background. “Oh, company?” I asked curiously. “Ah, yeah, just dinner with a good friend” He answered in a casual tone. “Oh, well don’t let me hold you up boss. I have a few phone calls to make anyways.” I said. We both grew silent. “Rome, why are you giving this story to me so easily like this?” I asked him. He was silent for a moment. “Because, you’re the best man for this job, right? Besides something tells me this one might be kind of personal to you. I know how you get when it comes to cases when children are involved. So I’m confident that you’ll get to the bottom of it. It’s got you written all over it” He chuckled. 

“Something about the whole thing just doesn’t seem right to me.” I said. “Anyway I don’t want to hold you up, so enjoy your dinner and we’ll talk tomorrow, and oh yeah, please, and I do stress the word
pleease
make sure this one’s not a stalker this time, ha ha, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I joked and we hung up. Thank you Lord for showing me some favor on this, I prayed. Even though I was a good investigative reporter, Rome could have easily given the story to someone else. I’m just glad that he didn’t say that he was giving it to my co worker and rival archenemy Kelly Wheeler, also known as Ms. Big Bird. I chuckled at the thought. “Now you know you’re not right Tracy Truesdale.” I thought aloud. I bet it was probably her that threatened to quit if I got this story too. Well she might as well bring that resignation letter in with the rest of her tall lurching lanky ass.

I immediately called my friend Gale who worked for the District Attorney’s Office and I left her a message. I told her that I was working on the Counselman Hill story and for her to get back to me when she got the chance. I wanted to know who was going to be the lead prosecutor on this case and if there’s going to be an indictment filed. Earlier at press time there still had been no charges filed by the DA’s office. There were about a hundred questions racing through my mind, like for starters what would make an 18-year-old pregnant girl shoot her father multiple times in the face? I needed to know how’d she manage to get a hold of that gun, and why of all places would she kill him at her mother’s funeral? Getting to the bottom of it all and finding the truth is what makes me the reporter I am today. I’m not too concerned about how, when, or where it happened. Most of that is irrelevant. I’ll leave that for those basic journalists to figure out. All I need to know what was in her heart, that’s where I’m gonna find the truth to the question of, why she did it?