La Familia 2 (12 page)

I just wanted to be loved.

I wanted to escape from this hell.

Crazy Legs was so swelled with people on this particular night that I thought the place was going to explode due to overcapacity. It was a Friday night and lively from wall to wall. Every bitch was butt-ass naked and in some long heels in the place and the DJ had the place cranked up playing “I Luv This Shit,” by August Alsina:

I worked the stage scantily clad in a three-piece set, a striped bra, tie side thong and matching stockings, with my black six-inch platform sandals. I had some silver glitter sprinkled on me and was well oiled up. I worked the pole like a professional, climbing all the way to the top and twirling myself around with my legs spread until I reached the bottom. I did gymnastics on the pole, being upside down, sideways, parallel to the stage, and contorted around it like I was a snake, having these niggas in complete awe. I moved my ass hypnotically. I had money thrown at me because I was entertainment. While these bitches did VIP in the back rooms, I learned to dance and entertain these niggas and money still came my way.

“I Luv This Shit” was one of my favorite songs to dance to. I would move my ass and hips to the beat and recite the lyrics while dancing. I had a crowd around the stage and they were aching to see my body nude. I undid my top and let my tits show and then I came out my side thong and showed my shaved pussy. These niggas were thirsty and ready to touch me in all kinds of places.

One face caught my attention in the crowd. It was Power. He stood there clutching a wad of money, at least three grand mostly in twenties and fifties and gawked at me intensely. I didn't forget how he saved my ass in Brooklyn and I was very grateful. He had been coming to the club regularly and watching me dance and tipping me big time. He would make it rain on me; I'm talking about it would be a downpour of cash on the stage, money flying everywhere. He would only tip me hundreds of dollars and give me his undivided attention, making some of the girls jealous in the club. He was persistent in wooing me. He thought I was playing hard to get, but I really wasn't interested in him. All the strippers in the club were on his dick, ready to fuck Power in a heartbeat; but myself, I was aloof to his status and reckless spending.

“Bitch, you crazy, you better get wit' Power. That nigga is a boss muthafucka and he sweating you,” Kawanda had advised me. “That's a type of nigga who will take care of you. Shit, I wish I had a nigga like that chasing me.”

She was a paper chaser; she wouldn't understand.

I already had a boss nigga in my life, Rico, and he fucked it up for everyone. I was just too scared to date that type of nigga again. And I was stressed; Rico would call me collect at all kinds of crazy hours and steadily harass me. He wanted me to sneak drugs into the prison. I was against it. He wasn't giving me a choice, something had to be done. And there was more shit adding on to my stress.

The other day, I got the scare of my life. One evening two homicide detectives came knocking at my door to ask me questions about Macky's death. Detective English and Detective McGowan, two suit and tie white boys with a hard on for solving murders that were going cold case. It seemed that some new information had emerged from some new witness testimony and, out of the blue, my name came up in the investigation. My heart literally stopped beating for a minute. I'd allowed them inside my apartment for a minor interrogation.

“Your name is Sammy, right?” Detective English had asked me.

“Yes, it is,” I had replied.

“How did you know the victim, Macky?” he had asked.

I told him the truth. “We met once, in the studio in Manhattan. I was introduced to him by a friend of mines,” I had said.

“Search?”

“Yes. I was doing a recording session.”

“With a friend named Mouse?”

Damn, they knew everything and the more he kept bringing something up out of the blue, the more nervous I became and was sure they were going to charge me with murder and take me out of my apartment in handcuffs. But I kept a straight face and had answered their question as normal as I could.

“Yes, Mouse.”

“Do you know where we can find her?”

“We had a falling out and I haven't spoken to her in months.”

Detective English was jotting everything down in his small notepad while his partner just stared at me. I didn't know what to do with myself. Macky had been dead for months now, and only four people, including myself, knew who killed him. Why was my name coming up?

“When was the last time you saw or spoken to Macky?” Detective McGowan had asked.

“I told you, the day I first met him, when we were doing a recording session.”

“Well, from information given to us, did you go out on a date with him a few weeks before he was killed?” Detective English had chimed.

I wanted to gasp, but I had kept cool. “I told you, I didn't know the man at all besides that one night in the studio, and it was only business between us.” I had lied.

They gawked at me, having their suspicions, but I knew if they had any hard evidence on me then I would have been arrested and charged right there on sight. The only thing the detectives had was suspicion and even I knew that wasn't enough to indict anyone on. They had to leave my place. I answered their questions with the best of my knowledge. I wasn't a stupid bitch. I wasn't going to crack over a badge being shown to me and being asked about a murder.

“We'll keep in contact,” Detective McGowan had said with his doubt about me showing on his face.

When they left my place, I had fallen to my knees and broke down in tears. Knowing it had to be Rico probably running his mouth, I couldn't put up with his blackmail or his shit anymore. The nerve of him taunting me the way he did. He owed me everything because he took away everything. But I quickly collected myself and was ready to plot his downfall. I didn't have the solution yet, but it was going to come to me.

I had to get my mind off the murder and I did that at work. I had to make money and Power was helping me with that; for a week straight, he showed me love and tipped me handsomely, also buying me drinks and talking to me.

After my routine to “I Luv This Shit,” before I could take one foot off the stage, Power was standing right there to greet me. I had a fistful of money and my scanty outfit in my other hand. I was getting used to being butt-ass naked in front of dozens of men. I needed to refresh, but Power wanted to holler at me.

“You the best, luv, for real,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Can I get a minute of your time and let me buy you a drink?” he suggested.

I did need one. Between the detectives questioning me, Rico blackmailing me, taking care of my son, niggas constantly trying to fuck me, and putting up with shit that went on in this club, it was enough to drive a bitch crazy.

“You remember my drink?” I asked.

“Cîroc Peach and Sprite. I can't never forget that,” he said.

I smiled. Sometimes it was sweet when a man remembers the simple things about you. “Okay. Let me go freshen up and I'll meet you at the bar.”

He smiled. “You do that.”

I strutted toward the changing room. The minute I walked inside all eyes were on me and they weren't trying to be my friend. It was all hate. I had Power's attention. It was something these bitches been trying to do since the day he walked into the club. But these bitches didn't have any class like me. They were whack. Power was a kingpin in the Bronx and his reputation preceded him. He was known in Brooklyn, Harlem, and most likely out of state. See, bitches run their mouths and always got the 411 on a nigga, especially a nigga with major paper and major street credibility. He was moving at least twenty to fifty kilos a week, making close to half a million a week. He was heavily affiliated with YGC and they say he had a house in the Poconos, Upstate New York, Long Island, and a penthouse in the city.

Parked outside the club was a black-on-black Bentley Continental GT with the black rims. It was one of the many cars he owned. Power wasn't the finest man around, he wasn't exactly eye candy or a teenage heartthrob, but he had status, he had clout, he was well known and rich. In a way, he was like Biggie Smalls: overweight, black, but his charisma, his style, and sense of humor made a bitch's panties wet.

I was the envy of every bitch and here I was, not even liking Power like that, and it pissed bitches off knowing they wanted to be me.

I changed outfits, slipping my curvaceous body into an off-the-shoulder, pink fishnet minidress with long sleeves and a silver metallic bikini set with a triangle and G-string back. I was the shit. I looked good in anything I wore. I took time putting my outfits together. I wanted to stand out and I did.

I heard these bitches whispering, “She think she cute.”

“I don't know what Power sees in her anyway, I'm the better bitch.”

“Fuck her!”

“I heard she stabbed Mouse in the back, fuckin' her man.”

“I know right, fake bitch.”

I heard enough, I spun around on my heels with attitude, glared at every bitch in the changing room and exclaimed, “Y'all bitches got a problem wit' me, then say it to my fuckin' face. If not, then shut the fuck up and keep my fuckin' name out y'all mouths.”

The room suddenly got quiet and now all of a sudden bitches ain't had shit to say. They knew who I was and what I was about. I was still EBV in the house, had a reputation that stretched for miles, and was still connected to dangerous people. I was nobody to be fucked with.

Bitches averted their attention from me and continued doing what they were doing: nothing. I marched out of the room needing that drink. They looked but they didn't say shit. I met Power at the bar and took a seat next to him. He smiled. For a goon, a thug, he had a really nice smile and a warm personality. He had my drink ready.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You know I got you. Damn, you change up nice. I like that outfit.”

“Thanks.”

“You the baddest woman up in here,” he complimented me.

He didn't have to tell me that. I already knew it. But it was nice to hear him say it. He was dressed nicely himself, sporting a leather jacket, dark jeans, and beige Timberlands. He wore a diamond-encrusted pinky ring along with a diamond-encrusted big-face watch and earring. And his head continued to be as bald as a baby's bum.

He looked at me and said, “Why you don't like me? I'm not ya type?”

It was unexpected.
Should I be honest with him?
“It's not that I don't like you, I just have a lot of shit goin' on in my life right now,” I said.

“Like what, beef?”

I didn't know what to call it, but it was situations. “I have a son, first off.”

“And, I love kids. I don't have any myself right now, but I would love to have kids of my own someday.”

It was nice to hear.

“What else? What don't you like about me and I'll fix it,” he said.

I smiled. “It's not that simple.”

“Try me, and I can make it be,” he said wholeheartedly.

It was nice to hear once again and he seemed believable, but I dealt with guys like Power my whole life. At first, they seem charming and caring, willing to give you the whole world, make you their queen, or pretend to be, and then suddenly, it all changes. They can become overbearing and controlling, and they think because they have money, bought you some nice things that they own you. I didn't want to be owned by anyone anymore.

So I didn't trust anyone. I wasn't picking on Power; he just came at the wrong time in my life.

“You're a beautiful woman, you know that, and you ain't gotta be so standoffish all the time,” said Power. “Someone made a mistake with you; it don't have to rub off on the next man. Everybody's different. I'm different.”

“It's what they all say,” I countered.

“Well, it's what I say. Get to know me and see for yourself.”

I gazed at him. He was intelligent and able to hold a conversation. I couldn't say the same for most of these niggas who frequented the place. If it wasn't about drugs, pussy, weed, or sports, then the men were left clueless with stumped faces.

“Give me a chance, let me take you out somewhere nice, somewhere different,” Power said, continuing to woo me.

I sighed. I continued gazing at him fighting my better judgment. He was an intimidating man, but he spoke like a humble man to me. He drank wine instead of hard liquor. It was a first. But I knew in his eyes what this man was about, the type of life he lived: a gangster's life, possibly a hardcore killer and violent man who didn't get his savage street reputation by being humble in these mean streets. He wore one face around me, but in the game, he was someone different. Rico was the same way.

Power fixed his eyes on me, my beauty, and smiled. His teeth were white as pearls and his trimmed goatee was cute. “If you say yes, I'll let you rub my head and make a wish,” he joked, rubbing his head for the fun of it.

I chuckled.
Say yes,
I told myself. What would it hurt? “Okay, one date,” I remarked.

“One date is cool. I can't argue with that.”

“You can't,” I said.

“I see ya sassy.”

“You don't know what you're gettin' into,” I told him.

“I'm willing to take my chances.”

He ordered me another drink and we continued to talk. He made me smile and laugh, and for once, he took my mind off of the troubles in my life. It was a good thing. I needed the talk and laughter he gave me.