La Familia 2 (7 page)

By three a.m., I sucked five dicks and fucked three men, and I never felt so dirty in my life. I was in and out of cars constantly. I was the main attraction. I wanted to cut my throat. I was in need of a long shower, something to eat, and some sleep. I braved the cold and worked hard to earn some cash for myself.

By the end of the night, I made $650. It came mostly from giving these men a blowjob. My mouth never felt so numb and disgusted. I met up with Erica and Cream, and I had to give this bitch 65 percent, which was over $400. After paying her, I had $228 for myself. It was better than nothing.

Before dawn, we jumped into a cab and headed back to Edenwald. We all were dead tired, and I just wanted to sleep all day. The minute I walked into the apartment, I immediately went to see my daughter. Cream's older sister was sleeping on the couch. I was anxious to get home to my daughter, not knowing what this bitch was about. I was so relieved to see that she was okay. Eliza was sleeping with Erica's daughter on the bunk bed. I went into the room and kissed her softly on her cheek. She was a sleeping princess. What I did tonight, I did because of her. My daughter wasn't going to live out on the streets, not if I could prevent that with all my power.

I gazed at Eliza sleeping for a moment. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She was so beautiful. She came from me and she was going to be better than me when she got older.

I sighed and went into the bathroom. Erica and Cream went straight into the bedroom to sleep. I couldn't sleep until I took a much-needed shower and scrubbed every last bit of sex, funk, and the memory of what I did from my skin. With the shower cascading down on me, I fell to my knees in the tub and cried and cried. I spent an hour in the shower, yearning to cleanse myself fully. But then what was the point when tomorrow night I would have to go back out and do it all over again?

Tango stepped out of Attica prison a free man, but after doing ten hard years in one of the harshest conditions, he felt like a fish out of water and his freedom was something he thought he would never see again. The towering, steel gates to the notorious castle-like prison slowly closed shut behind him and being on the other side felt golden to him. He didn't even turn around, no last look or any fond memories. Tango walked forward to the idling fifteen-passenger bus waiting to take him into the rural town. It was for ex-inmates who weren't fortunate to have anyone pick them up after their release. From there, it was a one-way trip to New York City with the hopes of never returning again.

But where would he go from there?

Ten years was a long time to be away from home. He didn't have much family left, no job lined up, seven years of parole to deal with, and he had only $150 to his name.

Tango had enough of rural upstate and the cracker guards who were bred to keep a nigger in line with their billy clubs and racist attitudes. He just wanted to go home and live his life in peace, however that may be.

He got on the short bus with six other released men fortunate to see their home again. Tango sat in the back near a window and remained quiet like a mouse. He enjoyed the view of the countryside while traveling farther away from his hell. Riding in a vehicle and seeing the land was something mostly everyone took for granted. It had been years since he drove in a car. It had been years since he had seen or talked to his kids. It had been years since he cooked his own meal and came and went as he pleased. And it had been years since he had the pleasure of being with a woman, the feeling of pussy pleasing him. The first thing Tango wanted to do when he arrived in New York was adjust, see his aging mother, and get himself some pussy. He was long overdue for a good nut.

It took several hours to arrive in New York from Attica, New York to the Port Authority in Times Square. When the bus navigated its way through the bustling, big city, Tango was overwhelmed. He had forgotten how lively and dynamic the city could get. There was people and traffic everywhere, and the town was lit up all over like a Christmas tree. And the noise was deafening. The hustle and bustle of New York could become very startling for someone who wasn't used to it.

Tango looked at everything like a baby in awe. Though he was born and raised in the Big Apple, it almost all seemed foreign to him. He focused on the women walking by and felt such a craving for them. Being around men for so long, he almost forgot what a woman felt like: their glorious insides, their sensual touch, their warm smiles, and more. The women he did interact with were either butch-looking guards, older staff with graying hair and wrinkled skin, or married and aloof to any male inmates.

Times Square was flooded with various cuties who were wrapped up in their winter attire and moving about freely from point A to point B. Tango tried to fixate his attention on every last one of them. And so did a few other inmates who were sprinkled on the Greyhound bus about to pull into the bus depot.

The sun was gradually setting behind the horizon to bring about dusk over the city. Tango stepped off the bus behind so many others clutching only his small bag that contained a handful of items. He didn't have much to take back home with him. The state said he had been reformed and able to return into society believing he would live a conducive life. Ten years ago, the man was a menace to society. He was sentence to seventeen years for murder, drugs, kidnapping, and extortion. At one time in his life, Tango was hell on earth; violence and murder was his way. And once he was one of the most feared men in the Bronx.

Tango wanted to wander around the city like a bird soaring through the skies. There was so much to see and do, and most of all, so many women he wanted to meet. In his heyday before his incarceration, he had been a playboy with drug money to burn and he went through women effortlessly. And during his days of sowing his royal oats, he begat seven children from six different women. His oldest was seventeen and his youngest was eleven years old.

An hour after arriving into the Port Authority, Tango made his way home to the Bronx, stepping off the city bus in the cold. He gazed at Edenwald projects and instantly the good and bad memories flooded him. Feeling somewhat nostalgic, he lingered in front of his mother's building on 229th Street and sighed. The last time he saw his mother was when she came to visit him six years ago. But over the years her health had declined and she found herself wheelchair bound needing the help of a home aide. She had worked for over thirty years for the MTA and now she was a frail, seventy-year-old woman living off of her retirement pension and having decent medical coverage.

Tango was one out five children: three girls and two boys. He was the second youngest. He was the only one who was pulled into the streets; the rest of his siblings were hard and honest working man and women. His oldest brother was a doctor in Chicago. His older sister was a schoolteacher in Philadelphia. His younger sister was in college trying to attain her bachelor's degree. And his older sister was a housewife to a prominent business/ entertainment attorney in California and they had four great kids. Tango was the black sheep in the family, the only failure. He was the one who stayed home while everyone else was scattered across the nation living their own lives. He was the one who stayed close to home, and stayed close to their mother. Each of them had different fathers, except for the two oldest.

Tango exhaled with anxiety and walked forward. He stepped into the lobby and looked around. A smile appeared on his face. “Home sweet home,” he said.

He pressed for the elevator; it was taking too long to come. So he decided to take the stairs. He quickly ascended his way up the iron steps and onto the fifth floor. The walls of the narrow hallway were covered in graphite and graffiti. Most of the graffiti was gang markings and various symbols; BMB stood out, Bronx Mafia Boys. Tango had no clue who these new muthafuckas was. Back in his day, niggas got money and gangs were never his thing. The hallway was also permeated with the smell of weed-laced Purple Hazes and fresh urine. The floors were littered with empty beer bottles and other trash. Tango moved past it not paying it any concern. He had been living in squalor for years.

He took a deep breath and knocked on his mother's door. He knew she would be excited to see her son finally home. After a minute of waiting, the apartment door finally opened. A middle-age Latino woman with long black hair and wide brown eyes stood in front of Tango. She was a little overweight with bright red lipstick, and looked at him deadpan. She was clad in colorful scrubs and dryly asked, “Can I help you?”

Could she help him? This was his home and she was staring at Tango like he was some salesman at the door.

“Yeah, you can help me, by lettin' me the fuck inside my own gotdamn house,” Tango rudely replied.

“Excuse me!” the woman snapped back.

She blocked the doorway with her arms folded across her chest. Tango had been gone for too long and came too far to be denied entry into the apartment he grew up in and have a bitch with an attitude greet him at the door. He was ready to react, shout out, “Bitch, move,” and force his way inside, but he quickly remembered that he was on parole and one minor incident could send him back to prison. He quickly collected himself and said, “I'm Tango, where's my mom?”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” the home aide replied. “She's asleep right now.”

“Well, can I come inside? I just came home, ya know what I'm sayin'?” he let be known.

The home aide looked reluctant to do so. She gazed at Tango with some apprehension. Tango was a towering man with a muscular physique and an intimidating charisma. His eyes were black and cold; he was swathed with tattoos and had scars on his hands and neck, and a healed slash across his right cheek representing his rough life. His clothes looked old.

The home aide always heard Ms. Davis speak about her kids and she always talked about Tango, how one day her son was coming back home to her and he would get his life right this time.

Lingering in the hallway while the bitch decided to let him inside into the place he grew up in was slowly but surely making him upset. He wasn't going to keep his cool for too long. He needed a cigarette, a drink, something to eat, a place to rest, and, most of all, some pussy.

“I guess it's cool,” she said.

“I know it's cool,” Tango uttered.

She stepped to the side and allowed Tango to walk in. Tango walked inside and looked around. The place hadn't changed a bit with the antique furniture from the mid-eighties and torn plastic covering. There was an aroma of boiled cabbage coming from the kitchen. Dozens of family pictures and portraits taken over the years, three decades of pictures, plagued the walls in the living room and the narrowed hallway. And the bookshelf had rows of various books from top to bottom, mostly biographies and nonfictional reads. Ms. Davis was a voracious reader.

Yeah, nothing had changed in the ten years he had been incarcerated.

Tango quickly made himself at home and walked into the main bedroom to check on his mother. She was sleeping silently like the nurse aide had said. Her wheelchair was by the bed, his mother's only method of moving around. His old room was bare, just a sheetless bed, peeling paint, and a small, broken-down TV. It wasn't the Ritz hotel, but anything was better than his tiny cell in Attica.

While Tango was settling in, the home aide continued with her job, cooking in the kitchen, cleaning some parts of the apartment, and making sure Ms. Davis's medication was ready for her to take when she awoke. Tango sat on the couch smoking a cigarette and gazed at the slightly overweight Latino woman. She was somewhat attractive—not Beyoncé or Rihanna attractive, but easy on the eyes with her brown skin and long black hair. He fixated his eyes on her plumped backside as she moved around the apartment. She wasn't his cup of tea. He was used to dating women ten times better than her, models with curvy figures, golden smiles, ample breasts with booty to match, beautiful women who turned heads and could grace the covers of magazines. However, being locked up for ten long years, even the slightest piece of pussy made his dick hard, overweight or not.

“So what's your name?” he asked the home aide.

“Vanessa,” she replied.

“Vanessa, that's a pretty name. How long have you been taking care of my mother?”

“Over a year now,” she said, answering his questions and tending to her duties simultaneously.

Tango puffed out smoke and leaned back into the sofa. He studied her. He undressed her with his eyes. He could tell she had rolls on her sides and probably sagging tits. But at this point in his life, a woman was a woman. It was his first female interaction in a long, long time, besides the guards who ordered him around and escorted him in the vicinity of the prison.

He could feel an erection growing in his jeans while watching the Latino woman perform her job. He started thinking perverted thoughts: a blowjob in the bathroom, or a quickie in the bedroom. He was horny. He was desperate to feel the inside of a woman; it didn't matter what she looked like, as long it felt wet, tight, and pleasurable. Just watching Vanessa work and walk around made him tempted to slide his hand inside his jeans and stroke his dick.

“Where you from, Vanessa?” he asked.

“Puerto Rico, and raised in Bushwick, Brooklyn.”

“You got a man, Vanessa?” he bravely asked.

“Yes, two years now we've been together.”

“That's what's up,” he replied.

He was making conversation with her. He wanted to try to get to know her. He wanted some action, pussy or some head, but the last thing he wanted to do was rape the bitch, especially in his mother's apartment and just getting out of jail. Also, he had to check in with his parole officer first thing tomorrow morning.

Vanessa kept her replies short and simple. She showed aloofness to his questions and lurking eyes aimed at her. Her only concerns were Ms. Davis's well-being, and not entertaining her horny son. It was obvious that she wasn't interested in him, or giving some ex-con a cheap thrill just because his dick was getting hard and he hasn't had any sex in years.

Tango was making himself desperate and showing his vulnerability, but Vanessa wasn't buying into his foolishness. Tango decided his questioning wasn't getting him anywhere and he retreated into the bedroom to lie down and chill for a moment. Despite his failure at his first attempt to get some ass, he felt good to be home finally. He had privacy. He had freedom. He had $150 to his name and was determined to use some of that money to satisfy his sexual need.

He closed his eyes and relished being back in his old bedroom. It was the same bedroom where he lost his virginity at thirteen years old. It was the same bedroom where he had a stable of girls coming and going, fucking his brains out. It was the same bedroom where he stashed drugs away from his mother's prying eyes and hid his first gun. It was the same bedroom where he conceived his first child, and it was the same bedroom where cops came rushing in to arrest him for drugs and assault.

Tango was a headache to his mother and the neighbors. He had been in so much trouble as a youth, that they nicknamed him the Problem Child. And then when he got older, he terrorized the neighborhood and was the most feared man in the Bronx.

Tomorrow morning, when he had to go check in with his parole officer, the question was, was he truly rehabilitated. Did serving ten years in prison change him? Or was it all a façade?

Tonight, Tango's mind wasn't on seeing his parole officer, or anything else. As he lay on his sheetless bed in the quiet, still room with his hand down his pants, he jerked off with the pleasing thought of being satisfied by a beautiful woman. The man was sex deprived and his first priority was fucking the finest bitch he could lay his hands on. It'd been ten years too long since he had a good nut.