Riding Dirty on I-95 (14 page)

“Y'all see that. You put a beaver at stake and Don Corleone wakes up. We thought you was napping off in the truck stop, partner,” Farmer John said.

“Lil' Lost Chicken, I'm always moving, baby. I had to stop and get me some petrol, but I'm on the road again. I just couldn't wait to get on the road again.” Don Corleone started singing the lyrics to the country song.

Mercy smiled as she heard Lil' Lost Chicken say, “Stick to hip-hop, Don. Leave the country alone.”

“Lil' Lost Chicken, what's the deal with the black beauty? Is she my type?” Don continued.

“I don't know, but she's the original black beauty,” he answered, looking Mercy over and winking at her. “A real thoroughbred.”

“Black Beauty, come in? Bat those eyes one time for me, Black Beauty,” Don Corleone requested.

Mercy ignored him, but once she realized that they were in a traffic jam and there was an accident up ahead on I-95, she finally got on the CB, realizing that the trip was going to be longer than
she had anticipated. “Where you at, Don Corleone?” Mercy said. “You in the middle of handling some Mafioso business?”

Don laughed as he and Mercy talked down the highway all the way until she got to her destination.

“Was it a match made on I-95?” the trucker asked Mercy as she climbed out of the truck.

“You never know.” Mercy winked. “You never know.”

Once she hopped out of the rig, Don Corleone was erased out of her mind. Her only focus was the exchange she was being paid to make.

T
he party was sold out like a Michael Jackson concert. With so many people there, the old Thalheimer's building was packed like a sardine can.

“Glad we were able to get in VIP,” Mercy said. “Otherwise my ass would be headed back to the south of the James on my way home.”

“Or worse, still standing in line,” Chrissie said as they both giggled, giving each other a high five.

“Girl, I know. I am so glad that we ain't have to pay the money to get in here,” Mercy said, happy that she didn't have to dish out three hundred dollars to pay both her and Chrissie's way into the club.

“Girl, I say we toast to those Gucci pants,” she said, looking Mercy up and down, “because those were the hook for the night.” Chrissie put up her glass.

“I say we toast to real chicks who know real niggas who don't mind spending.”

They toasted as they swept the room with their eyes, searching out their sponsor for the night.

Although Mercy would have coughed up the money to get in
VIP, she was grateful she didn't have to. Thanks to Herb, a guy whose attention Mercy seemed to have captured, Mercy had three hundred dollars in her pocket to spare. Herb had been staring a hole in her from the other side of the room all night long. He must have been under the impression that just because he threw out a few yards Mercy was going to be up under him the entire night. He would be sadly mistaken.

Herb and his boy had pulled up into the club's parking lot at the same time as Mercy and Chrissie. Herb parked his midnight-blue 600 Benz right beside Mercy's brand-new 320 Benz. When he stepped out of his ride at the same time she did, she was impressed as she took in his whole package. He was wearing his hair in neat zigzagged Allen Iverson braids. He had on gators, Cartier frames, and jewels; and his swagger was on point. Tall, slim, with a creamy caramel complexion, straight dappa don she could not deny. His boy was okay, but Herb was exactly what the doctor had ordered.

“Hey, love,” Herb said as he looked Mercy up and down.

“Hello to you too, boo,” she replied as she looked him over again.

“I see you in those jeans. I see ya, baby,” he said in a slick tone, sliding his glasses down to the tip of his nose.

“That's why I put them on, so you could see me.” She was confident, and her walk confirmed it as she stepped with one foot in front of the other like she was auditioning for a position on the runway during Fashion Week.

“You looking real good. Baby, Gucci can stop making them shits now,” Herb said. He had no idea that one of the finest girdles ever manufactured was holding her in place, creating a mirage. Lord only knew that if she ate one chicken wing or even farted, these pants would've popped like a bottle of Cristal.

“Thank you, darlin'. You ain't looking bad
y
o' self,” Mercy said.

“ 'Y'all got VIP?” Herb asked.

“Ummm, Chrissie, did you ever get the VIP situation straight?” Mercy asked, trying to play it off.

Before Chrissie could even respond, Herb said, “Don't worry 'bout it. I got y'all,” he said and waved his hand, signaling them to come on.

As soon as they arrived in VIP, Herb started popping bottles like firecrackers on the Fourth of July. He attracted so much attention that Mercy slipped away, letting him have the spotlight to himself. Well, not exactly just slipped away. The cutthroat hoochies were trying their damnedest to get Herb's attention. If she didn't get out of the way, the sac chasers would have trampled all over her. Had it been any other day of the week, month, or year, she would have dealt with them. Plain and simply, she would have opened up her Gucci bag, nicely put on her Gucci sneakers, politely placed her Gucci boots in the bag, Vaselined her face up, and inflicted serious pain on the guttersnipes. However, this night was different—her pants were too tight, for one, and plus she was glad that the skeezers were able to assist in putting distance between her and Herb. Shit, who takes sand to the beach anyway?

“Damn, that nigga act like he ain't used to shit,” Mercy said as she watched Herb act like a nigga with new money.

“Naw, them bitches see the dollar signs and they come around like flies on shit,” Chrissie said, laughing.

“Let's fall back.” Mercy motioned for Chrissie to follow her as they slid off.

Mercy and Chrissie found themselves at a table over in the cut. When the waitress came over to take their order Mercy asked to borrow her tablet and pen for a second. Mercy proceeded to write a note. She then folded it up and handed it to the waitress. She ordered a bottle of champagne for her and Chrissie and asked the waitress to give the note to Herb.

The note read:
“I ain't the ride a nigga's dick type of bitch on the first night. Go ahead and get your freak on. I'll call you tomorrow. ”

After a few minutes the waitress returned, with a smile and the bottle of bubbly they had ordered.

“How much I owe?” Mercy asked, opening up her Gucci purse to pay the waitress.

“Nothing,” the waitress replied. “The guy over there in the burgundy suit with the plaid vest on took care of it.”

“Burgundy suit?” Mercy asked, squinting up her face.

The waitress came in a little closer to Mercy and said, “And, girl, it's a Zanetti suit at that.”

Mercy and Chrissie scanned the club like a couple of surveillance cameras. Finally, Mercy locked eyes with the man responsible for quenching their thirst. He smiled, nodded his head, and sipped his drink, never letting his eyes leave hers. Mesmerized by his eye contact, like a zombie, Mercy was on her way over to say thank you to C-Note when Herb approached her and grabbed her hand.

“Why you send me that letter?”

“No harm or disrespect intended. Just keeping it real. No hard feelings, baby,” Mercy said, still trying to keep her eyes on C-Note.

“Don't be like that,” Herb said, almost in a whine.

“I'm not. As a matter of fact, give me your number so I can call you tomorrow.”

“Come on, baby. You know you ain't going to call me tomorrow. Why you trying to play me?”

“Yes, I will. But I can't if I don't have yo' number.”

Herb paused and looked Mercy up and down, trying to determine if she was on the real or not. “Yeah, you right. You got a pen in your purse?”

“No, I sure don't,” Mercy lied.

“I do,” Chrissie said, digging down in her purse. She retrieved a pen and handed it to Herb. Mercy shot her a sharp look.

“Good lookin' out,” Herb said as he grabbed a napkin, wrote down his number, and handed it to Mercy. “Don't take it unless you gonna use it.”

“Look, you ain't gotta be pressed about a phone call the way bitches is all up in your face,” Mercy said, snapping her neck. “Boo, that shit don't intimidate me at all. You need to understand that no hoochie can run me away. I'm just going to let you breathe tonight because I ain't fucking tonight. So, I ain't the best thing for you to gamble on for the after party.”

Just then Missy's song “Get Ur Freak On” came on. “I couldn't have said it better than Missy,” Mercy said to Herb. “I'll holla at you.” Mercy walked away, leaving Herb looking dumbfounded.

She managed to make her way over to C-Note with Chrissie right beside her.

“You got 'em chasing you down, huh?” C-Note said to Mercy, referring to Herb. Then he added, “I better keep my security close.” C-Note had the prettiest smile Mercy had ever seen.

Feeling the effect of the champagne, Mercy got a little bolder. She embraced C-Note with a hug, throwing her leg up like she had recently seen someone do on television when she was greeting someone. “Thanks for the champagne, darling.”

“It ain't nothing,” C-Note said, bobbin' his head, running his tongue across his top row of teeth as he checked out Mercy from head to toe. “How's your lil' niece doing?”

“She's good,” Mercy answered. “She went back to live with her mother. She calls me every single day, though.”

“So who living with you now? Dat New York nigga?”

Mercy pulled her head back because she was caught off guard. She had no idea that C-Note knew her business like that, or
would even bother to concern himself with it. “Nobody. My girl Chrissie be hanging out sometimes, but that's it.

“So who living with you?” Mercy shot back. She looked him in his eyes, then took a sip of her drink.

“You could be.”

“Naw, I don't shack up with no niggas unless I got a ring. That ain't my thing. Been there, done that!”

“I feel you.” He smiled. “But we can work towards that,” he said, popping trash.

“You know how many times I done heard niggas try to kick that same game?”

“As good as you look,” C-Note said, looking her over, “I can imagine. But look, baby, I can't rap with you like I want to in this here club.”

“Is that right?”

“You know I done wanted to holla at you for like a year now. The last time I saw you I told you to wait for me and the next thing I know you sending blows to the head like Zab Judah.” Both Mercy and Chrissie laughed as C-Note continued. “Then I was sure I was going to run into you again, and here we are. I never thought it would take this long, though.”

Mercy could only blush as her pussy began to throb and firecrackers seemed to ignite over the club's ceiling.

Damn. This nigga is kicking game to me. I swear I ain't had no good dick since Raheem, and I might just fuck this nigga here tonight. I done seen head-sprung in the back of the club before, but never thought I'd be one of them hoes. But a bitch is horny as hell.

“So, look, the bottom line is I've seen all I need to see tonight,” C-Note said as he rubbed his fingers across her face.

“Is that right?” Mercy said, putting her head down, all of a sudden turning shy. For reasons she didn't quite understand he made her feel like no other. The way he looked at her, like she was so
beautiful. She wanted to feel safe with him; she felt like he would protect her from the world.

“Yeah, so look, let's go and get breakfast,” C-Note said, telling more than asking.

Just then some girl interrupted their conversation. “ 'Scuse me, C-Note,” she said. “Jus is drunk as shit. He over there wildin' out.”

“Thank you, baby,” C-Note responded to the girl, and then turned back to Mercy. “As I was saying, let's go get something to eat. But I got to go take my nigga, Jus, home, because he been drinking and that nigga can't hold liquor. You know I can't leave him out here to fall victim.”

“I feel you,” Mercy said, understanding.

“You can follow me to drop that nigga off, and then I'll keep my other nigga with me to keep yo' girl company while we kick it.”

“A'ight,” Mercy said with a smile.

“So, I'm going to get him and then I'll meet you outside up there at the corner in fifteen minutes.”

“Which corner?”

“Seventh and Broad. Look, lock my number in your phone in case for some reason we lose each other,” C-Note insisted.

Mercy read off his phone number before she locked it in and then gave him a hug.

“Fifteen minutes,” he whispered in her ear as he embraced her.

Mercy smiled as she sashayed away. Her heart was beating fast because she knew in her heart that she had just met her knight in shining armor. C-Note was a take-control type of man who had the game all figured out, according to his street credibility— someone who wouldn't expect her to carry his pack or jeopardize her freedom, because he was a stand-up type of guy, the type of guy she just had to have. And if a street guy was what she had to have, her daddy would have approved of him.