The Kat Trap (19 page)

“
A
iight, baby, I’ma hit you up later tonight,” Grant said, givin’ me a big bear hug and kissin’ me on the cheek. I had to laugh to myself at the nigga tryna shine in front of his niggas like he had already bagged a bitch. But I let ’im live ’cause it was kinda, hmm…cute. And the nigga was too fuckin’ fine to let any of the thirsty bitches who stood around droolin’ think anything different. He looked over at Chanel, who had returned after she finished collectin’ her numbers for the night. Some hoes gotta be greedy. I rolled my eyes, shakin’ my head. “It was nice meeting you,” Grant said to Chanel.

“You too,” she said, smilin’ at him, then glancin’ over and raisin’ her eyebrow at me. Like,
you betta fuck him or I will, bitch!
“I hope I’m gonna see more of you. Kat needs a real nigga to keep her ass in line.”

“Oh, word? Then I guess it’s her lucky night.”

She smiled. “Alright now…let’s get it poppin’.”

I laughed. “Don’t listen to her crazy ass. She’s delusional. And, you”—I turned to Chanel—“stop puttin’ ideas in his head. Makin’ it sound like I’m pressed for a nigga and some dick.”

“Oh, you not?” they both asked, bustin’ out laughin’.

I gave ’em both the middle finga. “Fuck ya’ll hatin’ asses.”

He grabbed me again and whispered in my ear. “I’ma come through and beat that pussy up tonight, baby. So make sure you answer ya phone.”

I smiled. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

“Yeah, aiight, don’t play.” He looked over at Chanel. “Yo, ma, make sure ya girl don’t have a bunch of niggas all up in her grill when I bounce.”

“I got you,” she said, grinnin’. “Trust me. Kat needs a nigga like you.”

Grant winked at me. “I’m out.”

He walked over to his boys. They were like ten deep and posted up in the cut, waitin’ for him and watchin’ Chanel and me at the same time while tryna holla at some of the chicks that were flouncin’ and bouncin’ all ’round the niggas, lookin’ and actin’ real thirsty. As Grant made his way over to his niggas, I spotted Patrice with two of the several gold-diggin’ bitches she rolled with. I ain’t gonna front, the bitch kept it cute in a pair of blue Baby Phat pencil jeans that were cuffed up to her ankles, and a white wife beater with the word “bitch” stretched across her titties in gold and crystals. She had a gold coin belt draped around her waist and a bangin’-ass pair of stilettos on her feet.

I rolled my eyes.

“This bitch,” I said to Chanel, gesturin’ my head over in her direction. Chanel peeped her. “All these heads out here and I gotta see her fuckin’ face. Let’s bounce.”

Chanel shook her head, lookin’ over my shoulder. But since she didn’t say nothin’, I didn’t bother to turn around. I just figured she saw someone she knew. She twisted her face up.

“Who the fuck is this ugly nigga tryna creep up behind you, puttin’ his finga up to his big-ass lips tellin’ me to ‘ssh’?” I turned around, suckin’ my teeth. It was Cash.

“What’s good?” he asked, walkin’ up on me, grinnin’. The jewels around his neck and in his lobes lit up like mini lamps, all bright and whatnot. I can’t front, the nigga’s swagger was serious—ugly or not. But on some real shit, I was surprised he was even comin’ over to me. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually acknowledged me when we were out in public. And if he did, he’d either do it with a nod or a wink of the eye. Other than that, he usually kept his interaction strictly over the phone, with the exception of those rare times when he called a “family meetin’”—as he called ’em—to discuss “business.” And even then, the family meetin’ would only be him, me and one of his henchmen. The nigga typically met with his hit team on some one-on-one type shit. He never met with all of us together. He liked keepin’ who he had on his squad on the low, which was fine by me.

“I see you got these niggas out here buzzin’ all around ya sweet ass,” he said, leanin’ into my ear.

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” He stepped back and eyed me up and down, then looked over at Chanel, who turned her back on him. I bet if her ass knew how deep the nigga’s pockets were she woulda been all up on his dick tryna suck the skin off it. He licked his lips. “What’s good with ya peoples?”

“She’s off limits and she ain’t beat,” I stated, twistin’ my lips up.

“I can dig it. What about you, what’s good with you?”

I wasn’t sure if his question was on some gettin’-his-dick-wet type-shit or not, but I decided to check his ass just in case. “Nigga, I know you not tryna come at me on some extra shit. Don’t have me curse ya ass out in this bitch.”

“Yo, ma, chill with that shit. I ain’t on it like that. I’m talkin’ ’bout what the fuck you tryna get into tonight, that’s it. You always thinkin’ somebody tryna get in ya damn drawers or some shit. Geesh.”

“Yeah, whateva, nigga,” I said, smirkin’. “I know how you do.”

“Yeah, well, not tonight. I got my sights on somethin’ else.” I peeped him starin’ at Chanel’s big, juicy ass.

I rolled my eyes, suckin’ my teeth. “Anyway,” I continued, “I’m not sure what’ I’m doin’ tonight. Why?”

“Come through the Forty-Forty. Me and a few cats got somethin’ poppin’ off tonight.” He had one of those Forty-Forty purple memberships so he was always throwin’ parties ’n shit, but I had never officially been invited to any until tonight. Hmm…it made a bitch wonder why now all of a sudden. I’m sure it had somethin’ to do with his nasty ass tryna get up on Chanel’s clit. I can’t front, the bitch was flawless and her body was bangin’ in her wears. The nigga peeped her style, so he knew what time it was.

Of course Chanel’s ears perked up the minute she heard Forty-Forty club. The bitch loved to party. Anywhere there was gonna be drinks, dicks, and dollars her ass was gonna be ’bout it. She turned around, droolin’. I grinned at her. “You down to go to the Forty-Forty tonight?” I asked her.

She glanced over at Cash, then me. “What time?”

“Oh, you couldn’t speak to a nigga, but now you wanna know what time you can come shake ya pretty ass.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

He eyed her. “Does ‘whatever’ got a name?”

“Cash,” I said, pointin’ to her, “this is my girl Chanel. Chanel, Cash.”

She rolled her eyes.

“That’s better,” he said, grinnin’. Then the nigga started lookin’ at her like he was ready to fuck her on the spot. “Have the cats at the door come get me.” He looked at me, then winked at Chanel. “And you, beautiful, I’ma get at you later.”

“Don’t hold ya breath,” she replied. “You can’t afford me.” Cash just laughed at her dumb ass, walkin’ off.

“What the fuck so funny?” she asked, vexed.

This ho is so busy chasin’ ballers ’n shit, but had no fuckin’ clue. Hell, I was glad she wasn’t feelin’ him. I didn’t want her tryna get at the nigga any damn way. That’s the last thing I needed.

I sucked my teeth. “Bitch, let’s go,” I snapped, brushin’ past her. “Fuckin’ with you, I need a damn blunt.”

By the time we finally got to the club it was a little after midnight and hot ’n poppin’. Dripped heavy in ice, with niggas clockin’ us in our wears, me and Chanel made our way up to the Rémy Lounge. I had on a canary-yellow chiffon Chanel pullover blouse that hung real low ’n sexy in the front and back, showin’ off my perky tits and smooth back, with a pair of white Gucci pencil jeans—and, yes, with no panties—that melted over e’ery delicious curve of my body, and a bangin’ pair of six-inch Balenciaga slingbacks. Chanel kept it cute in a sexy white Christian Louboutin wrap dress with a pair of white Christian Louboutin crystal “Vamp” stilettos.

There was a group of thug niggas dipped in jewels playin’ PlayStation 2, and I peeped ’bout seven or eight model-type chicks among a group of pigeons sittin’ on the oversized leather bed, cacklin’ and cawin’ like real birds. A few of ’em got up and started finger-poppin’ and shakin’ they hips—clearly for attention—when Rihanna’s “Umbrella” came through the speakers.

I spotted Cash at the pool table with a bunch of his niggas; they were talkin’ shit back ’n forth. I could tell they had a team game goin’ on. I glanced at Chanel and smiled.

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” I asked her outta the side of my mouth.

“And you know it,” she said, followin’ behind me. We heard a few “damns” and “oh, shits” as we walked over to them, disruptin’ their flow. Even a few bitches kept they eyes on us. It was all good.
All eyes on me, bitches.
Chanel and I kept it cute, and posed for the audience.

“I see you made it,” Cash said to me, but he was eyein’ Chanel. “And you brought Miss Whatever with you.” He smiled. Chanel gave him one of them phony smiles. He introduced us to the niggas, then leaned into my ear. “Yo, hook a nigga up with ya girl.”

“You silly as hell, nigga,” I said, laughin’. “She’s off limits.”

He didn’t get the hint. “I ain’t tryna marry her gold-diggin’ ass; I just wanna get in them drawers.”

I rolled my eyes. “Drop dead, nigga,” I said, catchin’ Chanel givin’ me the eye. She ice-grilled Cash.

“Yo, that’s fucked up. But it’s all good.”

“Whatever,” I said, lookin’ over at the niggas ’round the table. “Me and my girl got next.” Chanel looked at me, then smirked. She knew what it was. We was ’bout to run ’em.

“Bitch,” Chanel snapped, puttin’ her hand on her hip, “what the hell you doin’? You know I can’t play no fuckin’ pool.”

“So what,” I said, “I ain’t that good either, but we can still get it in.”

I peeped all the niggas ’round the pool table had stopped talkin’ and the niggas who were shootin’ pool were now standin’ with they sticks in they hands, lookin’ all bug-eyed ’n shit at me.

I laughed. “What, ya’ll niggas scared to play with two dime bitches?”

“Dig, beautiful,” this cross-eyed nigga rockin’ a navy-blue Yankee
fitted cocked to the side said, “I don’t mean no harm, but maybe you and ya girl might wanna come back when ya got ya game up.”

A few niggas laughed.

“No harm taken,” I said, eyein’ him with my hand on my hip. “Like I said, me and my girl got next.”

Cash and a few other niggas laughed.

“Rack ’em up, then, baby,” this short, cock-diesel-type nigga with shoulder-length dreads said. “I’m ’bout to house ya fine ass.”

I eyed him real easy-like. He was a brown-skinned cutie with a thick neck; definitely fuckable, but my clit didn’t jump so I knew his paper wasn’t long enough to handle a bitch like me. “Oh, is that right, little man?”

“Little man? Yeah, okay. But I got a big stick,” he drawled.

“With little-ass balls,” I said back. “And a big-ass mouth. And you’se ’bout to get the snot whipped outta ya.”

His boys laughed.

“Oh, looks like we got a shit-talker in the room.”

“And I can back it up,” I said, shiftin’ my bag from one arm to the other.

Cash jumped in. “Yo, I love you, my nigga, but I’ma haveta ride with Kat and her peoples on this one.”

“Yo, fuck you, nigga,” one of his boys said, laughin’. “Ya black ass just tryna get some ass.”

“Yeah, that, too,” Cash replied, laughin’ and eyein’ Chanel at the same time. “But, I’m tellin’ you niggas, don’t sleep. I bet these beauties are real beasts.”

I rolled my eyes. I was gettin’ restless and was ready to bring it to them niggas. “Listen, muhfuckas, are we gonna play or are ya’ll niggas gonna stand here bullshittin’?”

“Oh, okay, I see you one a them gangsta chicks.”

I smiled. “I’m from Brooklyn, nigga…thought you knew.”

“Let’s do this, then, pretty baby,” the stocky nigga said. “By the way, I’m Leo, and”—he pointed to this golden-brown nigga with light-brown eyes and light-brown curly hair—“this here is my nigga Bronze.”

I introduced myself and Chanel to ’em, then walked over and started rackin’ the balls. By now there was so much hype in the air ’round us that niggas and bitches had stopped what they were doin’ and were all comin’ over and standin’ ’round tryna see what all the excitement was ’bout. Once again, all eyes on me, bitches!

Then outta nowhere this fine brown-skinned nigga with spinnin’ waves said, “I got a twenty on them two fine shorties.”

The cornball nigga was tryna clown us.

“I’ll double that,” said this other nigga, laughin’, with a bunch of razor bumps under his chin and neck, lookin’ like a damn burn victim. The niggas were really tryna play us close. I shook my head. Then another one spoke up.

“Yo, fuck that. I got five beans on my mans ’n them. Word up.”

Okay, five hundred dollars wasn’t enough to get a bitch’s pussy wet, but it was a start. Me and Chanel glanced at each other, thinkin’ if we played it right, we was ’bout to house these muhfuckas for some major paper. Before you knew it, ’bout thirty muhfuckas was diggin’ in they pockets ready to get it poppin’. Most of ’em had they bets on the niggas, which was all good. Even a few bitches wanted in, but they rode with the dick. But them soft hoes and niggas were all pullin’ out peanuts. And I ain’t the one.

“What, that’s all you cheap niggas got?” I asked, openin’ up my Balenciaga bag and pullin’ out a roll of hundreds. “If ya pockets light, then say they light.” I smirked. “But don’t try ’n play a dime-piece like me.” I tossed the roll on the table. “Two rounds, double or nothin’.”

Some nigga named Skratch took the knot and tossed it over to Cash, who started countin’ it. When he finished, he started smilin’. “Well, my niggas…looks like ya’ll gonna need to come hard or go home. I got five G’s in my hand. Let’s make it do what it do.”

“Ah, shit…this gonna be like snatchin’ candy from a baby,” Leo said, laughin’ and lookin’ over at his partner. “Ya’ll sure you wanna lose ya paper?”

“That’s chump change, nigga,” I said, walkin’ over to the rack wall, gettin’ my stick. “Besides, even if me and my girl can’t really play, I’ma always be a winner, baby.” I winked at the nigga. Chanel walked over and stood in wait while some nigga tried to get at her. She igged his ass. The niggas were tryin’ hard to keep they eyes off our asses, but we was killin’ ’em. I threw an extra shake in my hips, just to fuck with ’em.

Chanel sucked her teeth. “You always draggin’ me into some shit. Hand me a stick, bitch.” I held in my laugh.

Leo broke strong, and that’s all she wrote. Four balls clanked in. The niggas were stripes. We were solids. A few niggas were talkin’ and laughin’ but most of ’em had they eyes pressed up on the game. Niggas had cheddar ridin’ on the table and didn’t wanna miss shit. The rules were simple: call ya pockets, two rounds, winner takes all.