The Trophy Wife (9 page)

“Jake, please don't hurt me,” she begged.

He looked out on his many acres of land and pulled her into the thick trees that nestled behind their house. When they finally stopped walking, he handed her the shovel and said, “Dig!”

“What?” she asked through her tears.

He yelled, “Dig, bitch! Dig until I tell you to stop!”

London reluctantly began to scoop piles of dirt. She dug for what seemed like hours as Jake stood over her and watched. He had a look on his face that could only be described as devilish.
God, please don't let him hurt me,
she prayed as she continued to dig through the ground. Her arms burned unbearably and her tears clouded her vision, but she continued to dig because she was afraid of what would happen if she stopped.

Jake hopped down in the hole with London and grabbed her by the back of her neck as if she were a dog. “See what you drive me to, London? Huh?”

“I'm sorry,” she replied through tears. She was horrified, quite sure that she'd just dug her own grave.
God, please,
she prayed. Beg for mercy, that's the only thing that she could think of doing.

“Are you trying to ruin me? You want to ruin my reputation?”

“No! I swear,” she cried.

“Now it's your turn to decide if you want to live right and start being a good wife to me or if you want to leave. But this is your exit, London. This is your only way out . . . in this hole. What's it going to be, London?”

“I'll be a good wife, Jake, I will. I will be a good wife.”

Those words seemed to snap Jake out of his rage. He pulled London close to him and whispered, “I know you will. Ssh, it's okay.” He held her head close to his chest as she cried uncontrollably. “I love you, London. I wish you would stop making me hurt you.”

She couldn't respond. All she felt was pain. Her body throbbed all over, and she could barely keep her eyes open as fatigue took over her body.

Jake picked her up and carried her back toward the house. He laid her down in the bed and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you,” he stated. He waited for her reply, but was met with silence.

London sighed deeply and closed her eyes. She couldn't fight the exhaustion. She embraced the deep sleep as she thought of Kalil, hoping to see him again in her dreams.

The Lyfe Jennings debut CD lightly pumped out of the stereo as Kalil leaned back on the couch. His leg cocked and his eyes toward the ceiling, the lyrics had him in a daze. The song reminded him of London. He couldn't stop thinking of her and he hoped to hear from her soon. He'd just returned from walking Jada to school where he was hoping to catch London before her class began. When he didn't see her, he figured that he would catch up with her later.

Now he was trying to get his head together as he prepared to go to work.
I hate working for them rude-ass Italians.
Kalil took a deep breath, remembering how he dreaded working for someone else. His pride was bruised working for someone else. He had been a hustler as far back as he could remember. He had always been his own boss.

Now that he was taking instructions from another man it was difficult for him. He knew that he had to do what he had to do for Jada and himself, so he worked for peanuts and swallowed his pride. He was lucky that Moretti hadn't fired him for walking out on the job the night of Jada's recital.

The thoughts of returning to the streets invaded his mind constantly, but he stayed strong. He wasn't chancing going back to jail, and if he got caught hustling drugs, he was getting a one-way ticket straight back to Rikers Island.
This is all for Jada,
he thought as he finished up his breakfast and put on his steel-toe boots.

Quinn had stayed out all night so Kalil was going to have to take the subway to work. As he stepped foot on the New York pavement, he remembered back when he ran the streets. Even at eight AM there were corner boys hustling on the block, trying to get the morning crowd, which usually consisted of regular working citizens trying to get a fix to start their day off. Kalil smiled to himself as he watched grown men and women line up as if they were children in elementary school, just to get the monkey off of their back. “The early bird gets the worm,” he said to himself as he walked past the crowd of addicts, repeating what he used to preach to his workers.

“Ayo, Kalil!” a man's voice said from amidst the crowd.

Kalil looked up and saw his lil' man, Peanut, distributing packets of heroin and taking money from the fiends.

Peanut focused his attention back on Kalil and smiled as he walked over to him, but some of the customers began to complain about not getting their packs quick enough. Peanut stopped dead in his tracks and turned toward the crowd. “Yo, shut the fuck up and wait for me. I know y'all see me trying to get at my mans right here. Keep complaining and I won't serve y'all shit. You can go uptown and cop some of that bullshit if you want to, if not y'all betta wait!” Peanut, shaking his head in disbelief, turned his back on them and faced Kalil. “Can't believe these mu'fuckas,” he said in exasperation. “What's good, fam?” He extended his hand toward Kalil.

“I see you out here getting it.” Kalil slapped hands with Peanut and released a slight grin.

“Yeah, the early bird gets the worm,” Peanut said, repeating what Kalil had taught him years back.

“What's the deal?”

“Nothing much. I wanted to holla at you about something. This D.C. cat came through the hood yesterday looking for you and shit.”

“Looking for me?” Kalil asked.

“Yeah. Dude was a stuntin'-ass nigga too. He had the new 6 Series joint with D.C. plates and all. He was flashing mad money too. He was giving niggas hundred-dollar bills to send the message to you.” Peanut nodded his head.

Kalil's street instincts began to kick in as he received the information. He scanned the block and then looked back at Peanut.

Peanut noticed Kalil's uptightness and then spoke up. “Nah, Kalil, he wasn't on no beef shit. He said you two were good friends and he needed to link back up with you. I think he said his name was”—Peanut stopped mid-sentence, trying to remember the man's name. He looked down and began to rub his goatee in an effort to jog his memory—“June! Yeah, his name was June. He left a number for you,” Peanut said as he took out his cell phone and flipped it open.

When Kalil heard June's name, he instantly knew who it was. June was his former cell mate in Rikers Island.
June must've gotten out and is trying to do business. I guess he was serious. It would be good to see that crazy mu'fucka again,
Kalil thought.

A wave of relief overcame him. The mention of someone looking for him had him uneasy. He knew he had accumulated a lot of enemies by being in the streets all his life and quickly grew defensive.

He looked at Peanut's phone. “What's the number?”

As Peanut recited the numbers, Kalil made a mental note of it. He had a sharp memory and planned on giving June a call later. “Yo, I got to bounce. I'ma catch up with you later.” Kalil slapped Peanut's hand.

Peanut looked Kalil up and down and noticed his steel-toe boots and his work gloves that hung out his back pocket. He then looked at Kalil's lunch pail. He never knew Kalil to be a nine-to-five type of person, just a bona fide hustler. He used to look up to Kalil and wanted to be just like him. While other kids wanted to be a fireman or a lawyer, Peanut wanted to be just like Kalil the dopeman. He used to see how much people respected Kalil, and Peanut admired the street fame. He couldn't believe that Kalil was punching in on a clock.

“I see you laying low for a minute. Those folks got you on paper, huh?” Peanut said, referring to Kalil being on probation. He looked Kalil square in the eye. “When you get back in, I want to get down.”

Kalil knew that Peanut would be a trustworthy soldier. The gesture meant a lot to him. He knew that Peanut was one of Hova's disciples and knowing that Peanut was ready and willing to leave that team was a display of pure loyalty, but he knew that he couldn't take Peanut up on his offer. He was out of the game for good.

“I can't mess with the game anymore. I'ma catch up with you later though, lil' man.”

Just before Peanut could respond, something gained all of Kalil's attention, causing him to look away from Peanut. An all-black Benz slowly crept up the block, with FATBOY on the plates. Fatboy had his window down and was so busy bobbing his head to his music, he didn't notice Kalil. Kalil's heartbeat sped up, and he involuntarily began to grit his teeth and clench his fist.

Peanut noticed the sudden change in Kalil's mood and followed his eyes to see Fatboy's Benz park down the block. “I never liked that fat mu'fucka either,” Peanut said as he remembered back when Kalil used to tell him how grimy Fat- boy was and not to associate with him. “He fucks with the chick that stay right there.” Peanut threw his head in the direction of the house Fatboy was parked in front of.

Kalil watched as Fatboy got out the car and scanned the block. Kalil dropped his head, hoping Fatboy didn't notice him. Obviously Fatboy didn't see him, because he hit his car alarm and proceeded to the house.

Kalil talked through his clenched teeth. “You got the banger on you?”

“You know it!” Peanut pulled out his black .45 pistol out of his waist and handed it to Kalil.

Kalil looked at the gun in his hand and realized that it had been four years since the last time he had gripped a banger. He didn't want to admit it, but it felt damn good to him. The images of Jada crying and balled up in the corner of her closet kept popping into his head. Rage quickly filled his heart and he was ready to put his murder game down. Soon after, the images of him sitting in a jail cell and Jada growing up without a father emerged. He wanted to get at Fatboy so badly. He was so close to revenge, he could taste it.

Kalil gave Peanut the gun back and whispered to himself, “I can't do this . . . I can't.” And he headed toward the subway. That was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do—walk away.

 

 

“Oooh! Right there, Fatboy,” the young girl said as Fatboy's face was buried into her crotch. Her legs were straight up in the air as Fatboy alternated between licking her clitoris and asshole. Fatboy was a certified freak and nothing was off-limits for him. He went the majority of his life being laughed at and teased for his weight and never got any play from the ladies, so when he began to make a little bit of money, he used it to his full advantage. His newfound street fame attained him instant popularity with the ladies, and he had a reputation for tricking off his money, causing all the local hood rats and sack-chasers to check for him. Fatboy's motto was “It ain't trickin' if you got it,” and he definitely did have it. Fatboy was moving heavy weight within the city and was the only successful drug dealer in the area, besides Hova's disciples.

“Come here, ma.” Fatboy flipped over onto his back totally naked and held his dick firmly as he began to stroke it. The young girl began to straddle Fatboy and he guided her love box directly onto his lips. Fatboy used his tornado tongue and went to work. She rode his tongue as if it was his pipe, moving her body in wild circular motions. Fatboy's dick was now standing at full attention and he was ready to lay it down.

He forcefully pushed her off of his face, so hard that she plopped down on his fat belly. He picked her up and dropped her square on his pole. She began to ride him passionately as sweat dripped off of her body.

The girl closed her eyes and pretended that she was sexing someone else besides Fatboy. She was totally disgusted by his sloppy appearance, but he paid to play and she was about her money.

Fifteen minutes later Fatboy was putting on his pants and leaving the girl with semen all on her face. He finished getting dressed and admired the girl's perfect frame and pretty face. He peeled off five crispy hundred-dollar bills, tossed it on her bed without saying a word, and walked out feeling rejuvenated.

As Fatboy walked out the door he saw Peanut leaning on his car, his arms crossed, as if he was waiting on him.

“What the fuck is you doing, lil' nigga?” Fat- boy yelled. He put his hand under his shirt and gripped his pistol. He remembered Peanut from the block and knew that he was once Kalil's lil' man.

“Nah, it ain't like that.” Peanut lifted up his shirt to show Fatboy he wasn't on any beef tip. “I just want to holla at you, Fatboy.”

Fatboy was still cautious and kept his hand on his banger as he walked over to Peanut. “What you got to holla at me about? I don't rock with you like that.”

“Look, man, I'm trying to get down, man. I see you out here getting it and all.” Peanut turned back and looked at Fatboy's new Benz.

“Nah, son, I roll by myself. If you knew what was best for you, you would get the fuck off of my whip.” Fatboy walked up on Peanut.

Peanut stepped to the side and let Fatboy get into his car. He tried explaining to Fatboy that he was trying to give him some valuable information and not trying any funny business. He stood outside's Fatboy's window and tried to put him up on game before he could speed off.

“Yo, Kalil was asking about you,” Peanut blurted out, gaining Fatboy's full attention.

“Is that right?” Fatboy checked his rearview mirror. He knew that the next time he saw Kalil it was going to be trouble. He knew that what he did to Jada would cause any father to want to kill. He wasn't going to get caught slipping. He rested his hand on his chrome .38 handgun that he had on his lap.

“Yeah, but that bitch-ass nigga is gone already,” Peanut said with anger in his eyes.

Fatboy examined Peanut and knew that he had ill feelings toward Kalil, from his facial expression. “I thought that was yo' man?” Fatboy gripped his pistol, being extra cautious.

“Yeah, he was, but since he's been out, he's been acting funny. He ain't the same dude anymore. I don't respect that man like I used to. So what up? Can we talk business?”

Fatboy checked his mirrors again and then looked back at Peanut. He knew Peanut was sincere. “What business you talking about?”

Peanut smiled, knowing that Fatboy was willing to listen. “I got this cat from out of town that wants some major weight, and I need a plug on them thangs,” he said, referring to bricks of cocaine. He approached Fatboy's car.

“I thought you worked for Hova. Why don't you holla at him? I know he got them shits by the boatload,” Fatboy said.

“Yeah, but I'm trying to do my own thing. I need a new source, nah mean? Hova try to stay in a nigga pocket. I don't want him to know all my moves,” Peanut explained to Fatboy, moving his hands to emphasize his point.

Fatboy could relate to Peanut. He knew how it felt when you were ready to become your own man and make your own moves. Fatboy put his pistol under his seat. Knowing that Peanut was serious, he was ready to talk business. He asked, “ ‘Bout how many he say he wanted?”

“Like ten of them,” Peanut said confidently.

Fatboy hit his
unlock
button. “Get in. Let's talk business.”

Peanut got in the car and started explaining the situation to Fatboy, and Fatboy, so eager to get some money, was all in.

Fatboy and Peanut sat in the same spot for thirty minutes talking about their new partnership. Fatboy had lit up two blunts with Peanut as they sat there and talked.

“Yo, I didn't know you were cool like this, nah mean?” Fatboy passed the Dutch over to Peanut.

“Yeah, I'm a real nigga. Kalil had me thinking you were a lame. You cool too.” Peanut hit the Dutch and inhaled deeply.

“Yeah, man. I think we can really make some money together, man.” Fatboy reached out his hand and slapped palms with Peanut.

“Yo, man, look in my eyes, fam,” Peanut said with a serious face. “I've been dying to tell you something.”