Gangsta Bitch (2 page)

“You gotta know things outside of the block. I be trying to school these little niggaz out here, but all they think about is paper and pussy.”

“Speaking of pussy,” she slid out of her jacket and undid her pants, “I’ve got something for you, baby.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he ran his hand over her breasts through her tight shirt. He could feel her nipples hardening through her bra. “Damn, I need to taste these,” he tried to lift her shirt, but she pulled away.

“In a second, daddy, I got something special for you,” she raised his hand to her mouth and sucked his middle finger. She watched his eyes roll back in his head as she shoved it so far back in her throat that he could feel her tonsils. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Straight to the back,” he nodded down the hall.

The mystery lady picked her shoulder bag up off the floor. “When I come back, I want your clothes off and your dick in your hand. I’m gonna fuck you so good that you’ll think three times before picking a stray bitch up off the street,” she promised before disappearing down the hall.

By the time the bathroom door clicked closed, Pete had yanked his sweater off and was working on his belt. He placed the small Glock he’d been carrying in his pocket on the coffee table and started working his way out of his pants. When he’d met her at the car wash on 149
^th
the day before he knew he had to have her. Pete vowed that he would do any and everything in his power to sample the sweet fruit, but luckily he didn’t have to do much. All he had to do was take her to eat on City Island and flash his bank roll and she was hooked. When he heard the door open, he sank back into his coolest pose on the couch, as naked as the day he was born.

“Are you ready to get fucked, daddy!” she called from the hallway.

“Ready than a mutha fucka,” he replied, stroking himself to an erection. When she stepped back into the living room, his dick went as limp as a noodle.

“Surprise, you’ve just been fucked,” the mystery lady smirked, pointing a very large handgun at Pete.

“Wh…what the fuck is this shit?” Pete stammered, looking at the pistol as if it was a UFO. The mystery girl’s eyes had gone from star struck to murderous.

“A bake sale, mutha fucka, I want the pies and the cake!” she said with a hard edge to her voice that hadn’t been there before. When she saw his eye twitch, she gripped the pistol a little tighter. “Don’t get cute, son. Follow the rules and I ain’t gotta lay you.”

“Yo, I got a few grams in the freezer and some bread in my top drawer, but that’s it. I don’t shit where I live,” he said in his most sincere tone. When her face softened he thought that he might’ve been able to talk his way out of the situation, but the gun slamming into the side of his face killed that thought.

“Son, I should lace ya fucking boots for even trying to insult my intelligence,” she was leaning in with the gun pressed against his forehead. “Either get up and take me to the safe so we can get this over with painlessly, or I can pop you and find it myself, what you trying to do?”

“Listen, sister, I don’t want no problems. You can get all of that,” he slid off the couch with his hands raised above his head.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” she backed up to let him pass, without allowing him to get close enough to try and grab the gun. “The faster you set it out, the faster I’m outta ya hair kid, this ain’t the only stop I got to make today.”

“Don’t worry, ma, you can have that shit, it’s nothing, but I hope you riding down on them white dealers like you doing us hood niggaz,” he remarked.

“You talking shit?” she asked.

“Nah, baby, just trying to make a point. I mean, we all sling shit, but at least I’m trying to keep the money circulating through black hands in black hoods, what the fuck is the devil doing besides getting fat off our backs?”

She paused as if she was measuring Pete’s words. He started to press his argument until the butt of the gun crashed into the side of his head. Pete dropped to one knee, and clutched his throbbing temple.

“Nigga, don’t try to sway me with that fake F.O.I, shit,” she jammed the gun into his eye roughly. “You talk about keeping the money in the hood like you’re doing a good thing, miss me with that. You have black children selling your shit to other black people, so don’t act like you’re some fucking savior of our people. I’d be doing society a service if I finished you right here,” her finger twitched on the trigger, but didn’t squeeze. “Get your ass up and take me to the safe, pussy,” she drew her hand back, but didn’t strike him.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he had a violent woman standing behind him with a gun to his head, Pete would’ve kicked himself in the ass for getting caught out there so easily. Walking on shaky legs towards his bedroom, his mother’s voice rang in his head.
Don’t let the little head think for the big one.
Considering what was happening, he knew his mother was wagging her finger at him from the grave.

Shorty had a fly whip, was rocking jewels and was the baddest thing he’d seen in a minute. There was no way she could’ve been greasy, at least that’s what he thought before he found himself being jacked. Opening his bedroom closet, where his safe was hidden, Pete made himself two promises; one was to murder the mystery woman if he ever saw her again and the other was never again to bring a female to his house.

“Drag that shit out here and pop it open,” she ordered.

Pete reluctantly pulled the two foot safe from the closet and punched in the combination. The door popped open and as he tried to reach inside, he felt the cold metal pressed behind his ear.

“I’m about tired of you playing on my intelligence,” she reached inside the safe and pulled out a berretta. She tested the weight of the gun before clubbing Pete in the eye with it. Blood gushed down the side of his face as he scrambled away from her. The mystery woman shook her head and tossed him a pillow. “Take the case off and fill it.”

“Yo, you ain’t gotta do it like this,” Pete began slipping the case off the pillow, blinking the blood out of his eye.

“I know, but it’s more fun this way. Now fill that case, yo,” she motioned at the safe with her gun. Pete knelt, bleeding and cursing himself as he placed every dime he had in the pillow case. When the safe was empty he slid it over to her. She peeped in the bag and looked back at him.

“Nigga, they said you were balling,” she laughed. The mystery lady looked at the expensive looking entertainment system. “Unhook that Blue-Ray and toss it in the case, and while you’re at it you can set out whatever movies you got for it.”

“Damn, shorty, you ain’t gonna leave a nigga with nothing?” he pleaded.

“Mutha fucka you need to be thankful that I ain’t taking your life,” she reminded him.

Pete went about the task of unhooking his two day old Blue-Ray before going to the freezer and getting the work. When it was all said and done she could barely carry both of the pillow cases and her gun at the same time. She walked Pete into the living room and for a minute he thought his humiliation was at an end, but it was just starting.

“We almost done,” she removed a roll of duct tape from her purse, “but I gotta tie up the loose ends,” she proceeded to bind Pete’s hands and feet. Once they were secure she used the remainder of the duct tape to tie him to the radiator.

“What you bout to do to me?” he asked fearfully as she approached him, digging around in her bag.

“Don’t worry, big daddy, I ain’t gonna hurt nothing else but your pride,” she grinned wickedly, pulling her hand out of the bag, holding a small case.

Sha-Born couldn’t believe his eyes. The sight was so crazy that he had to call his peoples little Dave and Mack, so they could vouch for the authenticity when he put the word on the streets. The three of them laughed so hard that tears ran down their eyes when they stumbled on Pete three hours later.

He was ass naked and tied to the radiator, but that wasn’t the funny part. Before the mystery woman had left she had applied lipstick and eye shadow to Pete’s face. He looked like a broken up drag queen, squirming around on the floor. The trio of young boys laughed at him for almost ten minutes before finally cutting him loose.

Arthur Kill Correctional Facility
was located deep in Staten Island, New York. It was a small compound, in contrast to other New York State prisons, but served the same purpose; to house and supposedly reform criminals. On the one hand, it was a blessing to be housed there because it spared family and friends the trouble of riding all the way upstate to visit their loved ones, but on the other hand… what the fuck could be blessed about a prison?

A guard sat behind the booth near the visitor’s entrance/exit reading a Don Diva Magazine. She clicked her gum and thumbed through the pages, looking as if she could think of a million and one things she’d rather be doing than her job. At the sound of the automatic door that led to the bowels of the prison, she lifted her head and tried to seem alert.

Two guards came through escorting a young man who appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties. He had grown his hair while he was away, and now sported it in a messy pony tail, that showed his handsome face. His skin was ashy, but still smooth and youthful considering what he had just gone through. It had been five long years since the powers that be of the justice system informed him that he would more than likely be spending the rest of his natural life in a cage. Five years since he had felt the touch of a woman who didn’t have an ulterior motive, the one woman he had ever loved other than his mother. Five years since the only family he had left in the world had been gunned down by some jealous niggaz for trying to feed his people. But at long last, he was free.

The female guard watched intently as the two escorts exchanged words with the young man before disappearing back through the automatic doors, leaving him alone. She waited until she was sure they were out of earshot before addressing the young man.

“Well, well, looks like somebody is going home,” she said, beaming at him.

The young man returned her smile. “Thank God. After five years of fighting I’ve finally gotten my freedom back.”

“I wish I could say I was sorry to see you go, Bernard,” she addressed him by his government name. It was a rude statement to make to someone who was being released from prison, but there was no malice in her tone. She came from around the booth to stand in front of him. Reynolds was short with ass for days and big enough breasts to feed triplets. She didn’t have the most attractive face, but what she lacked in looks she more than made up for in physique.

“Now, is that a nice thing to say to a man whose been wrongfully accused, Reynolds?” he asked playfully.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, but I’m gonna miss our little midnight shakedowns,” she clarified.

For the last six months or so Derrick and Officer Reynolds had developed a
special
relationship. She was a bored housewife whose husband wasn’t showing her enough affection. As with a lot of the female, and the occasional male, guards who worked the correctional system, she had sought comfort in one of the inmates she guarded. During the wee hours of the night, and sometimes morning, Reynolds would sneak him out of his cell and up to the laundry room. They would have fall down, drag out sex until neither of them could stand. There was no emotional attachment between them, so things worked beautifully. Reynolds got the gangster ass pounding that her husband was too stiff to perform and Derrick got to get some
real
pussy during his bid.

“Me too,” he reminisced on their late night escapades. “But as with all good things, this too must come to an end.”

“Not necessarily so,” she removed a business card from her uniform pocket and placed it in his hand. “Give me a call when you get settled.”

“I’ll do that,” he said, purposely brushing against her as he passed. He had almost made it to the door when she called after him.

“You know it still amazes me how you were able to pull this one off. A black man gets caught in a house with two bodies and five years later he’s a free man? Who says the system doesn’t work for us. One day you’re gonna have to tell me how you were able to get that verdict overturned.”

He paused, giving her his heart melting smile. “I’ll think about it.”

She could barely fight the urge to kiss those full lips one last time, but it would’ve been a fool’s move with the cameras watching them. As mean as his cock game was, the departing inmate wasn’t worth her job or her marriage. With a sigh, she watched him pass through the double doors and into freedom.