Hittin' the Bricks: An Urban Erotic Tale (13 page)

Eva smirked. Fiyah could kiss her ass.

“I'm getting with my own damn program, Fiyah. You should try it too. There are plenty of other ways to get on wax besides running with niggahs like Brody. I don't do drug dealers,
period.
I thought you knew that.”

There was sadness in her cousin's eyes and he looked at Eva for a long time.

“You don't get it, Evita, do you? That's ‘cause your ass wasn't on lock. Brody looked out for me on them tiers, girl. That cat watched my back and kept the goonies off while I did
your
bid, and now I owe his ass.
We
owe his ass!”

“I just don't wanna see you get in no shit, Fiyah! And I ain't available anyway so you can just tell Brody that. I already got a man.”

Fiyah looked at her hard. “Who is he?”

Eva turned to walk away and said over her shoulder, “I'm chillin’ with a dude name Ramel.”

“Ramel, who?”

Eva kept walking. She didn't even answer.

She heard him walking up fast behind her.

“WHO? Who the fuck is a Ramel, Eva?”

She tossed two words at him over her shoulder.

“My
man.”

Eva kept it moving down the street. Even as she heard Fiyah yelling behind her like he was bonkers.

“Hey!
Hey!
Don't walk your ass away from me, Eva! Brody will fuck you and me both up! You better tell that fuckin’ Ramel cat to step off, Eva! I ain't getting fucked up because of you!”

Eva waved her hand in the air, then walked on without looking back. Two seconds later she heard a loud thunk, then the sound of a car alarm blared in the air. She turned around and shook her head. Stupid ass. Kicking cars. If Fiyah was crazy enough to get in the gutter with a killer like Brody, then it wasn't a car that needed kicking, it was his ass.

F
iyah rolled into Bricks around midnight. From the outside he looked chill and confident. His gear was straight and he had his gangsta mug on. But on the inside he was shook.

He'd done a little asking around about Eva's boy. The kid they called Ice Mello. The streets of Harlem had offered up nothing but high praise about the cat. Fiyah had heard amazing tales about Mello's flow game and his reputation for dominance on the mic. Instantly his competitive juices began to flow. Fiyah had been gone too long. Jealousy had washed all over him as cats whose opinions he trusted told him sagas of Ice Mello's lyrical game. Fiyah had spent all that time in jail because of Eva's ass,
and while he was locked down her man had been on the streets making a name for himself, pissing on mics and marking his territory all over Harlem.

He'd caught up with Eva again at the crib. The way she had dissed him outside her job earlier was still burning him up.

“Fuck Mello!” Fiyah had said when Eva started making noise again about her man. “That cat is a
nobody.
He's selling hot CDs off a table on 125th Street, Evita! You gonna turn down a capo like Brody for some flea- ass chump like that?”

Fiyah and Eva had a bond, and they both knew it. There'd been a lot of times when the only person they had was each other, and it wasn't just love that flowed between them. There was loyalty too.

“I'm your
cousin,”
Fiyah had pleaded. Eva didn't know who she was fuckin’ with. Fiyah was trying to save their lives. Brody was a killer, and he would murk them both without even blinking. “You gonna let this nobody niggah come between us?”

The look in Eva's eyes had been like a knife across Fiyah's throat. Yeah, the love for him was still there. And it was still just as strong. But Eva wasn't about to bend to his will. No matter what he said, Fiyah couldn't talk her off of her position.

“Mello is my
man.
And even if he wasn't I wouldn't fuck with a low- life like Brody. He don't rep what I rep, Fiyah. I don't think what he reps is your flavor neither.”

She'd stormed into her room and Fiyah had wrestled with himself over coming out to Bricks tonight. The smart thing to do woulda been to stay his ass home and stroke his sore dick. He had a ten o'clock curfew from a PO who swore he checked beds. And even worse, Brody was expecting to get next to Eva tonight. Double- crossing a maniac like Brody was just as stupid as jumping in front of the number three train. But despite his fear, there was something else that had pushed Fiyah to
stand in the long line outside and wait to have his name checked off on the guest list at Bricks. Eva had said ill Nino was gonna be in the house looking over prospects for next weeks reggaeton competition. Fuck Brody, fuck a speeding train, fuck the world if it meant getting on with a baller like ill. Sometimes a certain level of risk was acceptable, ya know? If you wanted something bad enough then there were times when you had to be willing to put your dick on the chopping block in order to get it.

Fiyah took the risk.

Bricks was a banging club and a baller's delight. It was an Alizé, Patrón, Cristal and Krug set, and the sweet smell of Philly blunts and Game Dutch Masters was thick in the air. A cute Latina waitress sauntered past in a short skirt and high heels. She smiled and Fiyah grinned when he saw the blue glow tabs she was playing with in her mouth. The music was bumping, the beat was sick as shit. Fiyah knew he would piss Brody off by showing up without Eva, but despite his fear he was feeling the hell outta Bricks's atmosphere. He stood on the sidelines and checked out the pole dancers, the shot callers and some of the badass chicks who worked the underground XXX video circuit. Every female in the house was a stunna. His eyes got full on all the phat asses, high breasts, and flat tummies he could stand.

There were two bars in Bricks, on opposite walls. Fiyah checked out the pool tables, the booths and the love seats, then imagined himself up on the raised stage. Shitting all over the mic. He walked deeper through the club and passed a room where three ballers sat on stools with their pants down around their ankles. There was a naked chick in front of each one of them, down on her knees bobbing her head. It was a dicksucking
contest and cats was standing around waiting for their turn as they cheered the hoes on.

Fiyah backtracked his steps and went back to the main room. From his position on the wall he spotted the VIP area. It overlooked the packed dance floor where sexy- ass waitresses threaded through the crowd delivering drinks on five- inch heels. Fiyah found a spot at the bar and ordered a rum and Coke. He paid for it with some of the doe Brody had torn him off that morning.

“Fiyah?”

He turned left.

“Whassup, baby!
Que pasa, maricón?!”

“I'm good, Sasha,” he said, reaching for a hug. Sasha squeezed him close, rubbing up against him. His dick jumped bad and he ran his hand up her thigh. “What's up with you, girl?” They'd gone to high school together and had fucked a couple of times back then.

“Everything's up with me! Where you been, man?”

Fiyah shrugged. “Grindin’, baby. Laying low and grindin’ hard.”

He tugged at her little skirt. Her toned legs looked luscious under her sexy sheer panty hose. “You a waitress now or something?”

“Yeah. I gotta grind too, you know.” She picked up her drink order and smiled. “I gotta run, but it's good to see you. I heard you was coming home from jail,
meijo.
If you need some good pussy, you know where I stay.”

Fiyah grinned and went back to his drink. A hardbody song by ‘Hovah came on and he drummed his fingers on the bar, imitating the beat. He glanced around again, unable to believe that he was actually tossin drinks down inside of Club Bricks.

But unbeknownst to Fiyah, a black Cadillac Escalade had just pulled up outside, and pretty soon his drink wasn't the only thing that was gonna get tossed.

B
rody's whip slid up to the curb outside of Bricks with the music blasting. Rolo put the car in park, then jumped out of her seat and opened the back door for her don.

Two sexy- ass chicks slid across the seats, followed by Bullet and Anwar. The girls had just hit a few lines of coke and were now sucking on mini bottles of Cristal from tiny straws. The men were pressed out heavy in expensive urban gear. First to get out were the Latina girl, then Serena, and then Brody Charlene lingered inside.

Where Brody was all man, muscular and thick, Serena had a small frame with sweet titties and a firm round ass that said her last name shoulda been Williams. They looked real good together and Brody knew it, which was one reason he kept her whiny ass around. Brody was expecting good things tonight and his mood was up, but Serena was starting to drag him down. Earlier, the dumb bitch had complained about the blister on her chest hurting, and before he knew it Brody had almost blacked out on that ass. That was why right now she was out at night wearing a ton of makeup and some oversized sunglasses. Her chest wasn't the only damned thing Brody had blistered neither.

“Hurry up and get the fuck out,” he snapped. She slid across the leather seat like her big ass hurt too. Brody had put some fire on that shit, so he was sure it did. “Let's get inside and do the damn thing.”

Tears swelled in her eyes. “Brody …” she said, moving like an old lady. “I can't move—please wait …”

“What?” he barked. “You wanna take your ass home?”

“No.” The seventeen- year- old girl shook her head. “I wanna be right here with you, baby. But I'm feeling real dizzy. Like I can't—”

“If your ass is sick and you wanna go home, then step, bitch, step! You know the way!”

“I can't walk all the way back …” Her voice was a whisper.

“Then take the train or get in a cab.”

“I don't have no money …”

Brody's voice was like ice.

“That's right, ho. You ain't got no money. You ain't got shit unless I give it to you, remember? So get the fuck outta my ride and hurry ya stupid ass over there in the club before I fly your fuckin’ head again!”

Bullet and the rest of the posse were still standing on the curb. After hearing his brother's threat, he reached inside the whip and took Serena's arm and gently helped her out. She wobbled on her feet for a moment, then she pulled her shit together. Bullet looked down at her with sympathy in his eyes. Serena didn't look back. Instead she did just like Brody had said. She hurried her aching ass over to the entrance of Bricks, and along with the rest of the crew she went inside.

U
p on the stage rapper Reem Raw was holding court with a couple of VIPs from Los Angeles. Reem was originally from Brooklyn, and had made big dents in the music scene in that borough before coming to Harlem. He'd toured with Robb Hawk, Hood, and the Bottom Half Boyz, and his top- ten Billboard track “No Regrets” was so gully and spoke such gutter truth, that it had become a ghetto national anthem.

Scanning the club, Reem nodded at Daddy Dre, who was
the owner of Bricks and an all- around Papa Cat to some of the young'uns in the hood, then nodded toward the front door where ill Nino and his small entourage were just coming in.

ill Nino was a slick and stylish reggaeton artist. The king of the Latino music set, he stepped inside of Bricks and immediately started getting mad love and props. His beautiful dark-skinned girlfriend looked like chocolate candy on his arm, and several Bottom Half Boyz were handling shit from the rear.

ill stopped in front of Dre, who looked him up and down.

“Man, ain't this some shit. I remember when you used to play stickball on Lenox Avenue with holes in your pants. Muh-fuckah walking around here cleaner than Clorox now.”

ill hugged his old friend and grinned. “Dre, man, don't be blowing my shit up in public, aiight?”

Dre laughed. “Welcome home, baby. Good to have you back on the set. Reem said the new album is hot. Y'all niggahs must be living right.”

“Yeah,” ill Nino shrugged. “Life is good, but CD sales ain't. But you already know that, Dre. When you gone stop pressing that pirated shit in them bunkers out back, man? Cats like you be cutting in on an artist's income. Between shit either getting leaked or downloaded on the Internet, and press shops frontin’ as record shops like the one you runnin’, ain't no real money in CDs no more. Me and Reem getting geared up to head back out on the road again. That's the only way to make some decent doe. Performing. We might take a new jack out with us this time. We'll see how that shit goes.”

Dre laughed. He let ill's slick- ass remark slide by. He didn't give a fuck about all that bitchin’ about pressing CDs. When there was money to be made, a businessman was gonna make it. “So what the fuck are you? Some kinda Puerto Rican Santa
Claus? You taking unsigned artists on the road, huh? You into charity work now?”

ill Nino shrugged. “Come on, Dre, you know me. I came up spittin’ on these Harlem streets. Most of that shit they got rotating on the radio these days is garbage, man. The real talent comes off the streets. Outta the projects and off the tiers. That's the kinda music we looking for, man.”

“Well I feel you, baby. A lot of these rappers that come in here could break out in a major way if they wasn't so busy slanging and bangin and acting like a bunch of fooligans. The talent? They got that. The sense? Them niggahs is real short on that.”