It's Like Candy (2 page)

“You married, got kids and shit, and you out here trying to get your little dick sucked while your wife and kids wait at home for your trifling ass,” River said.

“Please, don't kill me. I'm sorry.”

“Damn right, you're sorry,” River replied, shaking her head.

“Yo, get in the car,” the stout man dressed in all black said, refer-ring to River. “We takin' his shit.”

“No, please . . . take my money, but please, not my car. I just started making payments on it,” he cried out.

“Fuck you!” the slimmer black male shouted, with his gun trained at Ronny's head. “You having a bad night, muthafucka!”

Suddenly, the larger man went up to Ronny and brutally began striking him in the head with the butt of his gun. He continued to hit his victim until his face was bloodred, and the man was nearly unconscious.

“That's enough!” River cried out as she looked on in shock.

“Let that be a lesson to him. He needs to stay his white ass where he came from. Ain't no need for this cracker to come around here and mess wit' our women.”

Ronny lay unconscious, sprawled out on the ground, with his dick still exposed. River still had his pants in her hands.

“I think he's dead, Red,” River said, panic showing on her face.

“Fuck that cracker! Get in the car, River,” Red shouted.

River didn't hesitate on getting in the car with her accomplice. His partner jumped into Ronny's Benz and drove off behind Red and River.

“Why you do that, Red?” River shouted. “We had his money and keys already. You didn't have to beat him like that.”

“Yeah, I did, cuz I bet you his white ass will never come around here again,” he stated. “He touched you too. I hate it when men touch you, River.”

“I'm not your property, Red, remember that,” River stated angrily.

Red glanced at her, but didn't respond. He got jealous easily.

River sighed and sat back in her seat, gazing out the window as the car raced down Rockaway Boulevard toward Far Rockaway to a nearby chop shop to get money for the stolen Benz.

River had been scheming in the streets of southeast Queens with Big Red and Twinkie for a year now. She had known both men for a while. They met at the club, and she figured that they were career criminals, getting involved in anything from major drug sales to grand larceny.

Big Red approached her one day at a strip club on Jamaica Avenue. He watched her dance naked onstage for a moment, then wanted to talk to her after her set. He bought her a drink, flaunted a handful of money, and told River that he had a very lucrative proposition for her to get easy money. River was listening. When Red told her what he wanted her to do, she was very reluctant at first. But dancing was getting tiresome for her, and she wanted something new for herself. Thinking it over, and even knowing that becoming a pawn to entrap men for a stick-up crew would be consequently dangerous for her, she still accepted the job.

River did her first holdup in Brooklyn, helping Big Red and Twinkie stick up two drug-dealing brothers who were eagerly willing to take River back to their two-bedroom condo in Canarsie for a night of a lusty threesome.

River discreetly disclosed their information to Red, and an hour later, he had both brothers bound and gagged in their condo and robbed them of everything they had.

Two months later, River was becoming a pro at luring men to her without even saying one word to them. Instantly they came to her, willing to wine and dine her and take her away on vacations. Only later would they find out it was a dire mistake.

“Take me home!” River said, becoming more and more frustrated that Red had beaten that white boy in the alley so severely.

“What?”

“Take me home, Red!” River sternly repeated herself.

“Yo, you still upset over that white boy?” Big Red asked, glancing at River. “It was a job.”

“You didn't have to beat him like that. He had a family, Red.”

“Oh, like you gave a fuck about his family when you was setting him up,” Red countered.

“Take me home now or I'm out,” she threatened.

“You can't be serious.”

River kept quiet. Her look said it all to Red.

“You a piece of work, River . . . fuckin' fo' real. Bitch suddenly wants to have a fuckin' conscience,” Red cried out, making a sudden U-turn in the middle of the street.

River remained quiet until Big Red dropped her off at her place one block off Hillside Avenue.

“I'll talk to you later, Red,” River said dryly as she jumped out of Red's car and walked to her front door. Red quickly drove off, followed by Twinkie in the stolen Benz.

 

River shared a basement apartment
with a female roommate named Tah-Tah, who was a stripper at Day Dreamz, a Queens strip club on Hillside Avenue.

Tah-Tah was beautiful, but a gold-digging chickenhead who only cared about money and herself.

“You home early,” Tah-Tah said, sitting on the couch and doing her own pedicure in her underwear.

“I thought you would be at the club already,” River said, walking past her and not wanting to talk to her.

“Kay picking me up around one. You know a bitch can't miss a night tryin' to get my money,” Tah-Tah said.

“Whateva!” River said, not being in the mood.

River went into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She didn't know why she flipped out on Red. She didn't really care for the white boy he'd beaten, but she felt that this game they were playing was getting old for her and too risky. And it didn't help her mood that tonight she had her period. For her, it seemed like going from stripping to becoming a stickup kid, it was one endless hustle after another.

“Yo, E . . . you did' your thang tonight,”
Rah shouted, a bit tipsy. He was having a really good time at the celebration Eric was giving for his niggah Rah, who was getting married next week. Rah held a cup filled with Hennessy in one hand and a chocolate big-booty sistah with the other.

Eric stood off to the side, watching his niggahs have a good time with the strippers he brought for them—ten butt-naked beautiful hoes who were all willing to pull no punches when it came to treating the men right and giving them whatever they wanted, as long as they were paying—VIP lap dances and whatever. If they had the right cash, then it was on.

Eric rented out a Brooklyn basement with three available rooms for VI Ps and a spacious open living room, where the girls got naked and did their thang on the carpeted floor. Dildos and all kinds of sex toys came into play, and that's when the big bills started coming out. Tens, twenties, and fifties were spread out across the floor and that definitely inspired the girls to go on and freak each other.

There were about twenty-five men in attendance and they tipped the girls generously, got drunk on Alize, Hennessy, Coronas, and
E&J, felt on some titties and ass, and listened to constant rap and R&B playing on CDs.

The atmosphere was calm, no drama and no problems. Every-body in the room knew each other, and the girls Eric brought in were frisky, freaky, flirtatious, cute, and down for whatever.

“Yo, E . . . how much you charging for a room?” Raheem asked, a brown-skinned thick-booty bitch with platinum hair clutched under his arm.

“Twenty, my niggah,” Eric responded.

“Damn, niggah . . . twenty. And she charging me sixty to fuck. Yo, y'all tryin' to break my pockets. . . . shit, I thought we were peoples, E,” Raheem spoke in a tipsy and joking manner.

“We are, that's why I'm charging you twenty up front, because the liquor's free.”

Raheem laughed. “You my niggah, E . . . fo' real.” He gave Eric dap.

“I'm worth it, baby. You don't wanna tap this phat ass. My pussy gonna do you right,” the platinum-headed stripper proclaimed, turning around and slapping her ass.

“Damn, look at that shit jiggle. A niggah could surf on that ass,” Raheem joked. “Yo, here's your twenty, E. Yo, a niggah gotta do him tonight. Baby-moms upstate and shit. Pussy went on vacation.”

Eric chuckled, collecting Raheem's twenty, and letting him and his big-booty VIP pass through to the narrow hallway, where three available rooms awaited them.

So far, Eric had profited about three hundred for the night, collecting cash at the door and collecting twenty apiece for the rooms used to fuck in.

He couldn't believe Rah was getting married. They'd known each other since the ninth grade, and Rah was always the light-skinned guy with pretty eyes, a playboy who had a woman for each day of the week. But he guessed Rah finally found that certain individual
piece of pussy that was able to keep him happy at nights, and probably for the rest of his life.

Eric knew he had to throw Rah the bomb bachelor party and still make his money too. He charged fifteen at the door, having his man Donald hold down the door and make sure the men paid to get in. Donald was six foot three, 275 pounds, and you could test him if you wanted, but guaranteed if you did you'd be losing three or four teeth before the end of the night. Donald, he didn't play, he was a cool dude, but he loved fighting and smashing people's heads in whenever they caused him or any of his boys trouble. He used his size to his advantage, and he was strong as an ox.

The bachelor party went off big, the girls were right, and the money was continually flowing. None of the strippers were complaining to Eric about folks being cheap. Each of the ten girls had made about two hundred for the night so far. Of course, out of the ten ladies, eight of them were doing VIPs and sexing men for that little extra cash down their G-strings.

R. Kelly blared out of the speakers, and Eric watched a trio about to go down in the center of the room. Two dark-skinned strippers, who were completely naked with tits and ass for days, slowly took off Rah's clothes, and had him lying on the carpet naked, with his dick hard in the air, and being encircled by friends who cheered him on with alcoholic drinks clutched in their hands.

Eric knew what was about to go down. The husband-to-be was about to get his freak on for the last time. And he had the right two women to go out with. Bambi and Hershey were no joke—two curvaceous, voluptuous, black sistahs, with long black hair, and asses that J.Lo couldn't even compete with. They were cute, and they were quick to fuck and suck a man for the right amount. But since Rah was getting married next week, they were willing to satisfy him sexually for free—and it didn't hurt the ladies that he was cute, too.

Rah smiled, showing niggahs that he wasn't ashamed to get
naked in front of a crowd and show the ladies what he was working with. He was cocky, as he was working with nine inches.

“Yeah, niggahs . . . y'all thought I had a small dick, huh?” Rah boasted, smiling.

“Ain't nobody worrying about your ugly-ass horse dick. We lookin' at the bitches,” a man in the crowd replied.

Everybody laughed, and the women prepared to get down to business, making some fellows envy Rah.

Hershey started it off. She clutched Rah's hard erection in her grip and slowly leaned forward, engulfing his big dick in her warm, sensuous big lips. Rah groaned, feeling blessed.

Bambi hovered her phat ass over Rah's mouth and slowly came down against his jaw, and Rah started to eat out Bambi as she lay pressed against his face.

“Rah, you wilding right now . . . but damn, yo . . . that shit lookin' good as fuck,” Rah's best man, Mel, shouted out. He looked on wide-eyed as he watched Bambi straddling Rah's face, with her pussy deep in Rah's mouth.

“Shit!” Mel muttered.

Eric stood off to the side, shaking his head. He had to laugh. He knew when Rah, Mel, Donald, him, and the rest of these crazy people from Queens got together that it was going to be one hell of a party. And tonight was no disappointment.

“Yo okay, E?” Sparkle asked. She was this petite, Hispanic Mariah Carey—looking stripper who was sexy as fuck.

“I'm good, Sparkle,” Eric returned, not really looking at her, but paying more attention to the action ahead of him.

“Your friends are crazy,” Sparkle said.

“Yeah. I know.”

Sparkle was one of the two strippers who weren't doing VIP at the party. She believed in making her money just by taking off her clothes and entertaining the fellows. She really despised the hoes that had to fuck just for an extra buck, because they made it bad for her.
About five men had already asked her if she did VIP, and she politely told them no. Some persisted, telling her that there was more money in it, but she held her ground, and if they got too rude, she would then walk away and pay that one no mind all night.

She was doing all right for the night, had made herself about $180 just by dancing and grinding. She strutted around in leather knee-high boots, red-laced thong, and a very short scanty pink T-shirt that barely covered her nipples.

“You good?” Eric asked.

“Yeah, I'm makin' my ends.”

“Pardon me, luv . . .” a slim male interrupted as he approached Eric with a well-rounded young woman by his side. “I need a room.”

“Twenty, Jay,” Eric told him.

Jay reached into his wallet and passed him a twenty, and then happily strutted down the hallway to the nearest room.

Sparkle quickly exchanged glares with Jay's date for the night. She thought that Jay's date was a nasty bitch with no respect for her-self, just some cheap whore who'd fuck anyone for a Happy Meal. And the shorty that Jay was about to fuck, who went by the name Mousey, thought Sparkle was a stuck-up, stupid, light-skinned bitch who believed she was better than everybody else. It was well known that the two didn't like each other.

Sparkle remained by Eric's side. It was clear that she had a small crush on him. But Eric was about business, and he never mixed business with pleasure. So he looked on Sparkle as a friend, nothing else. Even though many of his friends called Eric crazy, and constantly beat in his ear, “You need to hit that, son . . . do you . . . Yo, Sparkle, I know her shit is good.”