The Trap-A-Rella Saga

TRAP-A-RELLA 1

By

Tony Steele

I

I 'm on my way over there now, Teek said, nearly dropping his cell phone. He could barely hold the phone to his ear because his hand was shaking so badly. This was the part of the plan he didn't want any involvement of. His only job was to set it up, not participate. He was seriously considering backing out.

Teek, don't bitch-up on me now, said the caller. I need you on this. You wit' me?

He hesitated for a moment. This was his chance to finally start making the kind of paper he should. It was an opportunity he couldn't let pass. He let out a nervous sigh, and then answered, Y'know I'm down.

Good, I knew you wouldn't let me down. Crime just called sayin' he's ready.

A'ight. I will see you at the spot, tonight.

Slowly, Teek folded the Motorola closed. With trigger-happy Crime on the lick, he was really having a bad feeling about this. He might have to go through with his back-up plan because Crime was a problem waiting to happen. He couldn't see himself doing the rest of his life in prison because of a nigga's itchy finger.

As Teek pulled in front of Crime's apartment, the bad feeling he felt just moments ago was getting stronger with every step Crime took down the stairs. Now there was no doubt in his mind he would have to follow through with his back-up plan.

Robbery was Crime's specialty. He didn't care who the person was or what click he rode with. If he was moving major weight Crime was coming for it. He was so good at what he did, dealers paid him to get rid of their competition. So when he got a call a couple of days ago about a big lick on one of the Lou's heavy hitters' spots, he didn't hesitate to agree to do the lick without any concern of retaliation.

Nigga, you ready to get this paper? Crime asked as he climbed into the car.

Teek said nothing, just stared at him. Young, edgy, and homicidal, he was somebody he didn't want to do this lick with, but needed him in order to successfully pull it off. Neil was somebody Teek couldn't rob alone. Also, Teek understood why the caller wanted Neil out of the way too. Neil was the kind of person who wouldn't just let his people be murked without finding those responsible and lay them to rest.

Well, nigga?

Teek snapped out of his thoughts. Yeah.

Go, nigga.

Teek yanked the gearshift into drive and pulled off.

II

The slowly balding man watched the young, thick red bone rise off his hard dick. Samantha was a nineteen-year-old who knew how to ride a dick better than any experienced whore he knew. Her dick riding skills weren’t the reason he kept her in the spot with him. At the slightest sign of trouble she wouldn't hesitate to bust the barrel off something or cut a fool. A ride or die chick, more gangster than niggas he knew in the streets for years.

Their paths had crossed when she sliced one of his workers across the face with a box cutter for short-changing her on some chronic. Loving her rowdy swagger, he took Samantha—who was fifteen at the time—under his wing, making her his partner in crime and his woman.

He reared back and smacked her firm butt as she headed to the bathroom. While I'm gettin' this shit ready for Teek, order a pizza. I'm hungry as a muthafucka.

I'm tired of bein' cooped up in this house, fuckin' and eatin' pizza, baby. Let’s go out to eat! Samantha yelled from the bathroom in a pouty tone.

Okay, we can do that. I'm tired of pizza too. Plus, I can take care of a couple of our peeps on some white.

Thank you, daddy. Maybe when we get back, I’ll break you off some of this bomb head. She stuck her head out of the doorway of the bathroom, licking her lips.

Neil groped his rock hard dick.

Samantha began to caress her hardening nipple as she watched.

Neil stroked his erection. He was the only man she had ever slept with who could actually satisfy her sexual appetite. His dick stayed naturally hard all the time. It wasn't just the hard dick she loved about him, but the way he treated her. He was the first older man she had screwed that treated her more like a woman than a piece of meat. That's why at the drop of a dime she would give up her life for him.

After a moment of groping himself, Neil rose out of the bed and dressed. As he zipped up his pants, he shot a glance over his shoulder at Samantha gratifying herself with three fingers sliding in and out of her dripping wet pussy. Though he wanted to join her, he couldn't. He had business to handle. And the sooner he took care of business, the quicker they would be back from dinner and he could enjoy her juicy lips around his cock.

Neil headed into the living room, gripping his rigid dick.

Removing the pillows off the couch, he pulled open the bed of the sofa. The bottom of the couch was laced with bricks of heroin, coke, x-pills, marijuana, and stacks of hundreds, fifties, and twenties wrapped in plastic. He grabbed a brick of Peruvian White, then reassembled the sofa.

Dope and pimping had been Neil's forte since the mid-seventies. Back then, he and TC's father, Tavis Clayton, ran one of the biggest dope spots in the Lou. When TC got into the game and asked him to hold down his main spot, out of respect for Tav, he took the job. Besides being fresh out the joint, there weren’t a lot of businesses knocking down his door to hire him.

So he was left with no other option but to get back into the game. It was all he knew, all he was good at.

His crib was TC’s main trap house, where the dope got cut, packaged and shipped out to his five other spots. The loot was also brought here to be counted. To lower the chances of the Feds kicking in the spot because drug transactions were going on out front, the house was located in a quiet working class neighborhood instead of a dilapidated neighborhood. The PKB and Teek were the only people who knew dope and money were stored in the four-bedroom house.

To everybody else, a retired factory worker and his young woman lived there, not dope dealers.

Sam, when you finish, run me some water, Neil said.

Won't you join me?

Y'know I can't, I got shit to handle.

Do you need me?

Nah, not for Teek.

A’ight, but just in case, I got the Nina Ross on standby.

I know. That's what he loved about her. She always had his back no matter what. A gangster bitch to the heart, he said to himself as he walked into the kitchen.

As Neil began to package up the Peruvian white, a rap at the door brought him to a dead stop. He picked up the .357 Magnum sitting beside him and cocked the hammer. Who is it?

Teek.

He uncocked the Magnum and headed to the door. Unlatching the two dead bolt locks, he opened the door.

As Teek entered, Neil stepped in front of the young cat who tagged behind him. Who is this nigga?

Oh, he's my man. He's cool.

Any other time, he wouldn't have let him in, but since he wanted to get back as quickly as possible for some of Samantha's oral talent, he went against his better judgment and let them in.

This time, I'm goin' to let it ride. Next time, don't bring ya man.

I got you, Neil.

Crime cuffed his hands behind his back where the Glock 9mm was tucked and followed Teek into the house.

For a moment, Neil stared at Crime. The warning lights in his head were flashing, but Samantha's succulent lips wrapping around his dick was blinding his judgment. He brushed off the bad feeling and headed toward the kitchen after locking the door behind them.

With the old head having his back to them, Crime seized the opportunity and drew the Glock. He leveled the nine at the back of his skull and fired. A sinister smirk slid across his lips as he watched blood and chunks of flesh blanket the wall. Then the old head’s lifeless body crumpled to the hardwood floor.

Nigga, what’s ya damn problem! Teek screamed in a high pitch voice, after regaining his composure from Crime firing the gun right by his ear.

Nigga, shut the fuck up and let’s get this shit and bounce.

Teek tossed Crime the duffle bag. The bottom of the couch. I'm goin' to get the shit out the bedroom.

Teek turned and gripped the handle of the .40. He was too nervous to pull the trigger. Any type of violence, he hated and tried to avoid at all costs. This, he couldn't avoid. It had to be handled now before Crime became a problem later. He took a deep breath, slowly drawing the .40 from his waistband and dumped five into Crime’s back.

After hearing the first couple shots, followed by several more, Samantha threw on her robe and snatched up the 9mm off the sink. As soon as she stepped through the doorway of the living room, there laid Neil face down in a puddle of blood. And a few feet from him, the person who killed him. She exploded. She took aim at the young cat with his back to her, trying to keep the Nina steady and squeezed the trigger.

Her shot whizzed by Teek’s ear, spinning him involuntarily around with his finger on the trigger.

Samantha tried to relax herself and fire a kill shot. But his hit her first—high in the chest, striking a main artery as the shot propelled her into the wall. And her second shot jerked his head back as it tore through his forehead, plastering the wall with his brains. The last thought to cross his mind as the final second of his life oozed from his eyes was how stupid he felt for forgetting all about Samantha. Then his body tilted over and hit the floor head first with a sickening thump.

Samantha stood for a moment, clenching her smoking gun ... then she toppled over dead.

III

The hustle lifestyle had become their family’s tradition. Tavis Clayton wanted his son, Trevan TC Clayton, to be the one to finally break it. And a half million dollar trust fund was supposed to be a guarantee that he would. But when TC was handed his fat check on his eighteenth birthday, he had no need for it. The dope game had provided him with the riches to give his mother the comfortable living she was accustomed to. Maybe right after his father’s death the money could've been useful, because the cash he had stashed at home ran out within a couple years. And his mother, being a prideful woman, didn't ask for help from her brother who was just as rich as his father due to the dope game.

Instead, she applied for welfare and worked a crummy part-time job at a cleaning service to keep a roof over their head and food in the refrigerator.

TC went ahead and invested his trust fund in a cell phone/detail/audio shop. But his most prized investment was the night club he part-owned with his hustle partner, Jackie-Boy, in the Central West End. The hottest night spot in the Lou.

People stood in line for three blocks to get into Club Virgo, his zodiac sign. The wait was well worth it. The glass bar that sat off to the side served every drink known to man. It was stocked with the most expensive domestic and imported drinks on the market. Fifty-four inch plasma flat screens hung from the walls, playing non-stop rap and R&B videos. On the upper dock there were pool tables and ATM machines, and the VIP section was a club of its own. The private booths were plush with crusted velvet seats, plasma flat screens and assigned waitresses.

Then there was Sunday night, Baller Night, when the Lou's elite lived it up, popping bottles of Dom, Don Julio, Ciroc, blowing nine hundred dollar Prometheus Platinum cigars, and shooting high stake pool. This was the only night TC and his woman, Ja’Nise, stepped out to the club.

And tonight, they did it in style.

Nisey wore a tight-fitted black and gold knee length silk Versace dress, exposing the precision curves of her body and a diamond encrusted choker. And her Gucci Betty T-strap heels gave the impression of longer legs. TC was dressed in a midnight black Roberto Cavalli turtle neck with matching colored Hugo Boss sport jacket and a huge diamond-set platinum ring bearing his initials. They made heads turn as they strolled toward TC's private booth.

TC took Nisey's hand and helped her into the booth where two glasses and a chilled bottle of Don Julio awaited them.

What is all this? Nisey asked with a childlike curiosity.

To commemorate this special night.

Special for what?

Let’s have some champagne first, then I’ll tell you why.

TC poured his glass first, then the rest of the nearly emptied fine beverage into Nisey's glass. As the last drop fell from the bottle, a twenty-four karat diamond platinum ring sunk to the bottom of her glass. He held up the glass for her to see.

Beautiful ring! she gushed.

Yes it is. He passed the glass to her. Will you marry me?

Why would you ask me that when I have already said yes?

No, you're not understanding me, I'm sayin' tomorrow.

It took a second for TC’s words to sink in. When it did, Nisey instantly wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him repeatedly on the lips.

Oh, yes baby, yes!

Good. I got everything set. All we gotta do is go home and pack.

Nisey fished her wedding ring from the glass of Don Julio and slid it onto her finger. Mrs. Ja'Nise Clayton. I like the sound of that.

So do I. TC leaned in close to Nisey, gazing deep into her mild brown eyes. No longer do you have to worry if this is the night I won't make it home or the Feds arresting' me. To wake up to ya smilin' face every mornin' is all I want to do. He moved in closer until their lips were inches apart. You're my everything, my all, my life. And I want you to know I appreciate all you've sacrificed for the sake of me. Thank you, my life, my love.

Their lips joined in a long and passionate kiss, exploring the depths of each other's mouths.

The tall, light skinned cat sitting a few booths catty-corner from Nisey and TC's booth rose to his feet as the lights started to dim. This was his chance to handle the business he came to do. Pulling the black ski mask down over his face and throwing the black hoodie over his head, he calmly strolled toward their booth and drew the two twin chromed snub-nosed .38 Specials from his back. He wasn't in any rush. Two years, he had been plotting to kill TC, ever since the night he slapped him in front of the entire club for groping Nisey. That was something he couldn't brush off, despite how tight they were. Tonight he was going to regain his dignity by taking TC's life.

The club fell dead silent. TC loved when this happened.

It was Crunk Hour. The club really got live during the two hours of non-stop crunk music.

As TC fell into the groove of the music, he suddenly felt a burning sensation in his chest, then wetness. He looked up and was met by his killer's cold, empty eyes. He recognized him immediately, knew slapping the shit out of him was a mistake that finally came back to haunt him.

The two .38’s went off again, the slugs tearing through his chest and squeezing the remainder of his life from his body.

TC's lifeless frame slouched over into Nisey's lap. She couldn't move or say a word, just stared down into her man's—her husband’s—soulless brown eyes. Despite how much she prayed, begged for him to get up, to say something, she knew the man who had become the most important person in her life was lost to her forever.

The ski masked killer gazed down at Nisey. In the dim light, he could see she was bleeding badly. Though he never meant for her to get caught in the crossfire, she was a living witness he couldn't leave alive. He raised the .38’s to Nisey's head and yanked back the triggers.

Nisey clutched TC's cold body tightly as the click of the empty .38’s echoed through the club. She didn't know it then, but she would regret looking up into those eyes when she realized who they belonged to.

A chick on the dance floor caught a glimpse of the blood-soaked booth and the dead body and let out an ear-shattering scream. Suddenly the music stopped and the lights started to brighten the club, causing the ski masked killer to tuck the .38’s into his waistband and disperse through the crowd. He hated to leave behind a living witness but he had to. He didn't want to get caught standing over his victim's body with smoking guns in his hands. Anyway, he knew where she stayed and where her friends and family stayed if she ever became a problem.

Nisey began to breathe easy, seeing the ski masked killer shoving his way through the thick crowd, before she lost consciousness.

PART ONE:

INAUGURATION INTO THE GAME

CHAPTER 1

I think it’s a little too soon to move her out, Nina said.

Reverend Youngblood didn't want Nina to reconsider. Her son had the riches to build his super church—meaning a bigger congregation, which he couldn't have her back out of now. He had purchased the property with construction already in progress.

She’ll be all right, the reverend said. I know he put a little aside for her.

He took her hand into his and stared deeply into her soft brown eyes. It was time to lay it to her like he used to when they called him Golden Tongue, before he became the man of the Cloth.

This is the only way for your son to be granted entrance into the pearly gates of our Lord Jesus Christ, he said slow and alluring, causing her to blush.

Nina rose from the armchair and walked up to the mantelpiece where several pictures of her son sat. He made his living selling drugs, a sin that wouldn't grant him entrance into Heaven.

She knew the only way to cleanse him of his sins was to give up his worldly possessions to the church. There is no need to prolong it, she replied back in tears. My son must be granted into Heaven.

Rev. Youngblood didn't hear anything she said as he was staring at her plump butt. He was glad he wore his three quarter length suit jacket. He didn't want her to see his erection protruding in his pants and she say no. First the money, then he could bed her.

You hear me, Rev. Youngblood?

Yes, Sister Clayton.

IT TOOK NEARLY A MONTH for Nisey's teary-eyes to dry.

Occasionally, she might burst into sudden tears while talking or while alone in her room. Other than that, she had accepted the fact that TC was gone and no amount of crying would bring him back.

Their son was where she directed all her attention to now.

Did you brush your teeth? Nisey asked while tickling his tummy.

After a few giggles, Trevan Junior replied, Yes, mommy.

Good. Now come on. She lifted TJ up and tucked him into bed. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow, so you need to get your sleep.

Okay, mommy. TJ's tiny finger poked at Nisey's nearly healed bullet wound. Did it hurt?

Nah, just stung a little.

Oh, you took it like a gee, he said trying to make his boyish voice sound grown-up and tough.

What did I tell you about repeatin' what your father says.

Daddy didn't tell me that, Auntie Shel did.

Nisey made a mental note to tell Shel to stop teaching him hip slang to say. She wasn't the kind of person she wanted her son to pick-up nasty habits from. Even though she was her best friend and loved her to death, Shel could be downright vulgar at times, which wasn't healthy for TJ's growth and development.

I don't want you repeating what your Aunt Shel says out of her mouth. You understand?

Yes, ma'am.

She tried to kiss him, but he shoved her away.

Oh, you think you too big to be kissed by your momma? she said, kissing him repeatedly over his face.

Quit it, mommy, TJ managed to squeezed out through giggles.

Nisey stopped her attack of kisses and stared into his taffy brown face. He was the spitting image of his father, and the reason she had avoided him as much as possible after TC's death.

She quickly veered her gaze from his gentle face as the tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Unexpectedly, his tiny hands took hold of her face and his warm, mild brown eyes stared deep into hers as if looking into her soul. There was no way she could break the connection. All she could do was let out a deep sigh and return his stare.

You don't have to be sad anymore. You have me to protect you.

It took every ounce of strength she had to keep from bursting into an uncontrollable sob. I know you will.

Come on, mommy, let’s pray for daddy. Grannie said he can get into Heaven if we do it every night. He put his hands together, closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.

Nisey ran her fingers through TJ's thick, curly hair, saying a silent prayer along with him. She had seen pictures of their great-grandfather, Thomas Earl Clayton. On one of her favorite pictures, his thick curly hair was cut freshly into a box, his robust physique was squeezed into a double breasted pin-striped, navy blue suit, and on his feet a pair of nobs. A couple of times she had kidded TC that Poppa Thomas was better looking.

TJ opened his eyes and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Good night, mommy.

Good night, lil’ man. She switched on the Transformers night light that illuminated figures on the walls, then closed the door.

Flopping onto the sofa in front of a pile bills, Nisey buried her face into her hands. If dealing with TC's death wasn't enough, she had a house and car notes adding more burden to her already hectic life. To be honest, the bills piling up wasn't what really worried her, but the fact that she would have to sell TC's dream home.

It had been nearly a year since TC bought the house in the suburbs of Florissant. The first time she set eyes on the ranch style house, she knew he didn’t merely have taste in what he wore, but also where he rested his head. The place was plush—three bedrooms and a master bedroom twice the size of a normal bedroom with step-absorbing carpet. The step-down living room was padded with a red oak wood floor, half panel walls, and ceiling. Downstairs the family room was converted into a game room. The previous owner was in the process of building a swimming pool but never completed it. TC had the pool finished the week after they moved in.

Though she loved their house and wanted to grow old here, she couldn't afford the place. The millions TC had hustled over the years were tied up in his businesses or seized by the police when they found Neil, Samantha, Teek, and some cat's bodies in his main spot. The half million in his floor safe wouldn't last forever, leaving her with no other choice but to sell the ranch style house.

A sudden knock at the door startled Nisey out of her thoughts. She grabbed the chrome 9mm from underneath the pillow and jacked one into the chamber. Since the club incident, she carried a gun everywhere she went, even in her dreams. She wasn't about to leave anything to chance.

Making sure the safety was off, she cuffed the gun at her side. Who is it?

Bitch, it’s us, open the damn door wit' ya scary ass, Shel replied loud and obnoxious.

Nisey stuck the 9mm into the waistband of her sweat pants and opened the door. Immediately she was trampled by hugs from her friends.

You stupid bitches almost got popped.

Yeah, yeah, whatever, Tiff said, shoving her way into the house as if they were no more than meanly subjects and she the Queen of England.

Nisey humbly bowed her head as Tiffany aka Tiff flaunted past her toward the living room. Ever since they were little she always had that attitude. And it wasn’t just to boost her self-esteem. She had the looks to back it up. The kind that made chicks envious and guys worship the ground she walked on. Even Nisey was a little jealous of Tiff’s alluring hazel brown eyes, beautiful smile, and unblemished chocolate complexion—like one of those African dolls sold in Chinese wig shops. She was the total package.

Her physical attributes drove men wild. There was nothing she couldn’t woo out of them. That was how they were met. She was a few cents short on her pickle and peppermint stick and Mr. Carson wouldn’t let her off with the few pennies. Tiff, who was standing behind, walked up to the counter and flashed her breathtaking smile. Like that, he just waved them off, charging them nothing for their junk food. They were eight at the time and since then they’d been the best of friends.

Hey, Nisey, La-La said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

They got you out on a school night?

La-Tonya aka La-La was the only one with enough sense to further her education. And nights like this, studying superseded hanging out with them.

Shyly, La-La shoved up her thin-framed glasses and gave Nisey a solo hug. She was the odd ball of the bunch no one expected to be hanging around with the caliber of women as them. Where they were flamboyant with their bodies and looks, she wasn’t. She kept her video vixen figure and rich, cinnamon brown skin she inherited from her Apache father hidden underneath long-sleeved shirts, dresses, and pants. Even her long silky jet black hair that hung over her shoulders she never let it down, always having it pulled into a ponytail.

Soft spoken, shy, and timid, she was always picked on by the other girls when she first moved to the neighborhood from an Indian Reservation in Utah where she lived. Until Nisey beat the living shit out of the bully, Tracy, after she took her lunch money. From that day forth, there wasn’t nothing Nisey could ask of her she wouldn’t do for her.

Y'know Shel, said La-La. She don't understand no means no.

She must have sat in front of your apartment blowin' the horn.

For thirty minutes ...

Rudely, Shel barged her way between them and headed into the living room. She flopped down on the sofa and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. If you’re goin’ to talk ‘bout a bitch, least wait until the bitch leave the room.

La-La gave Shel the finger, collapsing into one of the snow white armchairs.

Damn, bitch. Do you gotta be so loud? TJ is asleep.

My bad, Shel whispered.

And get your goddamn feet off the table. Y’know your momma raised you better than that, Nisey said, slapping Shel’s feet off the coffee table.

High yellow with aqua green eyes and shoulder length black hair, Shel was considered by far the baddest of them. The bomb was a compliment she got on the regular until they got to know her and realized she was a little nutty, obnoxious, and extremely violent. A combination that kept her in fights. It was how they met her freshman year. She had beat a girl senseless for looking at her the wrong way. The girl regrouped with her friends and caught her enjoying an afternoon cigarette in the restroom and jumped her

They were stomping her mercilessly when she walked in. Not caring who she was or what she did, Nisey jumped in. Really, she didn’t like the girl Shel was scrapping with and was looking for an excuse to fight her anyway. After that day, they became inseparable. One wasn’t seen without the other, and no one fought them one on one.

Drawing the nine from her waistband, Nisey switched on the safety and was about to tuck the gun back underneath the pillow when Shel snatched the gun out of her hand. Law had a nine just like this, she said, admiring the weapon. He used to let me squeeze off a couple shots some nights when he brought his sorry-ass home.

When is Law supposed to come home anyway? Nisey asked, as she picked up the pack of Kools and tapped one out.

I think that nigga said the end of this year. I really don't be listening, tryin' to hang-up as quick as possible. He always tryin' to get me to bring him some dope. He must think I'm a damn fool. After that shit went down at Pacific, he better be glad I'm acceptin' his calls.

It was a year ago when Shel’s baby daddy, Law, who was serving three years for drugs and weapon charges, finally convinced her to move some dope for him on visit after months of begging. Everything went smooth—she made the drop, stayed a few minutes to make it look good, and as soon as she was about to leave, three guards escorted her to a small room. There, two female officers strip-searched her and questioned her for two hours. Never had she experienced anything like that and never would she again. No matter how much Law begged, pleaded, or threatened her, she would never let him talk her into moving drugs for him again.

Sadly, Tiff shook her head at the mention of Law’s name, as she dumped the bag of chronic onto a Vibe magazine. What did you expect from a nothing-ass nigga. I told you before you started fuckin' with that scandalous ass nigga he wasn't nothin' but dead weight.

Why did you have to go there, La-La said walking over to the mini bar.

What? It's truth. The nigga try to holler at me, you and Nisey. Am I lying?

Bitch, you got the nerve to talk about somebody, Shel said. What 'bout you and Kee-Kee?

What we got is good and a helluva lot better than what you got.

Can we just chill and not argue, La-La said.

Shut up, La-La. Then Shel turned her attention back to Tiff. Why everytime Law's name comes up, you got somethin' negative to say about him.

Because we're sisters and that nigga is no good for you. Now that baller-ass nigga who was pushin' all up on you last night at the club. What was his name... Tiff snapped her finger, trying to remember. Yeah, Jakie. Now that's the nigga for you. The nigga got money and a big dick. That’s a combination you can't go wrong wit'.

What Tiff was preaching, Shel wasn't trying to hear. Despite the constant cheating, lies, and occasional smacks across the face, she loved Law to death. She hated whenever Tiff put him down as if her man was an angel. He was just as much a two-timer as her man. The only difference was Law came home to her at night and not to another chick.

I'm tired of you and ya horse, as if what you and Kee-Kee got goin' on is better, Shel said.

Oh, it is. I have no loose strings attached to me. Tiff loved her arrangement with Kee-Kee. It was a I call you if I need some dick relationship, which was perfect. She was juggling too many ballers to be tied down with just one man.

Those loose strings bypass you and leads to his wife and kids.

Your point?

He's married is my point.

This going back and forth with Shel was becoming irritating. She didn't love, didn't really have any feelings for Kee-Kee, only the feeling of his dick. She hated the feeling of pain so the emotional part of a relationship she numbed herself from and focused strictly on the sexual aspect of it.

Bitch, you sittin' there tryin' to preach to me when I seen your funky ass creepin' off with Jackie-Boy the other night at the club.

Shel rolled her eyes. Please, bitch, y'know you ain't seen no shit like that. I don't fuck wit' him like that.

That’s right, play stupid bitch. Matter a fact, fuck you, Tiff said, knowing it would get Shel upset.

Shel shot to her feet.

La-La spoke quick. C'mon, Shel, let’s smoke, drink, and enjoy ourselves.

Shut the fuck-up, La-La. What was that, Tiff?

Tiff stood. You heard what the hell I said. Fuck you.

Shel clenched the nine tightly, staring coldly at Tiff. She loved Tiff to death, but hated when she got on her high and mighty trip. It always led to her wanting to put her in her place, regardless of their friendship.

Nisey got between them, knowing where it was about to go—an all-night argument. Both of you heifers need to sit the hell down. Because if you two wake TJ, I swear to God I will kick both of y'all asses. Now give me my damn gun, and sit y'all asses down. She snatched the nine from Shel, then sat back down on the sofa. She picked up one of the blunts Tiff managed to roll before their argument got heated and lit it.

I'm gonna put some music on to soften the mood up, said La-La.

Put Jill Scott on, Nisey said. I need to hear something soothing, because these heifers have knocked me off my square.

Tiff tossed Shel a blunt. Shel caught it, then licked her tongue out. Tiff did the same. Nisey knew this was their way of apologizing to one another which she was glad of. She wanted to relax and kick it with her girls instead of arguing. With all that has happened over the last month, she really hadn't had a chance to spend any time with them. And right now, she needed them more than ever.

CHAPTER 2

The ringing doorbell got louder as Nisey slowly woke from her drunken slumber. She sat up on the sofa, tasting the bitterness of gin on her breath and knew the night before was well spent.

It was a little after five when her girls staggered out of the house. She had just laid down herself no more than an hour ago. Once her girls left, she stayed up going through their photo album, until the gin and chronic got the best of her and she drifted off to sleep.

She grabbed the nine off the coffee table and headed to the door. Who is it?

It's me, Nina.

Nisey quickly stuck the nine into her waistband and opened the door. Mrs. Clayton, it's so good to see you. She gave the dark skinned, gray haired woman a warm hug. Please come in.

Nina entered the house, followed by a man with a juicy Jerri Curl, wearing a maroon Giorgio Armani suit and a Bible under his arm. When Nisey saw him, she knew this wasn't a social visit.

She closed the door, preparing herself for the worst.

When Nina was seventeen, her body underwent a dramatic change; she began to fill-out in places the boys used to laugh and point at. Her breasts became perkier, firmer, thighs thickened, and her butt swelled. Soon she began to catch the eyes of every guy in the neighborhood, which she had no interest in. There was only one guy whose eyes she wanted to attract. Tavis Clayton, and she did. He became her first and only man.

After Tavis died, she sunk into a state of depression, isolating herself from her son and the world, until she met the good Reverend DeMarcus Youngblood, who had been standing out front of the check cashing/gas station preaching. Through God, Rev. Youngblood helped her out of her depression. That was nearly seven years ago. Since then she had been a faithful member of his Eastern Baptist church and advocate preacher of the word.

Before they reached the living room, Nisey made sure nothing was left out from their partying last night. Would yall like some coffee?

The reverend smiled. Sister Davis, I would love to have some.

Yes, Ja'Nise, please, Nina replied.

Nisey took the nine and stuck it into the cabinet.

Sister Davis, this is a beautiful home you got here.

Thank you, Rev. Youngblood.

Nisey detested the former pimp now born-again Christian reverend. He preached out of a hole-in-the-wall church, where he didn't pimp women but the word, using the collection plate to pay for the expensive designer suits and Maybach Mercedes Benz. TC tried to warn his mother that the good reverend was no more than a swindler. But she always brushed him off, saying she would pray for him to see that he wasn't. Also, it was the way he looked at her that truly got under Nisey’s skin as if she was one of his whores.

Did your wound heal well, Ja'Nise? Nina asked.

Yeah. It left an ugly scar but it healed up all right, Nisey said, entering the living room carrying a tray with three steamy cups on it.

Politely, Rev. Youngblood nodded as he took one of the cups. He wanted Nina to hurry and break the news to Ja'Nise. He had a potential buyer coming by at four and wanted to have Nisey's stuff out by then.

Thank you, Nina said.

Though I'm glad to see you, Nisey began, as she took a seat on the sofa, I know this ain't no social visit, so come on out with what you got to say Mrs. Clayton.

Okay then, me and Rev. Youngblood have been talking and think it would be in the best interest of everybody if we sell the house.

Listen, Sister Davis...

Nisey jumped up. I'm not your goddamn sister, you fake ass reverend.

I know you're still grieving and a little upset about the house, but don't take it out on Rev. Youngblood, Nina said with all the sweetness gone completely out of her voice.

Nisey was about to respond but caught herself. She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. I'm sorry, Mrs. Clayton. TC was your son, so his things rightfully belong to you. Just give me a few minutes to get my stuff together and I will be out your house.

Ja'Nise, you don't have to leave this minute.

Nisey ignored Nina and stomped up the stairs. She didn't want to say something she might regret or end up fattening somebody's lip. Despite the fact that she wanted to sell the place, Nisey was pissed Nina didn't discuss what she planned to do with her first. She had included the good reverend instead. She knew Youngblood was the influencing factor in Nina's decision to sell the house. Most likely, a nice piece of the money—or all of it—was going into his church and his pocket.

An hour later, Nisey had everything she owned squeezed into the purple Range Rover that was a birthday gift. She had just returned from the super market when she was surprised with the expensive SUV sitting in the driveway wrapped in a purple ribbon, her favorite color. Now she was pulling out of the driveway forever.

She looked up into the rearview mirror to see Rev. Youngblood whispering into Nina's ear. Probably asking her about the Range Rover. Nisey truly despised Rev. Fill My Pockets.

Mommy, where are we going? TJ asked.

Home, Nisey answered as she turned off the cul-de-sac street.

CHAPTER 3

The seven housing units that sat on the corner of Glasgow and Thomas were the JVL's Section 8 apartments, deemed as the Las Vegas of crime. But to Nisey they were home. She and TC had lived in the two-bedroom apartment for two years before he moved them out to their suburban home. Now the apartment was used as one of TC's spots, but for the time being it would be the place she’d be resting her head at. Moving back with her mother was out of the question. Once she was kicked out, she vowed to never stay under her mother's roof again.

After a couple hours of cleaning and unpacking, Nisey flopped onto the black leather sofa and fired up a Newport. Other than the 52-inch plasma flat screen, a couple gaming consoles and a new kitchenette set, TC managed to keep the apartment the same as they left it a year ago.

Taking another pull on the cigarette, she sunk back into the leather cushion and started to reminisce. She remembered riding down Natural Bridge and Vandeventer on many Sunday afternoons, in the passenger seat of one of TC’s old school Chevys, or the Bentley or the Porsche Cayenne. People had to shield their eyes, literally, from his shiny, blinding paint jobs. She thought of his friends—T-Mac, Steady-Bee, and Jackie-Boy—and the gang they had called the Paper Khaser Boys. They were a feared group, known for trafficking drugs throughout St. Louis, East St. Louis, Columbia, and some of the rural areas of Missouri. Whoever was foolish enough to set up shop in their ‘hood of Jeff Vanderlou—the JVL for short—found out the hard way, from a burst of semiautomatic gunfire that it was a big mistake. TC was a gangster, but he had always treated Nisey with the utmost respect.

Now, in this apartment alone, she stared at the stacks of hundred dollar bills on the coffee table. A hundred thousand was all she managed to get out of the floor safe as she rushed to pack. It would only last a couple months. Though the utilities were still on, there wasn't any telling how many months in advance TC paid the bills. On top of that, her Range Rover drunk gas like an alcoholic. She had to come up with a plan before she would be left with no other choice but to move back with her mother.

She picked up The Whirl newspaper from the coffee table. She’d been reading it earlier to get her mind off her current dilemma. Honestly, she wanted to finish reading  the article on TC’s cousin, Gabrielle Robinson. She was a high-power lawyer in New York who beat a double homicide with a shit load of evidence stacked against her client. She was somebody to keep in mind in case she found herself on the wrong side of the law—which was unlikely.

A sudden knock at the door brought Nisey to her feet. It sounded like someone was trying to kick it in. She knew there was only one person who knocked at her door like that. Shel, why do you have to beat on the door like you're the goddamn police.

She unlocked the door, then returned to the sofa.

Look who found their way back to the hood, Shel said.

Fuck you, bitch. You said Tiff was coming over wit' you.

She’s wit' some nigga. Where’s TJ?

Staying with my mother for the weekend.

Shel picked up the pack of Newports off the coffee table and tapped one out.

Excuse me, buy your own, Nisey said, snatching the cigarette from between her fingers.

Shel snatched it back. I haven't had a chance to make it to the store. She quickly lit the square before Nisey had a chance to snatch it back. "What’s all the paper for, you