“Your name, please?” I told her my name, then handed her one of my fake-ass identifications. “Oh, Miss Lewis, a package came for you this morning. I’ll be right back.” She went to the back to retrieve it, then returned. I already knew what it was: the supplies I needed to carry-out my job. While I got to fly all over the U.S. to handle these niggas, Cash’s job was to make sure shit was in order. With the exception of his fat ass tryna shortchange me it was an operation that ran without any glitches. We all knew Cash was ’bout the business of killin’, and a missed body was a missed bankroll. “Here you are,” she said, returnin’ with a medium-sized box.
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“You’re in Suite 6201,” she said, handin’ me my room key. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”
“I’m sure I will,” I stated, headin’ toward the elevators.
Nine-thirty p.m., I was standin’ out on my balcony admirin’ the view of the Chicago skyline, wishin’ I was slumped over the railin’ with a stiff dick diggin’ my pussy out from the back. I needed some cock, and I was fuckin’ disgusted that this job wouldn’t be served up with a side order of thick dick. My private cell rang, breakin’ my thoughts.
“Hello?”
“What’s good, pretty lady?”
“Who’s this?” I asked, smilin’. I knew it was the nigga from Studio 9. I’d written my number in the palm of his hand on our way outta the club. He and his mans ’n them had wanted to take us out to breakfast, but I asked for a rain check since I knew I had shit to do the followin’ mornin’. Chanel had the nerve to try ’n be swoll ’bout it, but I didn’t give a fuck. She’d get over it. He walked me to my car then I heard the chirp to that bangin’-ass Bentley parked beside my Benz. It was his. My pussy immediately got moist as thoughts of fuckin’ him in the backseat of his whip and suckin’ his dick while he was pushin’ it down the turnpike came to mind. I kept my cool, but could see that my girls were gaggin’. Yeah, this nigga was paid, and I was gonna see what was really good with his fine ass as soon as I got back from handlin’ my business.
“Grant,” he said.
“Grant, who?” I asked, fuckin’ with him.
“Oh, it’s like that,” he said, laughin’. “Let me find out you got a stable of niggas on your team.”
I laughed. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Oh, word? Well, how can a nigga like me get on your squad?” he asked, dippin’ his voice real low. I felt myself gettin’ wet.
“That depends,” I said, matchin’ his low, sexy tone.
“On?”
“On how big ya dick is, and if ya know how to eat a pussy.”
He laughed. “Well, shit, you ain’t askin’ for much. I got that covered.”
“Is that so?”
“No doubt. You’se a sexy thing, and I’m tryna come through and spend some time with you. Show you how a real nigga treats a woman.” Although the nigga had a street edge, he had this polished, sophisticated edge to him. That shit turned me on.
“And how’s that?”
“Let me come scoop you up, and show you.”
“I wish I could,” I said, grinnin’. “But I’m outta town for few days. I’ll be home Sunday afternoon.”
“Oh word. Then hit me up when you touch.”
“I will.”
“Don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do,” he said playfully.
“Well, that may be hard since I don’t know what a nigga like you’d do.”
He chuckled. “I feel ya, baby. Be safe.”
“Thanks,” I said, disconnectin’ the call. I grabbed my purse and keys and headed for the door. I had someplace to be, someone to see, and a bullet to serve.
By the time I got to the Bucktown section of Chicago—an old warehouse district that had been rehabbed and turned into dance clubs and fly-ass lofts—it was almost ten forty-five. I pulled up in the parkin’ area of this trendy spot Aqua, where my unsuspectin’ victim would be. Not only was he a compulsive gambler, word had it he had a thing for pretty young girls, particularly black and Latin chicks. And since he couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants, his wife probably wanted his ass ghost so she could collect on a million-dollar insurance policy he had. The bitch felt she deserved that and then some due to his years of cheatin’ on her ass.
I stepped out of my rental rockin’ a fly-ass hot pants jumpsuit and a pair of knee-high Gucci boots with stiletto heels. My hair was braided and tucked under a long black wig with short bangs. I made sure to rock something that flowed almost past my ass to give the illusion that I was one of them exotic bitches, which wasn’t really hard to do since I already had the
When I walked into the club, I was surprised to see that this spot had a mixed crowd. I knew a bitch was gonna be all up in a lily-white shit hole with a bunch of snuff-chewin’ hillbillies. Even the music was cute. I circled the club, scannin’ the area in search of my mark. There were three bars and two dance floors, and the place was packed.
An hour goes by and I’m gettin’ real sick of this postin’ up at the bar and havin’ all these duck-ass niggas tryna spit weak-ass game. The cat I’m lookin’ for is nowhere to be found, and I was startin’ to get vexed. But a bitch like me knows how to keep it cute. So I shook my ass a tease to get into the groove of shit. I almost wanted to hit the dance floor to pop my hips and toss a few drinks instead of sippin’ on my flat-assed Coke. But I was there on business and drinkin’ on the job was a no-no. I was so fuckin’ ready to blow dust on the spot.
Well, as I’m ’bout to go into plan B, I turn to my left and there in all of his pasty-faced glory is my mark, dressed in all black, wearin’ a slick-ass pair of Dolce & Gabbana shades with his stringy-ass hair pulled back in a shiny ponytail, makin’ his way toward the bar and me. I turned around real slow and sexy-like, then leaned over the bar enough to allow my ass cheeks to peek from underneath the edges of my eighteen-hundred-dollar jumper. I shook my ass to the music, then gave the horny-ass niggas somethin’ to go home and beat their dicks to. I could feel his eyes zoomin’ in on my juicy ass.
“What is a pretty young lady like you drinking tonight?”
I turned around, scanned this crab nigga real easy, then parted a phony-ass smile. “If I tell you, I might hafta kill you,” I said, lettin’ a sly grin spread across my face. He blinked, blinked again, then had the muthafuckin’ audacity to show me his shit-stained teeth, cheesin’ ear-to-ear. Ugh!
“As pretty as you are,” he said, eyein’ me like he hit Lotto, “I’ll take my chances.”
“A risk taker,” I said, matchin’ his stare. “I like that.”
“I only bet on sure things, baby. And I’d bet my life you’re a winner.”
“Your life?” I asked.
“Yeah, my life,” he repeated.
“Now, what can I get the beautiful lady?”
I went in for the kill. I licked my lips real slow and sexy-like and stared him down, before glancin’ down at his crotch. I let the nigga see I was checkin’ for his dick. “What I want, they’re not servin’ at the bar.”
“In that case,” he said, droolin’ like a fuckin’ hound dog, “I know someplace that is.” He leaned in my ear and told me the room number to where he was stayin’, then told me to meet him there in an hour, and to knock three times. I bounced from the club, switchin’ my ass all the way out the door. When I got to my rental and was behind the wheel, I flipped open my cell and called Cash.
“What’s good?”
“I’m restin’ at the downtown Hyatt. Checkin’ in ’bout an hour, then headin’ out in forty.”
“Bet. Enjoy your stay.”
“I always do.”
At one a.m., I dipped into the Hyatt Regency wearin’ a black micro-mini dress and a pair of six-inch
