“You out here fucking, Tiara?”
“No, Daddy, I promise. I’m still a virgin,” she said with sincerity in her voice.
“Aw . . . So you just out here trying to get these little niggas’ attention and get their dicks hard, huh?”
“No, sir.”
“So what is it then? Why do you feel the need to look like a ho?”
“I’m not a ho. This is how the other girls at school dress.”
Blake sighed and shook his head at his daughter. He wanted to wring her neck but realized that it was just as much his fault as it was hers. Cat’s too. He loved his wife very much, but he’d be lying if he said she was Mrs. Huxtable. She was as beautiful as they came, but her appearance was that of a sexy vixen. He was silent for a minute before he stood up and his full six-foot-two figure loomed over her. He was dressed comfortably in Ralph Lauren pajamas with matching house slippers. His hair was neatly lined up, and he was so handsome that you didn’t pay attention to the dew gray he had sprouting in the front. He was giving Barack Obama a run for his money.
“Come on,” he said and stepped around her. “Come to the basement with me.”
He led the way to their spacious basement, and as she walked slightly to his right, he saw her hurry to button up her shirt. Growing up, Blake didn’t have much at all, and he always promised himself that if he was going to do it, he was going to do it big. His house was the visual proof of that, and his basement was his joy. It was what he called the ultimate man cave. He had a theater that fit thirty, a bar with a connected dance floor, a lounge section, and to top it all off, a metal door that led to his own personal gun range. When he was home, he was most likely in his basement because it was his personal escape from his everyday life. When he was in the basement, he felt like whatever was going on in his life was outside of the basement doors. In his man cave, he had peace and tranquility.
“What are you doing?” Tiara asked when, instead of taking her to one of the lounge chairs, he went to the console room instead.
He opened the small door that controlled the power in the house, or so Tiara thought. Instead of switches that controlled the entire house’s fuses and lights, however, there was a keypad behind the door. He entered a code that she recognized as her birthday, and she heard a click and a soft hum. She was thrown completely for a loop when the entire wall opened up. She stepped closer to it and examined it, seeing that it wasn’t a wall at all. It was a metal door.
“I never knew this was down here,” Tiara said in awe when he pushed it all the way open revealing not only a gun range, but an entire artillery room.
“Every kingpin has an artillery room,” he said, stepping through the door. “Go on, pick up a gun.”
“How am I supposed to know which one to pick?” Tiara asked, walking into the room.
The walls were white, and on all of them were weapons. From handguns to automatics. From knives to explosives. She wanted to say she was shocked, but she’d heard all of the stories about her father just like everybody else. The only thing was, now, she knew they were true.
“When you put the right one in your hand, you’ll know. Go ahead. You said you wanted to learn to shoot, right? Let’s do it.”
She trailed the wall until finally she reached and grabbed one.
“Put that Desert Eagle down. You gon’ hurt yourself.”
Tiara grinned and glanced behind her at her father staring at her with a raised eyebrow.
“You said to grab what I wanted. This one is pretty!”
“You don’t shoot a gun because it’s pretty.” Blake shook his head at her. “That thing has power, too much power for you. We can work our way up to it in time, though.”
She put the gun back and tried again with a gun right next to it. It was black and gray and smooth to the touch. It wasn’t heavy at all and was small enough to fit in one of her designer tote bags if she wanted. She looked back at her dad to get his approval, and he nodded his head.
“That’s a Glock 19. Made of polymer, not metal. Come get a clip and cover your ears up.”
He taught her how to load the gun, take it on and off safety, and finally how to aim.
“Point, hold it firm, and shoot. Imagine that you’re the bullet. You hate when people waste your time, right? So don’t waste a bullet.”
He allowed her to step into the lane and aim at one of the still posts at the end of the lane. They all had pictures of people on them, and he thought that might intimidate her. But to his surprise, she began firing with no hesitation. She grunted every time she pulled the trigger, and her brow wrinkled like she was focusing harder than she’d ever focused in her life. It was apparent that she was letting off some kind of steam. He was pleased to see that she had taken his advice. Every bullet had met its target. She would need more practice on precise aim, but this had been a great start.
“Good job. The only thing is you got more stomachs and arms than foreheads. If
