CONTENTS Justify My Thug By Wahida Clark
By Ashley & JaQuavis
By Evelyn Lozada
By Treasure Blue
Payback Ain’t Enough
By Wahida Clark
By Iceberg Slim
Copyright © 2012 by Cash Money Content All titles published by Cash Money Content, in partnership with Atria/Simon & Schuster and Cash Money Records
THUGS PART 6 Drops 4/23/13
Justify My Thug
BY WAHIDA CLARK
desperately wanted to scream, click my heels together and make myself disappear. I felt him. I could always feel his presence and I tried to tell Trina’s ass that he was coming. “Girl, chill and let me get this dick,” she whined. Well I listened to her and now look what the fuck chillin’ got me. When I saw Trae I wanted to shit on myself. Thanks to her I’m now in a standoff between my husband and my possible baby daddy. Things were about to go from bad to some CSI shit. If Kaylin wouldn’t have slammed the door and locked it I’m positive that Trae would have started blasting. I couldn’t prepare my mind to get into argument mode because my missing niece Aisha called. I was hoping that it was some kind of a sick joke, but deep down inside I knew it wasn’t. That was definitely Aisha calling her Auntie Tasha. She knew my
cell number by heart because she used to always call to ask if she could come over to spend the night. I dialed the number back and somebody answered the phone and then immediately hung up. I called again but it went straight to voicemail. That’s when I panicked, rushed to the door and snatched it open. Trae was pacing back and forth, looking like a pit bull, but I didn’t give a shit. I said, “Trae, I just got a call from Aisha. She wants me to come and get her. When I asked her where her mother was she said she thinks she’s dead.” He looked at me as if he didn’t know who I was. “Trae, did you hear what I just said to you? Our niece Aisha was just on the phone. I called the number back and the first time someone answered and hung up. The last time it went straight to voicemail. Call from your phone to see if you can get through. Maybe Marvin will talk to you. Something isn’t right, Trae.” I held up my cell phone displaying the number that Aisha had just called me from. What I had just told him must have finally registered. He snatched the cell phone from me and came into the apartment. Before he could hit the redial button on the phone, he looked up at Kyron. Everybody got quiet and collectively we all held our breath as Trae and Kyron stared each other down. They stood not even ten feet from one another. The tension between them was suffocating. The silence had grown loud and I exhaled a sigh of relief when Kaylin spoke. “Kyron let me holla at you in the back,” he said. “Kay, not now,” Kyron snapped, never taking his eyes off of Trae. Kaylin, just like me, knew exactly what was about to happen. Somebody was getting
ready to die. “Nigga, I said, let me talk to you in the back for a minute.” Kaylin gritted. “Naw, baby boy. I ain’t tryna talk right now. I got a plane to catch. Kendrick, let’s bounce, son!” Kyron said, nixing his brother off. Kendrick grabbed his belongings out of Trina’s bedroom and then walked over to Kyron. They both headed for the door. When they got close to Trae, Trae swung and hit Kyron in the face. I thought I heard Kyron’s jaw crack. Trae followed up with another
" Trae, I just got a call from Aisha. She wants me to come and get her. When I asked her where her mother was she said she thinks she's dead." punch but this time Kyron weaved out of the way. He countered with a few punches of his own and the next thing I knew, they were all over the apartment tearing shit up. Kay and Kendrick struggled to break the two of them apart. Trina was screaming so loud about them fucking up her apartment, I didn’t hear my phone ringing. I happened to glance at the caller ID and it was that same 859 number. It had to be Aisha again and thanks to these niggas fighting over pussy I missed her call. At that moment I was like, “Fuck both of them niggas,” and I lost it. “Stop it! Stop it!” I screamed, “Kyron get the fuck out!” I went over to him and pushed him towards the door. “Get out Kyron!” I then pushed him out the door and Trina got rid of Kendrick. “My niece and sister are missing and y’all acting like bitches.” I then turned to Trae. “Trae, I need you to call Marvin and get me some answers.” I was so mad I started crying. Thankfully the phone rang again and thank God it was Aisha.
Murderville By Ashley & JaQuavis
“Tell me where the money at, bitch!” the goon said as he circled the girl who sat bound to the wood chair. The beauty just sat there and cried in agony, the ropes were tied so tightly that they stopped her circulation. The masked goon grew frustrated and struck her across the temple with the butt of his gun, splitting her flesh open. Blood trickled down her face as she remained silent but cringed in pain. “Tell me! Where does Po keep the money?!” he screamed as he ripped the ski mask off his head, tired of waiting for a response. He knew that the money was somewhere in the house because he had been following her drug-dealing boyfriend for two weeks. He witnessed him enter the house with his street money, only to exit empty-handed. He knew that the stash was inside the house somewhere. The woman just cried in pain and never answered the intruder’s questions, frustrating him to the brink of rage. “Yo, if you don’t tell me where the stash
at . . . I’m going to blow your brains all over your pretty little wall,” the goon said as he pointed the gun at the young woman’s head. He waited for a response, only to get nothing from her except more tears. The goon knew that he didn’t have a lot of time, and he had already searched the house from top to bottom and came up with nothing. He slapped the girl, taking her silence as disrespect. He put his gun in his waist and wrapped his hands around the girl’s neck and squeezed with all his might. He watched as her face turned blush red. She squirmed but there wasn’t much she could do because of the ropes restraining her limbs. The goon thought about how she had blatantly ignored all of his questions, and he wanted to see her die. In his twisted mind, it would be payback for undermining his authority. He continued to squeeze her throat until the squirming stopped and her eyes stared into space . . . at nothing. She was dead. The goon loosened his grip, letting her chin fall into her chest. He breathed heavily and stepped back from the woman’s lifeless body. He took one more look around the room and noticed a plaque on the wall. It was a high school diploma. It read: “Michigan School for the Deaf” and was awarded to Scar-
lett Jones. That’s when it began to make sense to the goon. She couldn’t answer my questions . . . because she was deaf. She didn’t even hear me, he thought as he was overwhelmed with guilt. He quickly fled from the house emptyhanded, leaving the twenty-twoyear-old beauty to sleep forever. *** James “Po” Taylor drove down the highway and yawned as he glanced down at the clock on his dashboard. He hated that he was coming home so late, but it was for a good reason. He had picked up all the money he was owed in the streets. He finally had enough paper saved to buy the house he had promised his longtime girlfriend, Scarlett. He was deeply in love with her and had known her since she was a child. Although she was deaf, they had no problem communicating because Po had learned sign language years ago. He smiled as he thought about her beautiful face. He knew that he could finally give her what she deserved, and that was a beautiful house and a way
out of the ghetto. He pulled into their driveway and grabbed the duffle bag full of money. Po entered the house and reached for the light switch. He flicked it on and off repeatedly and smiled. He expected Scarlett to come from the den where she usually watched television until he came home. He saw the flickering of the television coming from the den and heard the news being telecasted. She must have fallen asleep, he thought to himself as he began to take off his coat. He hung it up and reached into his pocket for the ring that he had bought her earlier that day. He couldn’t wait until the morning to tell her that they were moving and decided to wake her up. Little did he know, Scarlett would never wake up. He walked into the den and noticed that she wasn’t there. He then went upstairs, and his heart dropped when he noticed the way the house was tore up. It was as if a tornado ran through it. The bed was flipped over, and the drawers were pulled out and emptied onto the floor.
Yo, if you don't tell me where the stash at . . . I'm going to blow your brains all over your pretty little wall,'
“Scarlett!” Po yelled as he frantically rushed to the other room. As he burst into the room, he saw the love of his life bound to a chair. “No!” he yelled as he raced to her and dropped to his knees in front of her. He unloosened the ropes to release her and tears began to fall as he noticed she wasn’t moving. Her lips were dark purple, a far cry from the blush red they usually were. “Please, God, no. Please!” he pleaded as she fell into his arms. He rocked back and forth with his love in his arms. Tears flowed as he begged God to somehow make Scarlett wake up. He looked down at her and rubbed his hand over her face to close her eyelids. He then knew that she was gone forever. *** The sun’s beams crept through the blinds and shined on A’shai and Liberty’s face as they lay next to each other. The hospital-issued pager sounded off and began to vibrate, making it dance across the nightstand. The sound woke a sleeping Liberty, and she opened her eyes and couldn’t believe her ears. It was the sound that they had been waiting on for an entire year. Liberty’s body felt so weak. She could barely lift her head, but
Somebody please help. Shai isn't breathing. Oh God . . . He's not breathing, 8
she managed to smile as joy overcame her. “Shai, Shai, baby, wake up. We have a heart,” she whispered faintly as she rubbed Shai’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Shai?” she called again, noticing that his skin was cold to the touch. “Baby, wake up,” she called as she managed to prop herself up. She nudged him with all the might that she had, but he didn’t move. She didn’t know at that point, but A’shai was dead. He had slowly ingested an old Creole drink called Black Tea as he told her the story of their lives, wanting to die with his soul mate. A’shai had been dying before her eyes, and she didn’t even know it. His “special drink” caused a slow death and showed his commitment to his love for her. If she couldn’t live, then he no longer wanted to, so he chose to die with her so they could forever be together. Liberty continued to shake A’shai, but it was to no avail. She noticed that he wasn’t breathing, and it all hit her like a ton of bricks. She mustered all her strength and grabbed the phone to call 911. “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” the operator asked. “Somebody please help. Shai isn’t breathing. Oh God . . . He’s not breathing,” she said, not even caring about her own health or the heart pager. Her time was also ticking, and if she didn’t get to the hospital she would also die, but at that point, she didn’t care. She was ready to meet A’shai on the other side. Tears began to run down her face as the harsh reality set in. She collapsed on his
Inner Circle By EVELYN LOZADA “Where the fuck are you?” Eve spoke her text message into her iPhone while she waited impatiently at the arrival curb of LAX Airport for her boyfriend of six months, Los Angeles Leopards superstar wide receiver, Chase Landon. She rolled her eyes under her vintage Chanel sunglasses when she spotted what appeared to be two nosy bitches whispering to her left, trying to confirm who she really was. “And what the fuck are you they looking at!” she whispered aloud when spotting the two women pointing and snickering in her direction. Even though Eve wasn’t a celebrity, dating Chase made her just as vulnerable to the public attention that he experienced on a daily basis. Although the limelight could be exciting at times, there were moments when she dreaded the attention and just wanted to be left alone. Within the six months they had been together, Eve had managed to come out to Los Angeles dozens of times from Miami. The cross-country trips
were beginning to wear on her and had also been the topic of her and Chase’s last argument. Chase almost never made it to Miami because of his hectic schedule, yet he insisted with each visit that Eve not return to her life in Miami. “Are you crazy? I’m not giving up my condo or career for you. I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am to just throw it all away. My mother
“A proposal for what?” Eve quizzed. “Marriage,” Chase replied. “Please, you know you’re not ready,” Eve had said as she folded her clothes into her suitcase. “Do you love me?” Chase questioned. Eve turned toward him. Her heart pounded as she searched his face for any signs of doubt. “You’re serious?” She almost hoped he wasn’t. From the beginning of their re-
a professional athlete was in no way conducive to marriage and family. It was an opinion that was first introduced to her by her mother, Nadia Inez, even before choosing a profession that supported her mother’s claims. Eve was the product of a one-night stand her mother had had with a professional athlete. After discovering that she was pregnant, Nadia received even worse news. The man she knew only as Hank was
"What about a proposal? I love you, and I want you here with me every day in every way." sacrificed everything to send me to school. I promised her and I promised myself that I would always maintain my independence. Besides, what happens if this doesn’t work? Then what? I’m stuck having to start all over again from scratch. No, I don’t think so.” “What about a proposal? I love you, and I want you here with me every day in every way.”
lationship, Eve had strong opinions and hard fast rules about a lot of things, but none harder than her position on never becoming emotionally involved with a professional athlete. In her line of work, she’d seen enough cases of athletes and their drama with women, finances, women, babies, women, and more women, to be a bit leery. With Chase being just twentyfour and her being twenty-five, in Eve’s opinion, the lifestyle of
married. Nadia put up a brick wall whenever Eve asked about her father. All her mother would say was that she had had one momentary lapse of judgment that resulted in Eve’s conception, but no matter how wonderful it had been, she would never date nor get involved with another professional athlete. In fact, that sentiment had become her mantra, so much so that by the time Eve was old enough to date, she avoided athletes like an STD.
animal Drops 10/2/12 Animal tried to get some rest before he initiated the next phase of his plan that night, but it was futile. He had too much weighing on him to sleep, so he decided to go out for a walk. It was risky considering he was a hunted man, but between his long voyage and being holed up in a motel room the whole time he had been back was starting to make him feel caged. Besides, it had been far too long since he'd taken a stroll through Harlem.
ANimal By Kâ€™WAN
Much had changed since last time he strolled the streets of Harlem. Where tenements and bodegas had once stood there were now
high-rise buildings and fancy cafés. The changes to Harlem weren’t limited to the construction; the people had changed too. The once-predominantly black neighborhoods were now occupied by different ethnic groups of people who had migrated uptown to get their pieces of what was now considered prime real estate. It was as if they were the natives and he was now the outsider. Just about everyone he’d known was either dead or in jail, and he didn’t recognize any of the new faces hugging the blocks he once claimed as his domain. He reached in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and found it empty. With a sigh, he crumbled the empty pack and tossed it on the ground before heading into the store on the corner. The first thing he noticed when he entered the store was the pungent odor of weed. Several young men lingered inside the bodega trying to act as if it wasn’t a front for whatever they were up to. Animal kept his head down as he approached the counter, but he could feel all their eyes on him. “Let me get a pack of Newports and two Dutch Mas-
Let me get a pack of Newports and two Dutch Masters ters,” Animal told the cat behind the counter. He was an older Spanish dude, rocking a do-rag and a chain that was supposed to pass for real, but clearly fake to someone who knew fine jewelry. “Eleven eighty-five,” the Spanish cat told him. Animal was caught off guard by the price hike. “Damn, shit really has changed in Harlem.” Reluctantly, he pulled out his bankroll and peeled off some bills to pay for his items. On his way out of the store, he noticed one of the boys tap his friend and nod in his direction. He knew they were sizing him up, weighing their options. There was no doubt in his mind about him being able to take the youngsters, but a confrontation with the street punks was something he didn’t need. He had much bigger fish to fry. After making it almost a block away from the store, Animal felt the hairs on his neck stand. He knew the feeling well from his years of being both predator and prey in the streets. He veered
to cut across the street and looked down the block as if he was watching for traffic and spotted two of the boys from the store at the end of the block, trying as best they could to be stealthy. They were amateurs and stuck out like sore thumbs. He had hoped to avoid a confrontation, but it didn’t seem like they were going to give him a choice. Animal made a left on 126th and Seventh Avenue and headed west on a block that he knew was a less-traveled one. In the back of one of the buildings there was a dip that led to a small loading area that you couldn’t see from either end of the block until you were right on top of it. He stepped into a corner of the nook and undid his belt like he was about to relieve himself. His back was to the street, but he could see behind him via a small dirty mirror that sat above the loading bay door. Just as he had predicted, the two knuckleheads
rounded the corner a few seconds later. Animal let out a sigh. They were little boys who were trying to play grown men’s games but would learn that Animal didn’t play well with others. There were only two of them, one wearing a hoodie and the other only a T-shirt. It was simple to figure out which of them, if either, was armed. After some debate, the one with the hoodie was designated the point man on the caper. With his heart halfway in his throat and a knife in his hand, he approached his intended victim with his partner-in-crime on his heels. “Yo, you know what this is. Give up before I—” That was as far as the kid in the hoodie got. Animal spun, snatching his belt off as he did, and went on the offensive. The thick leather belt struck as quickly as lightning, snapping twice across the kid’s face and ruining his whole game plan. Before he could even consider swinging the knife, Animal had looped the belt around his wrist and slung him face-first into the loading bay door. The impact of the kid’s face hitting the door set off a thunderous boom, but it was nothing
compared to the scream the kid let out when Animal broke his wrist with the belt. The second kid tried to run, but Animal tripped him and he fell, face-first, to the ground. Before he could get up to scramble away, Animal was on him. He looped the belt around the kid’s neck and dragged him into the corner, where his partner was rolling around on the ground blubbering about his broken wrist. Animal let his attention slip for a second while trying to decide what to do and that was all it took. The kid with the belt around his neck swung blindly and managed to pop Animal in the mouth, busting his top lip. Animal licked away the trickle of blood and gave the kid a nod of respect before he stomped on his ankle and broke it. The kid in the T-shirt lost his balance, and Animal swung him headfirst into a brick wall, opening a nasty gash on his forehead. With a quick jerk of his belt, Animal spilled him on the floor next to his partner. Animal looked down at the two crippled would-be robbers. “Everybody wants to be a tough guy.” He shook his head and walked off.
Yo, you know what this is. Give up before I...
I think we should read more as a people. And me, personally, I feel like I should read more. We have so much influence on the music world, I just wanted to convert it to books, and just get us to read more -BIRDMAN
FLY BETTY By TREASURE BLUE
First off, let’s get one thing straight, if you are a hater, a broke broad or simply a girl who believes that a woman’s place is supposedly in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant, this book is NOT for you, so I suggest you put it down, find one of those Dr. Seuss books and continue living in La-La Land or go wash your feet or something. Now, for those who live in reality, that are still reading, I’ll assume that you are none of the above, so we can move on and you might
learn a thing or two. Let me start by telling you a little something about myself. My name is Betty Blaise, that’s pronounced ‘blaze’, 23, and I’m in my last year at Columbia as a psychology major. I got my own three bedroom condo in Harlem, a 2013 X5 BMW (paid for mind you) and all the designer clothes that’ll make Kim Kardashian envious. I’m saying all this to say that a girl got these things all by her lonesome, well, not everything, I did have some help, but I’ll tell you about that later. But, if you want to know the sweetest thing about it all, I’m still single and don’t need a man to justify my cause, because I get it how I get it and that’s all that matters to me right now. Now, I know what some of you are thinking and let me clear this up right now, I’m not a stripper, dancer or anything else these broads call it that requires them to undress and shake that ass for a dollar. I’m not knocking their hustle, but that’s not what I do. And no, I’m not a prostitute, nor do I open up my legs or sleep with men to pay my bills. If you are still with me and want to learn more, kick back and let
me share with you some of the secrets I’ve learned about men. I’m what you may call a working student practicing the art of making love without taking off your clothes. Yes, fuck men, but I do it mentally, filling the void that many, many women choose not to do, and I make much more by doing it that way than I would lying on my back. If you think about it it makes perfectly good sense. See, all you got to do is be aware of the minds of men, and to understand that you not only have to stimulate men’s loins, but you must also equally stimulate their intellect as well, and that’s where I come in. If I could get a nickel for every time a brother told me that’s what they are missing from his wife or girlfriend in their relationship I’d be one rich bitch. Now here’s the second secret, a woman must learn to think like a man. Yeah, I know Steve Harvey put out a book with the same premise, but trust me; I was living this shit since he was hosting Showtime at the Apollo, so I’m hardly impressed. Let’s be real, what could a nice, happily married man, who been out of the game for years, tell women who are in the game, living and breathing this shit, how to play their position? Steve is telling you what he hears, that’s called ear hustling, and like
I said, I’m knee deep in this shit. I’ll sum up in ten seconds what it took him one book to say: Betty's Five Rules of Any Relationship 1.Never love a man who doesn’t love you back. 2.Never give a man who won’t give back. 3.Never try to keep a man who doesn’t want to stay. 4.Never cry over a man who won’t cry over you. 5.Every man GOT to know, from the very beginning, that if they should ever disrespect or violate you for any reason, they MUST know you would not hesitate to leave them without looking back. 6.If you really want to know who your man really is, don’t tap in on his Facebook page, tap in on his best friend’s page and you’ll get more than enough information, because trust me, they are not best homies for no reason. That’s all you need to know, if you are just looking to have a fruitful relationship. Period! Now that I got your attention, and you for those who want to take it to that next level, sit back, get some tea or whatever you like and continue to read further and I’ll hip you to a world you never knew existed.
Fuck what you heard. Scratch all that shit that you was told before. This is the realest, slickest, illest shit right here. - Nick
ain't enough By WAHIDA CLARK
The only thing worse than being a prisoner in my own skin was the feeling of helplessness as I listen to the bloodcurdling screams echo from the next cell as a man gets another manâ€™s dick rammed up his ass. 18
The kids follow us for our music I want them to follow us for reading. It's about educating and exercising our minds -SLIM
continued from pg. 18 Forty-Nine was right next to me, and I could Who would’ve thought that I, Forever hear in it in surround sound, the cat in the Thompson, would be serving a life sencell next to me screaming. It was the familiar tence confined to a fuckin’ wheelchair sound of prison rape. and paralyzed from the waist down? I I sat in my wheelchair knowing what was getremember it as if it was just yesterday, ting ready to happen next. When the goons hearing my name followed by those six rushed past my cell and I heard 49’s door words, “You are hereby sentenced to pop open. A few minutes later they were LIFE.” All of my dirt flashed across my dragging T-Bone, the punk-ass rapist, out. He mind after I heard those words. And to didn’t even bother to offer up any resistance. think that all this bad karma surrounding I watched as they stood him up and rested me started over some pussy and dough. him against my cell with his hands cuffed beA dangerous combination that will suck hind him and a billy club you in every time! to the throat. It all began with me The losing opponent was using that bitch Shan I sat in my wheelchair a new guy who had just to mule my dope into knowing what was come in yesterday. He the prison. But no, I came out wrapped in a couldn’t stop there. I getting ready to sheet and limping slowly. had to fuck her and He met eyes with me and get her pregnant. happen next. When I could see the pain and Now, here I am again, the goons rushed past fear peering through his for the thousandth tear-filled, red eyes. As time thinking about my cell and I heard the guards attempted to those I left behind: my walk him past my cell he brother, Briggen, by 49’s door pop open. lunged forward with the the same mother, my shiny object and stuck it wife, Nyla, my daughin T-Bone’s side about four or five times beter, Tameerah and last but not least, my fore the goons wrestled him to the ground. first cousin and partner-in-crime, Zeke. Damn. Ole T wasn’t the winner after all. “Bust cell 49!” I could hear the goon Bone slid down the bars of my cell and hit the squad yelling into their radios and the floor, as the blood trickled out of his mouth sound of their boots hitting the cement all I could say was, “You should have stayed steps. I knew shit was getting ready to true to the pussy.” get real ugly for at least one muthafucka.
by ICEBERG SLIM Dawn was breaking as the big Hog scooted through the streets. My five whores were chattering like drunk magpies. I smelled the stink that only a street whore has after a long, busy night. The inside of my nose was raw. It happens when you’re a pig for snorting cocaine. My nose was on fire and the stink of those whores and the gangster they were smoking seemed like invisible knives scraping to the root of my brain. I was in an evil, dangerous mood despite that pile of scratch crammed into the glove compartment. “Godamnit, has one of you bitches shit on herself or something?” I bellowed as I flipped the long window toward me. For a long moment there was silence. Then Rachel, my bottom whore, cracked in a pleasing ass-kissing voice. “Daddy Baby, that ain’t no shit you smell. We been turning
continued from pg.21 all night and ain’t no bathrooms in those tricks’ cars we been flipping out of. Daddy, we sure been humping for you, and what you smell is our nasty whore asses.” I grinned widely, inside of course. The best pimps keep a steel lid on their emotions and I was one of the iciest. The whores went into fits of giggles at Rachel’s shaky witticism. A pimp is happy when his whores giggle. He knows they are still asleep.
Bitch, are you insane? No bitch in this family calls any shots or muscles me to do anything. Now take your stinking yellow ass upstairs to a bath and some shut eye, and get in the street at noon like I told you. I coasted the Hog into the curb outside the hotel where Kim, my newest, prettiest girl, was cribbing. Jesus! I would be glad to drop the last whore off so I could get to my own hotel to nurse my nose with cocaine and be alone. Any good pimp is his own best company. His inner life is so rich with cunning and scheming to out-think his whores. As Kim got out I said, “Goodnight Baby, today is Saturday so I want everybody in the street at noon instead of seven tonight. I said noon, not five minutes after or two minutes after, but at twelve noon sharp I want you down, got it, Baby?” She didn’t answer, but she did a strange thing. She
walked into the street around the Hog to the window on my side. She stood looking at me for a long moment her beautiful face tense in the dim dawn. Then in her crisp New England accent she said, “Are you coming back to my pad this morning? You haven’t spent a night with me in a month. So come back, Okay?” A good pimp doesn’t get paid for screwing, he gets his pay off for always having the right thing to say to a whore right on lightning tap. I knew my four whores were flapping their ears to get my reaction to this beautiful bitch. A pimp with an overly fine bitch in his stable has to keep his game tight. Whores constantly probe for weakness in a pimp. I fitted a scary mask on my face and said, in a low deadly voice, “Bitch, are you insane? No bitch in this family calls any shots or muscles me to do anything. Now take your stinking yellow ass upstairs to a bath and some shut eye, and get in the street at noon like I told you.” The bitch just stood there, her eyes slitted in anger. I could sense she was game to play the string out right there in the street before my whores. If I had been ten years dumber I would have leaned out of that Hog and broken her jaw, and put my foot in her ass, but the joint was too fresh in my mind. I knew the bitch was trying to booby trap me when she spat out her invitation. “Come on kick my ass. What the hell do I need with a man I only see when he comes to get his money? I am sick of it all. I don’t dig stables and never will. I know
I’m the new bitch who has to prove herself. Well Godamnit, I am sick of this shit. I’m cutting out.” She stopped for air and lit a cigarette. I was going to blast her ass off when she finished. So, I just sat there staring at her. Then she went on, “I have turned more tricks in the three months I have been with you than in the whole two years with Paul. My pussy stays sore and swollen. Do I get my ass kicked before I split? If so, kick it now because I am going back to Providence on the next thing smoking.” She was young, fast with trick appeal galore. She was a pimp’s dream and she knew it. She had tested me with her beef and now she was lying back for a sucker response. I disappointed her with my cold overlay. I could see her wilt as I said in an icy voice. “Listen square-ass Bitch, I have never had a whore I couldn’t do without. I celebrate, Bitch, when a whore leaves me. It gives some worthy bitch a chance to take her place and be a star. You scurvy Bitch, if I shit in your face, you gotta love it and open your mouth wide.” The rollers cruised by in a squad car so I flashed a sucker smile on my face and cooled it until they passed. Kim was rooted there wincing under the blizzard. I went on ruthlessly, “Bitch, you are nothing but a funky zero. Before me you had one chili chump with no rep. Nobody except his mother ever heard of the bastard. Yes Bitch, I’ll be back this morning to put your phony ass on the train.”
I rocketed away from the curb. In the rear-view mirror I saw Kim walk slowly into the hotel, her shoulders slumped. In the Hog, until I dropped the last whore off you could have heard a mosquito crapping on the moon. I had tested out for them, “solid ice.” I went back for Kim. She was packed and silent. On the way to the station, I riffled the pages in that pimp’s book in my head for an angle to hold her without kissing her ass. I couldn’t find a line in it for an out like that. As it turned out the bitch was testing and bluffing right down the line. We had pulled into the station parking lot when the bitch fell to pieces. Her eyes were misty when she yelped, “Daddy, are you really going to let me split? Daddy, I love you!” I started the prat action to cinch her when I said, “Bitch, I don’t want a whore with rabbit in her. I want a bitch who wants me for life. You have got to go after that bullshit earlier this morning, you are not that bitch.” That prat butchered her and she collapsed into my lap crying and begging to stay. I had a theory about splitting whores. I think they seldom split without a bankroll. So, I cracked on her, “Give me that scratch you held out and maybe I will give you another chance.” Sure enough she reached into her bosom and drew out close to five bills and handed it to me. No pimp with a brain in his head cuts loose a young beautiful whore with lots of mileage left in her. I let her come back.