A Woman’s Work: Street Chronicles (22 page)

“Come on, suck it for me,” Brick said in a low voice.

Ten minutes of this shit and then I can leave
, Abie thought. Pulling off her jean shorts and kicking off her gladiator sandals, she got on her knees facing Brick, leaned over, and took his dick in her mouth.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, suck it,” Brick moaned. Abie didn’t even have to use her hand; she could fit his entire shaft in her mouth. Other than Brick’s moans, the only other sound that could be heard was her lips smacking against his balls while saliva served as her lubrication.

Brick’s breathing got heavy, and sweat was forming on his brow. Abie sucked and sucked until he could barely contain himself. When his dick was at full formation, Abie sat facing him, opened her legs in a V-shape, and lay back so Brick could enter her valley. He snatched off her G-string, an indication that he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

“Be careful,” Abie said, referring to the small ring on her clit. Brick tried to position himself inside Abie, but with each thrust his small dick slipped out.

“Wait, let me do this.” Abie pushed him over onto his back and got on top of him. She bounced up and down on him to create friction and speed up the entire process, which was boring her to death. Brick was in a world of his own, slapping Abie’s ass with each plunge.

“Whose pussy is this? I said, whose is it?” he panted.

“Yours, baby, all yours,” Abie faked. As she had thought, Brick was about to climax. He put his hands on her waist, guiding her up and down until he exploded. Then Abie jumped up abruptly.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt the baby?”

“No. I have to go. I forgot I have a client this afternoon.”

“No, you don’t. I saw the schedules for today, and you’re free all evening.”

“This came up last minute. One of my regulars called and wants to see me.”

“So you’re just gonna keep fucking all those men while you’re pregnant?”

Abie rushed to the bathroom, which was adjacent to the bedroom, and turned on the water in the sink. The pricey ceramic tile floor was cold. Ignoring Brick, she grabbed a washcloth from the linen closet and washed up before putting her clothes back on.

“Abie, did you hear me?” Brick asked.

“I have to work, Brick. This is my job. The baby is about the size of a pea. I feel sure he or she won’t feel a thing,” Abie said. She sat on the edge of the bed and fastened her sandals while Brick adjusted his pants. She noticed he was sulking, so she moved closer to him.

“Listen, the sooner I get my transition package, the sooner I can let this job go, okay?”

Brick’s face lit up.

“I’ll make it happen for you today. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Abie stood up and kissed Brick on the cheek.

“I’ll see you later.” Abie looked out the window cautiously before
hurrying out the front door. She didn’t want anyone to see her leaving. When she thought the coast was clear, she darted out the door down the concrete walkway, crossed the driveway, and made her way to the walkway of the main house. Little did she know that Rachida had been watching from the moment Abie went to Brick’s apartment. Rachida was concerned because none of the women were supposed to be there—no exceptions. If Brick needed to speak to them, he was supposed to do it at the main house. That was one of the rules set by Madam. Furthermore, Rachida’s theory about Uncle Brick beating Abie was shattered based on Abie’s demeanor. If Uncle Brick was responsible for the black eye, Rachida was sure Abie would stay as far away from him as possible. The Abie she’d seen earlier was detached and cold. The Abie leaving Uncle Brick’s apartment was in good spirits. What was obvious was that Abie and he had something going on, and Rachida was going to get to the bottom of it.

A
bie pulled her 2008 Infiniti G37 two-door coupe from the three-car garage and slowly maneuvered around the three cars parked in the driveway. It was two a.m.—her normal business hours. She tried to be discreet so she wouldn’t wake Uncle Brick. Abie had already serviced all her clients for the night and was on her way to meet Scoot. The gravel beneath her car wheels churned like rocks tumbling down a hill, and tonight the sound seemed thunderous. She looked through her rearview mirror at Uncle Brick’s apartment to detect any movement but the dust from the rocks blocked her view. She followed the long driveway until it met the main road. She loved the quiet and peacefulness of the
small town, which had fallen asleep hours earlier. She passed very few houses since each house sat on numerous acres of land. The winding road was dark, and an occasional deer or two could be seen grazing on the side of the road. She rolled down her windows since the summer air was still a bit stuffy. The inside of the car lit up from Abie’s cell phone, an indication that she had an incoming call. She grabbed the phone from the passenger seat while concentrating on the road.

“Hey, baby. Wassup?” she answered.

“Yo, where you at?”

“On the way to you. I should be there in about twenty minutes. I had to wait for Brick to go to sleep. That nigga is clocking my every move.”

“That nigga lucky he still breathing right now, yo. I should’ve sent some of my niggas from Bunche Place over there to take care of his swole ass,” Scoot said.

“You can do whatever you want when we get our money. Just calm down.”

“Calm down? That nigga almost broke my fuckin’ jaw. I still don’t understand why you told him I did that shit to you.”

“Scoot, we need to get this money, right? The bruises were a decoy to make him think I’m afraid of you and need him more than ever. Just go with the flow. I’ll show you what I found when I get there.”

“All right. I’ma let you handle it,” Scoot said.

“Be there in a few.”

Subdivisions started to appear, as Abie neared the city. She merged onto I-295 and headed east. Scoot lived in a small brick rancher in the east end of Richmond, an older neighborhood where most of his neighbors were retirement age. He’d bought his rancher at an estate sale after an elderly widower had passed away. In the year since Scoot had moved in, several neighbors had called the police based on the amount of traffic that went in and
out of his house. It was obvious to those who lived around him that he was a drug dealer, and they despised his presence in their neighborhood.

Abie pulled her car into the driveway behind Scoot’s Escalade. She popped her trunk and grabbed a large manila envelope before using her key on the side entrance of the house. The sound of Scoot’s Bose sound system was so loud the glass panes shook in the door. The entrance took her straight into the eat-in kitchen, where dishes were piled high in the sink and Pizza Hut boxes were stacked on the stove. She was perturbed because she’d just cleaned his kitchen the day before and he’d let his friends come over and dirty everything up again. Based on the smoke that hung in the air and the bottle on the kitchen table, Abie knew Scoot and his friend Link were in the living room smoking blunts and drinking Hennessey. They didn’t notice her when she entered since the music was so loud. They were both just lying back in the chairs, bobbing their heads to the music. She kicked her way through the clutter on the floor—numerous pairs of Air Jordans, Timberland boots, and empty Xbox 360 video game cases—to the bookshelf that housed all Scoot’s music equipment. By that time, Scoot and Link had both seen her.

“Yo, what you doing, shawty?” Link asked.

“Turning down the music. Do y’all want Henrico County to come around here tonight? I can hear the music all the way outside. Y’all are just asking for trouble.” Link, a short dark-skinned brother with thick dreadlocks and gold fronts, sat up on the sofa, then leaned over the coffee table to try to hide his weed and other drug paraphernalia.

“Link, I didn’t say I brought Henrico County in here with me. I just said the music is so loud you’re lucky no one’s called them yet. Ain’t nobody checking for your stash. Scoot, can we go in your room and talk about this for a minute?” Abie asked, pointing to the envelope in her hand.

“Oh, yeah, we can do that. Yo, Link, nigga, don’t try and smoke up all the shit either,” Scoot said. He watched Link cut down the middle of a couple of vanilla Dutch Masters cigars with a razor blade, then empty the contents on a paper towel before sprinkling weed in its place.

“Nigga, I got you. Go ’head and do what you need to,” Link responded without looking up from his operation.

Scoot followed Abie down a small hallway to his bedroom, which was nothing to write home about. With all the money he made, he refused to buy a decent comforter and curtains for the bedroom, and his black lacquer furniture was outdated. Piles of clothes were tossed in the corner on a compact weight bench that Scoot hadn’t used since moving into the house. The only thing on the wall was a small flat-screen TV mounted above a portable fireplace that didn’t match any of the furniture. More shoes were scattered around the floor, and the dresser was lined with various bottles of cologne, some of Scoot’s jewelry, and empty Hennessey and beer bottles.

“Scoot, you need to call Molly Maids or something. This place is disgusting.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Scoot held out his arms and turned several degrees to scan the room for the mess that Abie could see but he obviously couldn’t. Abie just shook her head before pushing the clothes piled on the bed to one side so she could sit.

“Okay, so his real name is Bernard Jefferson. I went online and looked for every Bernard Jefferson I could find in Atlanta. Only two of them have a sister. Only one of them has a sister living in Atlanta. I think this is him, Scoot. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s him, and this is his sister.” Abie pulled out a sheet of paper and gave it to Scoot, who stared at the paper intently, reading every word silently. When he got to the last line, a look of bewilderment crossed his face.

“You mean to tell me she’s a—”

“Yes, Scoot, it’s got to be her. As a matter of fact, I found something in his apartment with her name on it, so I feel ninety-nine percent positive they’re one and the same.”

“So now what?”

“What do you mean ‘Now what?’ It’s time to get paid. If I blow the lid on this entire operation, imagine what’s at stake. She won’t let that happen. I guarantee she’ll pay the $250,000 we demand once she sees that I know about her.”

“What do you need me to do?” Scoot asked.

“Well, you need to make the call. Set everything up. She doesn’t know you or your voice, so you’ll be perfect. Just read the script I wrote and tell her she has twenty-four hours to respond. Give her the number to the TracFone to call you back. Make sure you tell her that if you don’t hear from her in twenty-four hours, the whole thing will be exposed.” Abie handed Scoot a brand-new prepackaged TracFone.

“Tomorrow, Scoot. Do it tomorrow at two p.m. Don’t fuck this up.”

“Man, I told you about talking to me like I’m a fuckin’ kid, yo. I can handle this.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you can handle it. I just want to get it done so I, I mean so
we
can make our move, okay?” Abie leaned over, kissed Scoot, and put her hand between his legs. No matter what was going on, she always knew what tool to use to get a man to see things her way. Most of the time it actually worked too.

“What? You wanna fuck me now? Naw, not tonight,” Scoot said, pushing Abie’s hand away. She leaned back and inspected him.

“Oh, I see. You’ve been fucking some bitch tonight, haven’t you? Tell the truth, Scoot.”

Scoot smacked his teeth and stood up, his Levi’s sagging, exposing his Calvin Klein boxers. Abie grabbed him by the front of his jeans and pulled him to her.

“What the fuck you doin’, Abie?” Scoot said, caught off guard.

“Let me smell you! You think I’m stupid? Who the fuck is she?” Abie yelled while struggling to pull Scoot’s jeans and underwear down. He tried pushing her away but her anger fueled her strength while Scoot’s high fueled his weakness.

“Abie, go ’head with that shit. Stop playing, damn!” They continued to tussle until Abie was able to pull Scoot down on the bed. She rolled him over, pulled his dick out of his pants, and smelled it.

“You a nasty motherfucker!” Abie yelled, punching Scoot in the chest. He looked puzzled because he’d just taken a shower about thirty minutes before Abie got there so he knew his dick still smelled like Irish Spring.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled before he stood up and adjusted his jeans.

“You just took a shower? Why you just take a shower, Scoot?” Abie asked.

“Because I been ballin’ today and I needed a shower. I knew if you came over here and I was still musty and shit from playin’ ball you’d have something to say.”

“No, you had a fuckin’ girl over here and you had to shower before I came over to get her funky-ass pussy smell off your dick. I’m not stupid!” It didn’t matter that Abie had just fucked Uncle Brick because that was different. Uncle Brick and every other man was business for Abie. Scoot was supposed to be her man.

Scoot grabbed Abie by both arms and pinned her down on the bed. “Why the fuck you like playing these games with me, huh? I told you, you the only one for me, Abie. You the only one I want. Link in there about to smoke up all my shit, and right now my high is coming down fucking with you. I’ma do what you need me to tomorrow. We gone get this money, then shit will be aight between us, so just chill.”

“You promise?” Abie said.

“Yes. Now go home and I’ll call you later, aight?” Scoot released her arms so she could get up. The music was still loud even though she’d turned it down when she came in. Link must’ve turned it back up while they were in the bedroom. Abie smirked as she followed Scoot back to the living room. Missions one and two were both accomplished—Uncle Brick had received her transition package and had given it to Madam Celecia earlier that day, and now Scoot was going to handle the important business Abie had entrusted him with. As a plume of smoke formed around Link’s head, she made a quick exit so the smell wouldn’t get into her clothes.