Read ANYTHING 4 PROFIT (ANYTHING FOR PROFIT) Online
Authors: Justin Amen Floyd
Being that it was Saturday, and also Labor Day weekend, all six of Sylvia’s chairs were occupied. There were six other women waiting, and reading the latest assortment of magazines kept on hand at the shop, such as
Sister 2 Sister, Vibe, Black Hair, Essence,
and
XXL
to name a few. There was also a large flat screen television mounted on the wall, which was playing the latest Hip-Hop and R&B videos.
The shop was abuzz as usual, as the women talked and laughed about the latest events in the news. “Girl, did you hear how much money P.Diddy’s baby mama Kim Porter is getting in child support?!” one of the women asked.
“Naw, how much?”
“$25,000 a month!!” the first girl exclaimed excitedly. “And that’s just for one kid. There’s twelve months in a year, so y’all can do the math on that one,” she continued.
“Damn, she lucky. Why I can’t never meet me a nigga who’s rich like that?” wondered a woman who sat in a chair getting a pedicure.
“Forget 25,000…shiiiiit, I’d be happy just to get $250 from my triflin’ ass baby daddy,” stated another woman. The salon erupted into laughter.
“You ain’t never lied, girl. Child, these niggas ain’t got no problem coming around when they want some pussy. But as soon as you turn up pregnant, they act like they ain’t have shit to do with
that
part.”
“That’s why y’all need to stop fuckin’ with all them broke ass niggas! Y’all lowering the price of pussy out here for all the real bitches,” joked Sylvia, who was finishing up Meka’s hair.
“Shit, Sylvia, all the men that do get a lil’ paper be goin’ after them stankin’ ass White girls anyway. It never fails. Once they money get right, they Black asses go White. They start chasin’ behind them anorexic, pale ass bitches!”
“Sounds like somebody has some anger issues,” joked another girl.
“I know one thing for sho’, and two thangs for certain. If they keep fuckin’ wit’ them White girls then I’ma flip it, and find me a cute lil’ White boy to take care of me.”
“NO! Don’t do that, sister. That’s exactly what the White devil wants us to do! To lose hope in the Black Man, who is the foundation of the Black family, the foundation of the universe, and everything in it. He is the Sun, and we are the moons, meant to reflect their light and be their queens. Our whole race is being systematically targeted for extermination. We need to stand by our Black kings, and support their endeavors,” said Niesha, whose boyfriend, Javon Taylor, A.K.A. Knowledge Born, became a member of the 5% nation of gods and earth’s while he was locked up, and doing a five year bid in one of South Carolina’s worst “corruptional” institutions, Lee County.
“There she go, there she go. Ever since Javon came home, you been talkin’ that Black god, kill the devils, free the slaves, move back to Africa and live in a hut shit!” joked Sylvia. “That boy got yo’ head fucked up, Niesha. Next thing you know yo’ Black ass gonna be talkin’ ‘bout how a government conspiracy killed Pac and Biggie.”
The whole room exploded in laughter again. “Using all them big ass words. I been to college, and still have to look up half the shit Niesha be saying.”
Even Niesha had to laugh at that one. That was the thing about Sylvia. She talked shit but nobody really took her seriously. Even though most of what she said was true. She was like that older sister everybody had in their family that just said whatever came to her head. So instead of offending people with her comments, she usually just got them to laugh.
Meka was in her chair cracking up along with the other women. But after over two hours of sitting down getting her hair and nails done, she was anxious to get the hell out of there so she could set her Labor Day weekend off right. She had shopping to do. It was already one in the afternoon, and she still wanted to hit the mall and pick up a few items before that shit got packed. Young Jeezy was coming to town for a concert, and she planned to be the freshest bitch at the show.
When Sylvia said she was finished, and handed her a mirror, Meka quickly glanced at her reflection. Satisfied with Sylvia’s work, she took out two hundred dollar bills to pay for her new hair style, French manicure, and pedicure.
After paying Sylvia and saying goodbye to the rest of the women in the shop, Meka walked outside into the heat and bright sunlight of the early September afternoon. She stylishly put on her Gucci shades.
The sun kissed Meka’s beautiful brown skin as she walked toward her brand new, custom painted, pink Range Rover Sport. She’d purchased it only days after Twan’s murder, ignoring the advice of both her brother and Mike, who had told her to fall back and not spend any cash for a minute, until shit died down. But Meka said fuck that. She wanted it, and had the cash to get it, so she got it.
Humming the latest hit from her favorite singer, Keyshia Cole, Meka got to her truck, and reached in her Louis Vuitton handbag for her keys. Before she found her keys, a large arm wrapped around her neck from behind and lifted her completely off the ground. The culprit cut off her air supply immediately. Meka struggled against her assailant. Kicking and scratching wildly, she tried to break free of his hold.
Realizing her resistance had little effect, Meka remembered the .25 automatic that Ant D had given her a few months before. The gun was in her purse. On the verge of blacking out from lack of oxygen, she reached into her bag for the gun. Before she could retrieve it, she was savagely punched in the stomach by another man she hadn’t even noticed. That blow knocked the remaining wind out of her, along with whatever fight she had left.
Her body went limp, and the two men quickly dragged her over to a black Dodge Caravan that was parked two spaces down. They got a roll of duct tape out of the van, and wrapped it around Meka’s wrists and ankles. They put a smaller piece on her mouth, and then tossed her into the back of the van like a bag of trash. They jumped in, pulled the doors closed, and within seconds were speeding out of the parking lot.
Chapter 10
Mike pulled into the parking lot of the Hilton in downtown Greenville and brought the Escalade to a screeching stop. It was 2:03 A.M. The seven women in the truck who had left Platinum Plus with him and Ant D all breathed a sigh of relief at having made it to their destination in one piece. Mike was known for being a reckless driver. And that was when he was sober. So the weed combined with the alcohol only made shit worse. But now that they were there, it was time to get shit poppin’.
Ant D got out, walked into the brightly lit lobby and approached the clerk who was behind the desk. The middle aged, red necked woman didn’t approve of his presence, but he was a potential customer so she hid her bigotry behind a smile that was as artificial as her nose and breasts. “Welcome to the Hilton, sir, how may I help you?”
“I want the best room y’all got.”
“Well sir, we have a lot of beautiful rooms. Could you be a little more specific?”
“I want a room with a large bed, a livin’ room, a sauna, and a nice view of the city.”
“Alright, that would be a presidential suite. We charge five hundred dollars a night for that room, sir,” the clerk said, the tone of her voice implying that she didn’t believe he could afford such an expense. “Maybe you’d like something a little more in your price range.”
“Naw, I’ll take the suite,” Ant D replied. He peeled five crisp hundreds from a stack and handed it to the woman, who hid her shock with yet another plastic smile. She took down information from his driver’s license, and then gave him a room keycard.
“I hope you enjoy your stay at the Hilton, sir. If you need anything else, please feel free to call down to the front desk and ask for assistance.”
As Ant D walked back across the lobby, she kept that fake ass smile plastered on her face and mumbled, “Damn drug dealers.”
Back outside, Ant D told everybody that he’d gotten a Presidential Suite. The seven exotic dancers piled out of the Escalade, along with Mike, who was so drunk he almost fell on his face. The entourage walked through the lobby as Ant D led the way to the elevator.
Once inside the suite, Strawberry strutted over to the large stereo system, placed a CD in it, and pressed play. The sound of an old school R.Kelly song came out of the speakers:
“Sit down on the couch, take ya shoes off - Let me rub ya’ body before I tear it off. Ya’ homey lover friend is ready to flex - Girl fleeeeeex, time to have sex. Let’s stop right here and work our way around - I won’t stop until I hear that ooh aah sound. Don’t front you know – about the rodeo show…”
All of the women began to get undressed and dance seductively, while Ant D and Mike sat on the plush leather sofa enjoying the view. They popped a few of the bottles of champagne they had ordered.
But before I go any further, I gotta describe the other five dancers who had come along with Diamond and Strawberry. These weren’t just everyday chicken head, bird ass bitches that you found in them hole in the wall strip clubs. All of these bitches were official.
First there was Angel, a short, thick, Puerto Rican mami with naturally curly hair, and a face that niggas would die - or kill for. Angel was twenty-two, and a certified freak with a butterfly wing tattooed on each ass cheek. Whenever she was in the club and made it clap, it appeared as if the butterfly was actually flying! That skill often got her showered with currency. Niggas loved that shit! Angel had a group of regular patrons who were seriously obsessed with her. They’d fuck a nigga up over her. What made it so crazy was the fact that not one of them was even fucking her!
Next up was Chocolate, who got her stage name from the smooth dark complexion of her skin. Chocolate had large titties, and an ass like Serena Williams that jiggled and bounced whenever she did her little fuck walk. She had starred in a few porn videos, and had even been passed around like a blunt on the set of a few rappers’ videos.
Then there was Obsession and Chanel, who were best friends but lied and told everybody that they were sisters. Obsession and Chanel were both light skinned, and had long, naturally wavy hair. Neither one had an ass worth going crazy about, but they had nice little bubbles for their frames. They both also had rings in their tongues, navels, and clits. And for the right price, they had no problem letting you see all three of them.
Last but not least, there was Anna, one of the few white girls working at Platinum Plus. Anna was raised down in Miami, in one of the worst sections of Dade County. So she was at ease with being around Black people. In fact, both of her baby’s father’s were Black. White men who came to the club often asked her, in private of course, what she saw in the Black men that she dated. Anna would simply reply that Black men’s dicks were bigger, then sit back and laugh to herself as the White men turned crimson with embarrassment.
Mike, who by now was fully aroused, got up from the couch and grabbed Chocolate, Angel, and Diamond by their hands. He led the three of them to the master bedroom. Ant D stayed in the large plush living room with Obsession, Chanel, Strawberry, and Anna.
Once in the bedroom, Mike took his clothes off and lay down on the bed. The girls, who were now completely naked also, followed his lead. They got on the bed with him, ready to please. Chocolate grabbed Mike’s stiff dick and kissed it affectionately, making loud smacking sounds. Angel joined in, and soon they were both slobbering all over his dick and balls, soaking his hard on with their wet, sticky saliva. Whenever he was in one’s mouth, the other would alternate and take his balls in her mouth and start humming on them. That trick sent vibrations of pleasure throughout his body.
Diamond felt left out of the action so she started playing with Angel’s pussy while she and Chocolate took turns pleasuring Mike. They were giving him the best head he’d ever experienced in his young life.