Brick (Double Dippin') (8 page)

The moment the chain was slid off, Brick stepped forward and shoved the door open, eager to begin his interrogation session.

Anya’s physical appearance took Brick off-guard. He’d expected Cash Money’s girl to have the rough look of a hardened prostitute. At the least, he assumed she’d be a twitching and fidgety, bone-thin crack whore. But Anya didn’t look anything like the stereotypes. Though she had a wrinkled bandana tied around her head, she was clearly a beauty. Her glistening brown skin was scrubbed clean—free of makeup. It was hard to ignore her beautiful dark brown eyes accentuated with natural, thick eyelashes curled at the ends. Cut-off jeans revealed shapely legs and a cheap pair of rubber flip-flops exposed pretty feet and toes that glimmered with green nail polish.

Anya was a dime, Brick observed. But her good looks didn’t
distract him. He knew from years of dealing with Misty, larcenous females that were beautifully packaged were often more dangerous than the unattractive ones.

Anya flinched when she noticed the thick welts on Cash Money’s neck. “What happened to your neck, C?”

“Keep your mouth shut, ho. I’m asking the questions,” Brick said gruffly. The room was miserably hot and stuffy, intensifying Brick’s fury.

“Wh-what’s going on, C?” There was raw fear in Anya’s dark eyes.

“It’s all good, baby. He just wanna ask you—”

Brick slammed the door and locked it, cutting off Cash Money’s weak explanation.

“It’s hot in here,” Cash Money balked as he fanned himself with his hand.

Brick snorted. “It’s ’bout to get hotter in this bitch if I don’t get some answers.”

“Why you gotta hold us hostage in a room that ain’t got no AC?”

“We’re hostages?” Anya’s voice came out in a panicked whisper. Realizing the gravity of the situation, she covered her mouth with her palm. Her fear-filled eyes latched onto Cash Money’s face.

“Whatchu staring at him for—he can’t help you,” Brick snapped. Proving his point, Brick smacked Cash Money upside the head.

“Damn! Whatchu hit me for? I ain’t even do nothing,” Cash Money complained.

“Go sit yourself down over there.” Brick pointed to the bed.

Cash Money lumbered over to the bed and dropped down with a heavy sigh. “All this physical violence ain’t even necessary, man.”

“Turn that loud fucking TV down so I can hear myself think,”
Brick told Anya. “Then take a seat next to your partner in crime.”

She raised her brows in confusion.

Focused on getting the truth, Brick didn’t buy into her act of innocence. “You got wax in your ears or something? Do what I said and then sit yo’ ass down next to your man.”

Anya pointed the remote and turned down the volume, but she remained standing, her arms folded stubbornly. “He’s not my man; we’re friends. And I’m not sitting anywhere until you tell me what this is about.”

Brick laughed; the sound held a malicious ring. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sit your lil’ ass down right now.” He raised a fist. “One blow to your dome, and you’ll be in a coma, like Misty.”

Anya scurried over to the bed and sat down. She scooted close to Cash Money. “Who’s Misty? And what does she have to do with me?” she asked, holding up her hands in confusion.

The girl was playing dumb. Brick squinted menacingly at Anya. “Stop bullshitting. When was the last time you saw Misty?” Brick looked down at Anya’s feet.

Perplexed, Anya’s eyes followed Brick’s gaze.

With his eyes on her feet, Brick mumbled, “You better start talking, ho. It’ll be a shame if I have to scatter those pretty lil’ toes of yours all over this room.”

Anya gasped and reflexively yanked her feet backward. She shot a horrified look at Cash Money. “What the hell is going on?” she whispered.

In the sweltering hotel room, there was the smell of fear and sweat.

“I don’t know anyone named Misty,” Anya said.

“I already told you Anya don’t know nothing,” Cash Money chimed in.

Brick lunged toward Cash Money. “Was I talking to you?”

“Nah, but—”

“Why you run your mouth so much?” Brick slapped both sides of Cash Money’s face.

“Ow! Damn! I ain’t saying nothing else.”

After witnessing Cash Money getting bitch-slapped, Anya no longer considered him a protector. She edged away from the skinny dude and turned pleading eyes in Brick’s direction. “Listen, I’m telling the truth. I really don’t know anyone named Misty. I swear. I’ve only known C for a few weeks.”

Brick snorted. “All it took was a few weeks for to start selling ass for this punk?”

“Whaaat?”

“Your man,
Cash Money
, told me that you’re out there hustling your body while he lies back in the hotel, blazing up. That’s pimpin’, isn’t it?”

She shot a hard look at Cash Money. “Why would you lie on me like that? You know damn well I’m not a prostitute.”

Cash Money shook his head, remaining mute. With his thumb and index finger, he motioned that his lips were zipped, conveniently following Brick’s instructions to keep his mouth shut.

Disgusted, Anya returned her attention to Brick. “Look, I’m going through something. A financial setback. And um…when my money got low, I moved here. I met C here at the hotel. I
thought
he had my back!” She rolled her eyes at Cash Money.

Brick looked at Cash Money. “Why’d you tell me that your girl was tricking?”

Cash Money shrugged.

“Just lying for the sake of lying, huh?” Brick shook his head.

“I’m not his girl, either,” Anya said.

Brick lifted a brow.

“Since we were both going through hard times, we decided to share a room…to cut back on the expenses. We’re roommates; that’s it.”

Brick chuckled. “How do you feel about this nut telling me he’s your pimp?”

Anger flared in her eyes. “I’m furious.”

Brick cast a disdainful look at Cash Money. “If you lied about being a pimp, you probably lied about Misty. I bet you’re the person who left her for dead.”

Lips sealed together, Cash Money shook his head vehemently.

“Talk, mufucka!” Brick yanked Cash Money’s lightweight body off the bed and slammed him to the floor. The unexpected violence caused Anya to let out a little yelp of fear.

Next, Brick placed a boot on Cash Money’s scrawny chest, securing him to the floor.

“You crossed the line with me when you brought your skinny ass to my wife’s hospital room. Sitting up in there like you were part of the family.”

“Misty invited me,” Cash Money said in a raspy voice.

“Whatever. I didn’t like you back then, and I don’t like you now. So just imagine how much pleasure I’ma have when I start pulling out your toenails with pliers. I’ll use some chicken wire to snap off your fingers.” Brick grinned at Cash Money.

Anya grimaced.

Cash Money began to whine. “I don’t know nothing, man. For real, dog.”

“You know
something;
you’re just not telling me. It’s cool, though. One way or another, I’ma get the truth out of you.”

“Okay, I’m trying to think.” Cash Money tapped his forehead as if to speed up his thought processes.

“I want the names of Misty’s clients, her female associates, male hoes, and her dicks on the side. I want the names of anybody she was dealing with—especially women.”

“Misty didn’t have any female friends,” Cash Money said.

“What about enemies?”

“She had too many enemies to count.”

“Name names, mufucka,” Brick bellowed.

“Uh, she had beef with Baad B…you know, over Spydah.”

Anya peered at Brick and Cash Money with great interest when she recognized the names of two famous rappers.

“I know about Baad B. What other females was Misty beefing with?”

Cash Money shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

Brick kicked Cash Money in the kidney. “Any thoughts?”

“Ugh!” Cash Money grabbed his side and rocked for a few moments. “Misty ain’t really deal with females. I don’t have any reason to lie about that.”

Dude was telling the truth. Misty didn’t like kicking it with females. She’d always preferred the company of dudes. Misty
rarely let any woman get close. Brick took his boot off Cash Money’s chest.

Using another tactic, he turned into the good cop and extended his hand, helping Cash Money to his feet. Maybe a little human kindness would put the little featherweight at-ease.

“You’re right, man,” Brick said in a friendly tone. “Misty didn’t deal with females on a personal level. Do you think one of her workers, or maybe one of her clients, sent a broad to do his dirty work?”

“It’s possible,” Cash Money agreed as he dusted Brick’s boot prints off his shirt. “Misty had some problems with this tranny dude she met when she was in Miami. The tranny was involved with Smash Hitz.”

“Smash Hitz!” Anya whispered the megastar’s name with awe. Learning the famous rapper was possibly entangled in an affair with a transvestite caused Anya’s eyes to widen.

Brick wasn’t surprised to learn Smash Hitz dug trannies. Misty only dealt with mufuckas that were into freak shit. Deep in thought, he folded his arms, and allowed his thoughts to roam.
A transvestite!
It all made sense now. Even though Misty had insisted a woman had hurt her, Brick had found it hard to believe a female had the heart, or the strength, for the kind of brute force that had paralyzed her and crushed her face.

Smash Hitz’ name kept popping up. Being that Misty knew the man’s dirty little secret, the rapper was suspect. Brick needed some contact information on Smash Hitz. A phone number would be good for starters. Things were starting to make sense. Misty was on her way to see Smash Hitz and, out of the blue, a female tried to kill her.

Now Brick realized the perpetrator wasn’t an ordinary female; it was a female impersonator. Whoever that transvestite mufucka was, he and Smash Hitz were both as good as dead!

“What happened to Misty’s client list?” Brick asked Cash Money in a tone much calmer than he felt.

“She kept her records on her laptop.”

Misty’s crib and all the contents had been immediately confiscated by the company that owned the property. That company was based in Miami. Brick figured that Smash Hitz probably owned Misty’s crib, too. The realtor claimed that Misty had been negligent in the monthly payments on the mini-mansion she’d been leasing. At the time, Brick and Thomasina were so concerned about Misty’s health, salvaging her personal belongings had been the furthest thing from their minds.

“Do you know the tranny’s name?” Brick asked.

“Nah. All Misty told me was the tranny was pissed off when Smash refused to take her…him…or whatever, out in public. Misty said the tranny threw a fit and wanted to fight when she found out that Smash was taking Misty to the Grammys.”

Brick nodded solemnly and stroked his chin as he mentally planned a trip to Miami.

Smash had a security team surrounding him at all times. Still, the man was only human—capable of human error. And the moment he slipped up, Brick planned to be there, spazzin’ on his ass. The beat down he planned for Smash Hitz would persuade the man to eagerly give up the name and location of his transvestite bitch.

Brick shook his head, imagining all the bodies he’d have to drop and the long trail of bloodshed that would ultimately lead him to the jealous transvestite that had fucked up Misty’s life.

L
icking my wounds, I drag myself to Evette’s front door, planning to smoke my reefer once I get behind closed doors. I check my pockets, and quickly realize my ten-dollar bag of weed is gone.

They got me for my weed, my Top paper, my lighter—everything. Those niggas was off they rockers, but I’m somewhat comforted by the fact they didn’t get the money tucked inside the bottom of my sock.

But I’m still feeling irate over getting my ass whooped, and getting clipped for my reefer. Young bucks nowadays take shit to the extreme. They real extra with their shenanigans.

I could press the doorbell like a civilized person, but after the brutal attack I endured, acting civilized is out of the question.