Authors: Allison Hobbs
T
heo was drinking on the job again. Cochise had smelled it on his breath, but he’d pretended not to notice. Cochise wrapped his large hands around the handle of the automatic floor scrubber and pushed the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound machine over the tiled fifth-floor corridor with ease. He reminded himself that Theo’s drinking was none of his business. If the boss didn’t care, why should he give a fuck? It wasn’t like he was paid extra money to supervise while Mr. Wheeler was laying up in a hotel somewhere or, if the gossip was true, chillin’ in the apartment he had hooked up for Onika. Shit, the way things had been going down lately, Cochise would be lucky to get paid the regular wages Mr. Wheeler owed him.
“Damn, I forgot to bring the payment vouchers,” Mr. Wheeler had told the three-man work crew when he’d dropped them off at the site in Germantown. “I’ll take care of you fellas tomorrow,” he assured them. It was the second time that week he’d claimed to have forgotten the vouchers. The same thing had happened the week before. The workers didn’t get their cash stipend if they didn’t turn the pay vouchers in to the house manager at the Recovery House.
“Oh yeah,” Mr. Wheeler said, pressing his fingers against his
forehead in thought. “Something’s come up.” He solemnly shook his head, his expression grave. “I’ve got a little problem, have to make a quick run. I’m gonna need you guys to handle things while I’m gone. I should be back in a couple of hours.”
Mr. Wheeler knew damn well that the only problem his married ass had was finding time to spend with his new jump-off. Onika no longer bothered to show up for work, but Cochise would bet a month’s salary that Mr. Wheeler was making sure she got her pay vouchers.
Cochise shook his head. Mr. Wheeler should be ashamed of himself—knocking boots with a troubled young girl he was supposed to be helping.
“Cochise! Yo, man, you better come downstairs.”
Cochise bristled at the sound of Theo’s slurred voice. A jolt of annoyance ran through him as he caught a whiff of the smell of cheap liquor that permeated the corridor.
With restrained anger, Cochise looked over his shoulder. Theo could hardly stand up straight. No way could he walk a straight line or pass a Breathalyzer test if he had to. Cochise turned around and faced Theo. “Man, you’re drunk as shit. Why you fuckin’ yourself up like this? You tryin’ to get fired?”
“I ain’t gon’ lie, man. I had a little taste, but I can hold my liquor; I’m not intoxicated,” Theo told Cochise, speaking slowly, as he tried to control his slurred speech.
“What’s going on downstairs?” Cochise asked, unable to hide his irritation at being called away from his work to give assistance to someone who had created a mess due to his drunkenness. He blew out an exasperated breath. Mr. Wheeler didn’t pay him enough to clean up behind drunk-ass Theo. Mr. Wheeler was going to have to get his shit together and handle the business he
was contracted to handle or Cochise was going to be looking for another job real soon.
“It ain’t me, man. It’s old man Faison. He’s breathing real hard, acting like he’s about to have a heart attack or something.”
“Oh, damn!” Cochise let go of the handles of the automatic scrubber and ran toward the stairwell. Staggering, Theo trailed behind him. His boots pounded against the concrete stairs as Cochise took them two at a time. He made it to the ground floor in less than two minutes. When he passed through the door that opened into the lobby, a cold chill ran down his spine. He was greeted by the foreboding sight of boots with the toes pointed upward. Mr. Faison lay prone in the center of the carpeted floor of the lobby.
“He dead?” Theo asked in a whisper.
Kneeling beside Mr. Faison, Cochise searched for a pulse. “He’s alive but he’s gonna need an ambulance.”
“Mr. Faison! Get up, man. Mr. Faison!” Theo shouted.
“Man, stop all that screaming and call fuckin’ 911.” Cochise lifted Mr. Faison’s head from the floor. He’d heard about people choking on their own saliva and hoped to keep his co-worker from asphyxiating while they waited for help.
“I ain’t got no cell phone, Cochise.”
“Stop playin’, Theo. Use one of the office phones.”
“Don’t you know CPR or something? I don’t think Mr. Wheeler would want—”
“Fuck that pussy,” Cochise bellowed. Deciding to make the call himself, he rested Mr. Faison’s head on the floor.
When his head touched the cool tiled floor, Mr. Faison’s eyes popped open. With a questioning expression, he looked from Cochise to Theo. “What happened?”
“You passed out,” Theo informed him.
Cochise nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, we thought you was dead, man,” Theo continued. “I was just getting ready to call 911.”
“I’m all right,” Mr. Faison said, though he was breathing hard and struggling to sit upright.
“Naw, you ain’t all right. Nobody passes out for nothing. You need to get checked out at the hospital,” Cochise said firmly.
“It’s my blood sugar, man. I got diabetes. I’ll be all right after I get my prescription refilled.”
Cochise gave the older man a long, incredulous look. “Then get your shit refilled. Whatchu tryin’ to do—kill yourself?”
“No, man. It ain’t that,” Mr. Faison said, reaching out for Cochise to give him a hand. “The medical coverage we got only pays for about two weeks’ worth of pills. I gotta come outta pocket to get the pills for the rest of the month.”
Quietly seething, Cochise pulled Mr. Faison to his feet. It was time to confront Mr. Wheeler. That slimy bastard was holding back pay from a man who needed money to pay for his medicine. It wasn’t right.
“Get off your feet, man. Fall back. Me and Theo can finish up the lobby for you.”
“Say what?” Theo asked, face contorted in disagreement.
Cochise glared at Theo and then pointed to the sofa in the reception area. “Rest yourself over there, Mr. Faison. Like I said, me and Theo gotchu.”
A wobbly Mr. Faison flopped down on the sofa and collapsed against the cushion.
“Man, why you volunteer my services? I ain’t getting paid to do no extra work,” Theo grumbled as he put a fresh plastic liner in the wastebasket.
“Don’t worry. We gon’ get our money and a little something extra for our trouble. Mr. Wheeler might be taking me for a chump, but trust me, he don’t wanna see my bad side,” Cochise said, his voice going down an octave.
An hour after the shift ended, there was no sign of Mr. Wheeler. Feeling played by his boss, Cochise quietly seethed while Theo drank openly from a flask.
“I just want to get back to the House so I can lie down,” Mr. Faison commented in a weak raspy voice as he struggled to lift himself from a reclined position on the sofa.
Theo threw his head back and took a long, defiant swig from the flask, quickly downing the liquor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nudged his head toward Mr. Faison. “That man is sick as a dog and the boss got us waiting. It was bad enough that the nigga forgot our pay vouchers, but now he got us stuck all the way the fuck up here in Philly.”
“Don’t worry about getting back to Chester. I got enough money for the bus ride.”
“Bus ride! Man, it’s probably gonna take about three or four buses to get from here to Chester,” Theo complained.
Cochise nodded. “You right.” He slid Theo a twenty. “That should be enough to get you and Mr. Faison back to the House. I’ll get at y’all later on tonight. I’m gonna hang around here for a minute. You know…look after the equipment ’til the boss gets back. And then I’m gonna give him a few choice words.” Cochise’s lips curled into a sneer. “There won’t be nothing nice coming outta my mouth.” His tone was low and menacing.
“C
an I get a smile?” Matt asked Onika after relinquishing his credit card to the sales associate at Vanity Furniture Company.
“Hell no!” Onika turned her nose up as if Matt were stinking up the furniture showroom. “Why you gotta be so damn cheap all the time?”
“Cheap? I just forked over forty-six hundred dollars.”
“So what,” she snarled. “The man told you he could have the furniture delivered tomorrow morning if you paid a little bit extra.”
“Onika, why should I cough up almost three hundred dollars extra when I own a van and have access to a work crew who can deliver the furniture?” Matt asked, trying to appeal to Onika’s common sense. “Look, baby. I’ll take Cochise and the boys straight to the furniture store when I pick them up tomorrow. We’ll get all the furniture in here before I take them to the work site.”
Giving Matt a hand flip, Onika snarled, “I’m not tryna hear that shit.” Rotating her neck, she continued, “I’m not lettin’ your raunchy workers put their hands on my new furniture. I want my shit delivered and set up by professionals.” Onika gave a heavy sigh, folded her arms defiantly, and rolled her eyes at Matt. “I can just see trifling-ass Theo and sick old Mr. Faison dropping
my shit and fucking it up. And that hateful Cochise…” Onika sucked her teeth. “That evil-ass, Indian-looking mufucka would probably damage my nice furniture just for the hell of it. Fuck you, Mr. Wheeler, and fuck your work crew,” Onika said loudly, causing customers and sales associates to rear back in shock.
“Lower your voice, sweetheart,” Matt said in a placating tone.
“Fuck you,” she shouted with a nasty grimace in an even louder voice. “Take me home, asshole. I don’t need your stingy ass. I can get my own goddamn furniture.”
Though Onika was lanky with no hips or behind to speak of, it didn’t matter to Matt. She was the sexiest woman he had ever encountered. Inexplicably, her anger and her insulting profanity made his small dick lengthen to what felt like at least two more inches as it hardened inside his pants. Without another word, Matt gave Onika a smile of concession. Resignedly, he walked over to the sales counter. “Listen, go ahead and add that delivery charge. My, uh, wife wants to get the furniture delivered tomorrow.” Matt and the sales associate gave Onika strained smiles.
Onika put her hand on her hip and glared at the two men. “What y’all lookin’ at me for? Y’all need to hurry up and run that credit card. I’m not tryin’ to stand around here all day. I got shit to do.” She shifted impatiently from one foot to the other and blew out several furious bursts of air.
Matt gave the sales associate an apologetic smile. “Could you speed it up a little, buddy? She’s not feeling well. I…uh, have to get her home.”
“Sure, no problem.” The salesman, apparently unwilling to risk losing the sale, obliged with a widened grin and quickly punched the additional figures into the computer.
Matt revved the engine happily. He’d bought Onika everything she’d asked for and despite the fact that she was sitting next to him looking unpleasant and grumpy, he was sure that when they got back to her apartment, his skillful tongue could lick her into a better mood.
Five minutes after leaving the Claymont, Delaware, mall, they passed the WELCOME TO PENNSYLVANIA sign. Matt smiled to himself. They’d be in Chester soon. After splurging on furniture, he figured he’d earned the right to slip off her jeans and wrap his lips around her tasty clit the moment they stepped inside the apartment.
Onika’s cell chimed. “Whaddup?” she barked, holding the handset to her ear. She listened briefly and then turned toward Matt. “Yo, why ain’t you get me a Bluetooth. It’s annoying holding this thing up to my ear,” she complained.
“I’ll get you one,” Matt sadly obliged.
“So, what’s the deal?” she asked, returning to the conversation on the phone.
Matt could hear the urgent, high-pitched vocal tone of a female on the other end of the phone but he couldn’t make out what the woman was saying. His instincts told him that the caller’s dilemma didn’t bode well for him.
Onika snapped her phone shut. “Swing by the womens’ Recovery House.”
“What for?” he asked, shocked that she would want to go anywhere near that horribly crowded recovery place now that she had her own apartment.
Onika gritted on Matt for a few seconds before speaking. “Not
that it’s any of your business, but since you gotta be all up in my business, I have to make a quick stop and scoop up my girl, Puddin.”
Matt wrinkled his face in annoyance. “I don’t have time to provide a taxi service for your drug-addict friends. I have to get back to the job and make sure my crew is doing what they should.”
Onika’s face turned sour. “Screw you, asshole. You done lost your damn mind. How your old ass gon’ be complaining about giving one of my friends a damn ride?”
Matt winced. He’d gotten used to being called an asshole. He’d begun to consider it a term of endearment, but being called
old
stung, particularly when Onika had insisted that she didn’t consider him old.
“Onika, I’m still in my thirties. How can you call me old?” Matt asked, deeply wounded.
“Nigga, you pushing forty. I’m only twenty years old. As far as I’m concerned, your ass is old as dirt!”
“Why didn’t you admit your feelings in the beginning?” Matt wondered aloud in a pained, cracked voice.
“Yo, I’m not debating the issue. I’m through talkin’ to your dumb ass, so drive, nigga. Take me the fuck home. And after you drop me off, you can just keep it movin’, ’cause it’s gon’ be a snowy mufuckin’ day in July before I let you taste this good pussy again!”
In a panic, Matt blinked rapidly. Hooked on Onika’s womanly flavor, he had to honor her request if he wanted to continue lathering his lips with her nectar. “Okay, I’ll pick up your friend,” Matt said weakly, giving Onika a pained look.
“Aiight, then. Don’t be staring at my face. You better keep your eyes on the road while you driving, nigga.”
He quickly refocused his gaze. Worry crinkled his brow. He sure hoped Onika’s friend didn’t have to travel too far. He hadn’t planned on leaving his crew alone for more than an hour or two. Any thoughts of finally penetrating Onika flew out the window. For Matt to maintain an erection would require patience on Onika’s part, and she was clearly not feeling tolerant. Once again, Matt would have to jack himself off while dining between her legs.
Looking on the bright side, he thought about tomorrow. He was confident that after the furniture was delivered and set up, Onika would be in the right frame of mind to enjoy intercourse with him.
Pulling off I-95 at the Kerlin Street exit, Matt steered toward the Recovery House.