Smoke and Mirrors (46 page)

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to give me what I ask for,
every
damn week, or I’m going to put out hits on all your whores. I’ll put cash over their heads. On top of that, I will get Smoke’s ass, too. He’s a slippery fucker; he got the damn cops eating out the palm of his lily-white hand.” He shrugged. “But I suppose white mothafuckas can do that, huh? He do the same exact shit we do, but he get away with it because he’s white, and they leave his ass alone. That mothafucka ain’t been arrested since 2-Pac was alive!” He laughed mirthlessly.

“He was a young child when 2-Pac was alive.” She grimaced. “How could he have been arrested? Stealing bubblegum?”

“Shut up, bitch! That’s the shit I could never stand about you…all that fuckin’ lip. You the only bitch I know who got fucked for cash, then turned around and tried to act like you better than every-fuckin’-body! Now you got that big ass white boy plowin’ your back out, and you think you a damn goddess or some shit! Let a mothafucka like me live in a big ass house in the suburbs like
his
ass, have a ho house and a bunch of money, I’d be investigated and thrown in prison so long, I’d be eighty before it was even
considered
for me to see the light of day. I bet I’ve been giving that fucker too much credit. He probably ain’t packin’, just like the rest of these white boys. You like that little white dick wigglin’ up in ya, bitch?”

“It’s not little. Far from it… And yes.” She smirked. “I like it a whole damn lot.” She’d had it. Pimps for the most part were all the same. If she was going to die tonight, he’d get no satisfaction out of seeing her sweat. No, she wouldn’t play by his rules.

He bit into his lip and stared at her crotch.

“You uppity bitch…” His tone grew evil, matching his malevolent expression. “Heard you don’t sell your pussy no more, ain’t sold it in years. Heard you think you better than your own whores. You ain’t shit, Paris. Now that this white mothafucka show you a little attention, you really think you doin’ big thangs, huh?! He pulled your collar, showed you a thing or two. I gotta give it to Smokey the big white bear.” He nodded, his voice suddenly turning friendly…the man surely must’ve been psychotic and battling some personality disorder. “For the most part, he’s a smart fucker, ’cept when it comes to you. I can’t deny that. Hell, a lot of mothafuckas out here have learned from him. He sees opportunities and exploits them to the max. He definitely got some pimp blood, that’s for sure. Smoke has just lost his way, is all. He let some pussy blind him. … What you so quiet for, bitch?!” he screamed, spit spewing out of his mouth as his rage returned.

“You always got something smart to say, always running ya goddamn mouth, and now, you just silent as fuck!” He laughed. “Look at you in that cute little dress; don’t you just look like a corporate star or something?” he taunted. “I should fuck the
shit
outta you right here, right now…show you how a
real
pimp gets down!”

Acting on instinct, she clamped her thighs together, resolved in her mind that she’d claw, bite, spit, punch and knee the man, fight for her damn life before she’d allow him to take her dignity away from her.

“You don’t get the pleasure right now, ho. I’d like to, but we got more important business to deal with. First, you are going to give me some money
tonight
. Secondly, you will come to my place every week and give me more. If I have to hunt you down, then one of your or Smoke’s bitches will get shot. No questions asked. Now try me if you want to, but I know you gotta soft spot for those whores under your roof. I suggest you not test me, or the next time you see one, she’ll be in the county morgue. You know I’ve killed before, Paris, and I’ll do it again…”

And he was right. Royal had been in prison years earlier for manslaughter, but everyone knew the shit had been calculated and planned. He’d murdered another pimp over a dispute regarding a drug deal gone bad. Not only that, there were rumors of the man having more than just that one homicide under his belt. It included missing prostitutes never to be seen again, and one john who decided to test him.

Suddenly, he stood and stretched, as if he’d been in a long slumber.

“Go. Get. My. Money!”

She stood from her seat and glared at him.

“Are you hard of hearin’, ho?! Do I need to repeat the shit with a British accent so that your fake, wannabe sophisticated ass can understand? You stuck up bitch! Let’s go! Now!”

She stumbled forward and entered her office with him hot on her trail. In a closet to the right sat her office supplies, as well as her safe. He pushed her down, knocking her to her knees before it, as if she were about to pray to the damn thing, ask it for forgiveness for what was about to happen.

“You are in a perfect position to slob my mothafuckin’ knob. Can you still make a man feel like he’s died and gone to heaven with your tongue, bitch? Your reputation is like AIDS. That shit last forever.”

Ignoring his jibes, she wrapped her fingers around the dial and unlocked the thing. Inside was a wooden padlocked box with all of the jewelry Smoke had given her since the day he started heavily pursuing her—including her beloved collar. On the small shelves, she had stacks of money and rubber banded receipts. Her purse contained the latest deposits; she prayed he wouldn’t ask for those, too.

“Well fuuuuuck me! Whew!” The man salivated at all the cash inside. “That’s gotta be at least $100,000! Goddamn! Slide me $50,000, bitch… See, I’m bein’ nice by only taking half.”

“$50,000!” She looked at him over her shoulder, but came in direct eye contact with the muzzle of his gun. She swallowed harshly. “Royal, this accumulative earnings, I can’t give you $50,000 every week because we don’t make that!”

“Bitch, I’m not playing with you. Give me $50,000 right mothafuckin’ now!” Her fingers slightly quaked as she reached for ten wads of cash, turned to him, and placed them into his free hand. “I’m only lettin’ you keep the other half so that Smoke doesn’t get suspicious. Gotta keep them hos paid… Now close that damn thing and get up.”

She got to her feet.

“Every week, I expect payment. Now, being the understanding man that I am, I am going to cut you some slack. I know money sometimes don’t come in the same every week. We run an unpredictable business. So this is what we’ll do: Every Wednesday, you will give me $20,000 and then a double payment in sixty-day increments. In other words, on the last Wednesday of a two-month period, I will receive $40,000. Now, don’t worry. This won’t go on forever. After a year or two, I’ll cut you loose, but for right now, I want a piece of what you’re cookin’. I know you’re doing the deposits, so this shouldn’t be an issue as long as your whores get paid and Smoke gets his cut but being the businessman he is, there is no doubt he takes it off the top.”

“Smoke likes to see the statements, Royal. He’ll want to know where the money is going.” She crossed her arms.

“Oh, I’ve already thought about that, too, baby. You will need to make
above
what you’re makin’ now. You’re going to take my cut out of this shit; my shit won’t even be on record! You better have those whores of yours humpin’! No more vacations, no more fancy gifts ’nd shit for them, just out there humpin’, like they’re supposed to. Snow White, I mean, Smoke Dawg don’t have to know a goddamn thing. You just keep doing what you’re doing with him, and doing what you’re doing with me. I don’t care about how you have to get it, you just
get
it, and if you have to sell your own ass too, then all I can say is, ‘Welcome back, bitch.’”

Paris believed she’d fallen head first inside of some bizarre nightmare and would never wake up. Before long, he was walking her back to her front door, down to his car, the gun pointed firmly into her back. He pulled off in a hurry, his loot in hand, tires screeching all the way as he dug trenches in part of her lush lawn. She stood there, staring at the empty space long after he was gone. She wanted to fall to her damn knees, to wail and lose her mind, but she pushed forward. Re-entering her home, she immediately set the alarm again, while anger got the best of her. The bastard’s cheap cologne lingered in her home, making her nauseous, sea sick from all the watery bullshit he was saying. He’d warned her to keep her mouth shut, threatened to kill her girls, and she was certain he meant business. On top of that, what would happen to Smoke if she decided to let her loose lips sink the whole damn ship?

She undressed and got in the shower, her body trembling with fury, bewilderment, and a whole lot more.

I have to come up with something; I have to find a way out of this!

But how?!

Her ratting Royal out could be the worst mistake of her life. The money didn’t mean shit. He had the fifty grand; that was now over with. No, lives were at stake, which was far more important. She just needed some time. If she could get a few moments to herself, maybe she could figure it all out, make sense of it and devise a plan. She’d been doing that very thing her whole life. She didn’t fold or bow down under pressure. Rather, she stood taller…

She squeezed her piña colada scented shower gel into her body sponge and rubbed her skin. Soap suds glided down her breasts. The water was hot, but not hot enough. She needed to be purged, cleaned from top to bottom, have a brand new, fresh start. Royal wanted to extort money, blackmail her, and she didn’t believe for one moment he would ever pull the plug on such an arrangement! With a cash cow like her, he’d never have to worry about running a stable again. That $50,000 was all he probably made in six months, if that, on his own. Now he’d hit the jackpot.

She stepped out the shower, and her tongue grew thick as she tasted the bitter emotions of worry and wrath. When she entered her bedroom, she took a look at her cellphone and saw a missed call from Smoke. Not a day went past when she didn’t light up to see his call; this day however, broke the pattern. She picked it up and played the voicemail he’d left:

Hey Pussycat, I was checking to make sure you got home safely. I called your spot but they said you’d already left. You know I don’t like you leaving this late when I’m not there to go home with you, or at least have Frank or somebody escort you. You’re hard headed though.” He chuckled. “Anyway baby, you’re probably asleep right now but just in case you aren’t, I want you to imagine me lying beside you, my arms around you, holding your beautiful, sexy body close. Then I want you to imagine me inside of you, moving, your rhythm matching mine as we ride one another, our bodies in sync… I miss you so much, Paris. I’ll be back in town tomorrow. I want to see you soon, so carve me out some time. If you get this message in the next hour or so, send me a text or call back. I love you, beautiful. Sweet dreams…

*

It had been
thirty-two hours since Smoke had heard from Paris. In their entire time of officially being a couple, the woman had
never
gone more than a few hours without returning his calls. When he stopped by her brothel that morning, the girls told him they didn’t know where she was, but she’d been calling periodically. He’d just gotten back in town from Las Vegas. There was a lucrative opportunity he needed to check into regarding the joint purchasing of a small casino with several other investors, as well as another situation he wanted to handle—but he couldn’t share his good news about his prospects, because Paris was nowhere to be found. What he
did
know, though, she’d told her girls she had some business to take care of, and would be in touch.

That’s it. I’m going to her damn house.

With his luggage still packed in the back of his car, he drove to Paris’ house as fast as the damn tires could spin. A sense of foreboding overcame him along the way, something he couldn’t shake or explain. He hated that feeling, because he knew he was seldom wrong when it took a hold of his gut, and squeezed it tight. When he arrived at her place, stood before the large white front door, he found himself hesitating to knock. Fear struck him, an odd sensation. What if he discovered something he simply couldn’t stand or control?

Bracing himself, he rang the bell, but no one answered. He knew his woman was there; several lights were on in her house. Paris only kept one light on when she was away, the parlor one. He knocked again, then slid his cellphone out of his pocket, and gave her a call.

“Paris, open this damn door.” He looked around, shuffled about and tried to ignore the dread inside him. “I’m not leaving until you come to this door and if you don’t, I will find a way inside without your permission. You want me to break your window? I will do it, and you
know
I will! Here is your voicemail again, and your box is probably about to fill up. You’ve got sixty seconds.” He ended the call and waited. After a few moments, the door clicked and there she stood in a white silk robe, her face void of make-up and what appeared to be reddened eyes from either lack of sleep, or a hard ass couple of nights.

She said nothing, but moved out of his way to let him inside.

He leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, and looked at her for a long while. A cursory look around showed no signs of other human presence.