Smoke and Mirrors (48 page)

I see Smoke’s got a new whore…

“Hi, I’m here to speak to Smoke, please.”

The woman looked her up and down, as if to size her up.

“He’s not here. Can I let him know you stopped by?” Her brow arched.

Felicia turned to the side and sucked her teeth.

This bitch right here! I used to run this whole fuckin’ stable; she just met his ass and is tryna act like the head mothafucka in charge. And I know he hasn’t fucked her, so why is she actin’ so damn whipped for? I outta crack her damn head open!

“It’s urgent, and I’ve been trying to call him on his cell, but—”

Just then, out the corner of her eye, she spotted his blood red Lexus coming down the road. He rarely drove that damn thing, but she’d recognize the sleek beauty anywhere. The interior boasted blood red leather seats, too. Smoke had splurged on that car.

“Never mind, I see him…” she said, and rushed toward him as he parked. He got out and opened the passenger side door.

Paris.

Swallowing down a thick ball of jealousy and dry disdain, she continued towards him. It didn’t take long for him to see her. They locked eyes as his hand rested on the passenger side doorframe, helping his girlfriend onto her feet. Paris shot her a look before tossing her attention between the two of them.

“Smoke, I need to speak to you, please.”

He slowly closed the car door, looked down at Paris, and opened his mouth to speak, but the woman cut him off.

“I’ll go inside,” Paris offered, walking swiftly in a slate gray T-shirt and matching leggings, her hair pulled up in a sloppy ponytail and a look of complete exhaustion on her face. Smoke shifted a hand to the roof of the car, the keys glimmering in his palm. Sighing, he briefly looked away, then back at her. He squinted as the sun shined in his eyes…and yes, they were still as pure, blue and beautiful as fucking ever.

“Hi Felicia. What’s up?” he said coolly.

“A whole lot.” She drew closer to him until they stood face to face. “I’m not going to keep you, I’ve got shit to do, but I needed to tell you something.”

His eyes hooded and he stared at her a bit more intensely, as if all the wonderful memories they’d shared together were returning to him…but she highly doubted that.

Felicia, stop fantasizing!

“Okay.”

“You and Paris are in trouble. There is talk of you all being marked. I know of a planned robbery and some of these people would have no issue shooting and killing you. Word is spreading that you all have a lot of damn cash, and now the vultures are out. I can tell you who got this ball rolling.” She crossed her arms, determined to go through with her snitching. It was for the greater good, after all.

“So you know about Royal too, huh?” He grimaced and shook his head.

“Yes, but he is only one of your worries. I know the cause of the damn problem. Guess who set you all up? Paris’ whore, that bitch Carla.” She pointed to the house as if the ho were still living there. “After Paris fired her for choosing you, Carla got mad. Apparently she found out about some money you all have and got Royal’s crazy ass interested. That’s her new pimp; he was the only one that would probably take her ass because she’s been pretty much blackballed for some other shit she pulled. No one goes to Royal as a first choice.”

Smoke nodded in agreement, his face impassive. She knew the man well. The calmer he appeared in such situations, the more you knew he was about to…

Fuck. Someone. Up!

He gently tapped the top of the car with his knuckles and looked towards the sky, as if waiting for a plane to land or inspiration to strike. After a while, he turned back towards her.

“I needed this information. Thank you for letting me know, Felicia. I know it was hard for you…”

“It was.” She turned to walk away, then looked over her shoulder, “But I’ll
always
be your bottom bitch, and bottom bitches who have a good Daddy
stay
loyal to the day we mothafuckin’ die. Believe it!”

*

T
he adrenaline in
his body pumped like a racehorse on steroids going a hundred miles per hour. He’d hung up the phone with his Pussycat, assuring her everything would be okay. First, he had to take care of something he’d planned to do a few days earlier, but time and scheduling got in the way. Regardless, now was just as good a time as any. He pulled up to the row of partially dilapidated houses in Watts. Most people would be afraid to roll up in there at eleven in the evening, especially a big ass white guy that stuck out like a neon sign, but Smoke was so accustomed to being where he supposedly wasn’t welcomed, he rarely gave it a second thought. He stepped out of his car, and could feel the eyes upon him. Walking up to a little green house with a partially collapsed fence, he made his way to the front door. The odor of fried pork chops and cigarette smoke swarmed his nostrils as he stood there for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the damn door and sighed as he placed his hands on his hips.

A few moments later, he saw a light turn on. An older black man with a pot belly covered in a filthy white tank top moved the curtains a bit to the side, putting his globular head in view.

“Who are you? What do you want?” he questioned. “I ain’t do nothing. You look like the damn police!”

“I’m not the police, but I’ve got some money for you.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his freshly prepared one hundred dollar bill and waved it at the man, whose blood shot eyes grew shiny with excitement. Suddenly, he heard the locks being undone, and the door cracked open.

“What’s that for?” the guy asked suspiciously, getting a hold of himself.

“For a job well done. Without you, I would not have my sweetheart, so I wanted to pay it forward.”

The guy looked even more confused.

“I’ll tell you about it.” Smoke threw on a friendly smile. “You’re a matchmaker. I’ve got some great news for you.”

The man looked at the money once more, threw caution to the wind, and let him inside. Besides, he was white. White men couldn’t cause any harm, right? He’d seen that look in a man’s eyes before, the belief that a white guy was incapable of brawling and winning without a weapon. How very foolish…

The man’s eyes veered towards the pretty red thing parked on the street, then back at him. A smile creased the bastard’s greasy face. Smoke stepped over the threshold, and closed the door behind them.

“Have a seat.” The man pointed to a threadbare sable brown couch.

I wonder if that’s the same couch he watched my baby get raped on…

The anger within him grew so badly, he wanted to punch a damn hole in the dirty fucking wall, but first, in that fucker’s face. The place stunk, like mildewed sheets and rotting eggs combined. Now, the lingering scent of the pork chops, smoke and everything else stung his nose, made him want to puke. He focused, dragging himself out of that train of thought, and flashed a model-worthy grin. He held up the hundred-dollar bill, and snapped it.

“For less than this, you tried to sell a soul.”

“What are you talking about?” the man asked in a whisper.

“You must not get around as much, Troy. If you had your ear to the street, you would have already known who I was. I bet you knew or heard of my father, though.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as he took a good look at him, studying his features.

“Holy shit.” He cracked up laughing, exposing several missing teeth. “You look like, uh,” he stammered, snapping his fingers, “Brent, man! You must be Brent’s son! You must be Smoke!” He laughed raucously.

“In the flesh,” Smoke smirked as he threw up his hands and did a half spin.

“Oh shit, man…this is incredible. You uh tall mothafucka, like your dad.” He smiled cautiously. “I don’t get around there too often, but I sho’ nuff heard of you. I bet you got a gang of hos! Fine ass honeys!” He chuckled.

“Yeah.” Smoke nodded, his lips dipped and brows arched. “I do. All different flavors, too. I got Asian pussy, white pussy, Hispanic pussy, black pussy, even got a damn Eskimo and that bitch is
cold
!”

This caused the old man to roll into a fit of laughter, looking as if he may bust his own gut in the process.

“Yeah…hey baby.” He put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Someone that you trained in your very
own
special way came into my fold. She said she owes all that she knows to you…”

“Oh, really?” The man smiled proudly, as if he were up for some award, a pimp trophy to put on his wall or mantle.

“Yeah, she beautiful too, man. Real nice hourglass shape, lovely hair down to the middle of her back…soft lips, pussy so good, it makes a man like me wanna hang up his pimpin’ ways and fall asleep all day in that shit. Some
real
nice titties, too!” Smoke put his hands out, demonstrating two invisible globes. “And an ass that makes you wanna sink your teeth into it…finger lickin’ good.”

“Sound like a dime!” The man chuckled. “What’s her name, man? Jog my memory.”

“Bet. Her name is Paris…”

The smile slowly faded from the man’s face, and his thin, black lips twitched a bit.

“I ain’t uh, I ain’t seen Paris in years…”

“That’s true.” Smoke smirked and slowly nodded as he leisurely scratched his jaw. “But Paris sees
you
every damn evening in her nightmares. You see, Uncle Troy,”—Smoke looked down at the floor then back up at him—“That’s
my
woman.
I’m
the one she comes to when she has a problem,” he sneered, pointing to his chest. “Even when she doesn’t want to, because she is used to running her own show, she still realizes that I’m the one she needs to talk to when her heart hurts. Only problem is, Paris doesn’t really like talking about feelings too much. To her, feelings get you in trouble, and shit, I was the same way.” He laughed lightly as he placed his hand over his heart. “We happened to cross paths due to some business dealings. You obviously don’t know this, but Paris is one of the baddest, if not
thee
baddest Madam in all of L.A.”

He could see in the man’s face, he looked duly surprised.

“Yeah, you thought she was still hoing, right? No, Sir… She’s kickin’ ass, and most people don’t fuck with her, at least not anymore.” He shrugged. “Every now and again we encounter a flare up, but nothing we can’t handle. Matter of fact, we’re handling some shit right now, but she’s strong, she’ll survive. Too many people associate a person having a pussy for weakness. I did to some degree too, but no,” he said, shaking his head, “I’ve learned my lesson, my baby is a
fighter
. And she owes part of that to
you
.” He pointed in the man’s face.

“There are some rules that true pimps are supposed to live by, Uncle Troy. You followed notta one of ’em… And shit, maybe you just didn’t know any better. But you are gonna to learn
today
…” Smoke shook his head at the man in disgust.

“Leave my house.” The man pointed a shaky finger at the door.

“Oh, I will, when I get
good
and damn
ready
.” Smoke bit into his lower lip, trying to rein in his enthusiasm to fuck the bastard up. “When I’m
finished
with you, I’ll definitely let myself out…”

They stood there staring at one another for a long while, then the man turned and tried to make a run for it, but it was far too late. Smoke captured him like the bloated, slithering snake that he was and pulled him back by his grimy ass shirt. Uncle Troy struggled like hell, his body smelling of sweat and filth. Tossing the stout man to the floor, he stomped him in his gut as hard as he fucking could.

“Uhhh!” Smoke grunted as he applied so much pressure, his thigh and calf burned.

“Ohhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhh!” The man wailed, grimacing and rolling about as his eyes watered and his blubbery mouth hung open.

“Oh, that hurts, huh?” Smoke smirked as he raised his foot up again, and delivered a similar blow.

“Ahhhhhhh! Ohhhhh God! Please! I’ll do anything! Just stop!” the man pleaded with a shaky hand in the air, trying to deflect the blows. Smoke dropped to his knees and began to pummel the fucker with both fists until blood sprayed as if shooting out an aerosol can.