ANYTHING 4 PROFIT (ANYTHING FOR PROFIT) (10 page)

              The baseline from the G-Unit song
Stunt 101
shook and vibrated the concrete, along with the windows of Glo’s house. 50 Cent’s voice blasted out of the speakers:

“
I’ll teach you how to stunt - My wrist stay rocked up, TV’s pop up in the Maybach Beeeenz - I’ll teach you how to stunt - Nigga you can’t see me, my Bentley GT got smoke grey tiiiiiiiiints…”

              Ant D felt the bass all the way in the house, so he knew Mike was outside waiting on him. Glo walked into the living room just as Ant was getting ready to leave.

   “What the hell is all that noise?” she questioned.

   “Oh that’s just Mike, mama.”

   “Well tell him to turn that shit down! What he tryna do, wake up the whole neighborhood?”

             “We finna head out anyway, ma.”

   “Ok, well y’all boys be careful, alright?”

             “Fa sho’ mama.” Fresh, dressed, and feeling like a million bucks, Ant D walked outside with his usual bop and hopped in the Escalade, taking in that new car smell. There were three types of scents that Ant loved: Money, new cars, and pussy. And usually in that order.

              Mike turned to his dog, and flashed a smile that set him back another 40 stacks in diamonds and rubies. And it wasn’t one of them bullshit ass grills that you could take out either. His shit was permanent. “Nigga, is you ready?” asked Mike.

              “Muh’fucka, I came out my mama pussy ready!” retorted Ant D.

              “Say no mo’ then.” Mike pulled away from the curb, and turned the volume up even louder.

              At 11:46 they pulled into the parking lot of Platinum Plus, a strip club that contained some of the most exotic and beautiful dancers the upstate of South Carolina had to offer. Back in the day when it was simply a disco, it used to be called Characters. But mothafuckas acted up in there all the time and gave it a bad name. After so many incidents of violence, and even a few deaths, it was shut down.

   The new owners had the building renovated, and turned into an erotic paradise that on any given night held at least 40 dimes. And on weekends and holidays that number jumped to anywhere from 50 to 70 women. Broads of all nationalities worked the large stage, the floor, and VIP room, getting their grind on, figuratively and literally. Being that it was a Saturday, the first of the month, and Labor Day weekend all rolled into one, the club was already packed beyond capacity. That meant that it would take a little extra cash to get them in.

             Mike killed the ignition, but turned the key back in order to keep the music playing while he and Ant D pulled out plastic baggies full of some exotic shit they got from their weed man, Trap. They broke the fragrant buds down, and then rolled them in cherry flavored blunt wraps. “No seeds, no stems, no sticks, nigga,” Mike said, and lit up.

             “Yeah, this that good shit,” Ant D coughed. “This that shit Bob Marley and ‘dem dreads be burnin’ down there!” Ant D took a deep pull, and held the smoke in his lungs as long as he could.

             “Bob Marley dead, nigga,” Mike quipped.

             Ant D released the smoke, and said, “Yeah, yeah, you know what the fuck I mean though,” he laughed, already feeling the effects of the potent reefer. “Dis ‘ere smoke from ‘de islands bwoy,” Ant said, in his best (or worst) West Indian patois. Then he sang,
“Buffalo soldier… Dreadlock rasta…”

              Mike laughed, and said, “Nigga, you clownin’.” He was also starting to feel the effects of the sticky green buds with fine white hairs on them.

              After they had smoked for a while, and were feeling good, they decided that it was time to enter the club and see what was shaking - literally. Ant D got out the truck first, brushing the remnants of ashes and loose weed off his new clothes. He checked his appearance in the side mirror, and rubbed the top of his head to make sure his waves were still spinning.

  He nodded at himself in approval. Both of his earlobes held yellow diamonds in them the sizes of small pieces of candy. He had on a dark blue Polo shirt that made the diamond encrusted, gold Cuban link with iced out cross pendant he wore stand out even more. His jeans were a pair of $220 Evisu’s, and his outfit was completed by the white and dark blue Nike’s on his size ten feet. The large stacks of money stuffed in his pockets topped it off. After staying low profile for the past month, Ant planned on having fun that night.

              Mike hopped out next. He was rocking a brightly colored Coogi shirt with a crazy ass pattern on it, the matching Coogi jeans, and a pair of custom dyed Nike Air Max. Around his neck was a platinum and diamond chain, with a diamond encrusted 9mm pendant dangling from it that he wore religiously. It wasn’t hard to tell the Glock 9mm was his handgun of choice. There was a large rock on his pinky finger, and he wore a watch with so many diamonds in it you would’ve thought time froze. Mike was a little darker complexioned than Ant, so the bright colors he wore played nicely off his skin.

              At 12:27, Mike and Ant D walked up to the door of Platinum and slipped security a few Franklin’s. They did this for two reasons. First of all, and most importantly, to get them inside the packed club, which the Fire Marshall would probably have no problem shutting down. The second reason was that they wanted the guards to overlook their blatant disregard of the “business casual” dress code, and their ages as well. Neither of them was quite 21 yet, but money talked… Y’all know the rest.

              Once inside, they bogarded a table close to the main stage, previously occupied by a couple of lames. One of the dudes looked like he wanted to protest, but the looks on Mike and Ant D’s faces told the two older cats not to fuck with them crazy ass young boys. As soon as they were seated, they ordered four bottles of the establishment’s best champagne in buckets of ice.

   Once the champagne mixed with the weed…it was on. Mike started tossing hundreds of ones in the air at the girls on the stage, while Ant D took pictures with his camera phone.

              It wasn’t long before all the dancers noticed how big these two young niggas were doing it. The girls started getting open - literally. The stage held about five girls at a time, and two of them by the names of Strawberry and Diamond started putting on a freak show together directly in front of Ant and Mike.

              Strawberry was a brown skinned Amazon with the measurements of 36DD-26-45. Her body was mean! And no ass implants either. Strawberry had Buffy the Body beat.  And her face was prettier too.

              Diamond was smaller, but still extremely thick for her short stature. She had 34c breasts, and nipples that stood erect like small pencil erasers. She had a caramel complexion, bedroom eyes, and thick, juicy lips.

              Strawberry was laying on her back with her legs spread toward Ant D and Mike, who were transfixed by the scene playing out in front of their eyes. Diamond was on top of Strawberry in the 69 position, with her face buried between her thick thighs, licking and sucking her pussy through the thin fabric of her neon pink G-string. Strawberry opened her legs even wider in order to make sure the guys got a good view of her thick, meaty pussy.

              The rest of the patrons at Platinum Plus were losing their minds at seeing those two beautiful women do their thing right in front of them like that. There were three other girls trying to work the stage, but Strawberry and Diamond had already stolen their shine. It was a wrap.

              With her legs still wide open, Strawberry continued to get her pussy eaten until she finally came in Diamond’s mouth. Diamond got up first, and licked her juicy lips like she enjoyed the taste of another woman in her mouth. She was immediately showered with numerous bills from all directions.

   Strawberry got up next, and was also showered with an assortment of currency. She tossed her cum soaked G-string into Mike’s lap. The girls gathered their earnings, and headed off to the dressing room to wash up and freshen up before they came back out and worked the floor.

              Just then, an old classic Mystikal club banger came blasting out of the speakers. Five more girls got on the stage, shaking and bouncing their voluptuous bodies to the rhythm.
“Girl, shake
ya ass!! Watch ya self!!”

   After the little show Strawberry and Diamond had just put on, both Ant D and Mike were lost in a zone, ready to seriously fuck something. Ant leaned across the table and yelled over the loud music into his homey’s ear. “Man, let’s get some of these bitches together, and get us a suite!”

              “You know I’m’ wit’ it, my nigga!” Mike yelled back, his speech slurred from the vast amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

              Ant D felt a hand on his shoulder. When he leaned his head back to see who it was, he found himself looking directly into the blue contacts in Strawberry’s eyes.

   “Did you guys enjoy the show?” she asked, smiling seductively.

             “I liked it so much I want an encore. In private,” said Ant D, pulling the thick stripper onto his lap.

             “That can be arranged if you’re serious,” Strawberry drawled in her deep Texan accent.

             “Damn right, I’m serious, baby. As serious as a life sentence. But I was wondering if you could get a few mo’ girls together so we can have us a lil’ party somewhere.”

             “Like where? Where we headed?”

             “Shiiiiiiiit, we gon let y’all pick the spot,” Mike said, still slurring.

             “And what about the price? How much y’all willing to pay for this lil’ show?”

             “Look,” said Ant, “Money ain’t no issue at the moment, so I don’t see no reason for you to make it one. Name the price, get ya’ girls, and let’s go. Fuck all this talkin’,” he stated.  He was ready to put all that conversation in a casket, and get inside one of those freak bitches.

              Strawberry got up off Ant’s lap, and left him with an erection that was harder than a brick. She licked her lips, and said, “It’s gon’ cost y’all $500 per girl. If you can handle that, then I know I can get at least 6 or 7 other girls to come with us.”

              Ant D reached into his pocket and pulled out several stacks of bills wrapped in rubber bands. He flashed them at Strawberry, and asked. “Why is we still talkin’?”

              Seeing that those dudes were indeed serious, she told them, “I’ll be back in a sec’.” She sashayed back in the dressing room, making her ass shake and jiggle with every single step she took. She knew her every move was being watched by more than a few patrons at Platinum. Strawberry called that her Presidential Walk. It was the walk that got her the presidents that mattered most, the dead ones.

               In the urban community, female adult entertainers, such as strippers, exotic models, and porn stars, were popularly looked upon as the female versions of hustlers. Just as their male counterparts were trapped by black market pharmaceuticals, the ladies mirrored their position, except their product was themselves. It wasn’t about America’s societal opinions, or its capitalistic hypocrisy. It was simply about dead presidents.

Chapter 9

   Earlier that day, Meka was at Sylvia’s, a hair and nail salon located off of Laurens Rd. Owned and operated by Sylvia Brown, Sylvia’s was the spot where women from all over the upstate went to get the latest hairstyles. And the latest dish of ‘hood gossip.

              Sylvia was a big boned, light brown skinned sister who loved talking shit almost as much as she loved doing hair. Raised in one of the grimiest sections of Greenville called Woodland Homes, Sylvia saw her environment as an inspiration to succeed, despite what the crackers said about people from the projects being lazy and uneducated. She knew what the statistics were, but was determined to prove them wrong against all odds.

              So after she graduated from Woodmont High School, she enrolled in Greenville Tech’s cosmetology program. She went on to obtain her license in cosmetology, all while continuing to do hair out of her project apartment. So many women loved the way Sylvia hooked them up, that she soon she had more customers than she could handle by herself. She got the idea to open up her own shop, and hired some other girls who were nice at doing hair and nails too. Before long it was one of the top shops in the upstate with a steady clientele.