For the Strength of You

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Urban Books, LLC
97 N18th Street
Wyandanch, NY 11798

 

For the Strength of You: Triple Crown Collection

 

Copyright © 2005 Triple Crown Publications LLC

 

This title is published by Urban Books, LLC under a licensing agreement with Triple Crown Publications LLC.

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-6228-6994-7

ISBN 10: 1-62286-840-4

 

 

 

 

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I'll let the songs speak for my feelings:

 

Sandra J. Martin (Mom) = B.I.G.: “Sky's the Limit”

Angie R. Martin (Sis) = Ja Rule and Mary J. Blige: “Rainy Dayz”

Dominique A. Covington (Nephew) = Slick Rick: “Hey Young World”

Janayia A. Martin (Niece) = Keith Murray: “The Most Beautifullest Thing”

Tremika M. Smith (Sis) = Mary J. Blige: “My Life”

Vickie Stringer (A Blessing) = G-Unit: “Smile”

Kontar Joyner (My Nigga) = Main Source: “Looking at the Front Door”

Kim A. Carroll (My Ace) = Seether and Amy Lee: “Broken”

Keama T. Eason (Princess) = Tribe Called Quest: “Relax Yourself”

My Entire Family = Lost Boyz: “Dedication”

T.C.P. = Lost Boyz: “Get Up”

I've been blessed again.

I'm thankful to still have my best friend/typist Kim A. Carroll. Where would I be without you?

To all of my readers that supported my first two novels,
A Hood Legend
&
Ménage's Way
, thank you deeply. There's no me without you.

I must put a plug in for
Complex
magazine for doing the first article about me. Thanks for the publicity.

On days I faced writer's block, it was broken down by tuning in to the Butta Team on WNCU 90.7 FM, the official number one street DJs. While I'm on the radio, I gotta send love to Mary Jane at WQOK 97.5 FM. Thank you for your words of encouragement . . . now drop down and get your eagle on, girl!

If anyone in Havelock, N.C. can reach my right hand man, Shaft, tell him to get at me. I owe you plenty!

Karen Hamilton of New Bern, N.C.: Look what you started and the masterpiece can still be yours. Yeah, I'm still on lock, but I refuse to be broken!

Keama Eason . . . I guess I know the meaning of a true friend. Thank you for understanding me.

To everyone that calls Johnston County home: You know I had to pen one for the Dirty-Dirty.

To all my peeps: Sherwood, Decky, Varis, D.C., Patrick Kent, Pig, Tremain, Casual C., Hands, Pee Wee, Markie, Ant Man, Do-Right, T.J. Williams, Vick Tug, Shawn, Fonz, Shan, Mitchell Holmes A.K.A. Big Chubb, Michael Peacock, Von, Fish, Eddie Davis, Jerome, and if I didn't plug you in on this one, forgive me.

And to all my exes and one-night stands . . . picture that! Yeah, I'm out of sight and out of mind . . . for now.

I'll stay humble and I'll stay true. Thank you all for believing in me.

 

“Yo, Anshon!” Fe-Fe snorted into the crack of the back door, with snot dripping over her ashy black lips. “It's me, nigga. Fe-Fe. Where you at, yo?”

Anshon was pissed. His dick was hard, and all he wanted to do was fuck Constance, his bad-ass white chick, who lay in the bed waiting for him.

“Anshon, it's me, Fe!” Fe-Fe yelled again, her lips plastered into the crack of the door.

Anshon took his 9 mm off the kitchen table and placed it in the waistband of his sweat pants. He yanked the back door open and Fe-Fe stumbled inside.

“My nigga.” Fe-Fe grinned, with slob sliding down the side of her mouth.

Anshon closed the door and Fe-Fe stood up straight. She pulled the belt of her dingy yellow raincoat tight around her tiny waist, reached in her back pocket, and snorted again, “I got some dough, nigga, and I ain't have to suck that much dick and shit. Look.” She cupped her hands and showed him a ten-dollar bill and five dollars in change. There were a few bottle caps in the mix, but after she took them out, she handed him the money. “On the real, a bitch needs a twenty spot.”

“A twenty spot?” Anshon frowned, reluctantly taking her money. “You ain't suckin' my dick and shit. With all these ma'fuckin' quarters, yo' ass gotta be short.”

“Look,” Fe-Fe said, looking around the room. “You know I be having to give all my money to my cousin, the one who got my kids and shit. I'm good for it, though, for real. Soon as my check come in next month, I'ma hit you up.”

Anshon shook his head. Fe-Fe always had an excuse why her money was short. “Don't come up short no damn more!” he snapped, reaching into the carpenter pocket on the side of his sweat pants and pulling out two vials of crack.

Fe-Fe's whole face lit up. “Boy, you know how it is. I ain't got my check yet.” She took the two vials into her hand. “This is that good shit, right? That shit Jinks OD'd off of?”

“Somethin' like that,” Anshon said, annoyed and wanting Fe-Fe to leave. Opening the door, he frowned at her. “Bounce 'fore my girl come down here trippin'.”

“That is a bad-ass white bitch you got.” Fe-Fe wiped the string of snot dripping from her wet nostrils with the back of her hand and snorted what she could back into the bridge of her nose. “She damn near looks like that Brittney Spears trick. But you know I look better than that ho, right? Humph, don't sleep.” Fe-Fe snapped her fingers and twirled around. “Ain't no pussy like a black woman's pussy. Word up, you oughta come through and see about a bitch one day.” Fe-Fe winked and turned to walk away.

“Be good, Anshon,” she yelled over her shoulder, happy that she had what she came for.

It had only been six months since Anshon hit the streets, after doing a two-year stint. His dough was low, and every little bullshit penny counted. Locking the door behind Fe-Fe, he unballed the ten-dollar bill and counted out the change.
Fuckin' chicken
, Anshon thought while throwing the money into his pocket.

“I'm so sick of this bullshit,” he moaned as he headed up the stairs to Constance. “But a nigga gotta eat.”

Young Buck's “Shawtie Wanna Ride” played from behind the closed bedroom door. Anshon stroked his dick as he thought about Constance being spread eagle, dripping wet and waiting on him. He turned the knob and opened the door.

Constance was standing with her back to him, dressed in a pink Nike T-shirt with nothing underneath, moving her head to the music and ironing her green Department of Corrections uniform.

“What you doin'?” he asked her, lifting the shirt above her waist and pressing his hard dick into her apple bottom ass. One of the things he liked about her was that she had a sista's ass and she never tripped off no black and white shit. Her mouth wasn't on fire like some of the black chicks he fucked here and there. And Constance understood that there was a distinct difference in a nigga being broke and one on the come up. Anshon was sure that a sista would've fronted on him a long time ago.

“You know I gotta go to work,” Constance said, pressing the iron into the crease of her pants.

Anshon took two of his fingers and played in her wetness. “Let me hit it real quick.”

“Why it gotta be quick?” she smiled, cutting the iron off and yanking the cord from the socket.

“Oh, you want some of this dick?”

“That's what it is?” she teased.

“You tell me what it is.” Anshon took his gun from his waist and placed it on the nightstand. Slowly, he started kissing the back of Constance's neck while bending her over. She placed both of her hands on the ironing board and he dropped his pants. He parted her vaginal lips with his dick. Sliding his dick in, he started pounding hard and intense strokes into her wetness.

“You better kill this pussy!” she moaned, as Anshon flicked his fingers across her clit.

“Damn, this is why I started fucking with you.”

“Why?” he asked.

“'Cause you know how to work that big dick.” She started throwing her ass and working her pussy against his shaft.

“I was in prison when you started fuckin' me, C.O. Connelly,” he said sarcastically, “So, what made you think that I had a big dick?” Anshon bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to fight off the nut he felt creeping up.

“'Cause I watched you in the shower. You ain't never gun me down or beat your meat in front of me. I had to see it somehow,” she said.

“So you saw it and what?”

“And this . . .” Constance turned around toward Anshon, causing his dick to slip out. She got down on her knees and started hittin' him off with some head. Sucking her dripping juices off his dick, she took her right hand and started tickling his balls.

Anshon's neck rolled back as his nut broke loose. “God damn you!” he moaned, grabbing a fistful of her auburn hair and pushing his dick further into her mouth. Constance grabbed both of his tight ass cheeks and swallowed his nut.

“You like that shit, don't you?” She smiled, wiping the corners of her mouth and getting off her knees.

“That's wassup,” he said, pulling his pants up.

She kissed him on the cheek. “You gonna spend the night?”

“Nah.”

“Please.” She placed her uniform in the crook of her arm.

“Stop worrying. I'll be here when you get off work. I gotta go check on my sister Tammy. She's been calling me to come through.”

“I love you, Anshon,” Constance said, hugging him.

“You don't love me.” He smirked, squeezing her ass. “You love this dick.”

* * *

After showering and changing into the extra set of clothes he kept at Constance's crib, Anshon jumped in his black and slightly rusted '72 Chevy convertible. He placed his work, which consisted of an eight-ball of crack and a bundle of dope, inside his glove compartment and locked it. Anshon knew it was a dumb move to be riding with vials of crack on him, but he was hoping to run into one of the local hustlers or street runners who were looking to push a li'l weight for the 4th of July weekend.

Slowly, he cruised down Lizzie Street, poppin' his hydraulics and taking in the sights. It was 2:00 a.m., and Selma, North Carolina was live. Firecrackers were blazing the sky, the scent of purple haze floated in the air, and everybody who wasn't outside on their porch was in the local shot house or the barbecue pit—which doubled as a club—gettin' their crunk on.

“Anshon! Yo! Anshon!” A tiny voice yelled from down the block.

When Anshon looked to see who it was, he saw Fe-Fe waving him down. He stopped the car and she ran over to the window. He knew right away that she was high. “Can you run me 'cross town?”

“Run you 'cross town? You runnin' from five-O or something? Don't bring me no ma'fuckin heat, Fe- Fe.”

“Come on now.” Fe-Fe frowned. “I wouldn't go out like that. On the strength of your sister Tammy, if nothing else.”

Knowing that Tammy was his soft spot, Anshon smiled. “Where you goin'?”

“Sumner Street.” Fe-Fe smiled.

He sucked his teeth and nodded his head toward the passenger seat. “Get in.”

“You ain't hittin' the block?” Fe-Fe asked, closing the door.

“I'm good.” Anshon glanced in his rearview mirror before pulling off.

“That stuff you got is the shit. Nigga, I was so high that I thought T.D. Jakes was preachin' to me. Word up, I'm goin' to church on Sunday.”

“Yo, Fe, unless you wanna be walkin', you gotta shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, I forgot,” she said, rolling her window down slightly, “You don't like to discuss this shit in the car. But check it—” She licked her ashy lips. “When you gon' let me give you some ass in exchange for some play? You know I'm a dime piece.”

“Fe-Fe.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Fe-Fe rolled her neck. She started to get smart but changed her mind. After all, she was the one catching the ride. “How's my homegirl Tammy doin'?” she asked.

“She's getting better,” Anshon said, making a left onto Highway 301. “Last week she got a little feeling back in her legs.”

“That's good. Tell 'er I said what's up and that I hope she gets better. You know we graduated Triple S High School the same year.”

“Ninety-two?”

“Ninety-one.” Fe-Fe smirked. “Yo,”—She laughed, taking her long, slim fingers and covering her mouth—“I was the shit back in the day. Sharp as a fuckin' tack. Couldn't nobody stand me, and it was all good. Tammy used to say, ‘Fe, they hate you 'cause they ain't you.' Trust me, Ninety-one was a year I ain't gon' never forget.”

Anshon nodded his head as Fe-Fe went on running her mouth.

“Yeah, those were the days. Club Eighty-two, The Dead End in Kenly . . . Shaw's Ball Park. Club Kamikaze in Raleigh.” She picked her cheek and popped her lips. “Damn, I forgot that one in Wilson. Yo, I used to get my party on! Fo' sho', fo' sho'.”

“Was that before or after you started suckin' that glass dick?” Anshon laughed, turning onto the exit ramp.

Oh, this nigga done lost his fuckin' mind
, Fe-Fe thought.

“Let me tell yo' broke hustlin' ass one thang.” Fe-Fe whipped her skinny neck around to face him. “You might think you on the come up, but you just one step away from the bus, wit' yo' broke-down, nickel-and-dime ass. You ain't pushin' no Fed weight, nigga. Them misdemeanor hits you sellin' is like sugary shit, so when you start sellin' that real deal, you let me know. Until then, fuck you! All up in my gettin' high business. Don't you worry about when I started gettin' on. When the fuck you gon' reach baller status?”

“Hold up, Fe-Fe. Slow ya roll.”

“No, you slow yo' ma'fuckin' roll. If you don't like what I'm sayin' then buck, sucka-ass, cross-eyed nigga! You the one creepin' on the come up, not me. Matter-fact,” she said, pointing to the street sign, “this is my stop right here.”

Anshon brought his car to a screeching halt and Fe-Fe jumped out, slamming the door behind her.

Anshon sped off, rode around the block, and came back. Fe-Fe was picking her face and smiling at a trick. As Anshon rode closer to where Fe-Fe was, he noticed that the trick was Constance's father, Bob.

Ain't this some shit
. Anshon shook his head.

“Yo Fe,” he called to her. “Fendisha Lloyd.”

Fe-Fe looked around and spotted Anshon. “Nigga, is you crazy callin' me by my government all out in the street and shit?”

“Just come here,” Anshon hissed.

Fe-Fe placed her hand on her hip. “Don't you see me and my man holding a conversation right here?” She pointed to Bob's chest. “How yo' bamma ass just gon' run up on me? Would you want somebody to run up on your woman?”

“Fe-Fe,” Anshon yelled. “Goddamn! Can a nigga apologize?”

“Oh.” She smiled. “One minute, baby,” she said to Bob. “Let me go see what his ass want.”

The passenger window of Anshon's car was down. Fe-Fe leaned on both elbows through the window. Bob was watching her ass the whole time.

“I'm listening.” She rolled her eyes, her breath smelling like cigarette smoke.

“Look, I apologize for the comment I made earlier.”

Fe-Fe looked at Anshon, and if it wasn't for how cute he was, she would've kicked his ass. His milk chocolate skin, long, zig-zag parted braids, and his nice six foot tall, prison yard build; not to mention his gold tooth with the diamond in the center, was enough to drive even a sober bitch insane. “Long as you sorry for real and you ain't tryin' to play me out, we cool.”

Anshon leaned over and gave her a pound. “I don't blame you for snappin'. But if you ever call me a broke-down hustler again, my size fifteen will check yo' fuckin' chin.”

“Size fifteen?” She giggled, “You got my coochie tinglin'! Nigga, if you a size fifteen, I'ma rape you.”

“There you go with that bullshit.” He couldn't help but laugh. “Peep this, though: While I was locked up or even now, you ever hear anybody talkin' about who shot my sister and why?”

“Naw, all I heard is that somebody had robbed her, shot her up, and snatched her stash. What she tell you?”