Nine Lives: For the Love of Money

           
Nine Live: For The Love of Money

-Written by: Empress Simone

                    Nine Live: For The Love of Money

-Written by: Empress Simone

Copyright © 2016 by Marvelous Leaders Publications

Published by Marvelous Leaders Publications, LLC

Join our Mailing list by texting Marvelous at 95577

Facebook:  Author Simone Quick

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual events, real people, living or dead, organizations, establishments or locales are products of the author’s imagination.  Other names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously.

Cover Design: Tina Louise

Editor: Veronica Baker Adams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission from the publisher and writer.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication, and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

             
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

To Marques Lewis and the MLP family – thank you for believing in my talent!

Tina Louise –  thank you for the wonderful cover design

Veronica Baker Adams of KJC Editing Services – thank you for the wonderful editing job and fast turnaround service.

My family and friends – thank you for your support and encouragement

DEDICATIONS:

To second chances and new beginnings.

My grandparents Hypolite Rabsatt and Nina Franklin and our ancestors from throughout the diaspora.

Finally, to my avid readers and supporters - #YouguysRock

SOCIAL MEDIA CONTACT INFORMATION:

Instagram: @Empressedforlife

Facebook page: @Author Empress Simone

Feel free to like, share and comment on my page(s).

Chapter 1

“
Uhh, uhhh B.I.G., P-O, P-P-A, no info, for the, D.E.A.
Federal agents mad cause I'm flagrant. Tap my cell, and the phone in the basement.
My team supreme, stay clean triple beam lyrical dream, I be that cat you see at all events bent. Gats in holsters, girls on shoulders. Playboy, I told ya, being nice to me.
Bruise too much, I lose, too much, step on stage the girls boo too much.
I guess it's cause you run with lame dudes too much. Me lose my touch, never that; if I did, ain't no problem to get the gat. Where the true players at? Throw your rollies in the sky
”
pumped through the speakers, as I screamed along, at the annual ‘
Throwback
90’s Jam’
my brother Boogie held every year since 2010. My name is Devine. I'm cute by anyone’s standards. I stand at 5’5, possess nice smooth, caramel brown skin, wear my hair in  Brazilian weaves the majority of the time. When my hair isn’t weaved up, it's in a blunt cut  with a few tracks for fullness even though everyone else I know is on a natural hair movement.

Since I don’t make it a habit to talk about what I don’t know I decided to rock my curly fro at one point in time only to find out it just wasn’t for me. I never could get my fro to stay luxurious filled with body and shine like they do in the magazines. Usually one side fell flat and became matted. It was but so much of that look I could take.

My boo, Creshawn, at the time was kind of upset. He said he wasn’t feeling the weaves anymore because the hair got in the sink, causing it to clog, and on the floor when I combed it. Creshawn also stated it was harder than grime to get off of his newly tiled linoleum floor.

I’d laugh at him and say, “Nigga didn’t you take up plumbing and electricity while at job corps?”

When he would nod his head yes, I’d continue to taunt him by saying, “Well shut the fuck up and put those skills to work then.”

Needless to say, our relationship didn’t last too much longer. Creshawn said I was too demanding; I didn’t know my place at a king’s side. He emphasized my role in his life was to be encouraging and not talk back all the time.

Again I’d laugh at him and tell him, "When I find a King I'll shut my mouth, until then kiss my ass nigga."

I guess that was the straw which broke the camel's back.  Shortly, after our break up, I threw myself into Boogie’s party promotion business. It helped to keep my mind off of the loneliness I felt.

At times I'd miss Creshawn. This really surprised me because I didn’t think I cared all that much for his ass. Then I realized I did but it was his dictatorship ways I could do without.

Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed working for my brother. Especially since it was pretty easy work. All I had to do was look cute and keep a few bitches and motherfuckers in line. Not all of the time but most. A lot of them were pretty cool when they wanted to be, then the other younglings, not that I was too much older, worked my damn nerves. I must say, at times, they had me questioning if party promoting was right for me.  I stuck it out because I hated to let my family down. I was my brother’s biggest supporter even if it meant putting love and my own dreams behind.

I was six years strong into this line of work yet it never ceased to amaze me how people read the promotional flyers but still complained about the d.j. not playing any up to date music by Future or Gucci Mane.

I swear I stayed laughing at people. I mean I’d laugh at them right in front of their face so a lot of them either complained to Boogie about how unprofessional I was being or threatened to beat me up which made me laugh at them even harder.

You know, I wasn’t feeling that type of rap music at all. I thought the new generation, save a few emcees, sucked. I liked T.I., Young Jeezy, Drake, J. Cole, Kendrick Lamar and then the female underground artists like Keys, 3D Natee and Lola Monroe. No doubt the Queen Bee, Lil Kim, reigned supreme in the system in my car. We were both Brooklynites to the death of us.

To me if it wasn’t old school it wasn’t right. I had my preferences and I was going to be an old school hip hop head for life. No one, not even these party go-ers could change my mind. Nor should they be able to. I was stronger than their Jedi mind games and I proved that when I had to knock a few of them bitches out.

Being that I was born in 1991, I was considered an old soul because of my taste in music. I knew that was a crock of shit and attributed my taste to my momma, who wasn’t that much older than me, but taught her children the value of old school music.

What I liked about momma was that she was versatile. She didn't discriminate amongst her artist. That also meant the hip-hop scene was introduced to us as well even at a time people couldn’t understand the allure of it all. We heard a range of different styles from artists such as Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, The Delfonics down to Kool Moe Dee and LL Cool J.

Moe Dee and LL had one of the most infamous rap beefs known to the history of rap besides Biggie and Pac, may they rest in peace. While Moe Dee may not be popular with today’s generation, real hip hop fans know the depths of his skill.

Needless to say our Saturday family jam sessions' were lit. But don't get it confused with momma being soft. Because she didn’t do the average shit most mommas do. Some black people may have seen her as white acting because of her love for rock n roll as well but that was far from the truth.

My momma and older brother Boogie, were what I would call thorough. That trait rubbed off on me. I started to think being tough was built into our DNA and that because of them I was a thorough ‘Bk chick.’ Our motto was “Brooklyn for life, death to everyone else.”

I especially liked my dudes to be rough like that as well. My dudes were usually dubbed ‘Those Brooklyn Cats.’ Trust me when I tell you if anyone knew a dude was from Brooklyn, no one would step to them unless they were from our borough as well. 

The reason I liked my men rough, is because if they weren’t rough they weren’t right. Truth be known I like my sex like that too. Our foreplay had to be off the hook, ass spanking, hair pulling and some form of choking had to be involved or they got the boot as well. To me there wasn’t any point in holding back in life because you only live once.

I believe these qualities that a man had to possess was due to the fact that I had to feel protected by my man, secure by him really. If I felt he had any punkish qualities and would run on me in a street fight, I couldn’t deal with him. Immediately the relationship was cut off, no questions asked. I liked what I liked and wouldn’t have it any other way.

Since Brooklyn had everything I needed from shopping areas, to friends, families and the best weed, I saw no need to travel outside of my borough.

There wasn’t a need to go to Bronx, Manhattan or Staten Island for shit unless it was a promotional party or a shipment pick up of the latest party supplies, which were usually sent out in bulk.

The only boro I did fuck with, outside of Brooklyn, was Queens. This was simply because I had a little shorty named Persia, out there. I called her P-baby when trying to get over on her with certain things.

Yes, I’m bisexual. I like the clit licked and pussies bumping and grinding just as much as I liked to get stuck by the dickie. To me it was the best of both worlds sort of like having my cake and eating too. Man to tell the truth, I loved going both ways for those reasons. Only one aspect of dealing with the same sex was a drawback to me, females were too overly sensitive and jealous. Myself included. I can't tell you how many times Persia and I argued with each other thinking the other one was cheating. It could be because we were in relationships with men when we first met each other.

When it came to our parties, I tried to keep it strictly business with the patrons when Persia was around. I didn't feel like getting caught up in any love triangles or unnecessary beef. To be honest I was seriously thinking about moving in with her. That is also why I ruled the parties we promoted with an iron fist and once given the look by D.J. Infinity indicating something was brewing, I’d head over in their direction to tell the youngling, who was talking shit and complaining either to Persia or Infinity, to dance, drink or get the hell on by leaving out the same door they came in.

If they were too hard headed to listen, then I’d call the big dog bouncers in. The trio ranged in height between 6'3 through 6'8 feet tall, 300 plus pounds each; not of flab but pure muscle. The trio were the types you would look at and know they weren’t packing in the underwear department at all.

Due to their size and muscle, these guys didn’t have a problem making the party-goers move on. Most party-goers were mad they played themselves and were made to move on because subconsciously they knew our parties were the shit. They were just scared to compliment us too much for fear of looking like dick riders.

I had no time to play, feel intimidated by someone, or bad because I was cool with someone who probably didn’t know how to wash their ass, wipe their balls or shave their pussies correctly because they weren’t old enough to know how.

I had to hold the fort down when Boogie wasn't around. Since I was a female it made my life much harder. People just didn't take my ass seriously. Plus, I was the overly feminine type of young woman. Besides the weaves, I'd have six inch stilettos and body hugging clothes on. Most were surprised to know I could box my ass off. Of course, I learned because Boogie and the few blood cousins I had would hit me every day if I didn't comply with their orders.

Believe me being the baby out of the crew had its drawbacks. Some of their biddings were downright horrible like rubbing their feet or 'dogs' as they called them. Man their feet looked like they've been running through hell and back with those monsters at the end of their legs. Sometimes, I’d put gloves on and they’d even get mad at that. Then there were the somewhat nice cousins who would give me a quarter to do their bidding.

When I said "ewe or hell no" I'd get mushed upside my head. It came a time when I stopped crying and began to fight them back. Boy would they regret putting their hands on me when they should have felt complimented I had the hand skills they taught me by using them on me.

Needless to say, I was happy when I finally reached the age of sixteen years old. It was an age where I became their friend, protector and confidant.

When I reached that age there were quite a few girls I had to knock out. My family and I would walk away high fiving each other and laughing; leaving the girl in a bloody heap on the concrete.

"Man, with your small ass lil bit, I bet she thought the fight was in the bag. Their favor of course," my family member would say to me once it was over.

I'd usually reply, "They must have thought because no one would lie to them like that."

Then promoting came into Boogie's mind. With all the people he knew, whether college kids or corner hustlers, the common activity was partying and looking good in the club.

After a while, about a year and change to be exact, promoting is how we made the majority of our money. 

We loved promoting. It was a legitimate hustle without all the side effects that drug selling had such as going to jail or being murdered like a dog in the street by someone who was supposed to be your best friend. Those were side effects Boogie, Persia and I couldn't fathom.

As a result, I couldn’t have the naysayers, jealous ones or snitches hanging around us at our annual jams too often. They were the troublemakers when they couldn't get their way. A lot of those types of people wanted to fight when they couldn't get their favorite jam played. How pitiful and low life were they? I mean what type of person would want to fight or drop a dime simply over a damn song? Yet and still I’d always chastise myself for feeling surprised when this was our community’s way of life. Instead of unifying and fighting oppression, we fought each other. Daily too, if that made any sense I couldn’t see it.

When the rowdy party go-er would act up, Infinity would look and smirk at me. It was usually a sign things were getting too hectic for him to manage on his own. Persia would twirl her hair a certain way.

Despite the fact Infinity knew I was in a semi- relationship with Persia, he would tell me on more than one occasion how he liked my spunk and determination. I, on the other hand, would give him the side eye because I thought he had ulterior motives. However, I never mentioned this to Persia out of fear of hearing her mouth and accusations of me sleeping with Infinity on the low.

Also Infinity was a grown ass man born in 1975, which made him 41 going on 42 years old. I was born in 1991 which made me 25 years old. I never so much as dated anyone over 29.

I asked him why he'd want to be with someone so much younger than him?

He'd reply trying to run game on me by saying, "Baby, you got the look of a precious lamb but your attitude is like that of a lion. You'd tear a motherfucker to shreds if they got on your bad side. That's what I dig most about you. Your strength, tenacity and energy are just too appealing to pass up. I want to make you my lady. Seriously I'd give an arm, limb, hip, hell any body part just to spend one evening with you or to make you leave your own woman. Does that surprise you being the beauty you are?”