On the Run with Love (12 page)

“Nigga, what bank you done robbed, and why you ain't come get me?” Slug probed half jokingly when Freddie pulled up to Kiki's apartment building. Slug had been sitting on the porch in his bed shorts smoking his wake-up Newport. His pockets were thirsty and he was thinking about going back to his stick-up bag when he saw the bright, shiny platinum Benz pull into the parking lot. He had never seen this car around before, and since it had Jersey plates, he thought it was another crew of out-of-town boys trying to trap off some of his sweet country paper.

Slug didn't know it was Freddie until he got out grinning from ear to ear like the cat that swallowed the canary. Freddie left the door open and 50 Cent's “In Da Club” flooded the parking lot. Freddie approached the porch with an exaggerated pimp and chanted, “What up, blood, what up, cuz, what up, Slug, what up, gangsta?”

That's when Slug asked the question about what bank he'd robbed, to which Freddie replied, “Tony's.”

“Who?”

Freddie lifted his Knicks throwback to reveal the kilo of cocaine stuck in his waistline next to his pearl-handled nine. He quoted a line from the classic movie
Scarface
, when Al Pacino aka Tony Montana burst out of his office with the assault weapon. His Spanish accent flowed naturally due to his half-Latin bloodline as he mimicked the talented actor.

Slug's eyes got big as plates. He flicked the cigarette aside and stood up. “Connect?”

“Connected. You ready to get this paper?”

“Cuz, I been ready.”

Inside, Freddie explained the situation to Slug, leaving out the who and sticking only to the what: the details of the agreement. Slug had broken out the mayonnaise jar, wasting no time in rocking up a few ounces to test its potency. The results made him smile. He lit a cigarette and sat down across from Freddie at the kitchen table.

“Fuck meetin' the connect. I don't want them to know me either. But that five a month shit . . .” Slug shook his head. “Fuck? Them niggas don't want no paper?”

“This is just the beginning,” Freddie assured him. “Once they see what we can do, them cats'll come through.”

“But that eighteen . . .” Slug drawled.

Freddie had added three Gs to the real price. He figured an extra three in his pocket each month wouldn't hurt, but he hoped he hadn't gone too high. “What? That's good, ain't it?”

Slug looked at him in amazement. “Good? Nigga, you don't know?”

Freddie shrugged. “I told you I ain't fuck wit' coke like that. That's why movin' the shit is all on you and we splittin' it fifty-fifty. Gangsta?”

“Gangsta!” Slug echoed and gave his cousin dap. “Shit, that eighteen is a blessing! Cats 'round here chargin' eighteen or better. We could kill 'em just in weight, but if we ain't gettin' but five a month, we might as well grind this shit and stretch it out.”

“We?” Freddie asked as if Slug was speaking French.

“I got you, cuz.
We
meanin' any young'uns and such. You just keep this shit hot and I'ma show you how to trap off this paper.”

“Now that's wassup.”

And trap it they did. All across the Boro, Slug's young'uns were stopping cats' paper with that hard white yayo. They were pitching chunks compared to other hustlers' pieces. Hate filled their hearts, but fear kept them in check, because they all knew how Slug was about his paper. But Slug played fair. He had young'uns in every spot that was bubbling, but he called his team in every night at eight-thirty to give the other hustlers the late-night rush and a chance to get their paper up. It wasn't only fair; it was smart, because Slug knew that some cats wouldn't mind diming him out to the police.

Even the Miami boys came through to cop a deal. Slug cut them some slack because he felt like he owed them at least that and, besides, they turned out to be all right cats. They just had their people fucked up. Now that was straight real recognized real.

Slug flew through that package and stayed on Freddie about the five a month limit. Freddie, in turn, continued to try to convince Gina. He took a lesson from her first visit, and this time had an evening planned. He took her to Atlantic Beach to enjoy the scenery, walk barefoot along the beach, and take a moonlight cruise on the Atlantic. She wouldn't relent, but along with the two he copped, she threw him a third.

Slug and Freddie were grinding their way to a lock on the Boro, even expanding to the small surrounding towns of Fremont and La Grange. And while they were making the money, Kiki and Simone were spending their share. No more did Simone hear the stifled giggles or get the condescending looks. Now, whenever she pulled up in Freddie's Benz, the bitches turned green. Nina Simone still did her hair and whenever she was there, she could see the other chicks studying her shoes, wishing they were in them.

The newfound wealth and Freddie's periodic absences no longer weighed as heavily on Simone. Her stomach was growing and her skin was glowing with the love of pregnancy. Freddie pampered her with all the luxuries she could want, along with the little things. He was thoughtful enough not to forget.

They spent many an evening with Freddie massaging her feet and spoon-feeding her Chinese takeout or Italian food, or listening to soft, mellow music while she read poems to him from one of her old school books from a literature class she had taken.

Her total trust for Freddie was slowly returning. She attributed her swollen condition to the fact that Freddie had truly realized where the love was, and she felt secure in his vow to devote his life to her. She knew her man was fine, and with the paper he was checking, she knew females would try their luck. She had seen it herself, over and over.

One night at the club, Simone decided to test Freddie. She saw the chick scoping him subtly all night, but she was constantly by his side. She kissed him on the cheek. “I'll be right back. I gotta go pee,” she lied. Freddie helped her out of the chair and then sat back down. But Simone didn't stay in the bathroom. She doubled back and watched Freddie from a distance. The girl finally saw her opportunity to advance and approached Freddie. Simone was too far away and the club was too loud for her to hear what was being said, but she knew her man's body language well enough to read the disinterest he displayed. It wasn't long before the girl walked off and Simone returned to the table triumphantly. She draped herself around Freddie's neck. When she caught the girl's eye this time, she winked and smiled, making the girl roll her eyes and turn away.

Simone no longer mentally questioned the overnight trips and the smells of perfume she didn't even own on Freddie. They say love is blind, which was why as Simone's heart and belly blossomed, her eyes fluttered shut.

Slug loved the way Kiki rode his dick: the way she worked her inner muscles, gripping and pulsing on the upstroke, then relaxing as he penetrated her to her deepest depths on the downstroke; the way her pretty, yellow titties jiggled in front of his face, peppered with soft red freckles, nipples like elevator buttons. Her grinding hips curled his toes and made him fight to hold back his nut with every 360 degrees she made.

He watched her face contort with different expressions of ecstasy, and all he could think about was how real she had always kept it with him. She was ghetto as hell, but she had always been there for him. When he was broke, she gave him her whole AFDC check to flip. Whenever he hit county jail, she bailed him out if she could, and if she couldn't, she held him down. He never heard a word about her creeping on him, so even if she had, she respected him enough not to let it get out.

Now that he was on, he hadn't forgotten any of it. She was the only chick he laced. Whoever else he might be fucking only got dick and a donut, meaning zero. Quiet as it was kept, Slug was grudge fucking all the gold diggers who wouldn't give him the time of day before but who were sweating him now. He dogged them with a capital D. He was making them bitches feel it and he was lovin' it. But he kept it all the way live with Kiki, putting her on with all that fly shit she liked: Dolce & Gabbana, Prada, Versace, and other big-name designs. He and li'l Chris even got along better, once they got a better understanding of each other.

 

“Ohhh, Slug, I can feel it, baby! Ooooh, oooh, oooh!” she squealed, clinching up. “Slug, don't move. Don't . . .” Her body shuddered from the force of their simultaneous orgasms and she collapsed on top of him, sucking on his neck. “Tell me you love me, Slug.”

“Naw.”

She sat up and looked at him. “What you mean ‘naw'?”

“'Cause you already know, shit. I just said it awhile ago,” he answered.

“No. You said you loved this pussy. I said say you love me,” she repeated and sat back on his semi-erect manhood, hard.

“Ay, yo, check this out,” Slug began, trying to find his words.

“Say it!” Kiki demanded through clenched teeth. “Right now!”

“Hold up, I'm tryin' to tell you something if you'll shut the fuck up and let me talk.”

“Well, if it ain't ‘I love you,' I ain't tryin' to hear it,” Kiki said with an attitude and unstraddled him, lying down with her back to him.

Slug ignored her attitude and continued. “Ay, yo, on the real, I ain't no romantic type muhfucka or nothin', right, but dead ass, you kept it gangsta when a nigga was fucked up and I respect that. But . . .”

Kiki looked over her shoulder. “But what?”

“Now that a nigga gettin' a little paper and I can afford to throw back, yo, I don't feel like that's enough.”

Kiki didn't understand what he was getting at so she turned to face him. “Slug, what is you talkin' 'bout?”

Slug looked her in the eyes wondering if thugs were supposed to feel butterflies. “Marry a nigga,” he said quickly.

Kiki rose up on the palm of her hand, trembling. “M . . . marry you?”

Slug couldn't read her reaction, so he got defensive. “Hell yeah! Fuck you say it like that for? And you better not say no or I'ma beat yo' ass,” he said, trying to mask his nervousness with testosterone.

“Oooh, my baby does love me!” Kiki squealed like she was cumming again and threw herself all over Slug. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She punctuated each yes with a kiss.

“I'm sayin', nothin' fancy. Just go down to the courthouse tomorrow, and just do it. Fuck all that other shit, yo. Be my wife, official.” Slug made the demand sound as romantic as he could, gangster style. And Kiki accepted.

Guests couldn't help but look their way. They seemed to be having the most fun in the local gentlemen's club. Freddie and Slug seemed to be in a race to see who could finish their bottles of Hennessy Privilege and tossed the most singles in the air, while Kiki and Simone nursed their flutes of Moët. Simone knew he would be hammered before the night was over. In fact, this was the loosest she'd ever seen him. Usually, Freddie wouldn't finish a bottle of anything he was drinking. But she understood. After all, it was a celebration. She was happy for Slug and Kiki and was glad to have someone who could relate to her own happiness, being engaged.

The lights dimmed even lower, and the DJ drew the microphone to his lips. “I wanna give a shout out to my dawg Slug, the motherfuckin' thug!” the DJ began. “Congratulations my G, to you and Queen Kiki,” he ended, then threw on Tupac's “All Eyes On Me.”

The crowd roared as Slug and Kiki exchanged stares. He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. Just then, something nice and exotic came out of nowhere.

“You Slug?” she asked as she stood in front of the VIP section.

Kiki was in too good of a mood to trip. She knew Slug would handle it.

“Yeah, baby girl, but don't think you know me, though,” Slug said, knowing it was true. He was sure he had never seen the girl before.

“I'm your engagement present.” The girl smiled.

“What?” Her words made their way to Kiki's ears. She nearly rose up but Slug held her back.

“Look here.” Before Slug could finish, Freddie stepped in.

“Chill, cuz, it was a joke.” He broke out into laughter. The whole time Freddie was trying to keep his composure. But he couldn't hold it any longer. “I knew you was gonna trip,” Freddie continued.

“Boyee!” Kiki punched him in the arm. Simone just shook her head.

Slug let out a light chuckle. He was all too glad to find out it was a joke. He thought somebody was trying to sabotage his engagement and get him killed. Slug leaned into the girl. “How much he give you, sweetie?” he wanted to know.

“Five hundred.” The girl beamed.

“Since he paid you, he deserves the dance.” He flipped it back on Freddie. “So, here's five more.” Slug pulled out a stack of paper and peeled off five Benjamins.

“Nah, nah!” Freddie protested, throwing his hands up in a submissive manner. But the dancer had already made her way around and over to him. He peered over at Simone to see whether she was smiling. Surprisingly she was. He looked for approval from Simone. The dancer saw her shrug her shoulders and immediately sprung into action. The beginning of Bootsy Collins and Ice Cube's “Freak of the Week” could be heard from all the speakers, in the four corners of the huge room. She tossed her lean, long legs in staggering six-inch Louboutins across Freddie. By now, everyone's attention was drawn to their section. The crowd showed their approval as she danced her way into Freddie's lap, seductively.

Simone's wince showed just how unpleasant it was for her to watch the beautiful body, full breasts, flat stomach, and round, juicy behind dance all over her man. She realized she had made a mistake with her decision. She couldn't believe she had actually given permission. She was sure the liquor played a major part in her decision-making. The dancer's eyes were filled with ravenous lust, and desire fueled her bodily movements. Simone noted the way the stripper looked at Freddie with sexual desire. She wondered if Freddie knew who the stripper was behind the blindfold.

Freddie maintained his composure despite being slightly drunk as the dancer's soft behind rubbed against his lap. He had almost forgotten Simone was even present as he locked in on the body slithering all around him. She nearly ran her breasts across his lips. Despite the show, Freddie's attention was drawn to the main attraction on stage. He immediately looked over at Simone, who apparently didn't realize who the dancer was. He knew it was her.

The dancer on stage walked around the pole twice, before lifting a strong right arm and pulling herself up. She wrapped her legs around the pole, and swirled her way down. She threw her head back and let her hair fly with the wind created by the twirl. She coiled around the pole with one leg wrapped around it, and the other bent in the air. She was an exotic acrobat, and no one in the club worked the pole the way she did. It wasn't until the DJ announced Tee-Tee the Diva that Simone's spider senses went off.

She drew her attention to the stage and watched as the girl on stage had tunnel vision for Freddie. She also noticed how the girl became even more confident about herself, and the sexy performance. Simone was trying to place where she had seen the girl before. The dancer on stage stood up and performed a few more twirls around the other poles for the audience. Simone studied the interaction between Freddie and her. She studied his facial expression, the joy in his face when he saw who the dancer was. It was slowly breaking her heart, and she wasn't strong enough to handle it. She was tempted to smack fire out of Freddie, but she was a virtuous woman and knew he had an image to uphold and maintain in the streets.

Instead, she abruptly got up and exited the VIP booth. Freddie was so engrossed with the stage performance that he hadn't even noticed Simone's absence. The dancer he had paid for Slug had even ended her session, seeing that he was not interested in her. Simone sought safety at the bar. She knew it was her fault. She had never wanted to come to the gentlemen's club in the first place but she didn't want to be the party pooper or one who rained on everybody's parade.

The first thing she noticed was how the bartender was staring over her shoulder in the direction of their VIP section. When she turned and looked back, she saw that the stripper was headed back to the stage. She was heated. Her first reaction was to go over and black out on both Freddie and the disrespectful stripper, but she decided against it. She had far too much class for that. Besides, although she felt Freddie was out of pocket, she knew he didn't need any extra attention drawn to him. She pulled herself together and faced the bar. When she spun around, she noticed the bartender pathetically tuned into Freddie and the stripper on stage. Simone watched her down her fourth shot of a brown liquor.

“Excuse me!” Simone hollered, slamming a hundred-dollar bill on the bar top and grabbing the bartender's attention.

The bartender's red eyes were apologetic as they met Simone's gaze. “I'm sorry, hon. What can I get you?” she asked, her speech slurred just a bit.

“Water,” Simone said.

“I saw you in VIP. No charge,” the bartender said. “You were at Freddie's table?”

“How do you know Freddie?” Simone retorted as she screwed the top off the water bottle.

“I'm sorry. Is that your boyfriend?” the bartender asked.

Simone thought quickly and answered, “He's my crazy-ass cousin. I'm just here to mingle. I'm Sade,” Simone lied.

“Joy. Nice to meet you,” she replied.

“So how do you know my cousin?”

The conversation was interrupted by the increased volume of cheers as Freddie made his exit off the stage. Simone took a look back for a second time. She rolled her eyes at the stage and turned back around. She scowled and put her focus back on Joy. She knew Freddie would be looking for her soon.

“We met here at the club.”

“Are you all close?”

Joy sucked her teeth and said, “No.”

“Aw, you're pretty. How come that didn't work?”

Joy grinned and replied, “Thanks, but I assume he was guarded because of a stripper who works here.”

“I think he was telling me a little bit about her earlier,” Simone lied again. She snapped her fingers at Joy and asked, “What's the girl's name again?”

“Tina. The one he was on stage with,” Joy replied.

Simone swiftly turned around for a third time. This time, she took a good look at the stripper who headlined the entire performance. She nodded, as if she were giving approval. However, this particular nod was one that meant trouble for Freddie. Tina's face illuminated as clear as day as soon as the bartender said her name.

Childhood friend my ass
, she thought. She looked back at Joy and asked, “And who is Tina to him?”

“Freddie told me that she definitely isn't his girl. Tina and I don't talk much, so your guess is as good as mine. But I assume she's a jump off,” Joy told her. She wiped a wet, clean glass dry and fixed herself a drink.

“Let me get something with two syrup shots,” a woman said, putting a ten dollar bill on the table.

“It's ten per shot. You're short, sweetie,” Joy replied as she prepared to make the alcoholic beverage.

The woman added an additional ten dollar bill on the table. Joy nodded and picked up the twenty dollars. She turned to Simone, before grabbing a clean glass from the rack and said, “Nice meeting you! Tell Freddie I said hello.”

* * *

Definitely not
, Simone thought as she spun around in the barstool to look at the stage. Her eyes narrowed into spiteful slits as they caught a glimpse of Tina, exiting the stage. Simone began making a beeline back over toward the VIP section.

Freddie greeted her with a smile. “Babe, where'd you go?” he asked.

“I wanna go home!” was all she said.

Both Slug and Kiki were shaking their heads. They too had watched Freddie and Tina's non-verbals. Freddie knew he had gone too far and had exposed his hand more than usual. But between the Henny and the dancer who nearly made him nut in his pants, he had a great time and would be willing to accept the flack that came behind it once they got home. Rather than protest, he stood, hugged Kiki, and gave Slug dap. He went to snatch up the two bricks of singles he had sitting on the table with the last two remaining bottles of liquor, but Slug grabbed hold of his wrist.

“I'll take care of those, cuz.” Freddie chuckled and nodded.

Moments later he was whisking Simone out of the club, but not before Simone and Tina made eye contact, as Tina sipped on her double shot of Peach Cîroc and iced tea.

* * *

 

“Yeah, she said she was his cousin and her name was Sade,” Joy relayed to Tina.

“That bitch ain't his kin; that's his main,” Tina corrected her. “And her name Simone, with her stuck-up green ass,” she added.

“So why she lie?”

“Snoopin' for shit she don't really want the answer to,” Tina concluded.

“So this nigga has a girlfriend and couldn't say nothin' ahead of time. Ain't that some shit?”

“Ain't it though? Why is a grown man fucking with a little kid when he has a woman like me on the side?” She ran her hands down her own curves.

“I know you ain't bragging about being a sideline ho?” Joy giggled.

Tina grinned, rolled her eyes, and continued, “Bitch, whatever. Sideline or on the field. Freddie has been mine, for years now. Has been and always will be. Trust and know.”

Joy shook her head as she took Tina's empty glass off the bar top. “You know you're a hot mess, right?”

Tina shrugged, a smirk fixed on her face. “Tee-Tee the Diva is the shit. And don't forget that. Freddie sure won't.” She smiled at her friend and started to walk away.

Simone looked at Freddie and, before she could stop herself, she struck his face with an open hand. The sting was only heard by the couple, as no other guest even noticed the slap. Both Simone and Freddie were equally shocked by it. The only reasonable thing for Simone to do was to run. She turned away from the table and quickly brushed through the swamp of guests until she was in front of the exit doors.

The coolness of the air chilled her face, wet with tears. She hurried to the CLK, seeking refuge behind it. She knew Freddie was going to come after her; something just told her. She leaned on the side of the Benz and began to cry, not caring if she could be heard. Everything had just became too much. Tina, being on the run, et cetera. Being a part of Freddie's life had hit a low point.

I shouldn't have even come
, Simone thought, wiping her face with the back of her hands.
Why would he even want to bring me with him? Fuck this living on the run shit!

Simone wasn't feeling that special anymore. She was in a terrible mood, though she didn't want to be. Everything good about Freddie was thrown away. Freddie was under a limelight, and it was all negative press.

“Why'd the fuck you smack me? You lost your gotdamn mind?”

“I want to go home, Freddie!” she screamed. “I just want to go home,” she repeated in between the breath that she was still trying to catch. She had cried way too many tears.

“Okay, baby. That's where I'm about to take you.”

“No, I want to go back to Jersey. I don't want to be in North Carolina anymore.”

Freddie sighed, and reached down to help her up. She snatched away from his grip and stood up on her own. She walked around to the passenger side, and got inside the car after Freddie unlocked the doors.

The ride back to the house was silent, until Freddie exited the freeway. “What's your problem?” he asked.

“That bitch is my problem.”

“What did she do?”

“You! She did you! You did her! You're her sponsor!” Simone hollered, remembering the way Tina was looking at him. “And had I not come with you tonight, you probably would've fucked that nasty ho.”

Freddie swallowed hard. He remained silent as she vented away her anger.