Thugs And The Women Who Love Them
Read Thugs And The Women Who Love Them Online
Authors: Wahida Clark
Thugs and the Women Who Love Them
“It's Gangsta and coming from a female point of view. Can't wait for Part II.”
â“The Ghost” Styles P
“People are trying to have sequels to their books after yours came out. I smile because the original person has set the tone. Keep writing!”
âTru, Tru Books, Hartford, CT
“It's Gangsta, Gangsta! Love your work!”
âProject Pat, Three 6 Mafia
“
Thugs and the Women Who Love Them
reminds me of another great black author, Donald Goines.”
âKenneth “Supreme” McGriff
“Wahida Clarkâ¦has a prefect sense of timing with her first novel
Thugs and the Women Who Love Them
. A novel that takes a look at reality and the rough friction of life. A guaranteed âHood Classic'â¦You won't be able to put it down.”
âFreeze “Free Money,” The Game
and the Women Who Love Them
WAHIDA CLARK
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
This book is dedicated to all the brothas and sistahs on lockdown,
and to the entire Hip-Hop generation.
Thank you for making this, the first underground street novel,
to go triple platinum!
All praise and thanks is forever due to the Creator, for without Him this would not be possible. I thank Him for placing all of the needed resources in my path.
To my soul mate, thanks for your vision, inspiration, and most important, your patience with me. Much love. To our daughters, Hasana and Muquarrabun, you two are such a blessing. D. Deering, thanks for your free advice on contracts and editing. Treena Wright, my friend thank you for feelin' this book as if it was your own.
First, to my typist and most dependable partna, Kisha; even though you whined, cried and complained 90 percent of the time and delivered a baby boy in the middle of this project, I got much love for you. I understand that not everyone is a workaholic like myself. To my other typists, Nobel, Hafida, and Samataha, thank you. Thank God for editors. I love what you did. Thank you.
To the first Atwood crew, those sistahs who were my first readers when it was on yellow notebook paper in my sloppy handwriting: Melissa Long and Lil' Memphis. To those sistahs who thought I should be writing instead of eating, sleeping, or breathing: Mecca, LoLo, and Shanna P.
To the rest of you who passed the yellow pages around and was just as excited as myself: Monica C., April C., Twigg, Miranda, Dana, Tammy, Cassie, Maggie, Daniele, Duresha, who also does my hair, Big Meeka, Neicey B., Tanya, K.K. Hatcher, Shawn K., Simone, Pauletta B., and Lucky. Thanks, K.K. Wall for sending a copy to Free of
106 and Park
and to the two sistahs who can read an entire novel in a few hours and whose opinion I highly respect; Ms. Belinda Marshal and Teesa Little. When they said this was good, I knew it was on! Thanks, Michelle D., for snapping my picture for this novel.
Thanks to
The Doug Banks
morning
Show
and Walt Baby Love for keeping me up in the morning while I was cranking out the pages. Thanks to Lexington's 107.9
The Beat
. Thanks to Maxwell, Mary J. Blige, Toni Braxton, Marvin Gaye, Jaheim, Jadakiss, Case, Carl Thomas, and Ginuwine for making the music that helped me keep my flow.
Thanks to the C.O.s who made copies for me when the raggedy-ass inmate copy machine was broken (which was all of the time): Contreras, Martin, Henderson, D. Logan, S. Logan, Grier, Fox, Goins, Buttrey, Byrd, Doyle, Garrett, O'Brian, Breathett, and last but not least, K. Donovan.
Thanks to all the Black book clubs. Thanks to all the Black bookstores who put me on their bookshelves. Thanks to everyone I forgot to mention, and special thanks to all the Black authors who blazed the path before me. My biggest ups to Carl Weber, who wasted no timeâand jumped immediately on this project. Thanks!
Special thanks to the authors who wrote me back: Teri Woods, Roy Glenn and especially Sonia Caulton, who told me to make sure that I write every day.
Thanks to my mom, dad, my lil' bro Mel, Aunt Ginger, Aunt Marva, Ann, and Carla. To my peeps, Shakira, Qurana, and Al-Nisa, who let me blow up their phone bills and never complained (not to me, at least). 'Preciate the love. Peace and one love to everyone I forgot to mention, and to all who wrote me, sent me money, books, and magazines.
If you'd like to holla at your girl, please write me at:
Wahida Clark
c/o Kisha Upshaw
P.O. Box 8520
Newark, NJ 07108
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Angel
“T
hank you very much, Ms. Thompson, and please come again.” The saleswoman smiled, shaking Angel's hand eagerly before she handed her three Wilson's Leather boutique shopping bags and a receipt.
“No, thank
you
,” Angel replied. “And I'll be sure to tell all my friends about your store.”
As she headed to the door, Angel turned to look at the woman, and she had to laugh. The salesgirl had picked up a calculator and was furiously punching in numbers, obviously calculating her commission on the $4,400.00 purchase Angel had just made. Too bad she had no idea that the check Angel had written was from a stolen checkbook, and the account had been closed for months. So Angel walked out of Wilson's with three big shopping bags filled with lots of items she would sell and a few for herself.
This was Angel's hustle to keep cash in her pockets. Going to law school was no easy task. It was a full-time job in itself. Trying to work
and
study just didn't work for her at all. There was no way she'd be able to finish school a semester early with a full-time job. She had to do one or the other, so she choose school. She'd already managed to get her Bachelor's degree in three years. Now her goal was to graduate the same time as her homegirls: Roz, Kyra, and Jaz.
Angel did some window shopping on the way to her car. Oxford Valley Mall was the perfect place for Angel to run her game. The clerks were cordial and all the stores were very check friendly. She assumed the stores must have had some good insurance because she and every other hustler she knew had been wearing them out. Still, she knew her good luck couldn't last forever in this place. That's why she'd decided that after tonight she wouldn't be back. The last time she was at Oxford Valley she wrote almost $12,000.00 worth of bad checks. She planned on doing about the same tonight, if not more.
The merchandise she got from Wilson's would easily sell for between $1,800.00 and $2,200.00. Her fence, Rashid, usually bought all of the handbags and jewelry she could bring him. Way back, she and Rashid had been a couple, until Angel found out that she wasn't his only woman. Actually, she was one of three women who Rashid had scattered throughout the city. They'd only been involved for about six months, so it wasn't that tough for Angel to break things off. She still kept their business relationship open, though. After all, he was the best fence around, and she was looking forward to collecting from him after tonight.
Angel spotted a tennis bracelet in the window of Zales that she couldn't resist, but the Wilson's bags were starting to hurt her arms. So she decided to put the bags in her car and then come back for the bracelet. She had just squeezed onto the escalator that led to the first floor level when she noticed a woman staring at her from the up escalator. Angel did a double take as they passed each other. She realized the woman was a clerk who worked at one of the perfume counters at Macy's. Apparently, the woman remembered her, too.
A damn perfume clerk!
Angel laughed to herself. Why couldn't it at least have been a jewelry store? Somewhere that she'd bilked for thousands of dollars instead of a couple of hundred. But when she looked up, Angel wasn't so amused anymore.
The tall, skinny clerk had stepped off the escalator at the second floor and was motioning to one of the mall's toy store cops. Angel was glad she had on some flat shoes. She stepped off the escalator and walked fast, in search of the nearest exit that would lead to her parked car. When she glanced back, she saw that the skinny clerk and a toy cop were on their way down the escalator. Angel got a firm grip on her bags and took off running.
“Excuse me! I need to catch my bus!” She was loud but polite as she swerved in and around the several crowds of people standing around the food court. “Sorry! Pardon me!” She apologized as she bumped a little boy in the head with her bags.
Angel ran right past the bus that was picking up the mall passengers. “Fuck!” She screamed as she realized that her car was parked way around the other side of the mall. She felt like crying, but she kept running. Her fingers and arms were burning from the heavy bags she was carrying. A red van provided a place for her to hide behind, to catch her breath and see where the toy cop was. She went to the edge of the van and peeked around. A meddling shopper was standing next to a toy copâshe was pointing in her direction.
Goddamn Good Samaritan!
Angel ducked down and was moving between the parked cars as fast as she could. She had broken into a sweat.
“Shit!” She yelled as she set off a car alarm on a silver BMW. She stood up so she could run even faster. Behind her, the toy cop was fumbling with his radio, trying to talk into it and chase her at the same time. She was glad that he was fat, because he wasn't moving very fast.
“Where's my fuckin' car?” She was trying not to panic. Her fingers and arms were now in super burn mode. The thought that she left the driver's side open for reasons like this one soothed her a little bit. A spare ignition key was stuffed in her bra.
I'd be a'ight if I could just find my damn car now!
She thought.
Toy cop was trying to gain on her.
“Yes! Yes! Thank you, Lord!” She spotted her green Honda Civic. “Fuck!” She breathed out fire when she saw orange dice hanging from the rearview mirror. “That's not my car!” She ran faster.
“Come here! I just want toâ¦talk to you!” Toy cop barely got out those words.
Angel ran faster. She spotted another green Honda four cars over. “Please forgive me, Lord, for cussing. Please let this be my car!” This time she looked at the license plate. “Oh, fuck!” She had stolen tags. She noticed the strawberry air freshener hanging down and smiled. “That's my car.”
She didn't even remember opening the door and stuffing the bags onto the passenger seat. She only knew that she had to start the car. She put the car in reverse. When she backed up, she hit a station wagon. Another Good Samaritan was performing their “civic duty” by blocking her in. Angel rolled the window down and screamed.
“Move the fuck outta my way or I'm gonna knock your doors in!” She rolled her car window back up just as toy top grabbed the door handle and tried to open the door. Luckily it was locked. He started banging on the window and calling for help on his radio. Angel ignored him. She backed up again into the station wagon. This time the Good Samaritan was cursing as he moved the station wagon out of Angel's way. Toy cop was banging on the hood, commanding Angel to stop as she finally backed out of her parking space and floored it. She headed to the nearest exit, prayed, and thanked God for helping her out of that close call. If she got busted, then her man Keenan would know what she'd been up toânot to mention her mom. She couldn't afford for that to happen.