Unzipped: An Urban Erotic Tale (19 page)

Pearl put enough money for the locker to hold it for six days, and then she joined the throng of fast-moving New York pedestrians as she headed toward the cheap motel off Forty-second Street that she’d made reservations for earlier in the week.

The Sunset Motel was one of them funk-nasty hot-sheet joints.

Located on a side street lined with metal garbage cans that swarmed with bold, hungry city rats, there was an ancient marquee outside whose letters had fallen off long ago, and hoes and junkies staggered in and out the door in droves.

Pearl stepped over an alky who was passed out in the doorway, and she didn’t even flinch when the smell of rancid piss hit her so hard it made her eyes water. She lifted her small travel bag over the skinny, sore-infested man, and wondered briefly where his people were and why the fuck they’d left him out on the mean streets of New York all alone.

After checking in and paying with cash, Pearl took the stairs up to her room. She had specifically requested a second-floor unit, and even if they had placed her all the way up on the tenth
floor she wouldn’t have trusted the raggedy elevators. They sounded like subway trains moving down the dusty shafts, and Pearl had no intentions of getting stuck in a hot, pissy box and having to break her way out.

The room was unlike anything she had ever seen. Menace had asked where she was staying but there was no way in hell she would have told him about this place. Even during those early years when her, Diamond, and Zeta lived in a shelter while they waited for Irish to finish his bid and come home and set them up proper, life hadn’t been quite this bad.

There was a lumpy-looking bed in the middle of the floor covered by a blanket that was so old and thin, you could see straight through it to the dingy sheet below. The pillow was about a half-inch thick, and the faded flower pillowcase looked older than the blanket. Pushed against a wall was an antique dresser that had once been very beautiful. Pearl trailed her finger through a quarter inch of dust and saw that with a good stripping and refinishing it would probably be worth some pretty good doe.

The bathroom made the rest of the room look like a palace. The sink was discolored from years of dripping water, and a crumbly rust stain ran from the faucet to the drain. Pearl wrinkled her nose. A huge, nasty-looking water bug sat at the base of the bowl, its antennae waving in the air as its bulging eyes stared left and right.

Pearl held her breath and glanced over at the toilet. It was old as hell and a foul smell was coming up from the pipes. There was no toilet tissue on the roll, and a stiff, tough-looking hand towel hung over a rack, right above an old used bar of Ivory soap.

It was perfect, Pearl thought. Exactly what she needed.

An off-the-path spot to rest her head and cool her heels. It was raggedy, but she didn’t plan on spending a whole lot of time here anyway. She’d be too busy handling her business and working
on her plan to dig Mookie’s black ass down in the dirt where he belonged.

Taking only her wallet with her, Pearl left the room and locked the door behind her. A pretty young ho with pink bows in her hair was giggling near the elevator as a trick pinned her up against the wall and gripped her ass and slobbered all down her neck.

Pearl gave the girl a sympathetic look as she stepped past, then pushed through the exit door and ran down the slimy steps. She crossed the lobby, dodging working girls and their johns. A few white men in business suits gave her questioning looks, wondering if she was available for an hour, but Pearl shook her ass right past them. She knew what time it was. Mr. Baker, the highly paid corporate lawyer, was supposed to be at a business lunch or out conferring with a client, and instead he was spending his lunch hour in a grimy little pussy pad, getting his dick sucked by a desperate Forty-second Street ho for twenty dollars a nut.

Pearl walked the streets until she found a Duane Reade drugstore. She purchased bleach, liquid laundry detergent, one can of Raid, four large beach towels, and some air freshener. On her way out the door she saw some large folding chairs on sale, the kind that come in a canvas bag that can be folded and carried over your shoulder, and she grabbed a couple and went back to the cash register and paid for them too.

Back at the roach motel, Pearl opened her suitcase and pulled out the items she had brought along especially for this mission. She stripped out of her traveling clothes and took her regular little pink panties and bra set off and balled them in a knot, thrusting them down into the bottom crevices of her bag.

Quickly she stepped into a bright yellow thong and matching bra set, and wiggled her juicy ass into a pair of cutoff jean shorts that made her phat pussy print look like a delicious camel toe.

Next she pulled a tight white tank over her head that was cut
low in the front and the back, and made her golden skin look bronze and beautiful. Her arms were tight from endless pushups, and her stomach and back were sexy and toned.

Pearl slipped on a pair of five-inch sandals that she’d seen her sister wear in a different color, and strapped them around her deceptively slender, feminine, shin-breaking ankles.

The dainty little rhinestone earrings she was wearing had to go, and Pearl opted for a pair of gold hoops that set off the angles of her face, then she raised her ponytail higher on her head and teased the ends of her hair until a curly bush hung down past her neck.

It took her five more minutes to get her makeup right, and after misting her body with the same brand of perfume that Diamond used to wear, Pearl was set. She stood in front of the dresser and looked at herself in the cracked mirror and was astounded by what she saw.

It sure as hell wasn’t Pearl Baines, FBI Special Agent, who was staring back at her. It wasn’t her twin sister Diamond either, a hot Harlem stripper also known by the club name N’Vee. No, the hottie reflected in the mirror was somebody altogether different. She was Daddy’s Pearl. A trained FBI agent, a heartbroken mother, and a daughter on a mission. She was Daddy’s Pearl, and for those low-life ballers and hustlers who had picked the wrong family to hit, the chick in the mirror was about to become their worst nightmare.

I
f prime pussy was what you were looking for, then Club Humpz was the place to be on Friday and Saturday nights in Harlem. Located next door to a gambling joint, Humpz specialized in showcasing the finest bitches in the Greater New York area, and Tank Parker, one of the managers, pimped each one of them with deadly control.

With three stages, nine poles, and six dance cages, ass got flung to all four corners of the club nonstop on the weekends. Tank was an ex-NFL star wide receiver who prided himself on choosing bitches who could make a niggah nut just from looking at them.

A firm ass was essential to landing a job at Humpz.

And it wasn’t just the fact of having a lot of junk in the trunk, neither. All Tank’s bitches sported an organized trunk. There were no jellyrolls or nasty stretch marks or patches of cellulite or cottage-cheesey dimples to be found on any of his strippers.

The same thing went for the tits. Tank liked them high and tight. He even went as far as measuring the distance between a stripper’s nipples and her navel, and if that shit came up too short, he tossed her down the steps and straight out the back door.

Tank was out taking care of some business for Mookie, but Yoda Green was sitting at the bar on Thursday evening when the doors to Humpz banged open and a sexy, honey-colored chick strode in. She was tall and had killer legs that were not only toned and muscular but were also shapely as fuck, like an artist had penciled them onto a canvas.

“Who dat?” Yoda said, nodding toward his boy Donut, who was holding down the bar.

“All hoes come in through the back door!” he heard his nig Krazy Kevvie yell as the jawn entered.

Miss Tight Body pushed past Kevvie and cursed him out good. Kevvie wasn’t used to bitches spittin’ back at him, and Yoda coulda sworn the bouncer’s oversized left eye got even bigger as his hand swung back to crack her.

“It’s cool, Kev,” Yoda hollered quickly. “Let her through, man, and be cool.”

Donut Johnson looked up as the girl sashayed in. Her banging hips swayed slowly from side to side as she took her time heading in their direction. It had been a minute since he’d seen a body as tight as hers. He could tell from the front that she was packing a hammer in the back, and he knew she would rake in big doe just by wrapping her strong pretty legs around a pole.

“Can I help you, sweet stuff?” Donut said as she walked up and leaned on the bar. The bitch was bad. He coulda stuck his whole arm down between her titties. Her cleavage was just that deep.

She grinned and Donut’s dick jumped on rock.

“Yeah. I’m looking for the boss. I need a job.”

He stood up and grinned right back at her.

“Is that right?” he asked, rolling his toothpick around in his mouth as he looked her over with mad appreciation. “Yo, climb up on that stage right there. Lemme check you out.”

The chick laughed and turned around to do what she’d been told, and Donut’s breath got caught in his throat. She was a gangsta. Her waist was petite and V-shaped, and them ass cheeks were perfectly round and phatty, like her pockets held two bouncing-ass ghetto basketballs.

She stood on the stage grinning at him with one hand on her vicious hip. Her smile sparkled and her eyes danced with playfulness.

“Turn around …,” he commanded hoarsely. “Lemme check out that ass back there again …”

The chick rotated her body slowly, rocking her lower half in a deliciously sensual motion that kept her upper body straight while her bangin’ bottom did a sensuous hoola-hoop.

Yoda Green was just as mesmerized as his boy was, and he spoke before he realized he had opened his mouth.

“Grind it,” he urged her. “Grind it down to the floor.”

Both men watched silently as the gorgeous girl wiggled her ass and dipped her chips. She dropped it the right way, the way a man liked to see it fall, and both men gazing at her were biting their lips and gripping their dicks at the sight of the fresh new meat performing for them onstage.

“The pole,” Yoda urged her. “Take it to the pole.”

She was on it. Mami rode that pole like it was a smooth, golden dick, gripping it between her thighs and sliding her juicy breasts up and down the metal. Her nipples poked clear through her shirt and the bottom of her ass cheeks slipped from her tiny shorts, and even though both men saw much ass and twat on a regular, they had never seen it being showcased quite like this before,
or from a woman who was so confident and beautiful and oozing such mad pussy appeal.

Finally, Donut couldn’t take it no more.

“Aiight!” he said, grabbing his crotch and adjusting his hard dick. “Damn, if you that good with ya clothes on, I can’t wait to see you get naked. Tank handles all the hiring, but he ain’t here right now. I know what he likes, though, and I think I can speak for him when I say you’re our type. You got a job, baby. You sho’nuff got ya self a job. Matter fact, I predict you gonna be our next mainline act, sweetie. The top stripper in our lineup. What’s your name and when can you start?”

The girl standing on the stage laughed and climbed down.

She switched her gangsta hips over to them and stood with her arm resting on Yoda’s strong shoulder.

“You read me wrong, Big Boy,” she told Donut with a laugh. “I’m not a stripper. I’m a bartender.” She gazed down into Yoda’s near-empty glass. “Looks like Daddy here is ready for a refill, so how about I get started right now? And as for my name?” She giggled again. “I go by a lot of things. But you can call me Karma.”

Yoda had been a major henchman for Mookie for years. He was a come-up cat who was loyal and hardbody, but who appeared to lack the cutthroat brutality needed to run a large-scale grand operation.

What almost everybody agreed Yoda was good for though, was keeping his eye on things and muscling niggahs up if they got too far outta pocket. He was big and cockstrong, and had played a little football in high school before he got kicked out for exceeding the legal age limit for a public school student.