Natural Born Hustler (2 page)

Even before she opened her mouth to speak, her hands and dark slitted eyes had already told Joe all he needed to know: that although she was only eighteen years old, she was serious and there was no denying—she was dangerous.

Desember broke her knife down as quickly as she had pulled it out, the tone in her voice sharper than the blade she’d just put away. “It’s no threat, it’s a promise.” Her eyes never left his.

She never blinked as she watched Joe fix his collar. He
turned his back on Desember, looked Angie up and down, then staggered out the door with a crushed ego—and crushed nuts.

After a few moments, Angie broke the silence between her and her only child. “You didn’t have to emasculate the man, Desember,” she said, her face still showing his red handprint. “You need to stay the hell out of grown folks’ business,” Angie said to her daughter before running out the door after her man.

“You’re welcome, Mom,” Desember sarcastically hissed at Angie’s back. Desember hated the fact that her mother was, and always had been, dependent on a man. That was one of the reasons she hustled as hard as she did; she didn’t want to end up living that way. Desember shook her head and sat down to enjoy her sandwich. Just then Usher and Alicia Keys’s “My Boo” ringtone sounded from the phone in her pocket. She knew exactly who was on the other end of the jack and it sent a tingling feeling throughout her entire body as she hit the green button to answer.

“What’s up, Fame?” Fame and Desember had been together for three months now, although it seemed like years. They complemented each other like A-1 steak sauce and a New York strip, and she was happy for the diversion from her home situation.

“Let’s go to the movies,” he said. “That joint with your girl Beyoncé jumps off tonight.” He acted as if he didn’t know that she was still mad at him.

“You talking ’bout
Dreamgirls.
” It was a statement, not a question. And Fame wasn’t feeling the flick one bit, but she knew the man like a well-read magazine, and she also knew the nigga was crazy in love with Beyoncé like millions of other men were with Jay-Z’s wife.

“Yeah, that’s the one. You wanna roll?”

“Pick me up at my mother’s house,” she said before ending the call. Honestly she didn’t care where they went as long as it was away from Angie and Joe’s house.

She had twenty minutes to change. She put on a micro-mini denim skirt that showed off her well-toned legs and ass that boys couldn’t keep their eyes off of. She then brushed her three-hundred-dollar weave and added some lip gloss that complemented her flawless chocolate skin.

Exactly twenty minutes later Fame called again. “I’m outside baby, waiting in the car. You ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready. I’m coming out now,” she said right after she heard someone coming in the front door. By the sound of the footsteps, she knew it was her mother returning.

The second she got in Fame’s car he greeted her, this time with a long kiss. “I missed you, baby.”

His mouth tasted like watermelon Jolly Ranchers. He had a fresh haircut and his waves, which he brushed his hair religiously to maintain, were tight and shiny. His freckles and youthful smile made him appear much younger than his actual nineteen years.

“I miss you too,” she said, then her phone rang.

“Where are you going?” It was her mother.

“The same place you went … with my man.” Desember looked at Fame.

“Dee, you know that he’s no good for you.”

“You’re one to talk,” she shot back. “And yours is good for you?” She rolled her eyes. How many times had she heard this song from her mother, who seemed to have one set of rules for Desember and another set for herself?

“We are speaking about two different things,” Angie insisted. “And you know it.”

“Well, like mother like daughter. If loving
my man
is wrong, oh well, the hell with being right.”

“Desember, that boy is trouble. One day you’ll learn and it’s going to bite you in the ass … and when it does don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”

“I’ll deal with that day when it comes, Mother dear. Anyways, gotta go.”

The movie theater was jam-packed for the
Dreamgirls
opening night. Fame and Desember took two seats in the very last row, caring more about ducking the eyes of the other patrons than actually watching the show. The chemistry between the two of them was magnetic, and it wasn’t long before the darkness and temptation overtook them.

Minutes into the movie Desember reached over, unzipped Fame’s jeans and slipped her hand inside, searching with deft, manicured fingernails.

“Need some help?” Fame whispered as he ran his hand up her thigh under her short jean skirt.

“I got it covered, but if I run into any trouble, you’ll be the first I let know.” After a second or two, Desember had a firm grip on what she’d been searching for.

“I heard that,” he said in a cross between a sigh and a moan as he leaned back in the cushioned chair, content to let her fingers do whatever they wanted as long as they kept doing it.

Desember’s hand, still slick from the buttery popcorn, glided up and down his hardness. He jerked, trying to fight against the will of his body. The hand job was feeling so good he could no longer focus on his attempt to return the gesture.

“Whatsda matter, big boy? Need some help?” she teased, knowing he was almost at ecstasy.

Despite the darkness, Fame could sense the seductive half smile spread across her face. “Nah, baby,” he said in between tense breaths. “I don’t need no help, but I’ve seen enough of this flick. Let’s get the fuck outta here before we get caught.”

“Don’t let me find out you running,” she teased, still holding on to his nightstick.

“Oh, you best believe I’m running, all right. But I’m not running away, I’m running toward it. A man can’t live on foreplay alone.” He could see the movie anytime. In fact he had copped a clear bootleg copy over a week ago, hoping to see it with her. Besides, he hadn’t made love to Desember—or anyone else, for that matter—since their breakup.

“Lead the way, big boy, I’m right behind you.” She took his hand as they both got up, and after a few “excuse us’s” and “pardon me’s,” they were out of the crowded movie theater and in the parking lot.

Fame held her hand and used his other hand to pull out his keys from his front pocket, then chirped the alarm and lock to his 2007, souped-up Impala.

They drove ten minutes to a low-traffic stretch of the road just off the expressway in silence, except for the sounds coming from the new Jeezy CD. They pulled off the road onto the grass alongside a row of trees.

Desember pushed a button, reclining her seat all the way back and pulled up her skirt. “Turnabout is fair play,” she purred.

“Say no more.” Fame’s tongue made a dive so skilled into her goodness, Olympic judges would have scored him a perfect ten.

Desember was the only person he’d ever gone down on, and over the past three months of their relationship, he had mastered the carnal science.

“Oh shit!” Desember enjoyed every second of it, bucking her hips, giving him all the access he needed in the small space the car allowed.

Fame cupped her butt cheeks with his hands so she couldn’t squirm away—not that she wanted to—and lapped at her sweetness until she damn near broke loose, releasing a river of juices. But it didn’t end there.

They switched positions and Fame leaned back in the passenger seat, Desember straddling him. She rode his muscle like an equestrian pro trying to break an untamed beast. Every time she dropped her hips, he thrust deeper into her middle, and the louder she moaned.

“That’s it, baby!” Fame cried out this time. “Ride that ma’fucking horse.” He could feel the pressure building up, his nuts tighter than a pocket full of money in a pair of skinny jeans and ready to explode.

Desember felt it also, and she increased her rhythm. Then after five or six quick up-and-downs, she raised her hips, pausing at the tip, just enough to make him beg her to finish him off. And she did, slithering down his pole until he lost his load … and part of his mind. He was still trying to catch his breath when he slipped out of her warm pleasure spot. “That shit was the bomb, boo,” he gasped after a long exhale.

She laughed. “Nothing like make-up sex, huh, baby? Plus I missed you so much. I really did.” She kissed him.

“You been watching them porn movies when I’m not around?” he teased, kissing her forehead.

It was hard to believe that only two weeks ago they had been
at each other’s throats—literally—in a fight that not only landed them both in jail but with restraining orders to stay a hundred feet away from each other. But there was nothing on the face of the Earth—no court papers, prison bars, distance, person, place or thing—that could keep them apart from each other, because the truth of the matter was they were chained together at the heart.

Her and Fame’s altercations were nothing at all like Angie and Joe’s, Desember thought to herself. The difference between her and Angie was that Desember was nobody’s punching bag or whipping girl; she gave as hard as she took, and since she and Fame became a couple they may have had heated arguments but it had only gotten physical once. And at the end of the day they truly loved each other. If it’s true that for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction then their relationship was testimony to the rule. In their minds, they fought hard because they loved even harder.

“Fuck, naw, I ain’t been watching no damn porn, nigga,” she shot back with a playful hit. “How about you get yo’ mind out the gutter for once and do something useful with yo’self? Try gettin’ a towel out of the trunk or something.”

“Bet. I gotta hit my seats anyway. You got ’em all wet with that waterfall pussy of yours,” he joked, slapping her on the backside before sliding from under her and out the passenger door.

Once outside the car, Fame pulled his jeans up, buttoned them and zipped and fastened them before heading to the rear of the Impala.

It was ink black on the unlit road except for the moon and stars, and rare headlights from a passing motorist. That was why he picked that particular spot: it was quiet, private and
dark, and the perfect place to make love under the full moonlight. But to be honest, as hard as Desember had gotten his dick in the movie, he’d been a hot minute from being willing to bust a nut on aisle seven in Wal-Mart.

He hit the lock button on his key ring to pop the trunk; it clicked, then the lid slowly ascended, dim yellow light shining on its contents. Nothing was out of place and even the carpet in the trunk was showroom clean. He always kept fresh towels in the trunk of his car for wiping it down after he got it washed. He worshipped that car like it was his deity.

The plastic crate he kept his clean towels in was sitting where he had left it—in the back right corner of the trunk. He checked the bottom of the crate, underneath the clean, soft, Downy-smelling towels, to make sure his pistol was still in place. The cold, hard cylinder of the barrel gave him comfort. His oldest brother, Felix, once told him that it’s better to get caught with it (by the police) than without it (by the enemy) and ever since then there was a better chance of catching Fame in the street without his pants than without his burner.

He grabbed the top towel from the crate and headed toward the front of the Impala.

He heard a vibrating hum from a motorbike approaching from the westbound lane, and his instincts compelled him to look over his shoulder. The one-eyed machine was a ways off, but the roar of the strong high-booster engine was getting louder as it ate up the tarred pavement. It was a little cold to be riding but Fame envied the rider anyway. He had a deep passion for motorcycles, but had yet to purchase one of his own.

This summer
, he thought,
I’ma get me one
. He nodded with an envious smile on his mug as the biker closed the final twenty or
so yards between them, trying to figure out what kind of motorcycle it was, when the bike backfired … five times.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

Or maybe not …

They were gunshots.

Before he could react, Fame caught the first slug in the shoulder, spinning him 180 degrees. The second bullet missed him, instead ripping a middle-sized hole through the tail end of the whip that he religiously praised.

Startled by the first shot, Desember reacted with her gut instinct and reached for Fame’s pistol. After the second slug went into the backseat, she fell to the floor of the car, desperately feeling under the seat for the piece of cold steel that was usually there, but felt nothing. She thought of where else it could be. She knew that Fame wasn’t carrying it on his body when he got out of the car, and prayed that by the grace of God he had taken it out of the trunk when he’d gone for the towel. Still unsure of what was going on, she had no other option but to duck her head under the dashboard. The third, fourth and fifth bullets slammed into Fame’s side, stomach and back. He collapsed by the car, the side-view mirror revealing his surprised eyes as he lay motionless while the motorcycle and its rider sped off into the dead of night.

Desember bailed out of the car the second she felt the coast was clear and yelled out, “FAMMMME!!!!”