Smoke and Mirrors (3 page)

Smoke and Paris are a part of this world. They enter each other’s domain and things happen – strange things, wonderful things, horrible things, and beautiful things. I don’t want to give the story away, so I will just wrap this up now by saying, please sit back and enjoy. If the book gets a bit too heavy at some point, take a break if you need, but by all means, continue on the ride, for Smoke and Paris have a bona fide love story to tell. Are you ready? Let’s go!

*

She is an indestructible ruby red rose growing between the jagged cracks of time. I plucked her uneven petal, and her thorns caught around my heart, making me bleed along the razor blade’s glistening edge. I sacrificed myself for the sweetness of her garden, decided to perish, shed my old skin after inhaling her beauty. Though I now die a million times in her fields, the slow, tortuous fatality is worth it. Pardon me while I take my last breath. I want to be alone, to savor the perfume of her undying love…

*

Despite what I am, and what I evolved into, this is a story about love turning up and growing in the oddest and most unlikely of places…

My name is Brent “Smoke” Jeremy Patterson III, and I am a few hours away from being released from California State Prison. I’ve decided to tell my story so that maybe one day, it could help someone. Not to mention, it needs to be told. It’s time. Another reason is, I’d like to clear my conscience. I was not always the person that I came to be; I didn’t just wake up one morning and decide to fight the world, tooth and nail. There are more reasons for this confession, but for now, that will do. Now, as I sit here on this teeter-tottering bench with a brown paper sack of my belongings sitting next to me, I realize that this will be my last day of being incarcerated. No, not in prison, but in my mind… I am done with this. I can’t point the finger at anyone though. I can’t blame my choices on my childhood. Actually, I could, but I’m a grown ass man that made grown ass choices with grown ass consequences. I’m not one of those motherfuckers that tried to plead insanity, or claim to not know right from wrong to save my own ass.

I knew
exactly
what the fuck I was doing. In other words, I did what I did, I own it, but many would say that my crimes against women weren’t my greatest offense. You see, I broke the code and then took it to a whole different level. I was trained to never fall in love with my product. As the saying goes, don’t mix business with pleasure—but I did that and then some. I came from a long line of men who simply
don’t
fall in love. It is not even in our nature, but it is our legacy. I used this to my advantage, and it helped me with my product. In my case, the product was women…

So you see, my greatest violation and my ultimate love coexisted; actually, some would say they were one and the same. I won’t sugarcoat this or beat around the bush, I’ll come straight out and tell you what I am, and make it perfectly clear who you’re talking to.

I’m a pimp.

Being a pimp is a mindset; it’s a way of life. Pimps are born; they aren’t made. Before you go passing judgment, let me break something down for you. Some men, who are born pimps, don’t pimp just women, but an entire enterprise. They are called CEOs and government officials. We’ve been tricking for them since the day we were assigned a social security number. These aren’t semantics; this is the
real
world, the reality of the shit. A man could go his entire damn life not knowing he was a born pimp, but under the right circumstances, if he rolls around in just the precise amount of filth and delusions of grandeur, and he is seasoned to perfection from an environment that encourages such behavior, the personality
will
manifest, and he will take on his birthright at just the precise time…

The shit going on out here in the streets right now is bullshit. Those aren’t
real
playas, O.G.s or aristocrat playboys. They are little children with the personality of a piece of chicken shit. Despite their adult physical age, they are mere babies feigning to be full-fledged men. They are simps, man-ginas, Bettys, Mitches, reluctant betas pretending to be alphas, professing to be down by law. They’re caught up in their feelings, instead of keeping their mind on their money, and their money on their mind. Yes, I came into the world this way, but it took a series of twisted events to serve as a platinum key and unlock this darkness inside of me. Before you think to yourself, ‘what could this man who peddles pussy and then collects the cash possibly have to say worth listening to?’—I think I have a
lot
worth hearing, actually.

You see, you don’t know me…but you’re about to.

I don’t think I’m special, but I know for a damn fact that I’m different. You may think based on what I’ve told you that I’m the scum of the earth and well, in some ways you’d be right. Regardless of that, I’ve got a story to tell because you see, I’ve learned a few lessons along the way and if I can spare someone else from repeating my mistakes, then all of this shit was well worth it. On top of all of this, my story is rather unique. I’m a rare breed. So, I take back what I said…I
am
fucking special, and in a minute, you’ll know it, too.

I don’t know what image you had in your mind of me, but let’s get the preliminaries out of the way so there is no misunderstanding. I’m white. When you look at me, there is no mistaking that, no second-guessing, or the need for a survey or family tree DNA test. If I don’t get enough sunlight, I look like a fucking vampire. Some would say I was one anyway, sucking the life out of women for my own financial gain. My straight, thick, dark brown hair is usually combed back away from my face, cut close at the sides. My electric light blue eyes will either entice a woman to drop her fucking panties on a dime, or lure her ass to sleep, whichever I so choose. I have them due to a recessed albino gene from the paternal side of my family. They are the first thing motherfuckers see when I approach, and the last thing they look into when I have to stomp some son of a bitch into the ground.

Now, in regards to my confessions, don’t go making assumptions. I didn’t fall in love with one of my whores. That’s what you were thinking, weren’t you? No…it was
much
deeper than that. You see, I fell in love with someone in the
same
league as me. This particular female, this woman, is a Madame or Madam, however you wish to say it…you can make it sound French if you like, put a fancy twist on it like double olives in a martini. In any case, this woman is like no other. She is a ball breaker, john shaker and money taker. An individual whose confidence, influence and beauty brought me to my goddamn knees.

The day I met Madam Paris Raven was the day my life took a turn not even God himself could have expected. In some eyes, I’m now viewed as fallen from grace. I’m looked upon with disdain, seen as no better than a trick, because there is not a damn thing I wouldn’t do for this woman, even behind these bars, moments away from my freedom…

If you want to hear me out, I’m going to sit here and tell you my story while I wait for official discharge. It’s my first time telling it to anyone, the entire damn truth, and nothing but the truth, since the shit went down. You may wonder, ‘Why now?’ Well, I’m one hundred and eighty-two minutes away from being a free man…and they say a man is only
truly
free, if his heart and mind are as well. So, here you are, and here I am. Have a seat. I want to tell you my narrative…a love story born in the midst of chaos and self-destruction. A story that turned me, Brent ‘Smoke’ Patterson, from Legend, to Legal ward of the state, and now, Lover of a lady of the night…

*

Present Day…

D
ru Down’s,
‘Can You Feel Me’, played on the baroque music system in Smoke’s brand spanking new, black on black Porsche 918 Spider as he sat parked on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. He’d been in the mood for some music that drew him into his younger days when he’d sit outside a baseball park and daydream, with the palm trees swaying above his head and the wind flipping through his hair. Regardless of him feeling rather relaxed, a sense of urgency had begun to slowly creep up his spine like tiny fingers meandering towards the base of his neck. So he sat on the side of the road, his head still spinning from a rather loud and crazy evening and his hangover gripped his cranium as if it, too, was trying to read his damn mind.

Wait a minute, what’s going on? That’s him getting in his car. Leaving early? She didn’t call me to tell me she was finished. That’s not like her. Something’s not right…

He got out of the car, adjusted his Urwerk CC1 King Cobra watch and made his way into the L’Ermitage Beverly Hills Hotel, one of five hotels that he used in steady rotation. It had all the amenities needed to keep his clients exultant, his stable content, and most importantly, he did it so well, the staff, minus one manager that was well paid to keep his fucking mouth shut, remained none the wiser to his exploits. Regardless, it was time for a come-up, an upgrade, and he had just the solution. He’d just purchased an apartment building, hired an old friend of the family to help stand guard and contracted several working crews to revamp the place, make it fit exactly what he had in mind. It would be turned into a place for his stable to reside all under one roof, as well as double as a pussy palace. Several of the apartments within it would be used as space for his employees to work, but in the meantime, this was their current situation. It had taken a while to reach this pinnacle. Over time, he not only taught himself the game, he fucking improved it, making the dull shine, the mundane draw curiosity, and the undesirable coveted. This would be the place, this would the time…a slice of the busted cherry pie to call their very own. No more hotels, no cop infested or dangerous areas. His whores rarely walked the track. That was his first rule. The second was, he commanded and demanded
complete
obedience. They had
one
time and one time only to try him: lie, take his money, or get on drugs, and their ass would be blowing in the Los Angeles winds.