The Kat Trap (5 page)

When I got to the second photo, I almost fell outta my motherfuckin’ chair. It was a white nigga. And the muhfucka wasn’t even fine. It was bad enough I didn’t do white dick; Cash knew that
shit. Still, to hit me with a stringy-haired nigga with brown teeth was a bit much.
This is some bullshit for real,
I thought, flippin’ open my cell.

“What’s good?”

“You givin’ me this white muhfucka who looks like he’s been eatin’ shit, that’s what’s good. You know I don’t get down with no white niggas. And definitely none who look like this cracker.” I let my words roll off my tongue before I could catch what I had said.

He started laughin’ ’n shit. “Yo, ma, you actin’ like you tryna fuck the nigga or somethin’. What’s good?”

“What you mean ‘what’s good’? Ain’t nothin’ good, nigga.”

“Yeah, aiight.” He lowered his voice. “Listen…check this out. How you slump these muhfuckas don’t matter; only that it gets done.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Whoa, pump ya brakes. It means just because I ain’t ever say shit don’t mean I don’t know how you doin’ yours. Don’t think I don’t know you freakin’ them niggas before you waste ’em.”

I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at it. I couldn’t believe what I heard. “Excuse me?” I said, shocked. For some reason, I really didn’t think the nigga knew. But I guess I’d been sleepin’ on his ass.

“On some real shit, it ain’t that serious, babycakes,” he said, causin’ the hairs on the back of my neck to stand.
Babycakes?
I decided to ignore it. “You like gettin’ ya nut off with them jokers and it’s all good. Actually, givin’ them muhfuckas some pussy before slumpin’ ’em is kinda hot. I always knew you was a real freak with yours.” Ugh, he made my stomach turn. “But I need you to do me this solid.” This time he started laughin’ again.
Yeah, okay,
I thought.
This fat, nasty nigga did this shit on purpose, tryna be funny
. “What the fuck’s so funny?” I snapped.

“You,” he said. “I wish I coulda been a fly on ya wall when you peeped his flick. I know that shit was priceless.”

“Whatever,” I said. “You ain’t funny. So you know, now what?”

“Do what you do best. I promise to make it worth your while.”

“So why you send this shit to me instead of one of ya dudes on the squad?”

“’Cause I wanted to line ya pockets with a little extra somethin’.”

I sighed. “Yeah, right. That’s what ya mouth says.”

He busted out laughin’ again. “And I wanted to see how you’d handle this nigga since he ain’t fuckable.”

“Fuck you, Cash. I’m glad you think this shit is funny. How long have you known?”

“For ’bout a year now,” he said. “At first, when the crew was findin’ all the niggas you slumped naked, I didn’t pay the shit no mind. But, then I peeped how every time you went on an assignment the muhfuckas would be butt-ass naked and the sheets would be removed. Shit wasn’t addin’ up. Then it hit me, and that’s when I put shit together. Like I said, I thought the freaky shit was fiyah. And the only reason I kept it on the low is ’cause at the end of the day you real thorough. And I really don’t give a fuck how you handle yours. So, you got this one or what?”

“How much you tryna line my pockets with?” I asked, usin’ the photo to fan myself.

“An extra twenty-five gees,” he said.

“Fuck that,” I snapped. Now that I knew this nigga knew, he’d be tryna clown me every chance he got if I let him. I ain’t the one. The only way to shut a nigga like him down—other than puttin’ a bullet in his skull—is by diggin’ in his pockets. “You
musta banged ya damn head if you think that’s ’posed to be makin’ it worth my fuckin’ while. Come betta, Cash, or it’s a no-go. And I’m not fuckin’ around.”

“Aiight, aiight. I’ll make it another fifty gees. Just handle the dude. His wife wants his ass stretched, ASAP.”

My pussy pulled in my thong. The sound of that got me heated. “Then you need to get my seventy-five percent to me now. Otherwise, you’ll have to send someone else on this one.”

He sucked in his breath. “Damn, your little ass is really playin’ hardball these days.”

“I’ve learned from the best,” I replied, tossin’ the photo of this pasty-faced fool to the floor. “I want my money tonight.”

“It’ll be there.”

“It better be,” I said, snappin’ the phone shut.

A
t eleven a.m., my flight had safely landed at O’Hare International Airport. I loved Chicago, especially downtown, and had hoped to strut along Michigan Avenue to have lunch at one of the trendy restaurants that lined the strip, then do a little shopping, but I knew that wasn’t my real purpose for being there so I decided to pick up my rental, then go check into my hotel suite. A bitch needed time to chill before it was time to do what I had come to do. The thought of this nigga with his white, clammy hands touchin’ my body made my gut turn.
No wonder his bitch wants him dead. Probably gotta pencil dick, too,
I mused.

I made my way onto 90 East toward downtown Chicago, thinking about my life. At twenty-five, I had the life most bitches only dreamed about. I owned my own spot, was paid out the pussy, had e’erything I wanted, but somethin’ still felt like it was missin’. I ain’t sayin’ I was on some lonely-type shit or some other crazy mess. It felt like…uh, fuck it. Shit ain’t that serious. But in the back of my mind, somethin’ was tellin’ me I’d better get my ass outta this shit before all the shit I’d done caught up to me. A bitch in an orange or tan uniform wasn’t a good look, and I wasn’t tryna be the one.
Two more bodies,
I thought, makin’ a right onto Michigan Avenue,
and I’m shuttin’ shit down
.

Well, for a minute. Maybe travel the world, fuck a few foreign niggas, get my pussy ate and suck a few dicks on an airplane. But I had so much blood on my manicured hands that I wondered if I really had it in me to walk away from the thrill of it all. Holdin’ a burner in my hand, pressin’ it against a nigga’s skull turned me the fuck on. Yeah, I was probably a sick, sadistic bitch, but I was paid and I’d be walkin’ away with millions stacked.

I pulled up in front of the hotel and parked in the valet parkin’ area, then stepped out of my busted-up rental—a fuckin’ Aveo—and grabbed my satchel and carry-on bag, walkin’ into the four-story lobby of this fly-ass hotel.

“Welcome to The InterContinental Chicago,” an attractive young woman said, smilin’ in my direction. “How may I help you?”

“I have a reservation.”

“Your name, please?” I told her my name, then handed her one of my fake-ass identifications. “Oh, Miss Lewis, a package came for you this morning. I’ll be right back.” She went to the back to retrieve it, then returned. I already knew what it was: the supplies I needed to carry-out my job. While I got to fly all over the U.S. to handle these niggas, Cash’s job was to make sure shit was in order. With the exception of his fat ass tryna shortchange me it was an operation that ran without any glitches. We all knew Cash was ’bout the business of killin’, and a missed body was a missed bankroll. “Here you are,” she said, returnin’ with a medium-sized box.

I smiled. “Thanks.”

“You’re in Suite 6201,” she said, handin’ me my room key. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

“I’m sure I will,” I stated, headin’ toward the elevators.

Nine-thirty p.m., I was standin’ out on my balcony admirin’
the view of the Chicago skyline, wishin’ I was slumped over the railin’ with a stiff dick diggin’ my pussy out from the back. I needed some cock, and I was fuckin’ disgusted that this job wouldn’t be served up with a side order of thick dick. My private cell rang, breakin’ my thoughts.

“Hello?”

“What’s good, pretty lady?”

“Who’s this?” I asked, smilin’. I knew it was the nigga from Studio 9. I’d written my number in the palm of his hand on our way outta the club. He and his mans ’n them had wanted to take us out to breakfast, but I asked for a rain check since I knew I had shit to do the followin’ mornin’. Chanel had the nerve to try ’n be swoll ’bout it, but I didn’t give a fuck. She’d get over it. He walked me to my car then I heard the chirp to that bangin’-ass Bentley parked beside my Benz. It was his. My pussy immediately got moist as thoughts of fuckin’ him in the backseat of his whip and suckin’ his dick while he was pushin’ it down the turnpike came to mind. I kept my cool, but could see that my girls were gaggin’. Yeah, this nigga was paid, and I was gonna see what was really good with his fine ass as soon as I got back from handlin’ my business.

“Grant,” he said.

“Grant, who?” I asked, fuckin’ with him.

“Oh, it’s like that,” he said, laughin’. “Let me find out you got a stable of niggas on your team.”

I laughed. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Oh, word? Well, how can a nigga like me get on your squad?” he asked, dippin’ his voice real low. I felt myself gettin’ wet.

“That depends,” I said, matchin’ his low, sexy tone.

“On?”

“On how big ya dick is, and if ya know how to eat a pussy.”

He laughed. “Well, shit, you ain’t askin’ for much. I got that covered.”

“Is that so?”

“No doubt. You’se a sexy thing, and I’m tryna come through and spend some time with you. Show you how a real nigga treats a woman.” Although the nigga had a street edge, he had this polished, sophisticated edge to him. That shit turned me on.

“And how’s that?”

“Let me come scoop you up, and show you.”

“I wish I could,” I said, grinnin’. “But I’m outta town for few days. I’ll be home Sunday afternoon.”

“Oh word. Then hit me up when you touch.”

“I will.”

“Don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do,” he said playfully.

“Well, that may be hard since I don’t know what a nigga like you’d do.”

He chuckled. “I feel ya, baby. Be safe.”

“Thanks,” I said, disconnectin’ the call. I grabbed my purse and keys and headed for the door. I had someplace to be, someone to see, and a bullet to serve.

By the time I got to the Bucktown section of Chicago—an old warehouse district that had been rehabbed and turned into dance clubs and fly-ass lofts—it was almost ten forty-five. I pulled up in the parkin’ area of this trendy spot Aqua, where my unsuspectin’ victim would be. Not only was he a compulsive gambler, word had it he had a thing for pretty young girls, particularly black and Latin chicks. And since he couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants, his wife probably wanted his ass ghost so she could collect on a million-dollar insurance policy he had. The bitch felt she deserved that and then some due to his years of cheatin’
on her ass.
Whateva!
I wanted this shit to be over, and the sooner the better.

I stepped out of my rental rockin’ a fly-ass hot pants jumpsuit and a pair of knee-high Gucci boots with stiletto heels. My hair was braided and tucked under a long black wig with short bangs. I made sure to rock something that flowed almost past my ass to give the illusion that I was one of them exotic bitches, which wasn’t really hard to do since I already had the
look
.

When I walked into the club, I was surprised to see that this spot had a mixed crowd. I knew a bitch was gonna be all up in a lily-white shit hole with a bunch of snuff-chewin’ hillbillies. Even the music was cute. I circled the club, scannin’ the area in search of my mark. There were three bars and two dance floors, and the place was packed.
Shit
, I thought,
I could be here all fuckin’ night lookin for this brown-toothed, limp dick nigga
. All eyes were on me as I made my way to the bar where I positioned myself so I had full view of the floor.

An hour goes by and I’m gettin’ real sick of this postin’ up at the bar and havin’ all these duck-ass niggas tryna spit weak-ass game. The cat I’m lookin’ for is nowhere to be found, and I was startin’ to get vexed. But a bitch like me knows how to keep it cute. So I shook my ass a tease to get into the groove of shit. I almost wanted to hit the dance floor to pop my hips and toss a few drinks instead of sippin’ on my flat-assed Coke. But I was there on business and drinkin’ on the job was a no-no. I was so fuckin’ ready to blow dust on the spot.

Well, as I’m ’bout to go into plan B, I turn to my left and there in all of his pasty-faced glory is my mark, dressed in all black, wearin’ a slick-ass pair of Dolce & Gabbana shades with his stringy-ass hair pulled back in a shiny ponytail, makin’ his way
toward the bar and me. I turned around real slow and sexy-like, then leaned over the bar enough to allow my ass cheeks to peek from underneath the edges of my eighteen-hundred-dollar jumper. I shook my ass to the music, then gave the horny-ass niggas somethin’ to go home and beat their dicks to. I could feel his eyes zoomin’ in on my juicy ass.
Here kitty, kitty…that’s right…come to momma, muhfucka…

“What is a pretty young lady like you drinking tonight?”

I turned around, scanned this crab nigga real easy, then parted a phony-ass smile. “If I tell you, I might hafta kill you,” I said, lettin’ a sly grin spread across my face. He blinked, blinked again, then had the muthafuckin’ audacity to show me his shit-stained teeth, cheesin’ ear-to-ear. Ugh!
I’ma blast this nigga’s grill out,
I thought.

“As pretty as you are,” he said, eyein’ me like he hit Lotto, “I’ll take my chances.”

“A risk taker,” I said, matchin’ his stare. “I like that.”

“I only bet on sure things, baby. And I’d bet my life you’re a winner.”

“Your life?” I asked.

“Yeah, my life,” he repeated.

Then your life it is, muhfucka.
I smiled.

“Now, what can I get the beautiful lady?”

I went in for the kill. I licked my lips real slow and sexy-like and stared him down, before glancin’ down at his crotch. I let the nigga see I was checkin’ for his dick. “What I want, they’re not servin’ at the bar.”

“In that case,” he said, droolin’ like a fuckin’ hound dog, “I know someplace that is.” He leaned in my ear and told me the room number to where he was stayin’, then told me to meet him there
in an hour, and to knock three times. I bounced from the club, switchin’ my ass all the way out the door. When I got to my rental and was behind the wheel, I flipped open my cell and called Cash.

“What’s good?”

“I’m restin’ at the downtown Hyatt. Checkin’ in ’bout an hour, then headin’ out in forty.”

“Bet. Enjoy your stay.”

“I always do.”

At one a.m., I dipped into the Hyatt Regency wearin’ a black micro-mini dress and a pair of six-inch slingbacks, struttin’ toward the elevators. When I got to the door, I knocked three times as instructed. He opened the door wearin’ a white hotel robe, and his stringy hair was all over his head. His eyes were glazed. The pale-faced nigga looked coked the fuck out. But it was all good. I was gonna make this short and sweet. I gave myself ten minutes to stretch his ass, then bounce.

“Can I get you something?” he asked, shuttin’ the door behind him. I walked over to the window and admired the view. His suite was overlookin’ Lake Michigan, and the shit was sexy as hell. It was a perfect night to be fucked real rough out on the balcony, but definitely not with this trailer-park nigga. However, he did have me curious. I wanted to see if he had a little pink dick with a bunch of extra skin or not, before I blasted his ass. I glanced down at my watch. I had thirty-four minutes to spare. So, I changed plans.

“Yeah,” I said, turnin’ around to face him, “you can take off that corny-ass robe and let me see you jerk that dick while I play in my pussy, then I’ma let you fuck me deep in my fat, black ass.” Lies!

He opened his beady eyes in shock, then smiled. Ugh!

“Don’t play like you don’t know what time it is,” I said. “Why else you invite me up to your suite? To fuck this sweet, chocolate pussy with the creamy pink center, right?”

He licked his crusty-ass lips. The nigga looked like he was ’bout ready to nut on himself. He broke out into another one of his shitty smiles.

“You get right to the point. I like that.”

“Life is too short to be wastin’ time,” I said, droppin’ my bag into the green high-back chair, then pullin’ my dress up over my hips, and slowly turnin’ around. I bent over and slapped my ass, then pulled it open. “You ever see an ass this big before?” I asked him, lookin’ at him over my shoulder.

He shook his head, runnin’ his long tongue over his rusty lips. “No, can’t say that I have.”

“Then you ain’t had no good ass until you had some black ass.” I walked over to him and undid his robe. His dick was hard, and to my fuckin’ surprise ’bout as thick as a cucumber. The nigga actually had a pretty dick for a white man, and if his face wasn’t so busted, I probably woulda fucked him just for the hell of it. Not! I grabbed him by the base of his hard cock, glidin’ my hand up to his mushroom head, pullin’ him toward the bed. “Then, it looks like tonight’s your lucky night. Now, lie back and beat that big white dick for me.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, spread open his legs, then leaned back on one elbow, strokin’ his dick. The more he stroked, the longer his dick got. “I want you to turn the light on over there on the table, then sit across from me and play in that sweet black pussy for me. Let me see you finger-fuck that pussy.”

I smiled. “Oh, you wanna see how wet this pussy gets?” I asked, walkin’ over toward my bag. I dropped it to the floor, then sat
down, danglin’ one leg over the arm of the chair. I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand: 1:18.
Shit, I gotta hurry,
I thought, rubbin’ my pussy. “Oooh, you gotta big dick,” I moaned. “You wanna put that big white dick in this fat black pussy. You wanna fuck this tight pussy? You wanna eat this sweet pussy?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, jackin’ his dick fast and furious.

“Yeah, daddy, just like that…Mmmm. You wanna stick your tongue in my ass? Ooh, it feels sooo good,” I said, pullin’ open my pussy. “Look at this wet, pink pussy…”

The nigga was practically shakin’ and droolin’, pumpin’ his dick in ’n out of his grungy hands, starin’ at my pretty pussy.

His dick seemed to get thicker with each stroke. He was ugly as fuck, but his dick…humph, that thick, white dick and his fat, smooth balls had me wantin’ to do some freaky thangs to his ass. The thought of handcuffin’ and blindfoldin’ him, then sittin’ down on his dick and milkin’ it with my pussy had me goin’. My hole was gettin’ real hot. I dipped my finga in my slit. My shit was drippin’. “Close ya eyes, muhfucka, and make believe it’s my lips wrapped around that big white dick, nigga.”