Eviction Notice, page 20
“Yeah, I’m straight.” Porsha finger combed the loose strands of her wig. As soon as she gathered her composure she rolled on Brick House and got in her face. “Bitch, you ever lay hands on me again Ima lay you.”
“You got that, shorty.” Brick House smiled and blew a kiss at Porsha.
Porsha was about to swing on Brick House, but Kat laid a calming hand on her shoulder. “Easy, li’l mama, I think the situation between you and Brick House is dead, right, Brick?” Kat turned to Brick House, who was still grinning and looking them up and down.
“Yeah, it’s a dead issue as far as I’m concerned. I’ll see y’all in the V.I.,” Brick House told them and left the dressing room. When the bully was gone, all the girls breathed a sigh of relief.
“Dyke bitch,” Porsha spat, still staring at the door.
“Baby girl, knock it off.” Kat sat on the bench and began unpacking her bag. “This is a strip club, ma. You can’t throw a rock without hitting somebody who likes pussy, has had pussy, or is seriously thinking about it. It comes with the territory, ma, so if you’re squeamish, then this is the wrong line of work for you.”
“I hear you, Kat,” Porsha said.
“Don’t just hear me, P, listen to me, because this is the second time in less than twenty-four hours that I’ve watched you walk into some bullshit that could’ve been avoided or handled different. Ma, I fucks with you all day every day because you a good chick, but at the same time I see what kinda chick you are.”
“And what do you mean by that?” Porsha sounded offended.
“Calm down, I didn’t mean no disrespect. It’s like this.” Kat stopped her unpacking and gave Porsha her full attention. “Some chicks do this as a way of life and some chicks do it as an means to an end and you fall into that category. Porsha, you ain’t like a lot of these chicks: you don’t have any kids and you ain’t tied down to a man. You do this to keep your bills paid, but you see how much bigger the world is.”
“Hell yeah I do. I don’t plan to shake my ass for singles for the rest of my days.” Porsha snaked her neck.
“And that’s exactly the point I’m trying to make here, ma. There are those of us who do this as a way of life and those of us who do it because we’re too lazy or underqualified to work a nine-to-five. Now for as sweet as the bread is, we also gotta look at the flip side. If it ain’t a trick who wants to take it beyond a lap dance trying to follow us home, it’s a nigga trying to break the condom on purpose to pass us whatever he might be carrying, and let’s not even dwell on the extra shit that goes on inside the club. How many bouncers at these clubs have tried to crack on you for a free blow job if you need a favor from them? This shit should come with hazard pay!”
“Yeah.” Porsha laughed.
“True story, Porsha. You’re laughing but I’m serious. This shit is high stakes, baby, and if you ain’t playing until the end of the game, find another table to sit at, you understand me?”
“I understand, and thanks, Kat.” Porsha nodded, absorbing Kat’s wisdom. “But on another note, what’s it looking like out there?”
“It’s looking like the name of the club, Brick City, because damn near every nigga I seen was toting a brick in his hand. I’m about to throw it on and do what I do,” Kat told her.
“You ain’t said nothing slick to a can of oil. Ima see you out on the floor,” Porsha told Kat as she prepared to head out.
“Yeah, Ima catch you in a few, but remember what I told you, Porsha. Once you crossed that state line you stepped into the big league, so be prepared for whatever it has to offer, be it good or bad.”
“I got you, Kat, and I’ll be sure to watch my ass out there,” Porsha assured her.
“I’ll watch your ass, you just watch your back.” Kat slapped Porsha on the ass playfully and went back to her unpacking.
Porsha walked down the short, crowded hallways that led from the dressing room to the main area of Brick City. There was a bathroom on each side of the hall, one marked MEN and the other WOMEN, but both sexes floated in and out of each one. In a shadowed corner near a supply closet, a young man stood with his back against the wall and his eyes rolled back in his head. Kneeling in front of him was the fat stripper Brick House had run off earlier. She took the young man’s penis into and out of her mouth slowly while fondling his balls in her hand. She paused briefly to spit on his dick, then went back to her business. Porhsa just shook her head and continued out into the main area.
Porsha was surprised when she saw all the people who had packed the strip joint. Four girls danced on the long stage behind the bar while at least two dozen more worked the room. It looked more like a nightclub, with people dancing, drinking, and fulfilling fantasies in private and in public. Porsha felt the telltale butterflies in her stomach that she hadn’t felt since the first time she’d taken her clothes off in a room full of men. There was definitely more competition in Brick City than she had anticipated, but she was determined to get hers.
Porsha saw Sahara sitting at the bar, nursing a drink and trying to ignore some dude who was all up in her space. She looked considerably better than she had a few hours prior, having slicked her hair back and attached a long ponytail to it. With the way her black miniskirt clung to her wide hips, it was no wonder she was getting harassed. Sahara was a pretty girl and could’ve easily made a few dollars for herself at Brick City, but her heart wasn’t in it. Instead, she had come along for the ride to keep her friend company and her mind off their pending money problems.
“Excuse you,” Porsha said, sliding between Sahara and the young man. He turned his attention from Sahara to Porsha, but when she ignored him and gave him her back, he took the hint and moved on.
“Girl, thanks. I’ve been trying to get rid of that nigga for the last ten minutes, but the muthafucka acted like I was speaking a foreign language,” Sahara told her.
“You know how some of these muthafuckas can be,” Porsha said while waving to get the bartender’s attention. She ordered two shots of Rémy and slid one to Sahara. “So, what do you think of the place?”
“This shit is off da hook,” Sahara said, openly admiring the club. “And it’s definitely some money in the building.” She eyed a dude who had just walked in wearing an ice-flooded chain.
“I told you that you should’ve thrown something together and got down with me on this,” Porsha reminded her.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll leave the ass shaking to you qualified bitches,” Sahara joked.
“And there ain’t too many as qualified as I am.” Porsha lifted her ass off the seat and started popping it. A handful of singles seemed to fall from the sky, raining over Porsha and Sahara.
“Damn, you make that ass move like it’s got a mind of its own.” Sahara stared at Porsha in wonder.
“It does, and its mind is always on money.” Porsha slammed her shot. “Look, I’m about to get to work, but I’ll come back and check on you in a few, okay?”
“Yeah, do your thing, girl. I’m straight,” Sahara assured her.
Porsha slid off the stool and disappeared through the crowd. Sahara downed her shot and called for another one as she began to loosen up a bit. She was watching the stage show when she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. “I ain’t working, so get on like you’ve been spit on,” Sahara said without bothering to look over her shoulder to see who it was.
“That’s good, but it still leaves me wondering what the fuck you’re doing here.”
A ball of ice instantly formed in Sahara’s stomach at the sound of the familiar voice. She knew whom she would see even before she turned around but it didn’t make it any easier. Taking a second to finish the shot the bartender had just set in front of her, Sahara turned around and was face-to-face with a very angry King James.
* * *
After throwing back the shot, Porsha was feeling nice. It didn’t take long for the wolves to descend on her, prodding and pulling Porsha this way and that. Part of her was disgusted by the aggressive touching, but her mind was on her money, so she played the game and accepted their offerings.
From the corner of her eye she spotted Brick House near the bar, whispering in the ear of a dude with long dreadlocks. Her eyes landed on Porsha and she watched her intensely as she made her way through the room. Kat had assured her that Brick House wasn’t going to be a problem, but Porsha wasn’t stupid enough to sleep on her. If Brick House tried to stunt on her again, Porsha would make sure that she drew her knife before the girl could get to her razor.
Watching Brick House watching her wasn’t going to get the rent paid, so Porsha focused on working the room and trying to come up. Sitting at a table to her left was a group of Mexicans who were sipping beers and throwing money at anything in a thong that wandered near their table. She could tell by the way they were dressed—in jeans and cowboy boots—that they weren’t hustlers, more than likely just a few friends out for a good time. Connected or not, they had money and Porsha needed it, so she made her way over to their table.
Without being invited, Porsha sat on the lap of one of the men and draped her arms around his neck. She hadn’t been on his lap for ten seconds before she felt his dick stiffen in his jeans, so she knew she had him on the hook. He was so enthralled by Porsha that all he could do was smile and peel off singles as she rocked back and forth on his lap in time with the beat of the song that was playing. One of his friends reached over and tried to touch Porsha, but she slapped his hand away and rubbed her fingers together, letting him know he had to pay to play. By the time Porsha finished her rounds at the table she was two hundred dollars richer.
She was making her way to the other side of the room to see what was popping when she noticed a commotion at the door. From the way some of the girls immediately slipped into chicken-head mode, she knew a heavy hitter had just entered the building. She started to ignore it and keep working the room, but her curiosity wouldn’t let her. She slipped through the crowd and peered over to see what was going on, and when she saw who had just come in her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas.
CHAPTER 27
The candy-red Hummer sitting on twenty-eight-inch rims drew more than just curious stares when it pulled into the parking lot. Two of the bouncers employed by Brick City guided the Hummer to a soft stop just short of the main entrance. The women stared in anticipation, planning their best courses of action to get next to whichever clique was riding in the Hummer, while the stick-up boys watched and plotted how they could relieve them of their valuables. Everyone took a cautious step back when they saw the man who climbed from the passenger side.
Devil rolled his broad shoulders to give himself some room in the black leather blazer he was wearing. It was a little warm for the jacket that night, but it concealed the two minimachine guns dangling under his arms. Devil was in his forties and though he had lived a very hard life, he still managed to keep himself in better shape than a man ten years his junior. In his line of work, which was busting heads, you had to make sure you were fit for war, especially when you were the guardian angel to one of New York’s most-hated men. After giving a quick look around to make sure they were good, Devil opened the back door to let the passengers out.
Tone was the first to step from the Hummer. He had traded his normally preppy gear for a pair of Nautica sweatpants and a thin hoodie. On paper he was the personal assistant/manager of the CEO and vice president of Big Dawg Entertainment, but in reality Tone was the man who made things happen. Tone had been birthed by the streets of Harlem and schooled in some of the most elite educational institutions in the city. By the time he graduated from St. Francis High School, where he’d broken almost every standing record for their Red Raiders basketball team, he’d found himself in high demand among college-basketball recruits. To everyone’s surprise, Tone had chosen to stay close to home and enrolled at Rutgers, where he’d pursued a career in entertainment law while working part-time for his childhood friend Don B. at his start-up record label. By the time Tone had graduated, Big Dawg was on the radar of everybody in the music industry and he was Don B.’s right-hand man.
A few minutes later, Tone was greeted by a cat named Gotti from Irvington. Gotti was a large man who stood about six-foot-three with broad shoulders and a massive head, which he kept shaved. His eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses, but you could see the scar that started at the top of his forehead and disappeared into his thick beard. His huge medallion swayed like a pendulum as he approached the Hummer and shook Tone’s hand.
“Gotti, what up, my nigga?” Tone embraced him.
“All is well, beloved. Thanks for coming out,” Gotti replied.
“It’s all good, my G. You know, the way you were going on about your boy, I had to come see what all the hype was about.”
“Ain’t no hype about it, Lord Scientific is the real deal,” Gotti assured him. “So what’s up wit ya man, he couldn’t make it out?”
“Nah, he’s right behind me. Yo, Don,” Tone called over to the Hummer.
Don B. oozed out of the SUV, placing his crisp white Nike Airs soundlessly on the pavement. He took a second to shake the loose ashes from the blunt pinched between his lips, and adjusted the jeweled rottweiler head hanging from the end of his thick gold chain. When the people outside the club recognized him they immediately swarmed in for autographs and tried to hand him demo CDs. It took the combined efforts of the Big Dawg security team and the club bouncers to keep the mob in check. Don B. looked out at the dozens of adoring faces and sighed. Normally the self-proclaimed Don of Harlem would’ve welcomed the attention and made a good showing of it, but he wasn’t feeling it that night. So much had transpired over the last few years and some of the wounds were still very fresh.
“Don, this is Gotti, the cat I was telling you about.” Tone nudged Don B. out of his daze and drew his attention to Gotti’s extended hand.
“My fault, what’s good?” Don B. gave him dap.
“You, brother. It means a lot that you came all the way out here to check my li’l funk,” Gotti said sincerely.
“Sooo woooo!” someone shouted from the crowd, which drew a ripple of calls from all the Bloods assembled, and there were quite a few of them out that night for Lord Scientific. Not wanting to be shown up in front of the NY rappers, the Crips, who occupied the other side of the parking lot, responded with a chorus of whistles. Don B.’s face hardened visibly as the tension between the two sides thickened.
“Don’t worry, fam, ain’t none of these li’l niggaz stupid enough to start tripping. B-Gang at least fifty strong in here tonight and most my li’l niggaz strapped, so murder is the order of business if it goes down,” Gotti said loud enough for the Crips to hear. “Let’s roll up in here and cop some bottles.” Gotti started toward the entrance.
Tone eased up beside Don B. and whispered in his ear, “Stop whispering to them ghosts in your head and focus on the business at hand. Let’s go greet your public.”
Don B. nodded. There were a million and one things on his mind, but he was still the Don. Pushing away the shadows of the dead, Don B. slipped back into G-mode and made his way toward the entrance, with Devil on his heels.
The interior of Brick City was very tastefully decorated with its ice sculptures and marble-topped bars. Ladies of all shapes, sizes, and colors strutted around the joint in clear heels, thongs, and transparent sarongs that showcased what they had for rent. When the overhead lights caught Don B.’s jewels, it seemed to send out a beacon to the money-getting chicks in the spot and drew them to him like moths to a flame. The men were kept at arm’s length but Tone gave security instructions to let the ladies through so they could pay homage to the Don. Most of the chicks recognized Don B. from his music videos or repeat appearances on the evening news, and the ones who didn’t know him saw how he rolled and knew he had to be someone important. Whatever their respective reasons, they all flocked to him with dollar signs in their eyes and hope in their hearts.
The smell of whore stink and weed raised the hairs on the back of Don B.’s neck and stirred something low in his jeans as stripper after stripper closed in on him, tugging at his cock and playing with his jewels. A thick chick, wearing a pink wig and a costume that looked like something out of Gladiator, managed to break through the dozen other strippers who were trying to get Don B.’s attention. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered something to Don B. before letting her incredibly long tongue graze his ear and switching away. Don B. kept his eyes locked on her curvaceous body until she disappeared into a smoke-filled corner to make her pitch to the next mark.
“They love you, Don,” Devil screamed over the music.
“They don’t love me, they love my Big Dawg style,” Don B. chuckled, giving Tone and Devil dap.
“Yo, it’s gonna be a few minutes before the acts go on so let’s hit the VIP and wet our beaks a li’l bit,” Gotti screamed in Tone’s ear over the music. Tone relayed the message to Don B. and the rest of their entourage and they made moves toward the VIP.
On their way to the back of the club, Tone spotted someone he recognized and stopped to chop it up with him for a few seconds. The dude he was talking to wore a pleasant expression on his face, but the cats he was with looked like some serious goons, which put Devil on point. After a quick exchange of numbers and the promise to get a drink later, Tone caught up with Don B. and Devil, both of whom were staring at him curiously.
“Who the fuck was them niggaz?” Don B. asked.
“That was my nigga Zo and his peeps. You remember Zo-Pound from back in the days, right?” Tone jogged Don B.’s memory.
“You mean that crazy li’l muthafucka who used to run around robbing everything moving? What the fuck is he doing in here, trying to stick the place up?” Don B. asked sarcastically.
“Nah, Zo ain’t on it like that no more. After his last bid he squared up and got a job. He’s legit now,” Tone informed him.
“He can’t be too legit hanging with King James,” Devil said.
