Eviction Notice, page 22
CHAPTER 29
There were two VIP areas at Brick City, the upper and lower levels. The lower level was open to anyone who had enough money or clout to get in, but the upper level was reserved for the special guests. With its velvet curtains and fancy decor it was reminiscent of an opera-house balcony. The upper level overlooked the main floor, with three forty-two-inch flat-screen televisions that normally showed sporting events, but that night the screens showed four different close-up angles of the main stage, where the girls peeled off clothes and the patrons peeled off bills.
Unlike the lower-level VIP, there were no restrictions upstairs. Girls fucked, sucked, and made conversation according to what the men wanted and could pay for. In a dark corner, a hip young hustler wearing a chain that looked like it weighed more than he did drank champagne from the bottle while two young women, one white and one Asian, took turns pleasuring him. The Asian girl amused herself trying to see how much of his thick cock she could force into her throat while the white girl crawled behind her and began eating her from the back. The young man poured champagne down the Asian girl’s back and watched as the white girl sipped it from the crack of her ass.
“Do you see that shit?” Holiday asked, staring at the spectacle. He, Shai, Angelo, and Swann had a private table in the rear of the VIP, right under one of the flat screens.
“Why don’t you mind your own business, you fucking pervert,” Angelo scolded him.
“Fuck that, it ain’t like they’re putting shade on it. Them bitches is going at it in plain sight. I’m about to go ask if it’s a private party.” Holiday made to get up, but Shai grabbed him by the arm.
“Chill,” he said coolly. His voice was barely above a whisper but Holiday felt the weight of it and retook his seat. “There’s nothing wrong with having a good time, but we have an image to maintain, feel me?”
“I got you, big homie.” Holiday nodded. He still spared the occasional glance over to the corner where the freak show was going on. “I wonder where the fuck this nigga Paulie is?”
“Judging by the crowd in here, he’s probably got his hands full. He’ll be along,” Shai told him. Holiday and his youthful impatience could be frustrating but Shai tried not to be as short with him as Angelo was, because he understood him. It wasn’t that long ago that Shai had been the impatient youngster of the crew who needed a guiding hand.
“Look at this nigga here.” Swann cracked a smile when he saw Don B. and his team enter the VIP.
Angelo frowned. “What the fuck is this, an episode of Gangland?”
“Chill out, Angelo.” Swann stood up as Don B. neared their table. “What’s popping, homie?”
Don B. peered over his sunglasses and smiled when he recognized Swann. “Oh shit, what it do, blood?” Don B. greeted him with a complex handshake.
“It do whatever I tell it to, that’s the life of a boss nigga,” Swann boasted.
“Sho ya right, B. Yo, Devil, you remember Swann, right?”
Devil scrolled through his mental Rolodex and placed the name with the face. “What’s popping, li’l homie, or should I say big homie now?” Devil cut his eyes to Shai.
“Ain’t shit, B, out here trying to live like everyone else,” Swann told him.
“The way I hear it, you’re living real good.” Devil gave Swann the once-over, paying special attention to the heavy chain around his neck.
“Putting in work eventually pays off for some of us,” Swann shot back. He and Devil were from two different generations of the same set, but had never quite seen eye to eye. Swann represented the new regime while Devil was a walking reminder of a bygone era.
“You’re Shai Clark, right?” Gotti asked.
Shai looked up at him with a blank expression. “That all depends on who’s asking. Do we know each other?”
“Nah, we don’t know each other but we know some of the same people. My homies Li’l Red and Dee put in some work for ya peoples a while back,” Gotti name-dropped, trying to cut into Shai.
Shai shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, but I don’t know them cats or what you’re talking about. It was nice meeting you though, fam.” Shai turned his attention to the screen to watch the floor show.
Gotti felt slighted and it showed on his face. “It’s like that, huh?”
“Straight like that,” Holiday answered for Shai. For a long moment he and Gotti glared at each other across the table.
Sensing where it was about to go, Swann interjected. “Don, it was good seeing you, my G. We gotta hook up soon.”
Don B. immediately picked up on what Swann was doing. “Fo sho, fo sho.” Don B. dapped him up. “C’mon, fellas, let’s head over to our table.” Don B.’s group fell in step behind him. Gotti and Holiday continued to shoot daggers at each other but nobody made a move.
“I don’t like that one-eyed muthafucka,” Angelo said once Gotti was out of earshot.
“Neither do I,” Shai agreed. “He was either wearing a wire or dumb as hell. Either way, I don’t want him around us.”
“Say no more, Shai. He step wrong and Ima give you his kufi as a birthday present.” Holiday patted his waist.
* * *
“Where’d you disappear to?” Lakim asked when King resurfaced. One minute he had been with the group and the next he’d vanished and they’d all been worried.
“Had to handle something right quick,” King said in an easy tone.
“You was getting a lap dance from one of these fine honeys, huh?” Dump smiled.
“Nah, I saw one of my shorties in here and had to set her straight,” King told him.
“You fuck with one of these strippers?” Alonzo asked, surprised. He knew that King James was very particular about the kind of women he dealt with.
“You know better than that, Zo. Just some li’l joint from the P’s in here playing herself, so I sent her home.”
“Go so we ain’t gotta worry about none of ya li’l chicken heads following you around while we in here trying to get our swerve on,” Dump teased him.
King twisted his lips. “C’mon, sun. This is my court and everybody in the kingdom knows their places, ya heard? Zo, where you know that kid from that you were talking to?”
“Oh, that was my man Tone. He runs with Don B. and them Big Dawg niggaz,” Alonzo said.
“Pussy-ass rappers,” Lakim spat. He disliked the new breed of rappers like Don B. because he felt like they were movie stars trying to play the roles of gangsters.
“Nah, Tone is cool. He invited us upstairs to get a drink later on,” Alonzo said.
“Whatever,” King said. He wasn’t big on handouts, or on Don B. He didn’t know Don B. personally but had heard enough about his exploits to know that he didn’t like him or what he represented.
Lakim tapped King’s arm. “You peeped ya man?” He nodded upstairs to the balcony, where Shai and his entourage had just been seated.
“Yeah, I see him.” King James zeroed on Shai. He was flanked by several men and from their body language he knew they were strapped. Getting close enough to Shai to confront him would be a little trickier than he had expected. Suddenly an idea sprang into his head. “Ayo, Zo, let’s go take ya man up on that drink offer.” King marched through the club, ignoring the strippers who were trying to get his attention, focusing on the man he had come to parlay with. One chick jumped in front of him and tried to drape her arms around his thick neck, but King swatted her aside with a sweep of his powerful arm. They climbed the stairs to the VIP entrance and their way was blocked by a beefy bouncer.
“Sorry, fellas, this is a private party. The public VIP is downstairs so you’re in the wrong place,” the bouncer told them.
King James locked eyes with him. “Nah, we’re in the right place. We were invited. My name is King James, ask about me.”
“I wouldn’t care if your name was Prince Albert, I can’t let you in here, fam.”
King James shook his head. “I gotta give it to Brick City for their equal opportunity employment program, because all y’all niggaz act like you just fell off a yellow bus.”
The bouncer puffed up. “How about if I bust you in the jaw, funny man?”
“My nigga, if you even think about laying hands on my fam, I’m gonna snap you like a fucking twig.” Dump stepped up. The bouncer was big, but Dump was bigger.
“Now, you can let us in so we can spend some bread and pop some bottles, or keep being a dick and we can pop you.” King James folded his arms. “How you wanna do it, sun?”
* * *
“Fuck is good wit ya peeps?” Gotti asked Don B. once they were settled at their table.
“Who, Swann? He’s a good nigga, a real street nigga,” Don B. told Gotti.
“Nah, not him. The pretty boy, Shai.”
“I can’t call it, B. I met his pops a few times, but I don’t know Shai.”
“Well, he might wanna show a li’l respect with him being so far from home,” Gotti said.
Devil laughed. “Shai is a pissy li’l fuck, but he’s still the boss of bosses. The boy is protected from on high. He’s untouchable.”
“Everybody is touchable,” Gotti said.
“Fuck all that suicide talk, where’s ya man Lord Scientific?” Don B. cut in.
“He should be here in a few. I spoke to him a li’l while ago and he said he’s on his way from East Orange. While we’re waiting, let’s get some drinks.” Gotti waved one of the waitresses over and put in an order for five bottles of champagne, a fifth of Rémy, and some waters. His attention wandered over to the entrance of the VIP, where he noticed security exchanging words with a husky cat rocking a big chain. “Fuck is good with these niggaz?”
Tone looked over and recognized the man as King James. “Oh, that’s my man and his homies. Give me a sec.” He got up and walked over. After a few quick words, security allowed King James and his crew into the VIP. Tone led them over to their booth and made the introductions. “Fellas, this is my man Zo and his team.”
“Peace, peace.” King gave everyone at the table dap.
“We got some bottles on the way, y’all wanna join us?” Tone offered.
Alonzo opened his mouth to accept the invitation but King cut him off. “Nah, it looks like y’all are in the middle of something and we ain’t trying to intrude.”
“It’s all good,” Tone assured him.
“We appreciate the offer, but we’re gonna grab a table and fuck with some of these bitches. Good looking out on that business with security, though. Let’s motivate,” King ordered his crew, and moved toward an empty table not far from where Shai was sitting.
Alonzo stood there for an awkward moment, not quite sure what to say. “Sorry about that, Tone.”
Tone made a dismissive gesture. “It’s all love, Zo, don’t worry about it. If you decide to take me up on that drink offer, I’m here.”
“Fo sho.” Alonzo gave him dap. “Lap dance on me though, ya head?” Alonzo promised before leaving the men to their business.
“That kid Zo is a’ight, but King James ain’t got no class,” Don B. capped before putting his feet up on the table.
The waitress came over and set the bottles and some ice buckets on the table along with some plastic cups. “Can I get you guys anything else?” she asked.
“Nah, we’re straight, baby,” Gotti said, handing her several hundred-dollar bills. The waitress thanked him, but continued to linger around. “Something else I can help you with, sweetie?”
“Ah, I’m sorry … I don’t mean to come off as a groupie but I was wondering … could I have your autograph?” she asked Don B.
“Bitch, get on with that shit,” Gotti snapped.
“It’s all good, my nigga, the Don always has time for his adoring public.” Don B. smiled. “You got a pen, baby?”
The girl handed him the pen she had been using to write down drink orders. “Thank you so much,” she squealed. “Make it out to Tasha.”
“No problem.” Don B. looked around for something to write on, but she saved him the trouble when she popped her breasts out of the bikini top she was wearing.
“You can sign right here.” She squeezed her breasts together. All Don B. could do was laugh while scribbling his name on her ample breasts. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“It’s nothing, baby,” Don B. told her.
The girl leaned in to whisper to Don B., “I go on break in twenty minutes. Meet me in the parking lot and I’ll show you that Superhead ain’t got shit on me.” She grabbed Don B.’s dick through his jeans. The girl moved on to the next table, leaving the group shocked and Don B. smiling.
CHAPTER 30
Porsha had finally found her groove. After Sahara had left, she and Kat played the bar for a while, throwing back shots courtesy of their adoring public. The Jersey cats in Brick City acted like they had never seen a chick like Porsha before. Granted, the chicks from Jersey who were dancing that night were far from slouches, but Porsha had a swag about her that set her apart.
After their drink session, Porsha and Kat hit the floor to get their trap on. There was a heavyset kid sitting at a table with a group of his boys, draped in more ice than Colorado in December, who was waving Porsha over. She started to ignore him but when he raised a brick of singles she changed her mind. Motioning for Kat to follow, Porsha went over to the table.
The fat kid and his friends were very generous, showering Porsha and Kat with bills of different denominations for their raunchy routine. By the time they were finished, Porsha had most of the fat kid’s money and his life story. He was a hustler named Vern who moved weight in South Jersey, and from the weight of his jewels she could tell he was doing well for himself. He tried to get Porsha to slide off with him, but she declined the invitation and took his number instead. She might not have been down to fuck him that night, but Vern was someone she definitely planned to follow up with.
“Damn, I should’ve brought my ass to Jersey to get it in years ago,” Porsha said, counting her money. She was already up almost a stack and the night was still young.
“I tried to tell you, ma. Money in New York is good, but out-of-town cats spend it more freely,” Kat told her. Then she leaned in to whisper to Porsha, “Don’t make it obvious, but look up.” She nodded over her shoulder.
Porsha acted like she was fixing the shoulder strap on her corset and cut her eyes up toward the balcony. Don B. was leaning on the rail with a drink in his hand, watching her like a hawk. He must’ve known she was looking at him because he smiled and raised his drink.
“That nigga has been watching you all night,” Kat told her.
“Good, I need him all worked up when I cut into that ass,” Porsha said seriously.
One of the guys working for the DJ came over and whispered something to Kat. She nodded and held up two fingers, before sending him back off to the DJ booth. “Well, Ms. P, I think he’ll be good and worked up in a few minutes.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Porsha asked. Just then she heard the DJ’s voice.
“Alright, you muthafuckas, get ya money right and belly up to the bar. Coming to the stage, live from Harlem World, the lovely Ms. Porsha!”
Porsha stood there with a confused expression on her face after hearing her name. “What the fuck? I planned on working the floor, I didn’t sign up to hit the stage, so how the hell are they calling me?”
“Because I signed you up,” Kat said with a sly smile. “You talk the talk, now let’s see if you can walk the walk.”
“Porsha, where you at?” the DJ shouted.
“I told you, if you’re in, then be all in. What you gonna do, rookie?” Kat challenged.
“Kat, I’m gonna kill you after I finish rocking this muthafucking pole,” Porsha said, and sauntered off.
Kat took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink while she waited for the show to start.
Porsha walked out onto the stage timidly, hoping that she didn’t bust her ass in her six-inch heels. The bright overhead lights stung Porsha’s eyes, making it hard to see the crowd, but she could feel every eye in the room on her. She spotted Kat sitting at the bar watching her, smiling, and wanted to dive off the stage and start choking her. Kat had put her in an awkward position, but Porsha had come too far to turn back. She had danced on her fair share of poles in her day, but she’d always had a planned routine.
“Fuck it,” she said to herself and nodded for the DJ to start the music, hoping it was something she could rock to. She didn’t recognize the song at first with its heavy guitar riffs. This definitely wasn’t a rap song. As the drums began to pound, the song struck a chord of familiarity in her and her lips parted into a smile. Her brother played the song so much that she hated it, but was glad for his obsession with George Thorogood & The Destroyers. The way the chicks at Brick City had been hating on her all night, she knew the DJ’s playing that song was a sign for her to let it all hang out and show them who the boss bitch was. Shaking off her butterflies, Porsha let everyone watching know why she was truly “Bad to the Bone.”
* * *
Once they were settled at their table, Lakim broke out one of the blunts he had stashed in his sock. Security downstairs had been on some bullshit about weed smoking, so his lungs were on the gate. As soon as he lit it, the smell of Sour Diesel stank up the room. “Much better,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“That weed smells like you rolled it in shit.” King fanned the smoke.
“That’s how you know it’s good.” Lakim took two more pulls and tried to pass it to King.
“Stop playing with me, man. You know I don’t smoke when I’m on the clock.”
“Then let me hit that muthafucka.” Dump reached across the table and snatched the weed.
“Can I get you guys anything?” the waitress asked, coming over to their table.
“Yeah, bring us a bottle of Crown and a shot of whatever you got hiding up under them booty shorts,” Dump told her.
The waitress twisted her lips. “I don’t know if your paper is long enough for what I got under these shorts, but I’ll be back with your bottle.” She turned to leave but King stopped her. He whispered something in her ear and slipped her some bills. The girl gave him a confused look, but eventually nodded and went off to get their drinks.
